Songbird

T scribbles away at his already ruined sheet of paper, going over the rhymes and verses in his head and getting frustrated when the rhymes don't come out the way he wants them to.

He tosses the sheet into the trash and grabs a fresh one.

He's stressing; he needs to write a track for his Music Composition class so he could graduate and possibly catch the eye of the new record company, Gold Touch Records. If he lands the gig, he'd be the first up and comer in their label and could possibly catapult him to fame, his hard work and perseverance not going to waste.

As much as he likes to bask in the fantasies of what should be, he can't get side-tracked; the prize is ultra-competitive and his classmates are fighting tooth and nail to win that golden ticket. He can't afford to slip up and he certainly can't afford to snooze and lose.

His eyes flickered over to the photo album Kim insisted on sending him and tries to swallow the hurt. It feels lonely being without Freestyle Unity; they were his muse, his inspiration, and most importantly, his best friends. They were the two people, next to Nikki and the Professor, that have made him smile time and time again and have made coming to school worthwhile.

Stevie and Kim's melodies carry his music; it feels empty and even lacking without their choruses on his notes.

He groans in frustration, tearing that piece of paper to shreds and throwing his pen into the trash.

He needs a break.

As if on cue, his landline chirps obnoxiously, the ID 'KIM' glaring at him in neon.

He answers it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, T!" that obnoxious voice makes the corner of his mouth quirk.

"I'm surprised you picked up. I was thinking you died or something! Unless…you a ghost?"

Yeah, that's definitely Kim.

"Nah, I'm just writing out some songs for my class. If I get an A, I could possibly win the eye of this record company that's scouting. I'm really struggling here."

"Maybe I could help, T. You know I got the skills to pay the bills." She sings a sweet tune.

"You know something, Kim?" T scratches his chin. That tune could be used for something…it sounds like…

"Sing that tune again."

She does. That tune…that tune is just the tune he's looking for.

He nods his head and immediately grabs a piece of paper and scribbles some notes. He chucks out a tape recorder, puts a fresh tape in the device, and pops it closed.

"Kim," he says into the phone, "How would you like to help me win a record label?"