Sad Songs Belong To The Empathetic | joshler au

One

Freshman Year - January

There's a droplet of water sliding down the glass pane of the window in the classroom. The droplet next to it is falling at the same speed and they're racing each other, the first currently outrunning the other. They left a clear path behind them, the condensation from the bodies in the room breathing and moving around clearing away as the drips picked the molecules up along the way. One blink, and the race was over.

Josh's droplet lost.

Who was he racing? Who claimed the winner?

He looked around at the room to see the girl with platinum blond hair next to him hiding her phone in her lap while she texted. Carefully, he glanced at the screen and his face contorted oddly at the all the varying heart and kissing emojis she was sending to a contact he could only figure was a boy.

Cringe.

First period was over after he raced himself with the rain two more times, then the still dim sky cleared up and he had nothing to do other than scroll through Instagram. He walked out and avoided clashing with the wall, the doorway, the other people, anything that could cause a spike within his rib cage. English was next, and so was three scenes and a discussion of Romeo and Juliet. He sat motionless in the back where his desk was and had been since the beginning of the year. He was good at not getting called on.

He kept his head up and watched the teacher while she explained what each word meant, which meant stopping after almost every sentence. No wonder they were taking so long to finish the damn play. He kept his hands above the desk so she didn't think he was on his phone, she liked to call on those kids the most. He nodded along and pretended to understand what was going on while getting the answers to the homework study guide off of quizlet after school hours. The tips worked, he managed to avoid getting called on in almost all of his classes, except one.

He wasn't so lucky in Orchestra, not that it mattered anyways. All he ever did in that class when they weren't practicing for a game was screw around with his friends. He was comfortable around them, having known them since sixth grade. People usually didn't leave Columbus, when does one ever hear of somebody from Ohio making it big? He liked his friends, they made him comfortable and assured him that he shredded it on the drums even though during school hours he only had the one, large drum with the monotone beat to it that came into play once in a while during each performance.

It was nice. He stood in the back of the formations and no one paid much attention to him. He was content with being invisible.

But being called on in this class was unavoidable. He was convinced the teacher had it out for him, but she was always so nice and cheery. He couldn't be mad at her, only afraid. He was afraid of a forty-two year old woman with three cats, all named after the male leads from friends. Mrs. Lanabell was her name and she had a sickeningly sweet smile that matched her hero complex.

He blinked and noticed his surroundings had changed. He was holding the one drumstick with the heavy end meant for banging on the skin of the drum in front of him. He looked up when he heard his name, eyes going wide when he was met with - and without exaggeration - everyone in the class staring at him.

"Dude," the girl in front of him sighed tiredly, dropping her trumpet onto her lap.

"I'm-"

"Sorry, yeah. That's the third time this week," a boy across the room said, annoyance laced in his voice.

Josh looked over at him and swallowed.

"You gotta stop zoning out in class, in this class at least," Mrs. Lanebell said, sighing and scratching her head. "It's okay, we need the practice. Reset, guys."