I Can't

Margarita and a Musical

I blinked sleep from my eyes as my alarm blared. My room filled with the sound of the beginning of No One Mourns The Wicked. I quickly stopped the alarm, saddened by the lack of music but not wishing to wake anyone else up. I rolled out of bed and quickly brushed my teeth and hair. I examined my face for any sign of imperfections, disgruntled to find a zit right next to my nose. Slight bags were visible under my eyes and I sighed, applying makeup to mask them. While most people find the idea of a boy wearing makeup absolutely revolting, I love it. Of course that's because i know how to apply it and like the way it looks on me. I decided on leaving it at just foundation and pulled on my jeans, not letting them sag because (no matter what Margarita says) it does not look good. I slipped a plain black tee shirt on and dashed down the stairs, grabbing my bag on the way.

I rummaged through the cabinets to find something to eat before I left. I took a gulp of the tea from the fridge, replacing the jug before someone noticed. At this exact moment my mother walked into the kitchen. "John how many times am I going to tell you to stop drinking straight from the container?" She asked, starting a pot of coffee for my dad.

I shrugged, shoving a granola bar in my mouth. "A million." I said, still chewing.

"I've said it a million times already." She shot back.

"A million and five." I finished the granola bar and tossed another into my backpack for after school. "Okay I have to go, see you, love you." I listed off my many farewells to her, swinging on my bag and grabbing my keys.

"Love you," she said without turning away from the pot of coffee.

I hopped into my car, legitimately tossing my bag into the passenger seat. I backed out of the driveway, quietly singing along to Newsies. The drive to the school was short but I refuse to sit through another year of the bus. I finally stopped riding the bus freshman year, close enough to the school to walk but this year I could drive, so I intended on doing so.

I swung into a parking spot close to the band entrance and entered the school. The halls were vacant spare a teacher walking quickly to her classroom, the sound of her heels resonating throughout the bland white corridor. I went to a public school, but it was an extremely nice public school. Massive as well. College swim teams actually used the pool here for swim meets. The music department though, was the pride of the school. 'One of the best in the country for music education.'

Though, we did have an amazing boys volleyball team and girls varsity softball team. Both win states almost every year. I immediately made a turn to the black box theatre, which was used for the acting I and II classes' student plays as well as the small plays, improv team and color guard practice during band camp and summer training. It was also the girls changing room in Fridays for marching band performances. The room was nearly empty, one wall covered in mirrors, another lined with a cart of chairs and music stands as well as stored sound equipment. I came here almost every morning to memorize lines, practice audition music and some days I came in and slept until Margarita woke me up five minutes before class.

I set my bag by the door and pulled out my black binder. I carried a music stand to the center on the room, facing the mirror and opened my binder to a piece of sheet music entitled, Wonderful.

I buzzed my lips a few times and took a deep breath before starting the song.

I never asked for this, or planned it in advance. I was merely blown her by the winds of chance. I never saw myself as a Solomon or Socrates, I knew who I was, one of your dime a dozen mediocrities.

I continued the song, imagining the upbeat music as I danced around in my spot.

A celebration throughout Oz, that's all to do with you. Wonderful, they'll call you wonderful!