Martha's Party.

Zafa and I were in the music room after school when Martha Jones was looking for me.

“There you are,” she’d said, smiling. She flipped her curly blonde hair back. “Oh, hi Zafa.”

Zafa lifted his hand up as a sign of acknowledgement for Martha as he adjusted the microphone on its stand. “What’s up, Martha?” I asked.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but Aaron and I are now a ‘thing’,” the words came out of her mouth as if she was bragging, showing off that she wasn’t single to someone who’d been crushed the day before.

“So what?” I find myself saying, instantly regretting it as I could see that her smile dropped just a bit. I strummed by guitar randomly, averting my eyes from her.

“Aaron and I’ve decided to have a party this weekend at his house-”

“And you want me to be a musician for a night?” I guessed, looking up at her now. She tucked a lock of curly blonde hair behind her ear and walked closer.

“I’ll pay you,” she said.

“Sorry Martha but Muhzim doesn’t sing. I do,” Zafa, who’d apparently learn from his previous experience, told her. Martha thought about this for a few seconds before saying, “Sure. Muhzim, you can bring Zafa and you both can be a band for a night. I’ll text you the details of the party tonight.”

“What kind of music would you like?” I asked before she went off.

“Hmm, some kind of soft music. Like ‘Paris in the Rain’ by Lauv. Alright, I’m off. See you both this weekend!” And she walked off, her high-heels echoing through the hallway. I turn back to Zafa and grin.

“So, I see that you’ve learned from your last experience to get yourself invited to a party by becoming my singer for a night.”

“Oh shut up,” Zafa puts his hand on my face and pushes it. I laugh.

“How much do you think she’ll pay us?” Zafa asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Won’t Aaron pay us too? I mean it’s their party,” I said.

“C’mon Muhzim we both know Aaron only wants Martha for her money,” Zafa deadpans.

“Martha doesn’t know that though.”

“Why don’t you write a song about it then?”

“Aaron will kill us.”

“Aaron’s too stupid to know it’ll be about him,” Zafa scoffed. “The guy maybe the best basketball player in school but he definitely has the worst brain. I’m surprised he isn’t a caveman.”

“Speaking about brains I have to go back now, actually. Swafa needs my help on her science homework about neurones,” I said, groaning.

“I thought you got a ‘C’ for that topic a few years back during the exams,” Zafa said, getting up as I did.

“Ah and so the tradition will continue,” I said, laughing.

…

“Muhzim explain what are neurones again, please?” Swafa asked me for the hundredth time. I could’ve gone mad and end up in an asylum chanting what neurones were.

“Read your text book, it’s in there,” I replied. We were both in her room, her at her study table whereas I was on her bed, playing with my guitar as I tried to play ‘Paris in the Rain’. Zafa knew the song by heart and secretly, I thought he was an amazing singer. Can’t tell him that though; he’ll get full of himself.

“Why don’t you write a song about it?” Swafa suggested the worst idea I’d ever heard.

“Sure, why not I make a song about the seven continents after that?” I deadpanned. Swafa threw her pen to my back and I howled in pain.

“What’re you trying to play anyway?” She asked, getting off her chair and sitting next to me on her bed. I scooched over a bit to let her see my laptop screen that showed what I was trying to play.

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Whose party is it?”

“Martha Jones,” I said.

“Oh cool, she’s Erna’s cousin.” My ears perked up at this statement and my eyes widened.

“And now I regret talking,” Swafa said after she say my reaction. She got up to continue doing her homework.

“No one leaves right after they say something like that,” I said, getting up from her bed and hovering over her.

“Go awaaaaaaaaay.” Swafa groaned.

“Will she be at the party? What will she wear?” I blurted out, my heart desperate for an answer. Instead, Swafa put on her wireless turquoise headphones and drowned me out by playing ‘All Falls Down’ by Noah Cyrus and Alan Walker.

“Fine, ignore me. Help yourself to neurones and such,” I said, taking my guitar, laptop and myself out the door. I pressed my ear against her bedroom door to hear if she was going to say anything.

“I know you’re there,” her muffled voice said. I groan and walk into my own room, settling on my bed.

Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I took it out to find a text from Martha.

Begins at 7, ends at 11, snacks and food will of course be provided, Aaron and I will pay you what you and Zafa deserve. Here are the songs we want you to play.

