# Science Project

Title: Science Project
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang, Trish, Reed, Reeda, Carldelewski, Fernsworth
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
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The warning bell rings through the hallway as I shamble into science class and drop into my usual seat. The graded midterm exam from Math class still mocks me from where I stuffed it into my backpack. That giant red "D+" Mr Delewski literally stamped in bold red ink is still fresh in my memory. Midterms were last Friday, and I bet it was an intentional cruelty to make everyone wait until Monday for the results. Things were already looking about as bad as I feared. Math was a complete wash, I only barely skated by English, and I only avoided disaster in music thanks to Fang's impromptu guitar lesson. Hopefully science would end the day on a high note and even things out. It was the one subject I actually had some confidence in.
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Fang walked in just as the final bell rings, along with the rest of the stragglers in class. She takes her seat next to me without a word, crossing her arms over her stomach. Normally she would at least say hello or something, it doesn't take a genius to see she's nervous. I know science isn't her strong suit, but it's not like her to get nervous about a test result. She must have done even worse than I thought. Before I can think of something to say to Fang, Dr. Fernsworth takes his place behind his desk. The thick stack of papers he drops on the desk echoes like a guillotine throughout the classroom, everyone quickly falling deathly silent. He takes a moment to adjust his ridiculously thick glasses and clears his throat.
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"Alright everyone, your exams have all been graded." He announces, a little unnecessarily. I doubt anyone couldn't have figured that out. "I'll hand them back in alphabetical order. Please come up an collect your exam when I call your name."
As usual, my name is called first. Fernsworth gives me a small smile as I collect the packet and read my score. Eighty-five out of a hundred, a solid "B". Pretty good, honestly. Fernsworth's tests are notorious around campus, so I'm not disappointed with a "B" in my best class. When I sit back down next to Fang, she immediately looks over my shoulder to read my score.
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"You got a 'B'?" She asks, sounding a little surprised, "I thought you'd get an 'A'..."
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"Yeah, well I didn't get to study as much an I wanted." I reply, instantly realizing how badly I stuck my foot in my mouth. "Not that I regret hanging out with you or anything! I mean, I only passed music because-"
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"Hey, can I see your exam?" Fang asks, ignoring the verbal spaghetti coming out of my mouth. I hand the packet over to her, happy to sidestep whatever embarrassing thing I was about to say next. Fang must be really impatient about all this, her name is about to come up soon anyway. She flips the pages back and forth, skimming over my answers. Judging by her expression, she doesn't like what she sees. Her grip is actually starting to crinkle the paper a little, and she's so focused she doesn't even hear Fernsworth call her name the first time.
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"Fang!" He repeats himself, finally getting her attention, "Please come up and collect your exam."
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Fang marches briskly up to Fernsworth's desk, snatching back her exam with a scowl. Fernsworth kept the exam face down when he handed it back, but I can see the red ink staining the back of the pages from here. Fang barely glances at the front as she walks back before she angrily stuffs it into her backpack, not even bothering to look through it. Fang quietly growls in anger as she sits next to me, her fingers drumming hard against the table. Talking to her now might not be the best idea, especially considering how well I did on the test. I'll give her some time to simmer down before I try to approach her.
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Fernsworth steadily hands back the rest of the class, each student either subtly groaning in disappointment or sighing in stressed relief. A quite murmur of conversation grows as everyone starts comparing scores, debating answers, or bemoaning their ruined GPA. After Fersworth hands back the last test, he adjusts his lab-coat and clears his throat. Stepping in front of his desk, he taps the surface with a ruler to get everyone's attention.
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"Now then, I know this exam was quite a bit harder than the rest of your classes." He begins, with what feels like the understatement of the semester, "I know many of you aren't happy with your current grades. For students who want to improve their scores, I have good news! As extra credit you may submit an additional science project, along with a minimum five page essay, due no later than next Monday."
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Several students groan audibly, dismayed at both the size requirement and the tight deadline. I can't help but agree with them. An entire project, and essay, due by next week? No chance in hell I'm putting myself through that, even if I had needed the help. From the sound of it though, some people might not have much of a choice in the matter. I turn to gauge Fang's reaction, but it looks like she's too busy staring out the window to pay much attention to Fernsworth's offer.
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As usual, I decide to crash in the auditorium after school with the Fang Gang. It's not like I have anything better to do, I can shitpost perfectly fine on my phone while the band practices. Honestly 'practice' might be a bit of a strong word for it. Half the time we just talk shit and hang out, laughing at Reed's ridiculous song lyrics or just passing the usual campus gossip. Trish has begrudgingly accepted my presence by now, even if she still routinely insists I'm 'distracting' Fang from practice. For now though, the band is actually playing. They've been trying to get through one of Reed's new songs for some time now, and even I can tell they're having a rough time of it. They've had to restart more times than I can count, everyone keeps falling out of tempo with each other. Fang is visibly frustrated, Trish is losing her patience, and even Reed's chill attitude is starting to show it's edges. Finally after yet another false start, Trish unslings her bass in frustration.
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"Fang, what is with you today?" Trish groans, throwing her head back, "That's the fifth time you were late coming in! Are you even paying attention?"
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"Shut up Trish." Fang snarls, her wings starting to fan out aggressively, "I don't need more shit to deal with today."
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"Woah, hey, c'mon guys." Reed holds up his hands defensively, trying to curtail the impending shouting match, "Let's just take a breather, you know? Just chill out and-"
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"We can't just take breaks all the time!" Trish retorts, rounding on Reed, "We need to be perfect for our next show!"
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"What next show?" Fang mumbles, looking down morosely at her guitar. That seems to snap Trish out of her tirade, as both she and Reed suddenly look very worried.
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"Fang? What do you mean by that?" Trish asks, her anger evaporating in an instant. Fang visibly cringes, her hands subconsciously drifting to her wings as they pull close.
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"My Dad said I can't play in the band anymore if I fail my midterms," Fang explains, her eyes locked on the floor, "and I totally bombed Fernsworth's test last week."
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"H-He can't do that!" Trish shouts, clearly in denial. I can't help but imagine Trish angrily standing up to Ripley, and there's just no way that works out well. No amount of chutzpah can compete with that mountain of homicidal pteradon. Trish shakes her head, clenching her fists at her sides. "No, the band is too important. He can't just make you quit!"
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"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Fang asks, exasperated, "I can't just sneak out every night!"
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"Yes you can!" Trish retorts, getting desperate, "He can't control your life! We could skip class or-"
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"What about the extra credit project?" I blurt out, interrupting Trish's tirade. I haven't thought any of this through, I just said the first thing that had popped into my head. Now that I have everyone's attention, I just roll with it and hope for the best. "Maybe your Dad will ease off if you bump up your grade?"
