Unexpected (MxM)

Chapter Twenty- Ezra

Chapter Twenty-

Moth

I’ve been in this situation before. Considering I run my mouth like someone who’s 6’5 and ripped, I’ve had my ass kicked plenty of times. I know what it looks like when someone is planning on beating me up. Too bad I didn’t notice them cornering me in the locker room before it was too late to run.

I sigh, looking at the three guys in front of me. One of them is shorter than me and the other two are bigger, but I feel like I could take any of them in a one on one fight. However, this isn’t one-on-one.

“I don’t suppose you boys are here to show me around.”

“Oh, he thinks he’s funny.” The short one laughs.

The one in the middle looks like the boss, and when he crosses his arms, and scoffs, it makes it even more apparent. “I think my girlfriend has been showing you around plenty.”

It takes everything in me not to laugh in his face. He looks like he’d be the bad guy on Legally Blonde. His hair is combed over with gel and his uniform looks freshly pressed. He has name-brand cufflinks and a few lapel pins that look like merits from school. His friends look just as put together. Even though Imogen helps me with my clothes every day, I’m still wearing the basic uniform. There’s nothing fancy about mine.

“You’re girlfriend is…”

“Imogen.”

Right. She’s dating the captain of the lacrosse team. I forgot about that. “Oh, Ginny.”

“Ginny is reserved for friends.” He informs me, pulling his backpack over his shoulder to pull out his lacrosse stick. The other two do as well, making me nervous.

“I’d love to play, but I don’t know anything about lacrosse,” I tell them, unable to keep the sarcastic comment out of my mouth. “I don’t know if your girlfriend would want you beating up her friends.”

“I don’t care what she wants. She dates me for popularity and I date her because she lets me squeeze her tits.” He confesses, making his friends snicker like they’re the main clique in Mean Girls. Ganging up on someone is so elementary. Real men fight one-on-one and don’t use weapons to hide behind.

“Let me guess. Your parents are rich. Ginny told me most of the school revenue comes from alumni whose kids go here. I bet Daddy writes big fat checks to the Headmaster and that can get you out of almost anything. You’re going to beat my ass no matter what I do or say, and you know you won’t get in trouble because even if I snitch, nothing will happen.” I try, thinking about how hard I should even try to get out of this situation.

“Close. My dad is the headmaster.”

I’m hopeless like I thought. I smirk, bracing myself for the pain that is surely to come soon. I’m going to run my mouth a bit while I can. If playing nice won’t get me out of this, I might as well push his buttons. “In that case, I wished I asked your girlfriend if I could cop a feel of her t**s this morning when she was taking my shirt off.”

I wince when the stick swings out and knocks me across my face. One of his friends hits me in the stomach, making me double over. “Hey, hey. Three against one is hardly a fair fight. Put the stick down and fight me like a man.”

“I didn’t know you were under the impression that life is fair.” He laughs, using the end of the stick to jab it into my side. His friend hits my knee, causing me to collapse on the floor. “Smart men take their advantages and use them to get a leg up. It’s not my fault you’re a stupid one.”

They all hit me a few more times, and once I give up trying to dodge, I settle for curling up to protect my sensitive organs and using my hands to cover my head. The bell rings after a few minutes, and they stop.

“Looks like that’s all the time we have, street rat. Consider this an initiation into my school.” He crouches down in front of me and laughs at the sight of the bruises I can feel forming on my face. “I’m Tobias, and this is the last conversation you’ll ever have with me. I know getting a beating sends a message but here’s a more clear one just in case you didn’t understand. You won’t talk to me or Imogen anymore.”

I wipe the blood dripping from my eyebrow where he had first hit me. My whole body is aching, but I’m tough. I’ve gotten beat up plenty of times before. Caspian’s dads own a gym that does MMA-type fighting, so Caspian, Jonis, and I have been beating the s**t out of each other for fun since we met. I can take a lot of pain now, so this is child’s play to me.

I look at him for a minute before laughing hysterically, wincing when it hurts my sides. “That’s priceless. You know those show poodles with fancy haircuts and Gucci dog sweaters? Yeah, you’re about as scary as one of those. You can be a top dog all you want, but make sure you remember how vicious street rats are.”

One of the nameless idiots blindly following his every command steps toward me, aiming to hit me with the stick again, but Tobias shakes his head, calling his dog off. “It’s fine. We have to get to class anyway. The nurse’s office is down the hall on the right. Tell her we said hello.”

