Isabelle didn't show up for dinner that evening. Jeremy sat at the table, but all he did was play with his fork without saying a word.

The judge and Spaghetti guy, on the other hand, chatted cordially throughout the meal, as if their disgraced children weren't imploding right before their eyes.

To me, the whole circus still seemed insane.

I needed to escape that situation. As soon as I was seated, I stuffed my mouth with everything on the plate, gulped down water, and got up from the table to flee to my room.

I didn't even dare to go to the bathroom until I heard the doors of the various bedrooms closing. 

The peace didn't last long. A knocking on the door threatened to shatter my precarious serenity.

What do I do? Ignore it? Pretend to be asleep?

Pretend to be asleep.

"Don't be an asshole, I know you can hear me."

It was the girl. I didn't expect that; I had been sure it was Jeremy.

I cracked the door open a bit. She had removed her makeup and was wearing gray pajamas. She seemed... decidedly... normal.

Her face was somewhat forgettable; the only thing that stood out was the gap between her incisors when she opened her mouth. And that look of discontent that hadn't faded away with the makeup.

"Do you really have an amplifier?"

I opened the door a bit wider and saw the case she had on her shoulders.

"You brought your bass from home even though you don't have an amplifier here?"

She shrugged as if my question were stupid. "I bring it everywhere. It's my security blanket, like Linus's."

"Like what?"

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Do you have the amplifier or not?"

"Brand new." I stepped aside to gesture to my little wonder.

Isabelle didn't feel the need for an invitation to enter. She slipped through the door and set the case on the floor.

The straps clicked, and the lid was lifted.

It was a Rickenbacker.

Isabelle flashed a satisfied smirk at my delighted eyes. Of course, she carried it everywhere. If I’d had a Rickenbacker, I wouldn't even have gone to the bathroom without it.

"How much did that monster cost you?"

"Two thousand and something. I don't know. Dad gave it to me."

"He gave it to you, and he doesn't know it's a bass?"

She shrugged. "He thinks opening his wallet and telling someone to buy me a gift solves all his bullshit."

"He can solve his bullshit with me too, you know. No problem. I'd like a Gibson."

Isabelle chuckled, and oh... fuck. It was such a relief to have someone laugh at my shitty jokes.

"What do you have?" She asked, getting up to approach my guitar leaning in its corner.

She took her in her hands with furrowed eyebrows. "What's this? Did you find it in a pack of chips?"

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Easy there. My guitar is just fine. And she has her dignity, so don't disrespect her."

My baby was put back in her corner, where it remained resentful of that gorgeous bass.

From that moment on, Isabelle acted as if she were lounging in her own room. She sat on the floor with crossed legs and plugged the amplifier into the socket and her bass into the amplifier.

"Careful. Hey! It's not meant for a bass; watch out or you’ll blow out the speakers."

"I know what I'm doing. Relax. Come. I'll plug your chip in too."

"You can't plug a guitar and a bass into the same amplifier."

"Yes, you can, if you know what you're doing. Give it to me."

I handed her guitar and cables, just to have the satisfaction of seeing her fail.

And yet... I was forced to bite my lips and stay silent.

Isabelle slung her bass and strummed the strings. Her black pick had a laughing skull at the center. "Can you play 'Hysteria'?"

"I can play anything by Muse. Who do you take me for?"

I grabbed my phone, found a drum track for 'Hysteria,' and sat on the floor hugging my guitar, leaning against the bed.

I had to admit it. I was surprised she suggested 'Hysteria.' Wasn’t it... super difficult on the bass? Phil always ended up cursing and throwing something against the wall when he tried it.

I would have suggested something simpler, like 'Seven Nation Army.'

The track on Youtube kicked off the bass, and she started playing. And I just stared at her fingers, which, my god... glided like oil on water. She played six, seven notes per second as if she were breathing.

Phil couldn't keep up. Phil couldn't keep up at all.

"Too fast? We can do an easier one."

Fuck. I had missed my cue. I had been enchanted watching her.

"Just so you know, I can play ten notes per second too." Which was true. Even though I had managed it ONCE and was a bit out of it from some ADHD pills.

"You can even play twenty notes per second, but it doesn't mean much if you lose the cue."

We tried again. This time I concentrated as hard as I could and nailed the entrance on my second try. Neither of us risked singing Matt Bellamy's part.

I wondered if Lucas could do it. They had very different voices, but I thought he could. I thought he could sing anything.