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"Heyyyyy that's a great idea Anon." Reed shoots me some finger guns, "Fang just needs to throw together a paper volcano or something, and it's all good!"
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"It's not that easy, Fernsworth's a total hard-ass." Fang groans, "He wants a real project and everything, including a paper. I'd have to work like crazy all week."
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"You don't have time for that!" Trish protests, "We need to keep practicing for our next show!"
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"I didn't even say I was going to do it!" Fang snaps back, "Besides, does anybody have a better idea?"
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Trish looks like she's about to say anything, but stops, staring angrily at the floor. Reed just scratches the back of his head and stays silent, unwilling to speak up at all. I keep my mouth shut as well. Despite Fang's reluctance, it seems like she already came to a decision.
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"Fine then, I'm done with practice today." Fang announces, stowing her guitar back in it's case. Grabs her own bass case with a huff, glaring at me the entire time, as if this whole situation is somehow my fault. Reed just grabs his thermos and takes several big swigs, clearly intending to clock out for the rest of the afternoon. The mood in the room is pretty much ruined at this point, so I take the opportunity to bounce. I wave goodbye to Fang and Reed and head home, mentally debating on what I want to microwave for dinner tonight.
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Later that night, I'm awoken by the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. Groaning in annoyance, I blindly flail my hand over until it slaps against the plastic case. I fumble with the power cord and the home button, blidning myself with the screen brightness as it turns on. Cursing and blinking my eyes clear, I squint at the new notifications. Looks like Fang has been texting me.
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F: "Hey dork. You up?"
F: "My Dad said he'll lay off me if I do the project. I can't think of a topic though."
F: "You have any stupid ideas?"
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Sleep deprived, I immediately type back the first thing on my mind
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> A: "Fang, it's 2am. I was asleep."
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Immediately after I hit send, I regret it. If Fang is still up this late, she must have been stressing about the project pretty bad. Rubbing my stinging eyes, I quickly type another message.
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> A: "Yeah, sure. Let's meet up tomorrow. I'll try to think of something."
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I turn the phone on silent and toss it back on the nightstand, blinking the afterimages out of my eyes. Hopefully I haven't woken up completely, and I can get back to sleep quickly.
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The next morning I sleepily trudge to school, stifling yet another yawn. Climbing out of bed had been an absolute chore today, and I can tell I'll be fighting sleep all day. As I groggily climb the front steps of the school, I spot Fang waiting for me by the doors. Shit, that's right, I was supposed to help think of project ideas.
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"Hey Anon. Damn, you look like shit today." Fang grins as I groan in response. I push the front door open with my shoulder and head for my locker, Fang taking up stride beside me. There's already plenty of other students in the halls digging through their lockers or grouchily nursing cups of coffee
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"So..." Fang begins, leaning against the locker next to mine while I spin the lock, "Did you come up with anything for the project?"
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I hesitate, taking my time collecting my textbooks and binders. I hadn't come up with any ideas since Fang's texts last night, but now that I think about it, should I? This is supposed to be her project, I can't just do it for her. Besides the fact Fernsworth would immediately notice and likely fail her, I just shouldn't patronize Fang like that. She's smarter than she thinks, I'm sure she can pull this off on her own.
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"I don't know, another railgun is probably a bad idea." I begin, Fang chuckling as she remembers that particular disaster.
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"Yeah, I think Fernsworth is still a little mad about the window." Fang agrees as I sling my backpack back over my shoulder, "Seriously though, no ideas? I'm totally stumped here."
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She hits me those big pleading eyes, and I feel my willpower begin to crumble. No, stay strong Anon! This is for her own good, she can do this! I must resist those beautiful golden eyes! Fang softly flutters those big eyelashes, and I realize I never stood a chance to begin with.
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"Well..." I concede, scrambling for an idea, "What if you built something cool and wrote the paper about that? I don't think Fernsworth is that picky about the topic, as long as you don't half-ass it."
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"The only thing I can do with a hammer is smash stuff." Fang pouts, "Naser was the one who got all the handyman lessons from Dad." She actually sounds a little envious, she must have thought about this before.
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"Trust me, holding the flashlight isn't as fun as it sounds." I reply, following Fang to her first class, "Listen, I'll catch you at lunch. If you don't think of anything before then, I'm sure someone will have an idea. Sound good?"
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"Yeah, alright." Fang fist-bumps me with a weary smile, waving goodbye as we part ways in the hall. I head for first period English, hoping Jin won't catch me sleeping in the back of class again.
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Lunch period eventually arrives, and by now I feel much better. It's amazing what a few power-naps and the promise of food can do to perk somebody up. Fang is already at the usual table, along with the rest of the gang. Reed gives me his usual "Sup" in greeting as I sit down, while Trish tries for the hundredth time to murder me with her eyes. Fang looks lost in thought, staring off into space as she taps her fork against the table in an improvised beat.
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"Hey Fang, did you think of anything?" I ask, snapping her out of her own head.
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"Actually, yeah. I think so." Fang smiles, Reed and Trish turning their attention toward her. "I think I'm going to try to build an electric guitar."
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"Damn, really?" I ask, more than a little skeptical at the idea. I don't really know anything about electric guitars, or what went into building one, but I had the distinct impression it would be difficult.
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"Obviously not from scratch," Fang explains, tapping the table with her fork again, "If I find some spare parts and just assemble them, it shouldn't be too hard. I can write the paper about the wiring, sound waves, and the other technical junk. That should be enough for a project, right?"
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"You're going to need a soldering iron." Reed chimes in, counting on his fingers, "Not to mention pickups, potentiometers, capacitors, and that's just the electrical. You might have to do a vintage wiring assembly if the parts are too old for- what?"
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Everyone is just staring at Reed, wondering where the heck all that just came from. I know Reed does all the electrical work for the band, but I didn't expect that level of technical jargon from him. Once again I'm left wondering just what else is hiding behind that stoned dude-bro personality of his.
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"Yeah, I'll need all that stuff." Fang agrees, looking a little unsure of herself now, "I'll also need a place to work, I don't think I can do this on my desk at home. Any ideas?"
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"I think the shop class has a couple soldering guns." I answer, thinking back to the few times I walked by that rarely used classroom, "There's probably some other stuff in there we can use."
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"So you'll help?" Fang asks hopefully, and I realize I had just committed myself. I nod in agreement along with Reed, who as usual seems perfectly fine with whatever the newest crazy scheme is.
