(3) Dolce

"Seriously?! You ran into the Octavia Melody?"

Did I forget to mention a certain someone? I may be unable to hear the sound of the cello, nor can I pursue classical music as a profession anymore, but that doesn't mean I'm a loner.

"Duuuude, what is wrong with you?" A girl with shocking blue hair and a lazily strewn together outfit of a tank-top and shorts yelled almost drunkenly as she sunk further into my chair. As usual, we were lounging about in my room — a common after-school affair between friends. "You didn't get her number or anything? For reals?!"

This obnoxious girl is known as Alexis Capella. She sometimes prefers to go by her "stage name," though - Vinyl Scratch that is. Don't ask me where she got that idea from. Apparently she believes "Alexis" is too posh for her, but that "Alex" is too boyish for her tastes. Yet another thing we can never quite see eye to eye with, especially when Alex is just plain easier to say.

One look at her and you know she's not the quiet, meek, "good girl" type - not just her dyed hair, but her wildly punk sense of fashion, an attitude that I've never seen on even the most seasoned musicians, and more energy than I've seen in even the most hyperactive puppy. Still, she has a heart of gold. You just might need to wipe away some grime to get there.

I know it better than anyone, having been friends with her before and after the incident. I have her to thank for getting me through some difficult years. On top of that, she gives me something to do in my spare time— seeing as she's all about the aspiring DJ life, I offer help with her music production and do some backstage stuff whenever she has an event. I still remember how most music is structured after all, even if EDM isn't really my thing. Alexis isn't always the most receptive to my feedback, but no doubt she has me to thank for some of her tracks hitting some high numbers on the internet.

How we met? I'll save that for another time.

She was obviously upset with me today for no reason, as usual. Still, I was grateful to have her company over the summer break. At the very least, this would fill in the gaps between helping Uncle out at the store.

I sighed, cracking open a can of soda while tossing her a spare. "What kind of chauvinist do you think I am to ask for someone's number the first time I meet them?"

She shot me a look as she deftly caught it between her feet (I was almost kind of impressed by that before realizing her athleticism puts her on par with your average zoo monkey). "You know that's not what I mean dude! How do you not know Octavia Melody? I mean, you of all people!"

Speaking of getting to know people, I was apparently about to get the full run down on this Octavia character. It had been a few hours since I ran into her at the park, and although I only mentioned it briefly to Alexis, this was the reaction I got.

"What's the big deal? It's not like the conversation really went anywhere after that. All that happened was..."

"O- Octavia. Right. I'll try not to forget... again."

Looking satisfied, she took a step back and turned away.

Weird. She talked like we knew each other from somewhere, when frankly, I had no idea who this girl was nor where we could have possibly met. My memories of my childhood were a little fuzzy, but I definitely would have remembered a person who had her looks or personality.

"And you?"

The sudden question surprised me.

"Me? Oh, uh..."

I cleared my throat, trying to match her flow. "Asher. Asher Winterfield."

She chuckled. "Which superhero is that?"

I smiled in spite of myself. "If trash cans can become superheroes, then it's just me."

We started walking as we talked, somehow. Though a little awkward at first, unsure of whether my presence was wanted or not, I naturally felt myself easing into it. She was easy to talk to somehow, and over very little things like the weather or which flowers were in season.

I asked the most burning question on my mind.

"Earlier..." She perked up, apparently surprised that I was initiating the conversation. "That was Bach's Prelude, right?"

The inquiry seemed to tickle her fancy somehow as her smile became—was it just my imagination?— a little mischievous.

"And how could you tell?"

Feeling a bit blindsided by the question that seemed obvious to me, I opened my mouth to reply—

But realized my answer would be wrong. I was not a cellist, nor was I a musician. Not anymore.

"I.. just recognized it. Heard it on the radio, you know."

"Ashy, come over here and take a look at this."

Urgh. I wish she'd stop calling me that. I even respect her dumb stage name, so why is she incapable of showing a fraction of that courtesy towards me?

"Look at what?" I sighed, getting off my bed and walking over to the blue-haired girl, now using my computer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"This." She pulled up a news site and shoved the monitor in my direction. I leaned in to get a better look.

There she was. The girl from the garden, Octavia Melody. Her picture on full display in a bold red dress, with the headline:

Finalists Announced for the 2018 Ekuestrya International Music Competition.

I whistled. That was an event you definitely knew regardless of whether you were a classical musician, a DJ, or even an average Joe. It was a multi-faceted type of festival that celebrated the best performers of all genres of music, though I only ever remember being involved in the classical music section of the competition. Alexis sent in a few of her songs for auditioning every few years, but had diminishing returns with nearly all of them. That was the kind of challenge you faced trying to achieve first place in such a prestigious competition — the steepest there is. There was the prize money and the free overseas tour to shoot for, but nothing was worth more than your name on that gold medal at the award ceremony and the fame that came with it.

I know that as well as anyone else. After all, there's Ekuestrya 1st Place medals from 2009 to 2012 collecting dust in my closet right this moment.

But, there she was, standing on a red carpet next to about a dozen other faces. Octavia, with a cello in hand, standing with a stiff pose and an equally stiff face — quite the contrast to the individual I met this afternoon. She looked more like a statue in that photo than a person.

"She's a freakin' celebrity dude! And check out that bod..." Alexis giggled as she lecherously ogled my computer screen.

