References: I'm not much of a lyrics-writer, so I'll be using a bunch of my favourite songs. The song used here is Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects. THEY ROCK!
Dammit. I was never late for school back in Boston. And now thanks to that stupid, harassing, cocky jerk, my three-year-long record is going to be blemished.
"OHMYGODI'MSOLATE!!" I shrieked for the second time that day. I think I feel a sore throat coming on.
I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder and dashed past Jay and his groupies and into the school.
To tell the truth, I'm not much of a sporty person. I always managed to stay out of PE as much as possible, because I'm the Master of Avoidance. But strangely, I adopted the speed of a sprinter and hurdler as I miraculously managed to clear the many obstacles in the school compound aka the flower beds and pots in record time.
It's amazing what panic and fear can make you do.
I made it to my homeroom before the teacher did. Wait. Actually, I made it to my homeroom when the teacher did. I looked up at the teacher, putting on my 'please-don't-kill-me-pretty-pwease?' face. Genevieve's used it countless time on my parents when she's in trouble, and this is one of those rare times where the older sibling actually benefits from the younger one.
The teacher was a twenty-ish woman with platinum blond hair that framed her heart-shaped face in soft curls and pastel blue eyes behind a pair of frame-less glasses; a classic angel.
I think I died somewhere and I'm in heaven meeting my first angel. I could practically see the halo circling above her head and a pair of wings on her back.
"God?" I asked meekly.
"I'm not God. Don't be silly. You shouldn't use the Father's name in vain," the teacher reprimanded me as she cast a critical eye over me, "I'm your homeroom teacher, Ms. Samantha Fields. You're the new transferee, right?"
I nodded mutely. She is S-C-A-R-Y.
Okay. Note to self: Never judge book by its cover. It's deceptive.
"There's an empty seat at the back of the classroom. Kindly take your seat and don't be late again, understand?" she cast a critical eye over me, "I hope you know that you have just failed to make a good impression on me,"
I nodded again and pushed the door open and instantly, I felt all eyes upon me. Everyone was giving me a creepy once-over. I think it must be my shoes and hair. I can explain them, though.
You see, I took the liberty of the rule that said a student must wear black footwear and instead of the standard-issued Mary Janes, I decided to wear my favourite pair of high-tops. Mary Janes are so sixth grade.
As for my hair, it's naturally a dark auburn, but my mom dragged Genevieve and I to the salon a few months ago. My crazy mother wanted me to dye the whole thing red, but that would seem like I'm a Hayley Williams wanna-be. Which, by the way, I am not, albeit the fact I love Paramore and despite the fact it is a mainstream band, because in actuallity, I like songs that are good. Mainstream or not. So, I opted for red streaks instead. It's really cool actually.
But standing in a classroom full of Kens and Barbies made me feel like a hobo and totally uncool. Practically everyone had a Blackberry or and iPhone or an equivalent of that. I don't even own a freakin' cheapie cell phone yet.
I did the dignified thing and walked to the back of the classroom with my head held up high, wearing a reticent expression.
"Hey kitty,"
What. The. Hell!?
"What are you doing here!? You're supposed to be outside waiting for the police to pick you up, you escaped convict!" I hissed.
There sitting in the corner seat, was none other than glasses-guy a.k.a. Jayden Stanford a.k.a. Jay. He grinned at me as he easily lounged in his chair, twirling a pencil.
"Who says I'm an escaped convict?" Jay asked, arching an eyebrow, "I study here. Besides, I've never done anything illegal except littering,"
"Then how'd you get here so quickly!?"
"It's an art I've been practicing since middle school, kitty. Now why don't you take a seat? You're disrupting the class," He pointed his pencil towards the front of the classroom, and Ms. Fields and my new classmates were staring at me.
"Is there a problem with Mr. Stanford, Ms. Hunter?" Ms. Field's pastel blue eyes seemed to turn icy as she looked over at us. She's an angel turned ice queen.
"Nothing at all, miss," I mumbled, sinking into the empty seat next to Jay. Great, just great. My first day here, and I'm already in a teacher's black list. I had a surreal, twilight moment where I wondered whether this made me a school rebel or not. Apparently, I already look the part.
I sighed in exasperation as I took out a blank writing pad and writing stationery. I wish I was back in Boston.