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"I still say this is a waste of time." Trish objects, crossing her arms. "Let's just keep practicing after school and you can tell your dad you're working on your project. He'll forget about all this eventually."
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"Then you clearly don't know my dad." Fang scowls, "He's watching me like a hawk. He's not just going to let this drop."
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"We'll probably have to ask the shop teacher to use the classroom." I interject, cutting Trish off before she can start another argument. "Who's the shop teacher anyway?"
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"Mr. Delewski." Reed answers, much to my disappointment. Of course that slob would be the school shop teacher. Getting him to look up from his magazines would be hard enough, convincing him to do any kind of favor would be near impossible.
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The lunch bell rings before I can reply, startling everyone at the table. The four of us quickly stand up while shoveling down the remnants of our neglected lunches. Discarding our empty trays, we split up in the hall and head to our next classes. Science was next, so Fang and I walk together to Fernsworth's classroom.
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"Hey Anon," Fang stops me outside the door, "You mind coming with me to see Delewski after school? He might cave more easily if there's two of us."
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"Yeah, sure." I agree. I've already learned my lesson today about trying to deny her. I just don't have the willpower to compete with those pleading eyes.
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"Thanks dork." Fang pulls me into a tight hug, my face immediately burning up. It only lasts a moment, Fang must have remembered we're in a crowded hallway, so she quickly shoves me away and practically runs into the classroom. I take a moment to collect myself, painfully aware of the several students looking in my direction. Hopefully that won't start any rumors, but I know better than to expect otherwise.
​
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As the last bell rings for the day, I work my way against the river of students heading for the front doors. Finally squeezing past the last of the crowd, I head for Mr. Delewski's classroom. Hopefully he's actually still here, and didn't somehow leave campus before everyone else. Fang is waiting for me outside his door, leaning against the lockers. She nods towards the door as I walk up, opening it and heading in.
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It seems Mr. Delewski's desire to go home had been outweighed by his sheer laziness. He's already asleep at his desk, snoring loudly with a magazine draped over his face. Now that I think about it, maybe he just lives in here, eating in the cafeteria and showering in the gym. It honestly isn't that far-fetched.
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Fang clears her throat once, then twice, but Mr Delewski just keeps snoring. Realizing that something subtle won't work, Fang snatches the magazine from his face and immediately drops it in disgust. God, that damn thing looks a little crusty. Fang angrily wipes her hand on her jeans, debating her next move. She leans in to poke Delewski with her finger, hesitates for a moment, then jabs him hard in the shoulder.
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"Huh? Whazza-?" Mr Delewski sputters, jolting upright in his seat, "I swear I didn't- oh, it's just yous twos." He hastily brushes the crumbs off his chest and wipes off his face, pulling together at least a thin façade of professionalism. Delewski folds his hands on the desk, looking between the two of us suspiciously.
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"Now Anon," He begins, settling on me, "I thought I told you I don't do any of that whole 'extra credit' nonsense. If you want to pull your grade outta the trash barrel, you gotta put the work in. Or at least, you know, pass over at least three figures."
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An awkward silence hangs in the air as I try to figure out of he's serious.
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"Ha ha ha! I'm just yanking your chain here!" Delewski laughs nervously, sweat visible on his forehead, "Although if you were down for that, I would not be opposed. Moe will, and I say this literally, break my arms next week if I don't pay him."
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"No, uh... we just need a favor." I explain, trying not to think too much about what I just heard. I nudge Fang in the side, breaking her out of her stunned silence.
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"Yeah, right." Fang composes herself, "We need to use the shop class after school for Fernsworth's science project."
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"Uh huh, yeah. Sure you do." Delewski replies, already bored, "And uh... what does this have to do with me?"
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"You're...the shop teacher?" I awkwardly answer. Delewski just keeps staring at me, so I press on, "I think we need your permission or something?"
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"Yeah, you do." Delewski replies sternly, "And I don't feel like giving it, so there."
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"Why not?" Fang asks angrily, "I said it's for a school project!"
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"Because I am a respectable fauciltor of this educating institution." Delewski answers, "That means I don't just hand out my friggin' keys to anybody who asks!"
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"It's. for. a. project." Fang repeats, visibly losing her patience. I can see the feathers on her wings begin to puff out, she's close to snapping.
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"Come on, this is important." I plead, getting desperate. "What do we need to do for this to work?"
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"Anon, listen, I like ya. You're not a complete dumbass" Delewski replies, sounding almost sincere. "I get that you wanna sneak off with your, admittedly pretty hot, punk rock dino girlfriend here. More power to ya. Personally, I would not be willing to put my package within six inches of those little needle teeth. It looks like a meatball sub of pain. You're braver man than I am. Now I don't know what kinda freaky carpentry themed bdsm thing you two are into, and I don't judge you for that. You do you. That said, I can't afford to lose this job. Literally. So my answer is still no."
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I sputter in embarrassment, a thousand denials and protests jumbling over each other. I should insist Fang and I aren't together, but she's right here! I mean, it's not like we are dating, but should I instantly deny the accusation? Is that a good idea, a bad idea, or neither? How can a teacher say something like that anyway??
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"That means scram you two!" Mr Delewski stands up, pushing us out the door. "Go find some other place for your biology lesson. I have, uh... important literature to catch up on."
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The classroom door slams in my face, lock turning from the inside. I stare at the frosted glass, mentally struggling to get a sentence together.
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"What the fuck??" I shout. Yeah, that seems like a good one given the circumstances. "How the hell did he ever become a teacher?"
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"Don't ask me dweeb, maybe it's a quota thing." Fang answers. She seems somehow unperturbed by that disaster, but I notice she's pretty intently looking away from me. "Screw him anyway, let's get out of here."
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"Yeah, that was never going to work." I concede as Fang storms off. I trail behind at a distance, making sure to lock my gaze on the lockers instead of...anything else. "So where to now? Any other ideas?"
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"Let's go meet up with Reed and Trish." Fang answers, heading down the stairs into the school's lower level, "They should be waiting for us outside the shop."
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"You uh... planning on breaking in?" I ask. I don't know if Fang can pick locks, but I wouldn't put it past her. Lockpicking was one of those things I was mildly interested in for an afternoon, before I realized it was way more work than I thought. Fang though, I could see her really learning how.
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"No dork, we'll just use these." Fang replies, twirling a keychain merrily around her finger. She turns back and gives me a big cheeky grin, looking triumphant.
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"You stole his keys??" I sputter, surprised, "How the heck did you do that?"
