Beezus slid down the wall in a corner of the office as she unfolded the wrinkled papers carefully. By the time she met the ground, she was intently reading the two sets of messy handwriting. One, of course, was her uncle's scrawl, but the other? Whoever helped to write this song was a genius in Beezus' eyes.
She read and reread the song, humming the tune that had been sketched out along the bottom margin of the page. Her foot tapped the ground to keep time as she sang softly to herself in the empty room.
"Well, well, well, Miss Beatrice." Max's voice startled her, and she scrambled to clamp her fingers around the papers as he leaned over her. Sheepishly, she looked behind him at the small crowd that had gathered. The two young men from the elevator, plus the two from the balcony, and her whining victim gathered near the door, speaking in hushed tones. Assembled as they were, Beesuz was outnumbered, and reluctantly handed over the song with a bored sigh. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" She glared coldly at the man who anxiously snatched the pages of lyrics from her hands, protectively smoothing the edges as he read over the words.
"What do you mean?" she asked innocently. Max held out a hand to help her to her feet.
"I feel like a kindergarten teacher, having to deal with you," he muttered. Clearing his throat, he folded his arms across his chest. "There's nothing you want to say to Brian? He was about to kill himself over this song until Howie saw you in here on his way to the vending machines." Beezus raised an eyebrow, then shot an icy look at the short Latino. His dark hair was gelled back into a ponytail so that nothing short of a tornado would muss it, and his wide brown eyes begged her for attention of any sort. She turned away, uninterested, and crossed her arms, looking from one man to the next. Finally, she rested her gaze on the auburn one who had so eagerly taken the papers from her.
"Absolutely nothing," she answered, casually leaning against the wall. She peeked at the pages, anxious to continue her reading, only to be returned by a glare. "Why should I have anything to say? He's the one who left his song in that studio for anyone to take. You should be very grateful that it was me instead of some weirdo who just waltzed in off the street."
"She has a point there, Max," the tattooed man from the elevator said in his deep, raspy voice. Max shot him an irritated look.
"Wonderful, AJ, but she still lied about it." Beezus sighed to herself as the conversation continued. She detested hearing others speak about her behind her back, and it was even worse when the backstabbing was done in front of her. "But. . .I suppose it's all right, since the song made it back to Brian in one piece." She hugged her uncle, then pulled a face at the group before retreating out the door, heading back to the vending machines. Soft footsteps sounded behind her as she studied the selection of candy bars inside of the machine.
"Thanks for returning Brian's song," a voice said. It was shy and almost apologetic, and her curiousity got the best of her. She turned around slowly, maintaining her distance between the two of them. The fair tall man met her, golden blonde hair framing a round face. Beezus decided that, though he wasn't the most attractive person she's ever met, he had his high points, namely the blue-grey voids of boyishness of his eyes. She smiled nicely and returned her attention to the vending machine. "It really does mean a lot to him, even if he doesn't seem to care," he added. "He really has been through a lot lately, and he told me about this song of his this morning. It's mostly about--" He paused, biting his lip thoughtfully. "Never mind. He doesn't talk much about the whole thing to anybody. He'd kick my ass if he found out that I'd told you. It's nothing against you, personally, it's just. . .Just that he'd tell you if you needed to know." She nodded, pasting a dull smile onto her face, an expression she often used to get out of a conversation.
"Nick, come on. We have recording to do." Beezus glanced sideways, and at the sight of the auburn man, still clutching the lyrics in his fist, she sighed inwardly. The blonde, Nick, flashed a smile at her before starting for the elevator. She could sense a pair of eyes burning into the back of her head.
"You know, I really am not sorry for taking those lyrics from that music stand." As she turned to face him, she was surprised by his looks; he was more attractive than she'd previously thought him to be. Perhaps it was the anger in his icy blue eyes, having just hit a serious nerve with him.
"How can you not be sorry?" he demaned. "This is the story of my life here, and you stole it without a thought of who the owner might be! How can you not be sorry for affecting someone's life that deeply?" She crossed her arms over her t-shirt and returned his unblinking stare. His pale eyes were clouding over with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"You do have them now, don't you?" she asked, waving a hand vaguely at the hand containing the well-wrinkled papers. His jaw dropped, a strangled wimper slipping from his throat. "Exactly my point. Why should I be apologetic for something that has been righted?" He stuttered for an answer, but none came. She nodded once, a curt smile spreading across her lips. "There you go. I hope I won't be seeing much of you around here. You seem pretty conceited." She brushed past him, ignoring his squirm of distaste. "Have a nice day."