Invisible (UP FOR ADOPTION)

Chapter 10

(A/N)

10 chapters and they haven't even acknowledged each other's existence. I'm pretty sure I just set a record.

Also, a thank you to Luna_Lovegood333 for the flurry of comments. Welcome to the club!

(Also, I will give a shout-out to the person who gets every single reference in this chapter!)

*****

Scott's POV

I was panting as I slammed the front door behind me. my mom was on the couch, reading my note when I burst in. She looked surprised as I ran towards the staircase. She went after me and grabbed my hand before I had made it halfway up.

"Honey, is everything okay?" I just stared at her with tears forming in my eyes before I just turned and ran. I went into my room and started sobbing into my pillow. I never cried. The last time I had felt this must much emotion at once is when he left.

~

I was sitting on my bed, face in my hands, when I heard arguing coming from my parents room. My curiosity about what my dad had to say about me got the better of me, and so I left my room and went out into the hallway. I leaned my ear against their door, so I could just make out their conversation.

"...and you've been indulging whatever this?" "You mean supporting our son? Yes." It's just - he - that's not who he is." "So you expect him to just deny himself?" "No, it's just a phase, it'll blow over. It's like 'cool' now to be gay." "Yeah, 'cause he wants a taste of that sweet, sweet bullying and persecution because being a teenager's not hard enough." "I know our son, Connie. And he definitely wouldn't do something like this that would ruin his life."

I clenched my fists in blinked back my tears. I told him, and I hadn't expected him to be jumping up and down for joy, but I didn't expect this. I knew that this would come with having to come out, but I never thought I'd get it from my own father. Thanks, Dad. Now I know not to expect the best from anyone.

Just then the door opened and he came out of the room. He looked me up and down, let out a huff, and just left. My mom ran out after him and grabbed his hand before he could go out the door. "Rick, please don't do this." He turned his head to look at me, then back at my mother. "I'm sorry Connie, I just need time to think." And with that, he shook away her hand and closed the door on his way out.

~

After he left, my moms donated all of his belongings and completely erased him from our lives. He sends me letters sometimes, but I hardly ever read them. Just yesterday I got one, but I ignored it and stuck it in my locker. I didn't need him for my life to be happy, but I didn't need him to make my life sad.

I turned over so I was now laying on my back. I wiped away my tears and stared at the ceiling. Clenching my pillow to my chest, I told myself that if I could get over him, I could get over this. Everyone makes mistakes. But sometimes you just need to forget you ever made them in order to truly get over them.

*****

The next day I was in my home economics and improvement class with Mr. Kressley when the first thing that day happened. He was flipping through his assignment book looking for another subject to talk about, and I just stared at his motto on the blackboard.

"When life gives you lemons, put them in a decorative urn."

It was pretty dry in the room, and it made it kind of hard for all of us to breathe. But when I rushed a few pieces of dust off my desk, a few seconds later I heard a small cough coming from behind me. I turned around to see where it was coming from, and there was nothing there. I turn to face the front of the room again, and just shook my head. Scott, there is nothing there. You're just being delusional.

Later that day, I had wood shop with Mr. Filicia, when he cut his finger on a piece of mirror he was trying to use for a window illusion. "Put a window where a window ought to be", he said.

It was bleeding pretty badly, and I assumed it hurt just as bad as it looked. And for some reason, he started waving his hand around and jumping up and down like a monkey. Because apparently that's the best way to cure a bleeding finger.

The whole show was pretty funny I'll admit, but no one actually said anything about it until there was a small giggle coming from somewhere in the room. Mr. Filicia did not look happy. "Who's laughing?" The giggling stopped. No one said a word. "That's what I thought. Now get back to work students, and use your best judgment when using equipment while I'm gone. I'm going to be going down to the nurse's office for a minute to get this taken care of."

Again, I turn to see if there was anyone who showed signs of being the giggler. Everyone was back at their projects, either sanding wood or cutting glass. I shook my head again and went back to my project. The window treatments weren't going to hem themselves.

*****

Then came choir. My favorite part of the day. The shame that I only had at three out of five days of the week. We were with my choir teacher Ms. Johnson, working on our arrangement of "A Million Dreams". I didn't really like it, because we had to sing it an octave higher than the original version, but I couldn't really do anything about it.

(A/N: Real Ms. Johnson, if you are reading this, please let us sing it an octave lower because the high notes are driving me nuts, and yes, all of the girls can perfectly well hit that lower note that the actor can sing. Just letting you know.

And yes, some of these names are the names of my real teachers. Sorry to interrupt your irregularly scheduled programming.)

We were just getting to the final chorus when I softly heard a third harmony coming from the tenor section. And it wasn't a lower melody, it was higher than what the sopranos were singing. I was in awe of how high the voice was, yet how it still managed to sound so beautiful. But since we were singing in a group, I couldn't tell who the voice was coming from.

The final straw happened in last period homeroom. Miss Cassidy had instructed us to write freestyle poems, which we then would turn in to her, and she would randomly select three poems to read out loud.

We had finished our poems and turned them all in. Ms. Cassidy picked three poems, one of which turned out to be mine. The first poem read was good, but I didn't get what all of the tickling, pickles, and whatever an 'ickle' was meant.

She read my poem next, which I had decided to make kind of deep and dark. It also kind of reflected some of my feelings from the last few days.

Dreams can come true,
You just have to believe in them
Dreams can come true,
You just have to work hard for them
Dreams can come true,
You just have to find joy in them
Dreams can come true,
But aren't nightmares dreams too?

I felt proud of it. It was one of my best peices of writing this year so far. But when the last poem was read, I actually got scared. For me, and for the person who wrote it.

Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of my head Get out of
Get
out
of
my
head

Get out of my head before I do what I know is best for you
Get out of my head before I listen to everything they said to me
Get out of my head before I show you how much I love you
Get out of my head before I finish writing this poem

But a poem is never really finished.
It just stops moving.