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"I just swiped them off his desk when he wasn't looking." Fang smirks, tossing the keychain in the air and catching it, "I doubt he'll even notice until tomorrow, and he'll never admit he lost them. I'll just slide them back when we're done next week."
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I spot Reed and Trish waiting outside one of the few classrooms down on this level. Most of the doors in the school's lower level lead to janitorial closets, storerooms, or the cesspool of sweat and cheap deodorant known as the gym locker rooms. The lockers are old, rusted, and unused. The only classes that take place down here are those that barely have enough students to justify existing. Nobody comes down here unless they have a good reason, or they just don't want to be seen. Back in the corner is the shop class, tucked away where the sound of power tools won't disturb anyone. Not that there was really any risk of that to begin with. Reed is lounging against the door next to Trish, who is busy angrily tapping something into her phone.
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"Sup Fang?" Reed asks, capping his thermos and tossing it in his bag, "We all good?"
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"You know it." Fang grins, unlocking the door. The four of us head in, fanning out and inspecting the room. I flick on the the overhead fluorescent lights, which sputter to life and emit a low droning buzz as I look around. It looks just like the shop class from my old school. Cheap wooden tables are arranged around the center of the floor, all covered with scratches, paint splotches, and vulgar amateur carvings. The floor is crossed here and there by thick power cables, scotch taped to the linoleum. Against the walls are all the saws, drills, lathes, and other potential finger removal devices I would expect to find in a school shop class. The large cabinet in the corner must be full of hand tools, Fang and Trish are already rummaging through it and assembling a pile. Reed has his head buried in one of the low cabinets, tail swishing across the floor like a giant fluffy broom as he rummages around.
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"Hey, I found it!" Reed shouts from inside the cabinet. He pulls himself out, holding an abused soldering iron and a thick roll of silver wire. He drops the bundle on one of the tables, along with the various tools Fang and Trish gathered.
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"Right, so. Um..." Fang looks around uncertainly, the scale of the task starting to sink in, "I guess we better get started."
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"We still need parts, and a working wiring diagram." Reed points out, slipping back into his technical expertise. "I can look around my usual place for spare parts while you draft up a plan."
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"Yeah, we can do that!" Trish chimes in, suspiciously enthusiastic, "Anon can come with and help out while Fang and I work here."
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"Sure, no problem." I agree, gritting my teeth. Trish you duplicitous bitch, is there anything you won't do to get rid of me? I'll take the hit this time, since hanging out with Reed actually sounds alright, and this is supposed to be Fang's project. I can't just babysit her the entire time.
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"Sweet, let's go Anon!" Reed slaps my shoulder, heading back out into the hallway. I follow after him, stopping reluctantly for just a moment. I look back at Fang, who smiles and waves me off with a vague 'shoo' motion. She'll be fine, Fang can look after herself. I should really have more faith in her.
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I follow Reed outside and across the parking lot, toward what I can only assume is his car. If I had been forced to describe Reed's car before today, I would have been pretty much spot on. I can't tell where the rust ends and the faded red pain begins. No two tires match, the trunk is held closed by bungee cords, and the bumper looks like it's one speed-bump away from completely falling off. This thing was probably a junker when my dad was in high-school.
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Reed opens the door and jumps in, leaning over to the passenger seat and tossing a pile of empty cans behind him. I wrench the passenger door open, the rusted metal screeching in protest, and settle into the musty seat. At least the upholstery is mostly intact, more or less. Reed turns the key and the engine sputters to life, spewing acrid black smoke out the tailpipe. Before I can ask what happened to the missing seatbelt, Reed slams the gear into reverse and peels out, careening around the parking lot and flying onto the road.
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"So, Reed. Where are we going?" I ask, pushing myself off the door and climbing back into my seat. I hope this rolling scrapyard doesn't get us pulled over. Judging by the amount of glass audibly clinking together in the trunk, the police wouldn't just us off with a stern warning.
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"Just a little pawn shop down by the waterfront." Reed answers, popping an honest to god cassette tape into the radio. After fiddling with a few knobs, the familiar sound of Fang's band begins crackling through the abused speakers. At least it's one of their newer songs, or so I think anyway, it's hard to tell through all the popping and static. Bouncing over a pothole, a particularly loud creak of metal draws my attention down to my feet. I notice a small draft on my ankles, and as I look closer I glimpse speeding asphalt through a peephole in the floor.
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"Jesus man, do you have a raccoon living in here?" I ask, warily checking seats behind me. Who knows what's buried under all those soda cans, cannibalized speakers, and fast food bags.
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"No man, of course not." Reed laughs, swerving around a corner and bouncing over the curb. "Not since the possum moved in at least."
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Thirty harrowing minutes later Reed careens into an old, abused asphalt lot down in the waterfront district. I haven't been through this part of town before, but it reminds me a little too much of Skin Row. Too many boarded up windows, too much graffiti, and too many people warily looking over their shoulders. Most of the buildings are squat, utilitarian concrete structures, probably former warehouses and factories from back when the port was more active. Reed picks a random patch of asphalt to park on and kills the sputtering engine, climbing out and stretching his arms overhead. I try the broken handle on my own door a couple times, before resorting to just kicking the damn thing open. I doubt Reed minds the abuse, he doesn't say anything about it at least.
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"You said you've been here before, right?" I ask, trying not to look like a lost tourist. Normally I would be worried about leaving a car out here, but who in their right mind would steal this piece of junk?
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"Oh yeah, this is where I get all the stuff for our shows." Reed replies, leading the way toward one of the nearby buildings. I follow after him, determined to not get left alone out here. It doesn't look like a store or anything to me. There aren't any signs or windows, just some old weather-worn posters stuck to the walls. This honestly looks like the back door to me. Unperturbed, Reed strides up to the thick metal door and pulls it open, holding ajar for me to follow him inside. A pair of faint electronic pings signal whoever must own this place that we walked, and a feminine voice calls back from further inside the building, "Hey! Who just came in through there?"
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"It's me!" Reed shouts back, "Just need to pick up some stuff, be out in a sec!" Reed must really come here often if the owner recognizes his voice. Surely that means I can afford to relax, if only a little bit. I follow Reed deeper into the building, squeezing past crowded metal shelves stacked with old cardboard boxes containing who knows what. The yellow tinted fluorescent lights overhead add to the stuffy atmosphere, the air thick with the swirling scents of mold, oil, and cigarette smoke. This place looks like the backroom of a warehouse, or some hoarder's basement. l I don't know how anyone is supposed to find anything in here, but Reed seems to know where he's going.
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"What are we looking for exactly?" I ask, peering into one of the nearby boxes. Just looks like a pile of mismatched scrap metal to me, I have no idea what any of it's for.
