I awoke the next morning, dreading the very thought of going to school. Hadn’t I had enough? When was life going to stop chipping away at my spirit? I knew I had to go though, to not put stress on my mother. I prepare for another day in this horrendous structure that dared to call itself a school.
I get ready for school, concealing the clues that anything was wrong, and I threw my backpack and guitar strap over my shoulder, rushing down the stairs. I meet my mom on the bottom step, and envelop her into the biggest hug I can muster. “Are you okay, Mom?” I ask, looking into her beautiful green eyes.
“Of course, dear,” she replies, “I start chemo tonight though, so I won’t be home until late. I’ll see you at seven.”
“Okay. Bye, Mom!” I holler as I walk out the door, running into none other than Shay.
“Hey hey hey!” He shrieks in a ghetto-girly tone, which I couldn’t help laughing at. “Well common then,” he says, grabbing me by the hand and skipping to the elevator. I giggle and blush as he beams at me, pressing the down button.
“Well good morning to you too. Someone’s happy,” I say, stepping into the elevator. I beat his thumb to the lobby button, and once the door opens, Shay skips out.
“Who wouldn’t be happy when they had Nutella for breakfast?” He yells, running out the lobby like a kid on a sugar high.
“I can’t argue with that,” I chuckle, following behind him. He and I skipped all the way to school, and I almost forgot my troubles. Almost.
He left me at my locker, and skipped to his. I retrieved my books, just dodging my main bullies. I sit in my usual back corner, being ignored as always, until the bell rings.
I meander the halls to music, and Shay runs past me screaming. I laugh and chase after him. I sit in my seat, and grab my guitar. Mr. Ray sets us loose to make our songs, and I sling my guitar over my body. I grabbed my purple guitar pick, and freely began to pluck the strings of my beloved guitar, composing a melody in my head. Soon enough, I had the main series of note complete, and I begin playing it, recording it on the sheet music Mr. Ray had supplied.
“Rouge! That’s amazing!” exclaims Shay, who is still trying to think of an idea. He has nothing so far.
“Meh,” I shrug, “It’s just the beginning. It will be much better with lyrics.”
“Well I think it’s amazing. Will you please write mine for me?” He begs.
“No! It has to be your own work,” I remind him, making him give me a pleading puppy-dog face. His lips were pursed, his cheeks were filled up with air, and his eyes were open wide. It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. “It won’t work!” I shout, clamping my eyes shut, refusing to give into his temptation. I open my eyes to say, “If you want me to, you need to bring me chocolate.”
“Seriously?!” He says, his eyes lighting up.
“No,” I tease. I hear him grunt in frustration, and I return to my song.
I continued working on it for the rest of class, and had big plans for it. It would be my best song yet. I could feel it. Shay, on the other hand, had absolutely no clue to what he could possibly do. I tried to give him ideas, but he came up empty.
The rest of the school day was a blur of taunts, lessons, and work, but I was finally going home. Shay and I went home together, carelessly prancing about like children. We received many odd stares, but that was alright. After all, you only live once.
We bounded into the lobby and went up the elevator. “Hey, Shay?” I requested before we went our separate ways, “Do you want to come into my place? My mom isn’t home, and I could sure use some help with solving quadratics.”
“Sure! Sounds fun,” replies Shay, and together we skip into my flat. “Nice place,” he comments, studying his new surroundings.
“It isn’t much, but its home,” I sigh, leading him up the spiral staircase to my room.
With Shay’s help, I had been able to finish my homework in a half hour, a new record. We were just goofing off in my room when Shay looks seriously at me, his eyes pouring into mine. I could feel him studying my heart and soul. “Rouge, when are you going to tell me about you?”
I knew very well what he meant by that statement, but I dodged its underlying meaning. “Well I don’t know about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Well, my name is Shay William Radke, son of Leah and Tom Radke. I’m seventeen and my birthday is February 3rd. I live here in London with my mom, dad, and brother, in apartment 46. My favorite sport is football, and I play guitar. Most people say I’m pretty laid-back, and I guess I am. I don’t have a pet, because when I was seven I fed my pet bunny an eraser and killed it. I laugh at basically everything if you haven’t noticed, and I believe in my lucky four-leaf clover boxers. I have no clue where I want to go to college. Das da story of me yo!” he explains.
“Fascinating,” I nod, placing my guitar back into its designated spot in my room.
“Now, educate to me the story of Rouge,” he says, lying down on my bed, his feet in the air and head propped on his hands, listening intently.
“Okay. My full name is Rouge Elizabeth Thomas, and I’m the daughter of Emma Thomas. I’m seventeen, and my birthday is November 29th--“
“Ooh yay it’s almost your birthday!” Shay interrupts excitedly. I give him a seriously? look, and he shamefully says, “Sorry. Carry on.”
“As I was saying, I live here in London, in apartment 41 with my mom. I don’t play sports, because their too much work. I sing and write songs though. I don’t have a pet ‘cause I’m lazy. I am a firm believer in the fact that everything happens for a reason, and I want to pursue a music degree in college, but I don’t know where,” I describe.
“Nice. So what are you hiding,” Shay asks.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I stutter nervously.
“Oh you know exactly what I mean.”
“N-no I don’t…”
“Don’t play stupid with me. I can see your hiding something. Now spill.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” I lie through my teeth.
“Look, I’m just trying to help you.” He says, looking into my eyes, as if staring at my soul.
“Well I think it’s time for you to go,” I fake smile in nervousness.
“Wait what?” He questions, confused.
I push him out of my room, grabbing his things, and lead him down the stairs. From there, I escort him out the door, and shove him out, slamming the door in his face.
From the other side of the door, I hear a muffled, “Let me help you! I can lift you back up again!” No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t let him in the door. I couldn’t expose myself to anyone; I couldn’t uncover my deepest darkest secrets. I couldn’t get hurt.