I sighed, flicking the rambunctious girl square in the forehead with my fingers, making her yelp. "Easy. I don't think you're her type."

"Uuugh..." She whined as she massaged her forehead. "Yeah? What makes you so sure, loverboy?"

I sighed and stared at the ceiling, trying to best think of a way to put it...

"W- Woah!"

In a supremely embarrassing act of idiocy, my foot got caught on an upturned brick on the path, and I nearly found myself tumbling into a nearby rosebush when—

I felt her hand on mine, pulling me back. Close shave.

"You're quite stiff, aren't you?" She commented, apparently not too phased by my slip-up.

"Er..." I could feel my face flush. "I'm... sorry?"

She gave me a look. "Why are you apologizing? Do you do that all the time?"

How was she so good at this? Putting on pressure?

"I'm s—" Oops.

"Well," I recovered quickly, not wanting to get pushed back, "what should I be saying then?"

She sighed. "Rather than 'sorry,' how about 'thank you'?" She put her hands on her hips. "And I don't mean just for times like this. I mean for everything else in life. Thank you's are always better than Sorry's."

I was completely blindsided both by her words and the sudden change in temperament, but ended up nodding in agreement. "Alright then. Thank you, Octavia."

After a tense moment, the black-haired girl dropped the hardened look and smiled. "Good. That's how you should be."

I made a weird face as I recalled the words she said from that afternoon. Basically...

"She just didn't seem like a rocker, okay? And I don't think she goes to raves either, or big parties, or anything like that..."

Alexis made a face at me. "You sure are well informed, huh? Did I even need to tell you about her?"

I stopped, surprised by my own words. Why was I talking like I knew her?

"N— no. But classical musicians generally stick to their craft." I shot the blue-haired girl a look back. "I would know, wouldn't I?"

She stuck her tongue out at me and rolled out of my chair lazily. Alexis was a free spirit all right.

I sighed and picked her up off the ground like litter. "You're gonna get dirty like that. Get onto my bed at least."

"Wh—!?"

Her eyes became wide as saucers and she yelped and swatted at me. "D—don't say it like that, freak!" Was there some red on her cheeks?

So she is a girl after all. I definitely had my doubts before. The sheer thought of it got a chuckle out of me.

"A perv like you..."

Suddenly, I found myself getting— powerslammed?!

"..deserves some punishment!"

My field of vision suddenly took a wild, stomach-churning twist as I found myself landing on my bed with my back, and hard. On top of being rambunctious, this girl also had some monstrous strength when she got serious...

And before I knew it, Alexis positioned herself on top of me. All routes of escape blocked off.

"How's that, huh?" She said triumphantly, literally flexing on me. Her face was still red, but with excitement.

"I give, I give." I reply weakly, a smile on my face despite the circumstances. "You know I can't win against you."

"Hehe!" She had a big, dumb grin on her face— the same one I had seen countless times in my life, one of the few things I still treasured. Her crimson red eyes and infectious joy pierced me, straight into my heart. "You know it!"

"Still though..." She dropped the act and fell against my chest (to which I replied, "oof" as her weight knocked a bit of wind out of me).

"What do you think brought a big shot like Miss Melody to our quaint little town, huh?"

I stared at the ceiling, my head spinning with the same question as I felt her chest slowly rise and fall in rhythm with mine.

"So you are a musician."

I stopped in my tracks while she kept walking. An unpleasant feeling washed over me, and my feet felt planted to the brick path.

"A string player, to be exact." She spoke as if to drive the point further.

"That's not..." A drop of sweat rolled down the side of my face. "How can you tell?"

Octavia stopped a few paces ahead of me and looked back, looking confused that I even had to ask.

"Your left hand." She held up her own to prove the point. "Your fingertips are very rigid. That's how I knew."

Then, earlier, when she saved me from falling over—

"...That's dirty." For the first time, I felt some irritation. I knew it was displaced, there was no way she could have tripped me on intention, and I'm not sure why I was feeling any negativity in the first place, but for her to expose something I hadn't openly stated about myself...

Octavia's mouth formed a smile, but her eyes looked directly at me. "What is?"

I defiantly held her gaze for a moment before dropping it. What was wrong with me? I wasn't seriously about to have a go of it with a girl I just met, was I? No, it was her fault. For making it seem like we met somewhere before. For making it seem like this was natural. Like we were meant to be talking like this on this day, in this moment, in this place. Like it was fate.

"Don't be sour, Asher. I don't point it out to spite you."

While my head was clouded with thoughts, I found my hands in her's once more. Barely having any time to react, I only looked up at her.

"You know..."

Octavia spoke so quietly that it was almost a whisper. There was no one around us, so there wasn't any need... it was as if she was telling me a secret that only the two of us could know. Her face being so close again, I could make out her features better. Long, beautiful eyelashes complimented her deep lavender eyes. She gazed with an emotion I couldn't quite place in her eyes at my hands.

"These hands." She spoke while rubbing the tip of my index finger with her's. "They've worked hard. They have so much passion and warmth. They're the hands of someone who knows their purpose. And I..."

She squeezed slightly as she looked up to meet my gaze.

"I love them."

And when I saw the look on her face, those long eyelashes, those piercing eyes and soft lips... and feeling the gentle breeze of that perfect day on my skin, bathed in the colors of that garden we stood in...

Six years ago, I learned how cruel spring could be.

But today, spring tastes bittersweet.

Author's Note

Dolce: To be performed sweetly or delicately.