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"Like I said, guitar electronics." Reed answers, rummaging through several boxes on a low shelf. "Pickups, potentiometers, capacitors, not to mention spare wiring. Plus jacks, knobs,-"
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"Right, yeah." I interrupt, squatting down and trying to look over his shoulder, "I don't know what any of that looks like, how am I supposed to help?"
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"Check that shelf." Reed points across the room, past a pile of faded magazines stacked against the wall. "There should be some junked instruments over there, I'll see what we can rip out."
​
​
The next couple hours pass by quickly as Reed and I fall into a rhythm. I rummage through the boxes Reed mentioned, pulling out scraps of old busted guitars and other electronic instruments. Once I have a decent pile, I haul them over to Reed for inspection. Most of them he dismisses as useless, but several are in decent enough shape for salvage. Once we've got enough to work on, Reed shows me how to get the cases open and dismantle the interior electronics. We have to go rummaging for tools we could use, but luckily Reed knows where to find those as well. Once he shows me how to do the first couple, I start working on several myself. Slowly I learn how to differentiate the more generic pieces we're looking for, and Reed moves on to look for more particular things. I'm starting to get more of an appreciation for everything Reed does for Fang's band. How many hours has he spent rummaging around back here, disassembling and reconstructing all the equipment they use for a show? Do Trish and Fang even know how much effort he's putting into this? It's clear he's entirely self taught, which is damn impressive.
​
Eventually we have an entire milk crate filled with scrap electronics and mismatched guitar parts. I stand up, cracking my sore back, and grab our box of salvage. Following Reed through the labyrinth of shelves, we head to what I assume is the front of the shop. Things up here actually look a little more presentable, at least by comparison. There's room to walk, and some of the "finer" products for sale are actually on display. This place is definitely some kind of pawn shop, or maybe an antique store. I actually spot some old retro SNES games locked up in a glass case, but I know we don't have the time to just browse. Maybe I can come back another time with Reed.
​
I drop the milk crate on the counter and get my first look at the cashier. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that is Reed. If Reed was a girl anyway. She has the same pink scales, fluffy mane, and laid back sense of style. She leans over the glass countertop, obscuring the display of mall-ninja cutlery, and gives me a friendly smile.
​
"Hey, you must be Anon right? Name's Reeda." She introduces herself, her tied off tank-top not leaving much to the imagination. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she's Reed's sister, which explains how she's so familiar with him. The resemblance is uncanny, except for the longer mane and the stunningly feminine figure. Those half-lidded eyes are starting to make me a little nervous, but she seems friendly enough. Perhaps too friendly, she's even twirling her hair around her finger.
​
"Hey sis." Reed interjects, literally stepping between me and the counter. He slides the milk crate over, slapping the rim. "Just some junk parts from out back. What do you think, twenty bucks?"
​
"That's big sis to you." Reeda smirks, looking over the crate and rummaging through the pile. She takes a closer look at some of the larger parts, tossing them back into the crate. "Yeah, twenty sounds about right. Let me guess, tell Dad to take it out of this week's pay?"
​
"Five minutes doesn't make you my 'big sis' Reeda." Reed retorts, pulling out his wallet. He flips through some tattered bills, counting them over a couple times, before putting the wallet back in his pocket with a sigh. "Yeah, tell Dad to just take off my next check."
​
"No problem." Reeda rolls her eyes, punching something into the old register and slamming the drawer back shut. Reed grabs the crate and heads off immediately, and after an awkward pause I follow him back into the storage room.
​
"See you at home Reed!" Reeda calls after him as Reed shoulders the back door open. We step out into the cool evening air, the sun already dipping far lower than I expected. Reed wrenches the back car door open and pushes the crate inside, shoving old soda cans and an amplifier out of the way. I pry my own door open and climb inside as Reed drops into the driver's seat. Reed fishes out his keys and sticks them in the ignition but stops, one hand still on the steering wheel.
​
He turns to look at me, his expression cold and serious. That far-off disinterested look in his eyes is gone, replaced by an interrogating intensity. I swallow down a lump in my throat, staring back at him. Somehow, I can't bring myself to look away, no matter how much I want to.
​
"So, Anon." Reed begins, staring into my very soul, "What do you think of my sister?"
​
My mouth feels like it's made of leather, and I nervously swallow again. I can tell giving Reed the wrong answer here will bring terrible consequences. Is he the overprotective brother type? Is that why I never heard anything about Reeda before? Should I answer honestly, tell him I'm not interested? I had only recently come to terms with my feelings for Fang, and that took some work. I'm not going to jump at his sister after just one meeting. I can't just blow her off though, she's still family. I'm going to have to walk a fine line here.
​
"She seems...friendly?" I reply, instantly regretting my choice of words. Oh god, that can be construed in all the wrong ways. I can see Reed's eyes narrow, the leather steering wheel creaking under his grip. Backpedal Anon, backpedal!
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"I just mean, she looks laid back. Chill." I hastily continue, instinctively leaning toward the door, "I definitely see the family resemblance. Twins, right?"
​
"Yeah, twins." Reed finally turns the ignition, reversing out of the parking spot and skidding across the asphalt lot. He stops an the curb, turning to face me one more time. "So, are you going to ask if she's single?"
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"No..?" I awkwardly answer, "Why would I?"
​
Reed shrugs, bouncing over the sidewalk and peeling out into the street. I push myself off the door again and settle back into my seat, bracing my feet against floor. Reed turns on the abused stereo while I crank down the window, letting the salty seaside air blow through the cab as we head back up into the bluffs.
​
​
The sun has nearly set by the time we swerve back into the Volcano High parking lot. We had made a slight detour to grab some greasy fast food along the way, the soggy paper sacks bunched up between my feet. Reed grabs the milk crate while I gather up the food, sneaking a couple fries from Trish's bag. Luckily the basement door is still unlocked, possibly for whatever sports teams are still practicing this late. The building has a strangely eerie feel to it with all the lights off, your footsteps echoing down the deserted hallway. At least there's still some light spilling out from behind the shop classroom door.
​
As Reed and I push the door open and head in, I spot Trish and Fang at the table right where we had left them. Trish and Fang are watching something intently on Trish's phone, laughing and talking animatedly. I can hear rock music coming from the speakers as Fang looks up, quickly turning off the phone. Her eyes dart to the darkening sky out the widow and back to me, her smile turning forced and guilty.
