strum || a newtmas au

one

Thomas woke up at 8:35. He yawned, stretching his arms out, then taking a swig of the glass of water on the table beside his bed. He glanced at the clock, then sighed. He was late. Again. He swung his legs out of bed, then threw on his outfit of the day. He always dressed relatively simple: a pair of blue jeans, some random t-shirt, and his letterman jacket.

He stuffed some random junk in his backpack, then swung it over his shoulder.

"You're late again Tom," his mother said.

"Yeah, whatever. If you want me at school on time, then you wake me up." He barely gave her a glance as he walked down the stairs and through the hallway. 

"Keep this up and you're going to be expelled!" his mother shouted from the top of the stairway. Thomas ignored her, opening the door with more force than he needed to. He slammed it behind him, and began his walk to The Glade. It was the college closest to his house, and he liked the idea of not moving out, so he just went there.

It wasn't a very good college. The buildings all look as though they'd been freshly hit by a tornado, and he had actually been hit by a falling brick once or twice. Maybe that's what was wrong with him.

The classes didn't completely suck though. He had some pretty good professors, like Professor Paige. Others, like Dr. Janson, he didn't appreciate as much. His classmates were pretty nice, for the most part, so Thomas was pretty satisfied with what he had going.

He didn't really care about college, and he only went because his mother wanted him to. He hated the idea of disappointing his mom, so he decided that he'd rather humor her than be kicked out. Not that she would really do that though.

He kicked a rock down the sidewalk as he walked, hoping to slow himself down by just enough to miss his first class. He had social sciences with Dr. Janson, who he hated. The guy was a complete idiot. 

To his dismay, he made it just 20 minutes before class ended. He sighed, walking into the lecture hall. He pushed the door open, quietly making his way towards one of his friends.

Janson didn't acknowledge his presence, and continued prattling on about whatever crap he was talking about.

"Hey dude, you made it! That's too bad." said his friend Minho. He was a cool guy. He worked out; you could tell with just one glance. He was Asian, and used hair gel to carefully craft his hair into whatever funky shape he desired. 

"Yeah, man. I was hoping I could make it just a second too late."

"Yo, have you seen Alby lately? I haven't seen him anywhere. Like, at all."

"Nah. I don't really talk to him as much as you do." Minho and Alby share lots of classes, because they tried to get the same. They were in the same exact situation as him. They had no future and were broke as hell.

They were silenced by a glare from Janson, and Thomas fidgeted with the pencil in his hand. God, this class is boring. He sketched little figurines on his table, waiting impatiently for class to be over. 

Finally, Janson dismissed them, and Thomas swung his bag back over his shoulder, but hung behind to wait for Minho.

"Where are you going next?" Minho asked, hurriedly stuffing his things in his bag.

"I have music theory next."

"What the hell is your schedule, man?"

"I just picked random shit. I don't care."

"Yeah, I can tell. Even Alby and I have a better chance at a career than whatever you've got going on."

"Whatever, man. I just haven't figured out what I want to do yet."

"You better pick something quick, or you'll have no hope for any future."

"Yeah." With that, they headed out of the building, and Thomas and Minho went their separate ways. Thomas walked further into the campus, music blaring from his Walkman. He was into rock, but not so rock that it was sort of metal. No so rock that they were screaming in your face.

He reached his next destination, a relatively small building, compared to the ones surrounding it. It was in better condition than the others, though. Music theory didn't suck, so Thomas didn't mind it. He waited for the song he was listening to to finish, and then walked inside.

The classroom was loud when he walked in, which surprised him. It was normally pretty quiet in all his classes, even music theory. He took his seat, isolating himself from the people around him. He knew nobody in this class, and to be honest, didn't really want to. 

There was only one group of people that piqued his interest, really. There were three boys and a girl. They always kept to themselves, but they weren't always quiet about it. They threw their heads back laughing, like they were still in high school. The girl smacked the desk with laughter, then held her stomach, cackling as she leaned back in her chair.

They quieted, however, when the teacher walked in. 

He gave them an odd glance before setting his case down on his desk. He observed the class for a minute, perhaps counting attendance, and frowned slightly before looking up at the previously hysterical group.

"Where's Newton? He's usually here on time, and I didn't get any word from him." the man asked, shuffling a couple papers on his desk.

"I dunno." said the girl with a shrug, shifting in her seat. 

"Right here, Professor Lawrence." called a voice from the doorway, and a few seconds later a boy walked in. He was obviously British, considering his thick accent. He was pretty tall, and more on the slender side. He had puffy blonde hair and brown eyes. He wore a pair of black jeans, combat boots, a Beatles shirt, and a long, leather jacket that hung down by his boots. He took a seat with the rest of his group, who looked severely underdressed compared to him.

Thomas continues to look at him, a little entranced by the strange style choices, but quickly looked away when he realized the guy was looking back at him. 

"Thanks for deciding to show up, Newton."

"Please, call me Newt." he said, tilting back in his chair a little bit. 

"Sure, whatever you want." Mr. Lawrence sighed, picking up a stack of papers. "Now, let's get started. From what I've collected from our previous classes, most of you play an instrument, or are looking for a career in something music-related. So what I want to focus on..."

Thomas stopped listening there, not really interested in what else the man had to say. He looked at the boy Newt again, who was whispering something to one of the boys, a grin plastered on his face. 

He has a nice smile.

Thomas later found that he couldn't recall anything else from that class.