His guitar pick was fumbled between his fingers, and he dropped it into the hollow of the instrument.  She<span style="font-style: italic">remembered</span>that?  As far as he recalled, he would always just leave them secretly in her desk.  She'd known all along.  So much for being invisible.  Furthermore, it was something he'd almost entirely forgotten about.  Sasha brought it up on a whim.  He felt like his breathing constricted momentarily, all the words and excuses and things he wanted to say that would surely make him look like a fool- choked off almost instinctively.  He swallowed hard, letting his hand drop in front of the guitar strings.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">She</span>had a crush on<span style="font-style: italic">him</span>.  Surely she had the wrong Adam Key.<br/><br/>“So you...” he trailed off lamely, clutching aimlessly at words.  He wasn't prepared for this at all.<span style="font-style: italic">And <span style="font-weight: bold">this</span> is precisely the reason you are the biggest loser at Salem.</span>He eyed the notebook sitting innocently across from them, as if it held the secrets of the universe inside of its pages.  For all he knew, it could have.  Before another chance arose to speak, a pile of junk was tossed forcefully into his lap.<br/><br/>“Battle. Of. The. Bands!” Peter announced excitedly from behind the couch.  Adam picked it up half heartedly and skimmed its contents.  “Don't worry, I've already signed us all up for it, over the phone, see.”<br/><br/>“...when--?”<br/><br/>“October!” Peter answered proudly.  “I've even got us some stage names.  You'll be Dick Danger, I'm Sir Slaughter, and the lady shall be the Iron Maiden.”<br/><br/>“She can't be Iron Maiden!”<br/><br/>“Why not?”<br/><br/>Adam shot him a look.  Peter should have named himself 'The Cock Blocker'.  His friend caught on almost immediately, his mouth falling open in a distinct shape which indicated his every intention of being a total prick about the situation later.<br/><br/>Practice carried on as usual, the montage of music flowing naturally, as if nothing else mattered.  As a band, he felt confident Buckshot could make it out there, if only they could get an audience.  Peter killed it on the drums.  Adam could keep up with any big name guitarist if he put his heart into it.  And Sasha?  Her voice was amazing.  They could use a bassist, and maybe a synth, too, but for what they had, they made a good team.  Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to sign up in the Battle.<br/><br/>As for Sasha, he was a little thankful for Peter's intrusion, because he needed time to digest the nuclear missile she'd just fired into him.  Needless to say, it had changed his perception about their past completely.  Now he wondered just how many times she might have felt invisible to him, just as he had.  Adam wasn't exactly the most attentive type.  He felt a little guilty, considering it was possible she could have left him animal crackers and he wouldn't have even paid it mind.<br/><br/>In his room, he laid back on his black-sheeted mattress, staring up at the smoking cherub on Van Halen's 1984 tour poster.  He tossed a footsack at its face as he contemplated the day.  It was like he was trying to convince himself that Sasha didn't just tell him what he wanted to hear, which was a little backwards when one considered it.  He kept glancing over at his notebook, which he made certain to secure before leaving Peter's garage.  Finally, he gave in and snatched it off of the floor, the small scrap of paper with Sasha's phone number slipping out from between the pages and fluttering onto his shirt.  He flipped to the back of the book restlessly, and read the lyrics she'd written in her neat hand.  He must have reread it a hundred times before he finally set the book face down over his chest.<br/><br/>He didn't know what he was thinking.  He reached for the phone beside him, dialed the number, and let it ring.<br/><br/>“Er, hi.  My name's Adam.  Sasha has been tutoring me in Chemistry.  I had a question about the homework assignment.  May I speak with her?”  The woman on the other line must have been her mother, he guessed.