"Stressed?" Jay asked, amusement glinting in his eyes, "It's only homeroom period, kitty,"
I glared at Jay. If only looks could kill. "My name is NOT kitty. How many times do I have to tell you that, Stanford!?"
"My name's not Stanford, kitty. It's Jayden. Jayden Stanford," Jay corrected, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Have you ever heard of a comb, then, Jayden?" I asked, "Because it's either that, or you're trying to be Robert Pattinson,"
Jay's expression sparked with interest. "Robert Pattinson? Really?" he asked, "So that must mean you think I'm one hell of a sexy guy then,"
Ew. I think I just re-swallowed my breakfast. Wait. I didn't even have breakfast. Oh well.
"Don't make me throw up," I rolled my eyes, grabbing a pencil and doodling over a blank sheet of paper, "Because aside from you being not sexy, I think Robert Pattinson is ugly,"
"Hey! Is it because he's British?" a familiar British-accented voice came from my other side. I turned left to see the super-hot British cutie. I think his name was Leo.
"No. I have nothing against British people. I like British accents, actually. They're pretty cute,"
Leo leaned towards me, and I could feel the heat rising within my cheeks. Damn it.
"The name's Leon Alexander. It's pronounced Lee-yon. Not Lay-yon. Leo for short. Pleased to meet you, Miss Kaitlyn Hunter," he traced a finger along the lines of my jaw and added, "You're a very, very cute lady,"
I felt like I was the prey and Leo's the hunter. I was extremely entranced in his charm when I felt the back of my collar being tugged and I was pulled away from Leo. "Hey, no flirting with the stressed-out kitty," Jay cut in, "Besides, you'll burn the eyes of the under-aged,"
"How'd you know my name?" I asked Leo, pretending that Jay hadn't disrupted the moment between Leo and I.
Leo winked at me. "I try my best to acquaint myself with all the beautiful ladies around here,"
"Do you say that to every girl you meet?" I asked, swatting Jay's hand away from me. I turned to Jay, giving him another pointed look. "Hands off. Do not touch me. I'm keen on not contracting any infectious diseases from you,"
"What about Leo then?" Jay whined. Ah. There's another part of the ego-maniacal band leader I haven't seen, and it's wayyy better than the usual one.
"Well, he seems perfectly trustworthy and doesn't harass others like some people I know," I said laconically, turning back to my drawing.
I heard Leo chuckle. "It's nice to meet someone who doesn't drool all over Jay," he said, "It's even better to know it's a cutie like you,"
I swear, in every sentence Leo speaks, there's always a flirtatious comment. He must speak a unique language or something. "I take back my words. Please don't touch me either,"
"Hah!" Jay snorted in triumph as Leo sent an injured look over to me.
Silence returned as Leo lost interest in me (thank god for that!) and Jay was moodily scribbling in his own writing pad. I happily immersed myself in my drawing. Who doesn't like drawing? It's so calm-inducing and takes away all your problems.
"Kaitlyn."
I guess I was wrong.
I looked up, and saw Jay with a mischievous expression on his face. "Kate-lynne..." he rolled my name off his tongue, somehow making it seem mysterious and exotic.
I felt my heart skip a beat. Must've been the lack of breakfast and jet lag, since I just arrived in Sandfields yesterday, because no way in hell am I falling for that son of a b-. Wait. Swearing's bad for the health. That's what my best frie-, sorry, my ex-best friend used to tell the jocks back in our Boston high school. And she always used to- wait. Must refrain myself from taking a trip down memory lane. It's v. v. dangerous.
"What?" I snapped at him. Can't a person be left in peace, even if it's only for a few minutes? I thought gentlemen were supposed to respect us ladies?
Oh wait. I momentarily forgot who I was talking about there. Sorry.
Jay squinted his eyes, cocking his head to one side, as if he were cross-examining me.
"What? I know I'm not shapely an' all, but you don't have to study me like I'm a freak,"
My words caused the egomaniac to sprout a grin on his face. "Well, it's true that I've seen and had women with better curves, language and manners..."
I hate him. I really, honestly do.
"...but I was just wondering, if you're so artsy and all, do you sing?"
Wait wait wait. Rewind. Did he just ask me if I could sing?
I think Jay's a guy who can't use a remote control. He keeps pushing all the wrong buttons.