Just the Way You Are, I Like Me Better, Paris in the Rain… The list went on. I forwarded the list and details of the party to Zafa and he instantly replied with, Hope I get paid a lot. I have to sound like Bruno Mars and Lauv this weekend.

I have to deal with sore fingers for the weekend. You wanna compete?

Touché, my man.

“Better get to strumming,” I murmured to myself. I pick up my guitar and sit on my bed, expressing myself through music.

…

“Muhzim hurry up! Zafa’s been honking outside the house for 10 minutes now,” Mom knocked on my door aggressively. Instantly I opened the door, showing her that I was in a vest with a white t-shrit underneath, wearing jeans to go with my outfit.

“Should I go with a fedora or just let my hair be ‘bad boy’ style?” I asked Mom, showing her my dark blue fedora. Swafa passed by my room with her headphones on. She took them off when she saw me and whistled, saying, “The fedora will make you look like a nerd, Muhzim. Go for the bad boy hair. You’ll make Qizy regret she ever left you.”

I smirked at the thought and gave Mom my most charming bad boy smile. She kissed me on the forehead and that was when Zafa knocked on the door this time, hollering, “Muhzim I will bring a maraca band up the doorstep of your house if I have to. I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of there!”

And that was when Dad answered the door.

“Oh, good evening, sir,” I heard Zafa’s loud voice go meek. Mom, Swafa and I grinned at this and listened to what Dad was about to say.

“You too, Zafa,” Dad replied. “So, what was it you said about a maraca band?”

“Uh…” Zafa’s voice went stale and I scampered down the stairs with my guitar.

“Oh hello Zafa! I didn’t hear you come!” I said in my most cheerful and most charming voice. For a split second I thought I saw him scowl. His tensed face turned jubilantly fake at once and he turned to Dad, saying, “Well sir we better get going. We’ve got a party to attend to. Muhzim’s playing, I’m singing.”

I ran to Zafa’s side and he subtly nudged my back with his elbow, making me wince. “You boys enjoy yourselves. Good bye now,” Dad said before he closed the door in our faces. I turned to look at Zafa to see that he looked deadpan.

“Maraca band,” I snorted out laughing as I got into his mustang, sitting in the shotgun seat.

“Mention that again and you’re walking,” Zafa got in and started the car. I laughed and we drove off.

…

Martha and Aaron’s party was better than Ivy’s I have to admit. Maybe it was because of how much she paid me and Zafa by the end of the night ($80!!) or maybe it was something else. It was a lively one, filled with my guitar skills and Zafa’s attempt to sound like Bruno Mars (which turned out to be pretty good).

But there was no sight of Erna.

By 11, the party died out and people left. Martha and Aaron thanked me and Zafa as we headed out.

“It was our pleasure,” Zafa said, beaming.

“I liked your outfit, by the way,” Martha said, pointing a finger at me. I flipped my hair back and gave her my most charming smile, the one I’d given Mom earlier that evening. I could’ve sworn I saw Aaron glaring at me before he said, “now, off with you two. We’ll see you both at school on Monday.”

As Zafa and I turned away, he asked me in a whisper, “Did Aaron just glare at you?”

I grinned at him and gave him my sexiest smile. “Oh yes he did,” I whispered proudly.

As we approached Zafa’s mustang, I said, “You know what? I’ll walk home.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah I mean, it’s an autumn night, it’ll be cold but hey who cares,” I told him, waving my hands. He nodded sceptically, got into his mustang and before he drove off, he asked me, “We should do this again sometime. You play, I sing. What do you think?”

I smiled and said, “Yeah, I think so too,” without hesitation. Zafa smiled and told me, “Have a good night, Muhzim.”

“You too.”

With that he drove off, leaving dust behind him. I sighed and started my journey back home, letting the autumn night breeze leave me in awe.

On my way, I passed Greenwood Avenue’s public playground. It had to be the biggest (and cleanest) playground for miles from my neighbourhood. The swings and slides shone, reflecting the light from the moon (actually the Sun’s light because… you know what nevermind).

I was admiring the playground when I saw,

Erna.

She was sitting on one of the swings, looking up to the moon. And above all,

She was actually smiling.

I stopped dead in my tracks to admire her smile. It was so aesthetic, so natural, so…

Aaaaaand that’s when she turned to me. And her smile faded.

To be continued in: A Million Stories in a Night.