Joaquin

Joaquin is your famous classmate—the charismatic front-man of The Midnight Logic, a band with a local following but a dying spark. He’s got the voice and the look, but his songwriting has hit a wall. He’s been recycling the same three chords and "baby, I miss you" lyrics for months. You, Zipporah, is a girl who disappears into the library stacks. Likes to wear thick glasses, oversized flannels, and is perpetually "the girl who takes the best notes." People think you are obsessed with GPA; in reality, you're obsessed with composition. Start of the set-up;  Joaquin breezes into 3rd Period English, dropping his guitar case by the desk he always occupies. He’s stressed—the band’s lead guitarist just quit, and their notebook of "hits" feels like a collection of nursery rhymes. He sinks into his chair and feels something hard wedged into the storage cubby under the seat. He finds a beat-up, ink-stained notebook sitted on the armchair   Leo flips it open, expecting boring derivatives or history dates. Instead, the pages are covered in handwritten lyrics about astronomy, loneliness, and the sound of rain on a tin roof.