Singing is something I do not like to associate myself with. It's, like, a forbidden zone for me. Ever since that day when- okay. I'm overstepping the boundaries again. No trekking down memory lane.
"Why do you want to know whether I'm vocally talented or not?" I asked, "Does it even concern you? Or are you just a busybody?"
Jay mocking placed a hand over his chest and put on a puppy-dog expression. "I'm so wounded that you think so lowly of me," he said, his lower-lip jutting out, "I was just asking a perfectly innocent question."
"What he means, my dear-," Leo spoke up, "-is that he had this genius inspiration at practice a few weeks ago, to include a female vocalist in our band,"
"Which everyone vehemently agreed to," Jay pointed out, "Because we're only drawing in female fans. It's not so bad having millions of women that we can tame, but we're lacking testosterone in our fan bases,"
Wow. The guy whose vocabulary consists only the words 'me', 'I' and 'mine' actually knows a few descriptive words.
"You can't even draw in homosexuals?" I asked, "Because in scientific terms, they do have manly assets. It's just that their hormone levels are unbalanced,"
Jay rolled his eyes with a 'God-why-me?' expression. "Look here, kitty. The Lightning Devils are really popular on the internet now, and we want to draw in straight guys, so that will higher the chances of us being a selling rock band when we go professional. We don't want to be like a band of Justin Biebers. We want to be legendary, just like Nirvana and such," he explained lengthily, "I didn't ask for a science lesson,"
I shrugged. "Well, too bad, because when I sing, flowers within a 60-mile-radius start wilting and thunder clouds approach the horizon,"
"That's rather descriptive," Jay mused, "But I gather that you're bluffing,"
"Too bad for you then," I said, smiling at him for the first time, "Because no one besides myself has heard me sing for years now,"
That's true. I don't sing for others. I sing for myself. I mean, who doesn't sing along to a catchy song?
Jay's face dropped a little before it brightened up again. "What are you having for the next period?" he asked.
"Are you a stalker or something?" I asked, annoyed at his constantly meaningless questions, "Because if you must know, I'm having a free period, which, if you really want to know, I'm spending in one of the empty art rooms I reserved when I registered here yesterday,"
"Wow, you work fast huh, kitty?" Jay commented, scribbling on a scrap of paper and flicking it over to Leo, whose eyes darted over the paper and pocketed it.
"What are you doing?" I asked, watching Leo furiously tap his fingers on his iPhone. Wow. I can't even type that fast.
"Guy stuff, darling," Leo winked seductively at me.
O-kay. I'll just quietly ignore these two Casanovas and do my drawing. It's way less traumatizing. If a little old lady had been in my place, I would've bet all my money that she'd have a heart attack on the spot fifteen minutes ago.
The bell rang and I quickly packed up my pencils and writing pad, excited at the prospect of spending a solitary hour in the art room. Maybe I'll do an abstract art on my mind's current state. Hm...that's quite a fetching idea.
I slipped out of the back door and happily skipped my way down to the art block. Well, 'skipped' may be over-stating, but I guess I was moving more along the lines of 'walking at a fast pace'.
You know the feeling a person gets when he's in an art room is really nice. It's sooo quiet, relaxing and stress-free. You can sculpt, paint or draw without distractions, because that's the actual purpose of an art room.
I viewed the many unfinished projects that other art-students had left inside the room. Every single one of them was finely detailed, even paint-splattered canvases. So maybe this school really is for the gifted and genius.
I think Aunt Elle bribed them to take me in. I bet they had only accepted Genevieve, seeing as she's a prima ballerina, and Aunt Elle bribed them or something to accept me as well. Maybe my darling parents asked her to do it.
I was peacefully sketching the faint out-line of my soon-to-be-painting, when I heard the faint sounds of a song being played. It was getting louder by the second, and I recognized the tune and lyrics.
'...a time or two, just to waste my time with you...'
The All-American Rejects!
The little girl in me starting jumping around happily and before I knew it, I was singing along to the all-too familiar lyrics as I dipped my paintbrush into the blue paste.
"Tell me all that you've thrown away," I sang loudly, "Find out games you don't wanna play; you are the only one that needs to know! I'll keep you my dirty little secret-!"
"And you said flowers wilt and thunder clouds approach when you sing."
