Gemotions

The note was tucked under the windshield wiper, written in hasty, furious scrawl: "The drum practice MUST stop. It's ridiculous!" Amelia frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. The drums? She hadn't even *touched* her kit in weeks. Her stomach did a little flip.

She glanced at her house, then at the cheerful, perfectly manicured lawn of Mr. Henderson's. He always seemed so jovial, waving to her from his porch. Now, this. Her fingers, usually steady, felt clumsy as she crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash.

Maybe it was coming from somewhere else. The street was long, the sound of music could travel. She’d go and ask him, just to see. She took a deep breath, and walked towards his porch.