​
"Hey guys. Get anything good?" She asks, eyeing the box of scrap parts Reed drops on the table. I cross my arms, pointedly looking at the backpack lying right where Fang had tossed it hours ago. I don't see any notes, textbooks, or even a pencil. Fang at least has the decency to look sheepish, Trish just seems indignant and put-off.
​
"Yeah, so uh..." Fang trails off, scratching the back of her head, "Trish and I decided to take a quick break after you left, and I guess we accidentally got a little distracted..."
​
Yeah right, I'd bet my last dollar Trish knew exactly what she was doing. I roll my eyes, tossing Fang and Trish each a bag of cheap fast food. I hand the last bag to Reed, who also seems content to glare in silent judgement at the two girls. Even he must know the indignity of working for hours just to find your 'partners' goofing off.
​
"Oh just relax you two." Trish scoffs, biting into her veggie burger, "Fang's still got plenty of time. Besides, we were doing important band research."
​
"Alright, if you say so Trish." Reed sighs, grabbing his thermos and popping off the lid. "It's no biggie." I try to mask my disappointment the best I can as he takes a deep swig. I can't believe Reed just rolled over that easily! Surely he knows how important this project is to Fang, the whole band is at stake after all. How am I more invested in this than he is?
​
"Hey Anon, look. I'm sorry, okay?" Fang apologizes, clearing noticing how I really feel, "I know you don't have to help me with this. I'll stay focused from now on, alright?"
​
"You better." I retort, fishing out my own burger and taking a seat, "If you don't, I'll stop letting you crib off my science homework every morning."
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"You hardass." Fang smiles, leaning over to steal some of my fries. I slap her hand away, turning to ignore her theatrical pouting.
​
"How about this?" Fang continues between bites, "While Reed shows me how to use that soldering iron, could you and Trish pick up some books from the library for me?"
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"Oh c'mon, why can't he get them himself?" Trish instantly complains, glaring at me as if this was somehow my idea. "I can still help out here."
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"You're just going to be looking over my shoulder the whole time." Fang insists, "I think you'll survive ten minutes alone with Anon."
​
"Yeah, but he won't..." Trish angrily grumbles, taking another bite of her burger. I know she meant for me to hear that. I'm not looking forward to this either, but now I can't back out or I'm the coward. Part of me wonders if Fang is intentionally getting Trish out of here, knowing she's going to be a distraction.
​
"Alright fine," Trish concedes, balling up her wrapper and tossing it into the trash, "Lets get this over with monkey boy."
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"After you, horn-head." I reply, standing up. Trish mumbles something vaguely threatening and stomps off and I leisurely follow after her, leaving Reed to whatever technical lessons he plans on giving. Trish and I head upstairs to the main level. The library is adjoined to the central hub of the school, right in the center of the building. The lights are all off inside, and unsurprisingly the door refuses to budge when I pull it.
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"It's locked, dumbass." Trish states the obvious, shouldering me out of the way. She pulls out her school I.D., sliding between the doors. After a bit of fidgeting and a satisfying click she pulls the doors open, looking smug.
​
"I could have done that..." I mutter, edging past her and walking inside. The hallways seemed creepy earlier, but the deserted library is way worse. Between the ominous dark aisles and eerie silence, this is the perfect setting for a cheesy slasher fic.
​
"So, what are we looking for exactly?" Trish asks as we both pull out our phones, using the screens as makeshift flashlights. She already sounds bored with this, and probably would have gone back already if I wasn't here.
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"I don't know, something to help with the essay." I answer, scanning the label on the nearest aisle, "Maybe a textbook on electronics, or soundwaves, anything really."
​
The two of us work our way up and down the shelves of books, reading the spines by the light of our phones. The room seems so much larger in the dark, the carpeted floor muffling any echoes or noise. The silence is oppressive, made all the worse by the simmering animosity between Trish and I. Normally I would have just asked the librarian where to look, but obviously that isn't an option. Although, that thought does bring up an important detail.
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"Crap, how are we supposed to check these out?" I ask, pulling an old electronics textbook off the shelf. I honestly don't know if it will be much help, but I feel like I need to start with something.
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"Just take them, who cares?" Trish shrugs, looking over a cover and shoving it back into place, "We'll bring them back eventually anyway." At first I want to object, but once I think about it she's probably right. It's not like anyone will know we were in here, and we're going to return the books eventually anyway. At worst, we'd just cause the librarian some confusion. It's not like many students even use this place anyway.
​
Slowly, the stack of books in my arms grows taller as the minutes pass by. I'm honestly not sure if even half of these will really be helpful, but I feel like I need to at least grab something. Trish doesn't seem to share that sentiment. She's yet to pick out anything, rejecting book after book with visibly growing frustration.
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"This is such a waste of time." Trish grumbles, slamming another book back onto the shelf, her tail swinging angrily behind her.
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"Why not go check the music section?" I reply, firmly aware she meant more than just this book search.
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"You know what I mean, skinnie." Trish snaps back, not even bothering to lace the insult with a façade of friendliness. "Fang doesn't need this stupid project, she needs to keep practicing. Why are you even here?"
​
"Fang asked me for help." I answer as frustratingly literal as possible. I'm not sure where Trish's deep seated animosity comes from, but it's definitely easy to piss her off. I can practically hear her teeth grating from here.
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"She doesn't need your help." Trish retorts, turning to glare at me. Even with the faint light, I can see her fists balled at her sides as she stares me down.
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"Does she need yours?" I ask, the words popping out of my mouth before I can think. I don't know where that came from, but it seems to have worked. Trish rocks back, stunned out of her anger. Several emotions flash across her face; shock, outrage, shame, then finally indignation. Her mouth gapes like a fish as she tries and fails to formulate a response, finally storming off without a word.
​
I let her go, turning back to searching the shelves. I won't give her the satisfaction of chasing after her, and it gives me time to bask in my triumph. It's rare that I render Trish completely speechless after our verbal spats, and I want to savor the moment. Truthfully, I intended to call it quits and head back soon anyway, but I'll let Trish stew for a couple minutes longer.
​
Once I figure she's had enough time to simmer down, I head off to look for Trish. It's not hard to spot the glow of her phone in the dark, all the way over at the far end of the library. She stands up as I walk towards her, a couple thin books held in her arms. Without a word she shoves them onto my pile, shouldering past me and heading back into the hallway. Grabbing the top book, I can just barely read cover; 'The Science of Electrical Instruments'. Huh, how about that.