An ominous chill tingled up my spine as the music paused and I recognized the low voice that belonged Jay.
-----------------------
I blinked.Dammit. I was never late for school back in Boston. And now thanks to that stupid, harassing, cocky jerk, my three-year-long record is going to be blemished.
"OHMYGODI'MSOLATE!!" I shrieked for the second time that day. I think I feel a sore throat coming on.
I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder and dashed past Jay and his groupies and into the school.
To tell the truth, I'm not much of a sporty person. I always managed to stay out of PE as much as possible, because I'm the Master of Avoidance. But strangely, I adopted the speed of a sprinter and hurdler as I miraculously managed to clear the many obstacles in the school compound aka the flower beds and pots in record time.
It's amazing what panic and fear can make you do.
I made it to my homeroom before the teacher did. Wait. Actually, I made it to my homeroom when the teacher did. I looked up at the teacher, putting on my 'please-don't-kill-me-pretty-pwease?' face. Genevieve's used it countless time on my parents when she's in trouble, and this is one of those rare times where the older sibling actually benefits from the younger one.
The teacher was a twenty-ish woman with platinum blond hair that framed her heart-shaped face in soft curls and pastel blue eyes behind a pair of frame-less glasses; a classic angel.
I think I died somewhere and I'm in heaven meeting my first angel. I could practically see the halo circling above her head and a pair of wings on her back.
"God?" I asked meekly.
"I'm not God. Don't be silly. You shouldn't use the Father's name in vain," the teacher reprimanded me as she cast a critical eye over me, "I'm your homeroom teacher, Ms. Samantha Fields. You're the new transferee, right?"
I nodded mutely. She is S-C-A-R-Y.
Okay. Note to self: Never judge book by its cover. It's deceptive.
"There's an empty seat at the back of the classroom. Kindly take your seat and don't be late again, understand?" she cast a critical eye over me, "I hope you know that you have just failed to make a good impression on me,"
I nodded again and pushed the door open and instantly, I felt all eyes upon me. Everyone was giving me a creepy once-over. I think it must be my shoes and hair. I can explain them, though.
You see, I took the liberty of the rule that said a student must wear black footwear and instead of the standard-issued Mary Janes, I decided to wear my favourite pair of high-tops. Mary Janes are so sixth grade.
As for my hair, it's naturally a dark auburn, but my mom dragged Genevieve and I to the salon a few months ago. My crazy mother wanted me to dye the whole thing red, but that would seem like I'm a Hayley Williams wanna-be. Which, by the way, I am not, albeit the fact I love Paramore and despite the fact it is a mainstream band, because in actuallity, I like songs that are good. Mainstream or not. So, I opted for red streaks instead. It's really cool actually.
But standing in a classroom full of Kens and Barbies made me feel like a hobo and totally uncool. Practically everyone had a Blackberry or and iPhone or an equivalent of that. I don't even own a freakin' cheapie cell phone yet.
I did the dignified thing and walked to the back of the classroom with my head held up high, wearing a reticent expression.
"Hey kitty,"
What. The. Hell!?
"What are you doing here!? You're supposed to be outside waiting for the police to pick you up, you escaped convict!" I hissed.
There sitting in the corner seat, was none other than glasses-guy a.k.a. Jayden Stanford a.k.a. Jay. He grinned at me as he easily lounged in his chair, twirling a pencil.
"Who says I'm an escaped convict?" Jay asked, arching an eyebrow, "I study here. Besides, I've never done anything illegal except littering,"
"Then how'd you get here so quickly!?"
"It's an art I've been practicing since middle school, kitty. Now why don't you take a seat? You're disrupting the class," He pointed his pencil towards the front of the classroom, and Ms. Fields and my new classmates were staring at me.
"Is there a problem with Mr. Stanford, Ms. Hunter?" Ms. Field's pastel blue eyes seemed to turn icy as she looked over at us. She's an angel turned ice queen.
"Nothing at all, miss," I mumbled, sinking into the empty seat next to Jay. Great, just great. My first day here, and I'm already in a teacher's black list. I had a surreal, twilight moment where I wondered whether this made me a school rebel or not. Apparently, I already look the part.
I sighed in exasperation as I took out a blank writing pad and writing stationery. I wish I was back in Boston.
