Hotties, Hallways, and Harmonicas

I've always wished I played an instrument. Piano lessons with the 90-year-old woman (who, every five minutes, declared that my hands were too dirty for her piano and would lead us both to her bathroom so she herself could scrub my hands in boiling hot water, all while telling me how much she loved me, tossing in a big wet one on the cheek from time to time) did not last long. Buying a twenty-dollar guitar at a neighborhood garage sale did me no good (seeing as before the grand purchase I had never even held the blasted instrument), and everyone knows that xylophones only exist because that's the only word that begins in "x."
I don't know what it was that made my grandmother buy it for me, and I don't know what it was that made me stuff it in my back pocket that Monday morning. Was it a stroke of luck? A twist of fate? We shall never know...

"Hey."
Was he really talking to me?

"Hey."
Was the most gorgeous boy I've ever layed my eyes on really talking to me?

"Hey."
Was the most gorgeous boy I've ever layed my eyes on who I would take advantage of in a heartbeat if the opportunity ever were to arise really talking to me?

"Hey!"
Yes!

"Yeah?"

"You dropped your harmonica."

"That's not a harmonica."

"It has "HARMONICA" written across the front."

"You're right. It does. Thanks but...you can just leave it where it was."

"It was on the floor."

"Yeah well...I don't need it. Why would I need a harmonica? That's weird."

"But it was in your pocket."

"Yeah, but I was gonna get rid of it anyway sooo....just leave it. Now."

"Okay..."
The most gorgeous boy I've ever layed eyes on who I would take advantage of in a heartbeat if the opportunity ever were to arise slowly set my harmonica back on the floor, and vanished from my sight. I stood there, not knowing what to do. For some strange reason, I couldn't leave my harmonica. That blue metallic harmonica, which did indeed have "HARMONICA" written across the front, would have been hopeless without me. After all we had been through...I wanted to cry. Scream. Let the tears---

"Hey Natasha, you dropped your harmon---"

"I KNOW, OKAY?!"

Let the tears flow at the thought of leaving it, and at the though of how I just made a complete fool of myself in front of the most gorgeous boy I've ever layed eyes on who I would take advantage of in a heartbeat if the opportunity ever were to arise, and he would probably never speak to "the freak with the harmonica" ever again. I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing an utterly humiliated girl walking down a crowded hallway with a harmonica could do...I played.