​
After Trish and I drop off the books we collected with Fang, the whole group spent the next several hours helping Fang out with her project. Reed continues teaching Fang the finer point of soldering iron etiquette, Fang only managing to singe her feathers once. Trish and I pour through the textbooks, earmarking chapters that look at least hallways relevant to the project. As I suspected, most of what I had picked out is nearly useless, but the couple Trish found turn out to be perfect sources. We don't go so far as to read through everything entirely or start taking notes, this is supposed to be Fang's project after all.
​
Eventually I'm forced to call it quits. Walking home through Skin Row is dangerous enough as it is, but if it gets any later it will be just plain stupid. Everyone else takes the opportunity to head home themselves, gathering up their things and waving goodbye. I grab the books we didn't end up using, deciding I might as well return them tonight.
​
After I nearly fill the book return slot, I head back through to pitch black halls to the front door. There was barely enough light to see earlier, but now I'm forced to use my phone as a flashlight again. This place really is perfect for some kind of shitty Doom wad, or a low budget horror flick. There's got to be some kind of school film club, they've probably already made one. As I pass the cafeteria however, something catches my eye. It looks like there a light on inside, and I can just barely hear some kind of strange noise.
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I should just go home before it gets any later, but I can't help but be curious. Who the heck would be in the cafeteria this late at night? I step inside, noticing the light is actually coming from behind the kitchen door. I should just pretend I didn't see anything, put this out of my mind, but I'm compelled to look. This is how the first guy dies in every horror movie, I know that. I'll just take a quick peek and get out of here.
​
I gently push the door open, craning my neck to look around the corner. The light is coming from a large battered microwave, a cup of instant noodles slowly turning inside. Standing in front of it is none other than Mr Delewski, wearing nothing but some boxers and a tattered tank-top. He's air-drumming, waving his arms and bobbing his head as he loudly hums some horrendously mangled beat. Oh sweet Raptor Jesus, that fat bastard really does live here. I should turn around and get out of here before he notices, but I can't look away. I'm captured by morbid curiosity, like a driver passing a horrible car wreck on the highway.
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Mr. Delewski stops, some instinctive part of his brain warning him that's he's being watched. With mounting horror I watch as he slowly turns, looking me straight in the eye. We stare at each other without a word, the room silent except for the gentle hum of the microwave. An unspoken understanding passes between us, the way it only can between two men who precisely understand each other. Nobody moves as the microwave beeps, the timer finally finished counting down.
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"You, uh..." Delewski begins, breaking the silence, "You won't tell noone about this, will ya?"
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"Bump my grade up to a 'C', and we're good." I reply, impulsively deciding to take my chance.
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"You're a good man Anon." Mr Delewski nods as I slowly back out of the doorway, "You's a good man."
​
​
​
Fang works tirelessly as the week drags on, staying up well into the night. She nods off constantly, jolting awake every time I nudge her desk when a teacher looks her way. During lunch she either has her face buried in a book, or is talking Reed's ears off with questions. Trish continues to stew in her frustration, but at least she doesn't try to badger Fang about the project anymore. Not that she can do much about it anyway, Ripley was true to his word. Fang is banned from band practice unless she gets a passing grade, her guitar locked up tight and out of her reach.
​
I want to help out, to ease the burden off her shoulders, but I hold myself back. Besides the fact that this is supposed to be an individual project, it's refreshing to see her so invested in something. Somewhere along the line, this endeavor switched from being an obligation to becoming a passion. Fang's eyes are alive as they pour over wiring schematics and soldering instructions. I can see her lost in thought during class, quietly mumbling to herself as she twirls a pencil around her fingers. She's doing this now because she wants to see if she can, to see what she's capable of. I can't compromise that.
​
After a nice long weekend of sleeping in, trolling forums, and playing xrox, it's time for school again. Yawning as I walk up the front steps, I meet Fang and the gang at the school doors. Fang has her familar guitar case with her again, but I know it must contain her pet project. It's pretty adorable how protective she is of it, holding it tight as she warily looks out for anything that could threaten it.
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"Hey Fang, you got it done?" I point to the guitar case, asking more as a formality than anything else.
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"Yeah, I think so." Fang drums her fingers across the case, looking apprehensive. "It was working okay last night when I checked it. It should still be fine, as long as nothing bumped lose on the ride over here. I could pop the case open and check before class-"
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"Fang, you gotta chill." Reed drapes an arm over Fang's shoulder, leaning into her and nearly pushing her over. Fang rolls her eyes and squirms free, shoving Reed away as he grins. "It'll be fine. I checked over everything with you yesterday, remember? You're good to go girl."
​
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Fang sighs, soothing her nerves. The group splits up as we head to our lockers, Fang and I heading down the same hallway. I can see her wings still are uncomfortably tensed. She must really be nervous about this. It's not hard to guess why, she really poured her all into this project. If Dr. Fernsworth tears it apart right in front of her, that would be devastating.
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"Hey, Anon?" Fang tugs on my sleeve as I head off to class. She tries to look aloof, but I can tell she's apprehensive about something. "You mind coming with me to the presentation? I need somebody to help carry Reed's amp."
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"Yeah, sure." I agree, seeing right through her act. She could have easily asked Reed earlier if she only needed a tech jockey. We fistbump and part ways, heading off to our first classes for the day.
​
​
​
The time to submit the projects is during lunch break, so rather than go to the cafeteria I head outside to the parking lot. Reed tossed me his keys earlier in the day so I could grab an old amplifier out of the trunk for the presentation. After prying the mangled hood open and making sure the possum isn't inside, I grab the handheld amp and head back to Fernsworth's classroom. The amp looks like something straight out of the 80s, sided with fake wood paneling and a crosshatch speaker cover. It's probably another one of Reed's restoration projects.
​
Stepping into Fernsworth's classroom, it looks like about five other students besides Fang took up Fernsworth's offer for extra credit. Everyone looks nervous, suddenly anxious their work won't be up to his stringent standards. One student appears to have built some kind of electrical device, probably a radio if I had to guess. Another built some kind of model airplane, it doesn't look like it came from a kit at least. A very bored looking stegosaur is seriously submitting a model solar system that belongs better at a first grade science fair. That poor soul.
​
Fang is leaning against the back wall with her guitar case, waving me over. Dropping the amp next to Fang's feet, I take up position beside her against the wall. Fang gives me a small "Sup?" in greeting, crossing her arms over her stomach. I match her posture, mimicking all her little mannerisms and actions as we wait, trying not to smirk. Fang catches on eventually, elbowing me in the side as she snickers.
​
"Alright, settle down everyone." Dr. Fernsworth unnecessarily announces as he walks in, it's not like anyone is really talking. He shuffles over to his desk, adjusting his comically thick glasses as he takes a seat. "Now then, who would like to go first?" Nobody volunteers, everyone warily eyeing the room hoping someone else will go first.