Once they leave I hobble to my feet. I wince and clutch my ribs, sighing. It feels like just some bruises, but maybe the nurse would have a better idea. I walk out of the locker room, and head down the hall, limping slightly due to the pain in my knee. I take a deep breath and give myself the same internal pep talk I always do when I get beat up or hurt: pain is temporary and it’s not stronger than I am.

I open the door and step inside of the office, smiling at the nurse when she turns to face me. She gestures for me to sit down on the bed, and I do, waiting for further instruction as she starts gathering some things. “Hi, I’m Penelope, but the kids just call me Ms.Penny. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

She gets a cotton ball out and dabs away the blood from my eyebrow. I wince slightly, but she ignores it. “I’m Moth, and I’m new here so that’s probably why.”

“How did this happen, Moth?”

I think for a moment. I want to tell her that those dumb preppy jocks beat the crap out of me, but I know it’s not in me to be a snitch. I like to settle things myself, and if I rat on them, I won’t get the chance to. “I fell down the stairs.”

She eyes me for a moment before sighing. I wonder if this has happened before. Surely it has, or Tobias and his guard dogs wouldn’t have been so confident that they wouldn’t get into any trouble.

“Can you lift your shirt for me?”

“You’re not gonna buy me a drink first?”

She raises a brow, unimpressed by my comment. “I’m way too old for you, and not appropriate for a student to flirt with their nurse, Moth.”

“You’re not exactly ‘my type’ anyway,” I explain, cupping my hands to my chest to indicate that I’m not interested in anyone with boobs.

I pull my shirt over my head, grimacing when I see the bruises forming already. She points at the bruise on my side, forming in an odd shape.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a stair make a bruise that looks like a hexagon. Though it looks a lot like the end of a lacrosse stick.”

“I’m not sure how that got there. Can you just tell me if I broke anything and give me some pain medicine?”

She puts gloves on and presses against the larger bruise on my ribs, igniting a groan from me. After a moment of inspecting my injuries, she pulls her hand back and writes a few things down on a form. “You’re just bruised, but I’m going to call a parent to pick you up. What’s your full name?”

“Timothy Aldridge, but can I just walk home? My house is close. My dad just got custody of me, and he works a lot. I think he’s been stressed out having to take care of me now, and I don’t want him worrying.” I lie, hoping I can convince her to let me out of school without calling him. Maybe getting beat up can work out in my favor.

My dad shouldn’t be home until late tonight and I happen to know that the recording studio is only twenty minutes away from here if I take the bus.

“I’ll write you an excuse slip to have your dad sign. Return it tomorrow so we can be sure that he was made aware of your injuries. Be careful, and try not to fight with the ‘stairs’ anymore. I swear those boys could get away with murder.” She complains, writing a few things down before handing me the paper. I tuck it into my bag before leaving her office and making my way out of school. I didn’t even have to skip. Thanks, Tobias.

After walking down the road and getting on the bus, I use my phone to find which stop to get off at to get to the address on the card. I always thought my playing was better than my singing but maybe I underestimated myself. I get off at my stop and start down the street, smiling when I see the sign out front.

I rush now, practically bursting through the doors before walking up to the desk. “May I help you?”

“A man came to a gig I was singing at and gave me this card. Is there any way I could talk to him?” I slide the card to the woman sitting there.

She picks up the phone and dials a number, speaking once it’s answered. “There’s a boy here to see you. He said you were interested in his singing.”

She waits for a response before hanging up and handing the card back to me. “Through that door. Room B5.”

I nod and walk through the door and down the hallway, noticing the different records and awards on the walls as I walk back, opening the door to room B5. I walk in, smiling at the man sitting in the chair. He turns to me and takes his headphones off.

“Oh. I remember you. You’re the frontman for that shitty high school band.” He recalls, turning in his swivel chair to face me. “I’m Ezra.”

“I’m Moth, and my band isn’t shitty.”

“You can think that,” He replies. I don’t like the condescending tone in his voice. Part of the reason I’m so passionate about music is because it’s something I get to share with all of my friends. I want to be successful. I want to get up on stage in front of thousands of people and sing something from my heart that reaches far enough to touch theirs. I want to see the faces and hear the cheers of people who have felt the same way I do. Recording in a real studio is the start of that. Even if it means the band gets pushed to the back burner while I’m in California.

He shuffles through a few of the papers on his desk before continuing. “So what are you here for?”

“I want to sing. I brought my notebook. I can show you some of my songs.” I offer, digging into my bag to pull it out. I’m not sure how this thing works. Gwen usually does the PR stuff as far as promoting our music and getting us gigs. I just show up to sing and play.

