“DaMarko, hey,” LaMesha leaned against the door. “My first real fight and I’m more exhausted than fulfilled. I can’t—”
“Oh no. No, no, don’t start with your negativity again,” DaMarko said. He grinned from the top bunk bed.
The dorm was small, leaving room for a bunk bed and some drawers; what the space lacked in size made up for it in its beautiful interior. LaMesha stretched her legs and yawned. The first thing she eyed was her violin; she picked it up, and her posture relaxed; her eyes brightened as she viewed its hollow wooden body and four strings; it shined and reflected against the lamp light. LaMesha picked it up as if she’d play, but her aching body suggested otherwise; she set it down and directed her attention back to DaMarko.
