Lottie is a 10 year old girl who has big dreams.

"Why won't Cammy let me get a guitar?" She sighs every afternoon. Lottie really wants to be a musician but her big sister -Cammy- won't let her even go near a guitar.

5 years ago, her parents died in a car crash but their guitar somehow survived. But Cammy locked it up in the attic as she believes that it gives bad luck. Lottie goes to Blackheath academy and has 4 besties, Kamile, Millie, Tyra and Leja. Lottie was in the car when the crash happened and paralysed her legs( resulting in being confined to a wheelchair).

Lottie had a sleepover, her friends were in her room when she snuck out of it.

Millie helped her sneak out, they walked toward the attic.

Millie jumped up high and pulled the attic stairs down.

She picked up Lottie and carried her up the stairs, sitting her down, then did the same with the wheelchair.

Lottie was plopped back into the wheelchair, she saw all those boxes, it could be in any one…

Millie started looking frantically, Lottie followed.

An hour goes by, Cammy comes home without them noticing.

Cammy walked up the stairs, she spotted the two.

”Lottie! No!” Cammy yelped, but Lottie was already holding the guitar.

It was tuned and looked recently used?..

Lottie then realized Cammy had been using it selfishly all this time.

Cammy was pursing Lottie’s life long dream, without her knowing.

Lottie let down tears, it felt warm on her pale and cold skin, the only comfort she had in that moment.

That wasn’t the sister she knew, it was a monster.

The attic felt suddenly too small—too dusty, too full of ghosts.

Lottie’s fingers trembled around the guitar’s neck. It was lighter than she expected, warm from someone else’s hands. Cammy’s hands.

Millie stepped between the sisters, unsure whether to shield Lottie or shove Cammy down the stairs.
“Cammy… what’s going on?”

Cammy didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the guitar, not Lottie—like she was afraid it might shatter if she blinked.

“Give it back,” Cammy whispered.

“No.” Lottie’s voice surprised even herself. It wasn’t loud, but it was steady—like a note held perfectly in tune.

Cammy flinched.

Lottie lifted the guitar onto her lap. Her legs couldn’t move, but her hands could. Her heart could. Her memories could.

She plucked a single string.

The sound rang out—clear, bright, impossibly familiar.
It was the same note her father used to play when he tuned the guitar. The same note she heard in the car before everything went dark.

Cammy grabbed the railing, breathing hard.
“Lottie, stop. You don’t understand.”

“Then explain,” Lottie said. “Explain why you told me it was cursed. Explain why you kept it for yourself.”

Cammy’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t keeping it. I was protecting you.”

“From what? Music?”

“From remembering.”

The attic fell silent.

Millie’s eyes darted between them. “Cammy… what does that mean?”

Cammy swallowed. “Every time I play it, I see them. Mum. Dad. The crash. Everything. I thought if you touched it, you’d… break.”

Lottie’s throat tightened. “I already broke.”

Cammy shook her head. “Not like that.”

But Lottie wasn’t listening anymore. Her fingers moved on instinct—muscle memory she didn’t know she had. A chord. Then another. A melody she hadn’t heard in years but somehow still lived inside her.

The attic seemed to breathe with the sound.

Millie gasped. “Lottie… you’re amazing.”

Cammy stared, stunned. “How are you doing that?”

“I don’t know,” Lottie whispered. “It’s like… it’s like the guitar remembers me.”

And then—
A soft click echoed from inside the guitar’s body.

Lottie froze. “Did you hear that?”

Cammy nodded slowly. “Open it.”

Millie leaned in, eyes wide. “There’s something inside?”

Lottie turned the guitar over. A tiny panel—one she’d never noticed—had popped open. Inside was a folded piece of paper, yellowed at the edges.

Her father’s handwriting.

Cammy’s breath hitched. “No way…”

Lottie unfolded it with shaking hands.

“For my girls. When the music finds you again, follow it.”

That was all.

But it was enough to change everything.

Lottie looked up, tears still clinging to her lashes—but now they felt different. Not warm with hurt, but warm with possibility.

“Cammy,” she said softly, “I think Mum and Dad wanted us to play.”

Cammy sank to her knees, finally crying too.

And for the first time in five years, the attic didn’t feel haunted.

It felt like a beginning.

The sleepover took on a very different direction after that. For the first time in years, the guitar was unburied from its hidden place in the attic, dusted off, and brought downstairs to the living room where Lottie and her friends had set up their sleeping bags and stuffed animals. The five girls sat in a circle on the carpeted floor.

"Is that--the guitar?" Kamile asked.

Lottie nodded, face still red from the cry she had shared with her sister. "Yeah," she said. And because she couldn't say much of anything else, she plucked a string. That same note she had heard in the car, the same note she played upstairs. E natural: both the first string and the last, the biggest string and the smallest. An ending and a beginning.

The friends leaned in excitedly, finally witnessing the talent they had heard so much about. The music came easily to Lottie after a few minutes, muscle memory taking over as she started on one of the songs her parents taught her. She could only remember half the words, but that didn't matter to her. She held the guitar like it was the last and dearest thing in the world.

When she finished the song, her friends clapped. Millie brushed away a tear. "You're, like, super talented," said Tyra.

Lottie noticed Cammy standing on the far side of the room, watching them tentatively--unsure whether she was allowed to join the circle of friends. She looked up at her big sister. "You can sit down if you want," she said.

Cammy's eyes widened in surprise. "Even though I played the guitar without telling you? Even though I hurt you?"

"Yeah!" Lottie pointed to a spot on the floor next to her sleeping bag. "You're my sister. The guitar is for both of us to play. Come join the circle."

So she did. Lottie played another song, then she passed the guitar to Cammy, and they took turns for the rest of the night, until it was way past their bedtimes. Even the other girls tried out a few chords on the guitar, trying to copy the way Lottie and Cammy held their fingers. They talked, laughed, and shared stories together.

When she woke up the next morning, her fingertips were red and sore from so much playing. It was a little painful, but she knew the skin would eventually grow back tougher. Healing didn't happen overnight, but sleepovers did--and sometimes, that was enough.