Chapter 45

I follow him down the main hallway to the last door on the right, and into a room littered with band posters. Pinned between them are charcoal sketches that fill every available inch of space, all in different stages of completion. Some have just a silhouette drawn while others are only a few details away from being finished. The pictures are everywhere, just like sheet-music, which covers most of his navy comforter.

Alex's room is kind of what I pictured, except maybe a little messier. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you're kind of a slob."

He shrugs, reaching for his guitar. The blue instrument rests on its stand, safely tucked away in the cleanest corner of the room. Shoving a few papers to the side, Alex sits on his bed, positioning the guitar on his lap in front of him.

He strums a few notes.