The music room was locked.
Which was perfect, because it meant nobody else would bother using it after school. The window was cracked open, letting in the faint buzz of cicadas from outside. Dust danced in the shafts of light cutting across the floor.
I settled on a chair in the corner, Mom's guitar resting carefully on my lap.
This was my safe space.
My fingers pressed the frets, tentative at first, then more certain as I strummed a simple melody. The notes rang out warm and familiar, echoing faintly off the walls.
I closed my eyes. For a moment, I could almost hear Mom's voice layering over the chords. The way she used to sing like every word mattered, like the world needed to hear it.
It was just me, the guitar, and the silence.
At least, it was supposed to be.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
I froze.
The sound came from the doorway. My heart plummeted into my stomach.
"You weren't half bad, Music Boy."
I whipped around so fast the guitar almost slipped from my hands.
Rina leaned casually against the doorframe, her ever-present smirk in place. Today her lipstick was a dark maroon, making her look even more like she'd walked out of some gothic magazine.
"H-how long were you—"
"Long enough." She sauntered in, each boot thudding softly against the wooden floor. "You hiding secret talents from the class? Shameful."
My face burned. "I—I wasn't—this is—"
"Relax." She held up her hands like she was calming a wild animal. "I'm not about to livestream you or anything. Chill."
"…I almost dropped the guitar."
"That would've been tragic," she said with mock solemnity, then plopped onto a desk like it was her throne. "So. That was… honestly pretty good."
The words caught me off guard. I blinked. "…What?"
She shrugged. "I've heard worse. Way worse."
"Thanks, I guess," I muttered.
"You're welcome, I guess," she shot back, grinning.
I tried to focus on adjusting the strings, but my hands wouldn't stop trembling. My secret, the one thing I never wanted classmates to see, was now dangling in front of the school's most unpredictable girl.
And the worst part? She wasn't mocking me. She was looking at me like—like I'd just shown her something worth seeing.
"Play another one," she said suddenly.
My head snapped up. "What? No."
"C'mon." She leaned forward, her gray-blue eyes locking on mine. "One more. For science."
"This isn't science."
"It could be. If you let it."
I groaned. "Why are you like this?"
"Because you're fun when you're flustered," she said simply.
I buried my face in my hands.
But then… my fingers twitched against the strings. Almost on their own, they slipped into a different pattern. A quieter song, one Mom used to hum when she thought nobody was listening.
The notes floated into the air, delicate and fragile.
For once, Rina didn't speak. Didn't tease. She just listened, her expression softening in a way I hadn't seen before. The smirk faded, replaced by something… gentler.
When I finally stopped, silence stretched between us.
Then she clapped again, slower this time. "See? Knew you were hiding something."
I hugged the guitar to my chest. "…Don't tell anyone."
Her lips curved. "Your secret's safe with me, Music Boy."
Somehow, I believed her.
---
That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling while her words replayed in my head.
Honestly pretty good.
Your secret's safe with me.
For the first time in months, I didn't feel entirely alone with my mom's songs.