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"Well let's just go in alphabetical order then." Fernsworth looks over the group, stopping on Fang and I in the back. "Fang, why don't you go first then?"
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"Fine." Fang stand up, grabbing her guitar case. She marches confidently to Fernsworth's desk and unlatches the case, pulling out her homemade guitar. I follow her up, standing to the side of the room where I can still get a good view. It's the first time I've ever seen Fang's guitar, and I wasn't sure what to expect. The whole assembly has a improvised and macgyvered look to it. I recognize the different parts Reed and I scrounged up in the pawn shop, now all assembled into a complete guitar with strangely mismatched colors and materials. It looks sturdy enough, but I can see where Fang made mistakes putting it together; a little too much glue here, a small spiderweb of cracks there.
​
"Okay, so... for my project I constructed an electric guitar from spare parts." Fang begins, pulling out the essay from her backpack and sliding it over. "In my paper, I go over how each of the individual components works and how they all come together to make the guitar, um... work."
​
Fang flips over the guitar, spinning a few loose screws and removing the back cover to reveal the interior. It's a mess of wires and electrical bits I barely recognize, the whole thing just a tangled rat's nest to me. Fernsworth flips through Fang's essay, glancing between the paper and the guitar as he skims the pages. Fang goes on to explain the internal wiring, the jargon and terminology flying entirely over my head. Fernsworth only hmms and hums as Fang continues, stumbling over her words occasionally. She's normally so confident performing in front of a crowd, but here she's out of her element. As Fang trails off, running out of things to say, Fernsworth finally starts asking questions. Once again, I'm stumped as to what he's talking about, but I can tell he knows what to ask. He probably already has the answers, but he's really testing Fang to see if she did the research herself. Fang is holding her own so far, but I can tell her nerves are fraying.
​
"Alright then Fang, just two more questions." Fernsworth adjusts his glasses, "First, did Anon help you with this project?" Fang hesitates, internally weighing her options. If she admits that not just I, but Trish and Reed all helped out on this project Fernsworth might just reject it outright. On the other hand, she can't just deny it entirely. Tagging along with Fang today may have been a mistake, I've already essentially admitted my involvement. Anything I could say would only undermine her, so I'm forced to keep my mouth shut and wait for Fang's answer.
​
"Yeah, Anon helped out a bit." Fang confesses, her tone growing defensive, "Just at the start though, I did all of this myself."
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"Yes, yes, I'm sure" Fernsworth holds his hands up, trying to mollify Fang before she gets going. " I suppose I never said you couldn't have any help. Second question then, does it work?"
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Fang snatches the audio cable from the amp, slotting it into the guitar as she slings the strap over her shoulders. The amp pops and crackles as I plug it into the wall, a low electric hum filling the classroom. The other students are paying more attention now, some of them whispering warnings to each other and scooting away from the speaker. Fang doesn't notice, or at least she doesn't care. Fang was nervous before with an academic prsentation, but now she's back on her home turf.
​
Her fingers sweep over the strings, a clear melodic chord singing across the room. The student's whispers are silenced as the notes echo for a few moments, but Fang isn't satisfied yet. Her fingers dance up and down the neck of her guitar as she improvises a melody, simple yet full of emotion. Everything Fang put into this project comes flowing out in her song. Her doubts, her determination, her hopes, I can hear them all. It's not the most elegant melody, but it's hard to disparage her enthusiasm. Fang's song slowly comes to a natural end, her expression relaxed and sincere. She bolts upright as the amp crackles as if she was lost in a trance, unslinging the guitar and returning it to the case.
​
"Well Fang, that was very impressive!" Fernsworth claps, his wrinkled face splitting into an uncharacteristic grin.
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"Good enough for an 'A'?" Fang asks hopefully, leaning forward and hanging onto his next words.
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"Oh my, no..." Fernsworth waves dismissively, Fang's face falling in an instant. My heart drops as I stammer out an incoherent protest. Fang has worked so hard for this, and it turned out perfectly! That isn't fair!
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"Although, I don't think a 'B' wouldn't be out of the question." Fernsworth continues with a sly smirk, "Extra credit can only go so far after all." Oh, that cocky little bastard. I want to step forward and throttle his gross baggy neck, but Fang pulls me away by the arm before I can act on it. I just barely hear Fernsworth call for the next presentation before Fang drags me out the door, clearly eager to get out of there. Once we're out in the empty hallway Fang throws her arms around my neck with a squeal of delight, her weight nearly sending both of us stumbling down onto the floor. I reflexively wrap my arms around her back for balance, my face burning up as I realize what's happening. We stumble around in an awkward dance as we both try to catch our balance, Fang flapping her wings and laughing all the while. Mercifully she lets me go before I completely embarrass myself, her mood far too good to notice anything amiss.
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"Yes! I did it! I got a 'B'!" Fang beams, pumping her fists in the air while bouncing from foot to foot. My heart swells seeing her this happy, her smile totally infectious. That late night spent working in the basement was definitely worth it, just to see her this happy.
​
"Congratulation champ, I knew you had it in you." I tease, laying it on thick. Fang playfully punches me in the shoulder, still giddy with excitement. I point to the guitar case Fang still has slung over her back, "So, what are you going to do with that?"
​
Fang swings the case around and opens it, running her fingers over the chipped wood surface inside. Her excitable mood is gone quickly as she falls deep into thought. I don't think she has actually considered what do with it after today, she was probably too wrapped up in making it first. It performed well enough back in the classroom, but even I can tell it's far from the quality of her own guitar, which already has a spare. Fang gently plucks the inert metallic strings, lost in thought.
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"Do you want it?" She suddenly asks, looking seriously at me. This isn't what I was expecting, the question stuns me. I don't know what to say, she clearly isn't kidding. Fang removes the guitar from it's case, placing it in my upturned hands. I feel the unfamiliar weight in my palms, unsure if I can really accept.
​
"I've already got two guitars at home, I don't need a third." Fang explains, noticing my reluctance. She lifts the strap up and over my neck, standing back to admire how it looks on me. "Besides, this way you can practice at home. You're up for more lessons, right dork?"
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My fingers run up the neck of the guitar, tracing all the little flaws and imperfections. I look over all the mismatched parts, the clashing colors, and the worn-out roughened exterior. It's a perfect fit for me, I'm forced to admit. Fang poured her soul into making this, and now she wants me to have it. I can already tell this is going to be one of my most treasured possessions.
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"Yeah," I smile, matching her grin and slinging the guitar over my shoulder, "That sounds good to me."