Page 16 of Fame & Rhythm

This is where the music comes.

Harmony and melody wrap around me, the bass and treble pulsing through my veins as notes float in the air, colliding and twisting together into something new. Something powerful. The sound builds, layer upon layer, until it vibrates through me, deep and steady.

I love this place.

This is where Staked’s songs are born.

If I stay here long enough, I’ll hear the whole thing—every note, every shift—and when I wake, I can write it down before it fades.

“Annie…”

My name threads through the music, soft and distant, like part of the song.

“Annie…”

The melody begins to slip.

The voice grows louder, breaking the rhythm and pulling me out of it. My world fractures, and suddenly I’m falling, ripped from the music and dragged back into reality.

“Annie, get up!”

I open my eyes slowly.

Mum is in my room, scooping clothes off the floor like we’re running late for something important.

I drop my head back onto the pillow and groan, squeezing my eyes shut against the light.

“Annie, honey, c’mon. Susan will be here soon,” Mum berates.

I groan again and yank the pillow over my head. “I was writing music, Mum. You pulled me out of it,” I mumble, annoyed. It was good too. Really good. And now it’s gone.

“What? Annie, you’re making no sense. Get up and come downstairs. Aston will be here soon. It’s almost nine,” she says, already heading for the door with an armful of my clothes.

I drag the pillow off my head and throw it weakly in her direction. “Turn the light off,” I call.

“No, Annie. Get up. Now,” she shoots back, disappearing into the hallway.

I burrow back under the covers anyway.

School can wait.

The darkness settles in again, and for a second, just a second, the music starts to come back. The same song, looping through my head, pulling me under—

“Lennox.”

I groan loudly as I’m dragged out of it again, this time even faster.

I roll over to find Aston sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me with a smirk.

“Were you dreaming about a new song?” he asks.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and then it hits me.

The song is gone.

“Oh, crap,” I mutter, leaning forward and punching his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” he asks, rubbing the spot.