After 'Hysteria,' we moved on to 'Papercut,' and then 'Feel Good Inc.'

I got lost in the music. I felt like a lost frog that, after hopping around uselessly in the mud for days, had finally found its pond. I swam freely.

And Isabelle had that same expression.

"You're good."

She smiled crookedly. "You're okay."

"I'm sure your dark soul won't soften if you give me a compliment."

"That was a compliment."

Ah, okay then.

She started putting the bass back in its case without losing her discontented expression.

"Do you have a band?"

The straps snapped shut. "No," she answered as she unplugged the amplifier.

"Are you looking for a band?"

"For what? Garage gigs?"

"To make it big."

At that point, she looked at me seriously. "The music industry is rotten to the core. Like almost all industries. I would never want to be a part of it."

That was the most absurd reason I had ever heard. It seemed completely nonsensical, especially coming from someone who had the talent to make it.

"So what do you want to do?"

Isabelle stood up and slung the case over her shoulders. For a while, she just looked at me, as if she were wondering if I was worth answering to.

Finally, she said, "I want to become the Secretary-General of the United Nations." 

I had no idea what that meant or what it had to do with the fact that she could play 'Hysteria' as if she were born with a bass in her arms.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means the world is going to hell, and someone has to do something about it." She replied almost as if she were angry with me. What did I do wrong, now?

Isabelle shook her head between herself and headed towards the door. 

"If you want to play some more, I'm here." I said before she could disappear.  I felt a bit pathetic. I knew I must have seemed pathetic to her too.

The girl lingered at the door for a moment longer. She looked me up and down, and then from my feet to my head. "I still haven't figured out if you're an asshole like everyone else here."

"Jeremy isn't that much of an asshole."

She grimaced. It wasn't as pronounced as when she was made up with all that black, but the disgust was still apparent.

"Don't trust that innocent face of his, Drake. Jerry will stab you in the back if mommy and daddy ask him to. He grew up in this den of snakes, and all he knows is lying and deceiving."

It seemed a bit exaggerated to me. There wasn't much love lost between her and Jeremy. I had understood that much. They were in a messy situation, as it always happened when there was a parent caught between two different families. And sure, dear Kevin didn't know how to handle even one family, let alone two.

Before I could retort, Isabelle vanished into the hallway.

For the rest of the evening, I layed in bed with the guitar mute in my arms, trying to reach ten notes per second. Truly talented guitarists could even do twenty. I still had a long way to go.

...

I woke up with a feeling I'd never experienced before, as if an octopus were sucking on my face.

I opened my eyes to a very annoyed Lucas and the vacuum tube trying to uproot my cheek.

"What are you doing?" I mumbled over the vacuum's racket.

Lucas bent down to switch off the contraption, and finally, my cheek returned to its place.

"I'm working, since it's ten in the morning. YOU, on the other hand, are sleeping. Instead of being at school."

I sank back into the pillow. "Mmm, let me sleep."

The blankets were ripped off me. The chilly morning air attacked my poor shoulders.

"Get up. I have to make the bed." Lucas placed a hand on the mattress and leaned over me, glaring.

Big mistake. I leaned forward just a bit to kiss him.

His eyes widened a bit. They were of a blue so light... the same color as John Lennon's Fender Stratocaster.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and mumbled into his mouth. I woke up feeling a certain urge.

"I dreamt about you, you know?"

He backed away with an irritated sound, a slightly forced irritation.

"Yeah? I dreamt you made me do my job."

I nestled back into bed and looked at him with my best doe-eyed expression. I was wearing only a tank top and pajama pants.

"I'm cold. Come warm me up."

Lucas had that same expression as the first time. The one that said, "I really shouldn't, but I also kind of want to."

That was my cue. I leaned in again and kissed him on those beautiful full lips.

Lucas put his other hand on the mattress to lean over me, and that was the trap closing on his tail. He was mine.

I found myself straddling him, kissing his neck, exploring my chest under the tank top.

And that was the moment someone knocked at the door. 

FUCK.

Now was not the time.

It was ten in the morning, and Isabelle was likely the only one at home.

"NOT NOW!"

The knocking returned, this time more intense.

"Drake!"

Oh. It wasn't Isabelle.

Lucas tensed (and not in a positive sense). He widened his eyes full of panic at the judge's voice.

"Um, just a moment..."

I got up and adjusted my clothes. Lucas hurried to do the same while muttering curses. 

"Drake!"

"ONE SECOND!"

