Accents never sounded too strange to Jay. Being from the southern part of the country, he had his own accent muddling up his words. Meggan’s was different, though-- like Jono’s, kind of. The look of disappointment that crossed her face when he stopped playing hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Jay didn’t start playing the instrument again. It would be rude to keep playing! No, he would be good and keep himself from strumming the strings until she asked.
Any response Jay could have had to the knowledge of Meggan’s super-recent arrival went out the window at the question about how he learned to play-- what, the song? The guitar? He was happy to answer both and it showed in his widened eyes and even wider smile. “Oh! Thank you. And I- um, I wrote the song. I mean, it ain’t all done yet or nothin’, I figure, but it’s close. … Or did you mean the guitar? ‘Cause that, my dad helped me with and I learned the rest myself. D’you know how to play at all?” And then, remembering his manners, Jay asked another question, “And, uh, why was the room too big? Don’t got a roommate yet? I got a lotta stuff, so it kinda makes my room look a whole lot smaller.”