Just a Girl Read Free Page A

school as well. Parents brought in their kids for one kind of lesson or another. There were always guitar strings, drumsticks, and music stands to be replaced; rosin and sheet music books to be purchased; and larger chin rests needed for violinists who’d outgrown their three-quarter-sized instruments.
    It was the Continental, breathing music, pumping it through the aisles, pulsing with the sounds of lessons and wannabe rockstars trying to lay down a Led Zeppelin lick in the back, the sour brass of trumpet players learning a new song. It all felt so familiar. And I was awash in nostalgia and loathing and peace and nervous energy.
    In short, I was a mess.
    Up at the register, I was inspecting a returned rental violin when the chime over the door announced another customer. Automatically, I glanced over to see what the newcomer would need. I could tell right away he wasn’t a customer. He didn’t have that usual look of shock the first-timers always did when they took in the vastness of the store. He was too young to be a parent, and too old to be a student. He looked to be in his early twenties, with dark hair and aviator sunglasses, which he couldn’t take off thanks to his hands being occupied with two guitar cases.
    “Can I help you?” I asked.
    He paused, setting down one guitar case to remove his aviators. “Yeah, I just need to know what room I’m in today.”
    “Are you a teacher?”
    He looked at me then, showing me amber-colored eyes like beautiful spun glass. My heart stuttered unexpectedly. “You’re new,” he said.
    “Actually, I’m about as old as they come,” I said.
    “What?” He seemed flummoxed by that.
    “And you are?” I prompted.
    “Paul? I teach guitar?”
    I grinned at his tone. “You sure about that?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Hey, Paul, I’m Presley.” I extended my hand. Might as well get it over with before he found out from someone else: “My parents are Rick and Dinah.”
    His hand stopped millimeters from taking mine for a shake, and he looked startled. “Presley?
The
Presley?”
    Which is exactly why I told him right away. I’m an only child, and my parents talk about me. A lot. “That’s me.”
    “Huh.” He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but instead just shook his head. “Okay, well, nice to meet you.”
    “Nice to meet you.” I smiled, automatically slipping into my store-ambassador role. “You need me to walk you back to your room?” I asked, gesturing toward the small waiting area outside the practice rooms.
    “No…” He seemed distracted or something, though he was looking right at me, so it was hard to imagine what could be so interesting. “I know the way, I just don’t know which room.”
    I tilted my head, wanting to see if his stare would follow me. It did. “I’m sorry, do I have something in my teeth or something?”
    He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m just…you look younger than I expected.”
    I grinned. “I get that a lot.” My parents were kind of old when they had me. Both in their mid-forties. Now that I was twenty-one—and still pretty baby-faced, I have to admit—the age gap looked a lot bigger.
    Paul closed his eyes briefly. “That’s none of my business. Sorry.”
    “No problem.”
    He looked at me expectantly.
    “What?”
    “My room?” he prompted.
    “Oh, right!” I turned to check the schedule. “You’re in three.”
    “Thanks.” He hooked his sunglasses into the neck of his faded black T-shirt and bent to pick up the other guitar case. I couldn’t help taking in the flex and stretch of his biceps and forearms as he did. I hadn’t looked at anyone with even the slightest interest since getting dumped by my band and boyfriend simultaneously. But Paul…Paul was not a bad view at all. He caught me watching him and smiled a little. “Nice to meet you, Presley.”
    “Same to you.”

June 6
    Liv
    HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! This is from a review of their last show:
    “Without their powerhouse vocalist