"Stressed?" Jay asked, amusement glinting in his eyes, "It's only homeroom period, kitty,"
I glared at Jay. If only looks could kill. "My name is NOT kitty. How many times do I have to tell you that, Stanford!?"
"My name's not Stanford, kitty. It's Jayden. Jayden Stanford," Jay corrected, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Have you ever heard of a comb, then, Jayden?" I asked, "Because it's either that, or you're trying to be Robert Pattinson,"
Jay's expression sparked with interest. "Robert Pattinson? Really?" he asked, "So that must mean you think I'm one hell of a sexy guy then,"
Ew. I think I just re-swallowed my breakfast. Wait. I didn't even have breakfast. Oh well.
"Don't make me throw up," I rolled my eyes, grabbing a pencil and doodling over a blank sheet of paper, "Because aside from you being not sexy, I think Robert Pattinson is ugly,"
"Hey! Is it because he's British?" a familiar British-accented voice came from my other side. I turned left to see the super-hot British cutie. I think his name was Leo.
"No. I have nothing against British people. I like British accents, actually. They're pretty cute,"
Leo leaned towards me, and I could feel the heat rising within my cheeks. Damn it.
"The name's Leon Alexander. It's pronounced Lee-yon. Not Lay-yon. Leo for short. Pleased to meet you, Miss Kaitlyn Hunter," he traced a finger along the lines of my jaw and added, "You're a very, very cute lady,"
I felt like I was the prey and Leo's the hunter. I was extremely entranced in his charm when I felt the back of my collar being tugged and I was pulled away from Leo. "Hey, no flirting with the stressed-out kitty," Jay cut in, "Besides, you'll burn the eyes of the under-aged,"
"How'd you know my name?" I asked Leo, pretending that Jay hadn't disrupted the moment between Leo and I.
Leo winked at me. "I try my best to acquaint myself with all the beautiful ladies around here,"
"Do you say that to every girl you meet?" I asked, swatting Jay's hand away from me. I turned to Jay, giving him another pointed look. "Hands off. Do not touch me. I'm keen on not contracting any infectious diseases from you,"
"What about Leo then?" Jay whined. Ah. There's another part of the ego-maniacal band leader I haven't seen, and it's wayyy better than the usual one.
"Well, he seems perfectly trustworthy and doesn't harass others like some people I know," I said laconically, turning back to my drawing.
I heard Leo chuckle. "It's nice to meet someone who doesn't drool all over Jay," he said, "It's even better to know it's a cutie like you,"
I swear, in every sentence Leo speaks, there's always a flirtatious comment. He must speak a unique language or something. "I take back my words. Please don't touch me either,"
"Hah!" Jay snorted in triumph as Leo sent an injured look over to me.
Silence returned as Leo lost interest in me (thank god for that!) and Jay was moodily scribbling in his own writing pad. I happily immersed myself in my drawing. Who doesn't like drawing? It's so calm-inducing and takes away all your problems.
"Kaitlyn."
I guess I was wrong.
I looked up, and saw Jay with a mischievous expression on his face. "Kate-lynne..." he rolled my name off his tongue, somehow making it seem mysterious and exotic.
I felt my heart skip a beat. Must've been the lack of breakfast and jet lag, since I just arrived in Sandfields yesterday, because no way in hell am I falling for that son of a b-. Wait. Swearing's bad for the health. That's what my best frie-, sorry, my ex-best friend used to tell the jocks back in our Boston high school. And she always used to- wait. Must refrain myself from taking a trip down memory lane. It's v. v. dangerous.
"What?" I snapped at him. Can't a person be left in peace, even if it's only for a few minutes? I thought gentlemen were supposed to respect us ladies?
Oh wait. I momentarily forgot who I was talking about there. Sorry.
Jay squinted his eyes, cocking his head to one side, as if he were cross-examining me.
"What? I know I'm not shapely an' all, but you don't have to study me like I'm a freak,"
My words caused the egomaniac to sprout a grin on his face. "Well, it's true that I've seen and had women with better curves, language and manners..."
I hate him. I really, honestly do.
"...but I was just wondering, if you're so artsy and all, do you sing?"
Wait wait wait. Rewind. Did he just ask me if I could sing?
I think Jay's a guy who can't use a remote control. He keeps pushing all the wrong buttons.
