Music Class

(Remembered Cheyenne telling me she tried to take a music class. I know it was only music theory, but now i say they made you play the flute. So, there! And Michael also plays the drums, now.)

People were starting to file in the doors before the warning bell rang. Cheyenne feigned interest in her music book, keeping her eyes on the notes as she pressed the corresponding keys on the flute.

"Chey," Michael said, sliding into the orange chair next to her.

"Oh, uh...hi." she said. Fumble much?

He shifted in his chair, the blue material of his shirt bunching around his bicep. "What's up?" he said. His voice slid around the chatter and instrument tuning and hit her right in the gut. Jitters took hold of her stomach.

"Nothing," she said, resting her flute on her lap. "just going over the music."

"Are you doing anything this weekend?"

The final bell rang overhead and a few people hurried in. Cheyenne's attention flickered from Michael to the door to the teacher's office window and then back to Michael. His eyes were still on her.

She smiled. "Yeah, i've got a few things planned with my friends. What are you doing?"

"Some friends of mine are hanging out at Striker's after i get out of work. I thought if you weren't busy, you could hang out with us." He paused, nostrils flaring. Then, "No," he corrected, "actually i want you to hang out with me." He followed up with that hesitant smile of his.

Cheyenne couldn't accept the invitation, even if she thought it sounded like fun. For once, she'd promised herself and her friends that she'd wait a few weeks (maybe even a few months) before going out with anyone.

"I can't." She turned a page in her music book, faking nonchalance. "But maybe another time?"

Amelia came up and glared at Michael. "You're in my seat." Amelia took this class too seriously.

"Sorry." Michael got up. "Chey," he started, turning to her, "if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Sure."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried up the steps to another section of the seating arrangement. Cheyenne surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder, watching as he grabbed his drumsticks in his hand and beat the at the air to warm up his wrists. Well, maybe not so surreptitiously, since he caught her staring.

Face hot, she turned back to the music book and lifted her flute up in her hands. God, how much she hated this thing.