I pushed Lucas down from the mattress, and he crouched to slip under the bed. I ran to the door, stumbling over the vacuum cleaner. "FOR FUCK’S..."

I lowered the door handle while hopping on one foot.

"What's wrong?"

The judge looked distraught. Her always neat hair now sprouted rebellious tufts from the chignon.

"Drake... Are you okay?"

She pounced on me.

Uh. I wasn't one for hugs in general, but two seconds after making out with a guy, THE JUDGE was the last person I wanted to hug.

I gently pushed her away as best I could.

"I got a call from the school! They said you were absent. They said you've been absent for days!"

"Ah. That. Well, yeah."

Her face became even more distressed. "What does that mean? Drake! You can't just decide not to go to school. And without telling me, moreover! What was I supposed to think? I feared the worst. I was about to call the police. I had to leave work to rush here."

Her voice became more shrill with each word. It seemed like her eyes were going to pop out from how wide they were.

"Uuuh. Yeah, um... can we talk about this later?"

I had a slight problem under the bed.

"We can't talk about this later. We'll talk about it now! This behavior is absolutely unacceptable. Completely irresponsible. I understand you're in a completely new situation, but you have to understand that..."

She went on blathering, so I used that time to devise a plan.

"Uh, yeah. You're right, um. Let me just... put on a shirt, and I'm with you, yeah."

I closed the door before she could respond. I turned the key.

I ran to the bed and crouched to look under. "Okay. This might be a problem."

"A problem?! I'll lose my job!" Lucas managed to whisper in a very aggressive tone.

"Stay calm. I'll lure her away somewhere, so you can slip away. Let's exchange numbers. You text me when you're out, and I'll let you know if there are any hitches."

Lucas slithered out of his hiding place. His flip phone was in his pants pocket. He handed it to me to input the number.

"Drake?" The judge came back to knock.

"I left my jacket in the closet," Lucas whispered with a drop of panic.

"You'll get it tomorrow. As soon as we're clear, I'll text you, and you sneak out the door. Clear?"

I didn't wait for a response. I slipped on a random shirt before returning to the judge. I found her in the hallway with her hands clasped and a stern expression. It seemed like the initial panic had been washed away by a good dose of anger.

"This must never happen again."

"Of course. How about we continue this conversation over there, like... in the library?"

I dashed towards the stairs, and the judge made a sound of surprise and indignation.

"Drake!"

She was keeping up, which was the important thing. I went down to the second floor and then all the way down the hallway to the last room.

Isabelle was sprawled on a couch, one leg crossed over the other, a book in her hands, her makeup looking even more excessive than the day before.

What was the point of putting on makeup if she stayed locked inside reading?

"Drake, stop!"

I turned around. The judge had caught up with me and was red-faced, perhaps from running up the stairs or perhaps from getting angry so quickly.

Isabelle looked at both of us with barely concealed surprise. She knew that Lucas was in the house and that he shouldn't be discovered.

"I’ve stopped." I smiled. I approached the library door and pulled it closed.

Then I pulled out my phone and sent a quick message. "All clear."

"Stephanie. Why are you home so soon? Did you realize that the law isn't truly equal for everyone and had a pang of conscience?"

The judge swallowed her anger with apparent difficulty and turned to the girl with a strained smile.

"Isabelle, dear. Didn't you notice that Drake wasn't where he was supposed to be? Why didn't you inform us that he wasn't going to school?"

"I'm not your designated spy, dear stepmother. Ask your little mouse of a son."

"I'll ask him. Be sure of that."

Oh, great. Now Jeremy would be mad at me too.

With one ear tuned to the door, I heard soft footsteps descending the stairs.

I nodded incessantly to the judge's entire harangue, hoping she wouldn't stop babbling until...

A message. "I'm outside."

I breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall.

"And where's the cleaning lady anyway? She should have been at work for hours."

"Uh, well, um..."

"She felt unwell," Isabelle intervened.

Jesus Christ, what a heart attack.

"She was very pale. I told her to go home because she seemed about to faint."

I nodded to support the story, but I didn't say a word because I'm not much of a liar. I always end up laughing.

"Well," exclaimed the judge, "it was entirely irresponsible of her to show up to work if she wasn't feeling well. She should have taken a sick day and let us know."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. That's what all that black was for; it was impossible to miss when she rolled her eyes.

"Of course, Stephanie. Keep the proletariat who think they can have rights in line. What is this? A free country?"

The judge didn't engage further. She left us with the promise that she would return to the subject very soon.