“Not interested. Listen, I try my best not to break spirits or crush hopes and dreams, but you think you’re better than you are. Your band isn’t good, and playing guitar is a cute little hobby for you, but you aren’t going to go far with it. I can get on my phone right now and get 5 lead guitarists who are a thousand times better than you. You have one thing going for you. You sing like someone who should be heard in every corner of the world. If you want to sing, get recognition, and stop recording your half-baked songs in your friend’s basement, you need to start here.” Ezra insists, holding a few papers out to me. It’s sheet music.

I take them, wincing when the movement hurts my side. He ignores my obvious pain, but I’m thankful for it because I’m not exactly excited to tell him that I got beat up at school.

“We record in my basement actually,” I confess. I’m not going to let his words hurt me. I know I’m not the best at playing guitar, but I’m getting better every day I strum a chord. I’m not going to doubt myself because of him, so I absorb the positive information and block out the negative before looking over the words to the song. “You want me to sing this?”

He nods, fiddling with a few knobs before gesturing for me to get into the booth. “It’s just a test run. You can sightread, right?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect pitch?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you the starting note when you get in.”

I grin, putting my things down before walking into the booth and shutting the door behind me. The way the room blocks out any noise makes my heart start beating faster. The silence is perfect, and I’m sure the acoustics will make me sound even better than I normally do. I walk to the chair and put the headphones on, looking at him through the glass.

“When I heard your band I noticed you have a hard time connecting emotionally with music you didn’t write. I know everyone wants to do their own thing, but part of being an artist is having the emotion that goes with it. Whether it’s singing, dancing, painting, or whatever else, it can’t touch anyone if you don’t let it touch you first, okay Moth? Take a minute to read the lyrics and get the story before you sing it. Try to channel a time where you may have felt that way or put yourself into this person’s shoes and try to emote the way the writer would.” He suggests.

I nod and look through the words, trying to grasp the emotions in the song. It sounds like it’s about an addict having to face the person they love after being completely changed. There’s a lot of emotions like sadness, resentment, and pain. Certain words are drenched in longing, practically pleading for the person to love them again. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like that.

I’d die if Frankie ever felt that way about me. I try to imagine how I would feel if Frankie ever looked at me like he had no idea what I’d turned into. I think about how I’d feel if he did see the monster everyone else seems to see when they look at me. I think about how much worse it would be if he left me at a time when all I needed was support. It would hurt me to my core especially if it was me who caused all of it.

I reach my hand up to wipe my tears before clearing my throat and giving him a thumbs up from the booth.

He plays the first note for me, and I start, singing the words softly, hitting each grace note as if it’s nothing. Singing is something that’s always come naturally to me, and I like that I’ve never had to try very hard to do it well. This is about more than just singing now. I have to let my words touch people. I try to allow the emotion to come through, letting my voice get shaky at moments that call for it, and letting my breathing become more noticeable.

I close my eyes as the intensity builds in the chorus, remembering the notes without having to look at them again. I trail the last note off, taking a breath before looking at him to see his thoughts.

I see him clapping which makes me smile, and after a minute he pushes a button that lets him speak to me. “Come out here. That was fantastic.”

I take the headphones off and put them back before walking back out to talk to him. “It was good?”

“Good? That was amazing. I’ve never met a kid that has that much control vocally. I mean you breezed through the grace notes like they were nothing. You got the key change and I don’t know what you did, but that was way better emotionally than when you were singing those covers at the bar.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, thinking for a moment before deciding to go out on a limb. I’m confident in my abilities and if I’m not willing to take a chance on myself, how could anyone else do that for me? “How many people have you given this song to that couldn’t do it how you wanted them to?”

“Too many.”

“You want me to record it, right?” I ask, and when he nods, I smirk, grabbing my notebook again. “For every song I record for you, you record one for me.”

“Or what? You turn me down? I think you’re overestimating yourself.”

I stand taller and look down at him. “I think you’re underestimating me. I’m young, hardworking, and talented. If you don’t see that in me, someone else will.”

He stares me down, waiting for me to crumble and fold, but I hold his gaze. I refuse to back down when opening this door could do so much for me. It could do so much for the band. Eventually, he sighs and sticks his hand out to accept the torn-up notebook.

I flip to the song I recently finished and hand it to him. I’d put my career on the line a million times over if it meant I could get people to hear this song. I know it’s good, and nothing anybody says could ever change that.

“Barbie and Ken? You don’t look like a doll to me,” He mentions.

I smirk, relaxing as he reads it. He’ll like it. Everyone will. “You should see my boyfriend.”