Singing is something I do not like to associate myself with. It's, like, a forbidden zone for me. Ever since that day when- okay. I'm overstepping the boundaries again. No trekking down memory lane.
"Why do you want to know whether I'm vocally talented or not?" I asked, "Does it even concern you? Or are you just a busybody?"
Jay mocking placed a hand over his chest and put on a puppy-dog expression. "I'm so wounded that you think so lowly of me," he said, his lower-lip jutting out, "I was just asking a perfectly innocent question."
"What he means, my dear-," Leo spoke up, "-is that he had this genius inspiration at practice a few weeks ago, to include a female vocalist in our band,"
"Which everyone vehemently agreed to," Jay pointed out, "Because we're only drawing in female fans. It's not so bad having millions of women that we can tame, but we're lacking testosterone in our fan bases,"
Wow. The guy whose vocabulary consists only the words 'me', 'I' and 'mine' actually knows a few descriptive words.
"You can't even draw in homosexuals?" I asked, "Because in scientific terms, they do have manly assets. It's just that their hormone levels are unbalanced,"
Jay rolled his eyes with a 'God-why-me?' expression. "Look here, kitty. The Lightning Devils are really popular on the internet now, and we want to draw in straight guys, so that will higher the chances of us being a selling rock band when we go professional. We don't want to be like a band of Justin Biebers. We want to be legendary, just like Nirvana and such," he explained lengthily, "I didn't ask for a science lesson,"
I shrugged. "Well, too bad, because when I sing, flowers within a 60-mile-radius start wilting and thunder clouds approach the horizon,"
"That's rather descriptive," Jay mused, "But I gather that you're bluffing,"
"Too bad for you then," I said, smiling at him for the first time, "Because no one besides myself has heard me sing for years now,"
That's true. I don't sing for others. I sing for myself. I mean, who doesn't sing along to a catchy song?
Jay's face dropped a little before it brightened up again. "What are you having for the next period?" he asked.
"Are you a stalker or something?" I asked, annoyed at his constantly meaningless questions, "Because if you must know, I'm having a free period, which, if you really want to know, I'm spending in one of the empty art rooms I reserved when I registered here yesterday,"
"Wow, you work fast huh, kitty?" Jay commented, scribbling on a scrap of paper and flicking it over to Leo, whose eyes darted over the paper and pocketed it.
"What are you doing?" I asked, watching Leo furiously tap his fingers on his iPhone. Wow. I can't even type that fast.
"Guy stuff, darling," Leo winked seductively at me.
O-kay. I'll just quietly ignore these two Casanovas and do my drawing. It's way less traumatizing. If a little old lady had been in my place, I would've bet all my money that she'd have a heart attack on the spot fifteen minutes ago.
The bell rang and I quickly packed up my pencils and writing pad, excited at the prospect of spending a solitary hour in the art room. Maybe I'll do an abstract art on my mind's current state. Hm...that's quite a fetching idea.
I slipped out of the back door and happily skipped my way down to the art block. Well, 'skipped' may be over-stating, but I guess I was moving more along the lines of 'walking at a fast pace'.
You know the feeling a person gets when he's in an art room is really nice. It's sooo quiet, relaxing and stress-free. You can sculpt, paint or draw without distractions, because that's the actual purpose of an art room.
I viewed the many unfinished projects that other art-students had left inside the room. Every single one of them was finely detailed, even paint-splattered canvases. So maybe this school really is for the gifted and genius.
I think Aunt Elle bribed them to take me in. I bet they had only accepted Genevieve, seeing as she's a prima ballerina, and Aunt Elle bribed them or something to accept me as well. Maybe my darling parents asked her to do it.
I was peacefully sketching the faint out-line of my soon-to-be-painting, when I heard the faint sounds of a song being played. It was getting louder by the second, and I recognized the tune and lyrics.
'...a time or two, just to waste my time with you...'
The All-American Rejects!
The little girl in me starting jumping around happily and before I knew it, I was singing along to the all-too familiar lyrics as I dipped my paintbrush into the blue paste.
"Tell me all that you've thrown away," I sang loudly, "Find out games you don't wanna play; you are the only one that needs to know! I'll keep you my dirty little secret-!"
"And you said flowers wilt and thunder clouds approach when you sing."
An ominous chill tingled up my spine as the music paused and I recognized the low voice that belonged Jay.
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