The boy stared at the clock. His fourth class of the day just seemed to drag along. It was only 12:42. He still had 15 minutes until he could finally leave. It wasn't that he hated algebra. He thought that he was alright at the subject, rather it was the fact that his next class was in fact European History.
It was the class where September Adams had left him a note. He couldn't wait to see if she had written him back. His eyes traveled over the algebra text book for the thousandth time. Brad's thoughts had been filled with September that he still hadn't moved passed the first question that he was supposed to be working on.
Looking to his right, he saw Connor working on something. "Connor, what question are you on?"
Connor's blue eyes lifted to meet Brad's gaze. He lightly lifted the paper so Brad could see. "I'm not working on it."
Brad recognized the messy words that Connor was working on as lyrics. He's got the right idea, he thought as he flipped to an empty page in his notebook. Instead of working on the math problems, he moved his attention to the creative writing project he had to finish.
As soon as he learned what he had to do for the project, Brad knew that he was going to write a poem. He had always been really good with his words, especially when it came to poetry. That was part of the reason that he wanted to be a musician. Brad had always loved to sing. Writing poetry was the same as writing songs to the boy. All he had to do was put the poems to music.
Though for whatever reason, this time, he was stuck with what he should write. He couldn't figure out his words. His mind was too clouded with September and who she could be to think of a muse. As he scribbled lines aimlessly, the bell rang knocking him out of his thoughts.
The boy bolted from his seat. His bag barely made it over his shoulder as he exited the room. In all honesty, Brad couldn't contain his excitement of getting another note from September. At least, he hoped that she would write him back.
As he slipped into the chair of his desk, he reached under the table. The feeling of the square paper made his chest swell with excitement. His eyes scanned the yellow sticky note as he read.
Hi, Bradley Simpson (aka Brad). First off, to answer your question, I'm new. Started here on Monday. Second off, I think it would be cool if we became friends. I have yet to make a friend here. So, since you mention the band room, I assume you play an instrument. What is it? Also what genre of music do you play? I personally don't know how to play anything, though I wish I did. If I could though, I think that I would make like pop rock or alternative music. I would say that is my personal favorite.
~ September Adams (aka Sept)
P.S. thanks
As he read over her neat handwriting, he could feel his smile growing. She was so different, not in a bad way. To Brad, this mystery girl seemed so interesting. Maybe it had to do with the fact that she had moved here from somewhere else or the fact that he had no idea what she looked like. Maybe it wasn't either of those things, rather the fact that she seemed so interested in who he was. Sure, he had his friends who cared about him and he cared about them.
But this was different.
All of his friends were people who had known him his entire life. He grew up with everyone he knew. They had seen him grow up. They knew his past. September had no idea who he was. She was going to get to know him without a prior judgement of who he was.
With the same blue pen as the day before, Brad began to write September back.
Hey Sept, I do play an instrument, two actually. I mostly play guitar, but I do use the piano when I'm writing songs usually. Maybe I could teach you someday. As for genre, I'm in a band with a few of my mates. We're called the Vamps. I would say that we make pop rock music actually, but it tends to lean more to the poppier side. Personally, I love the Arctic Monkeys, but also I'm inspired by Mcfly and ACDC. Sometimes, I think I'm all over the place. Do you have any favorites?
~ Brad
P.S. your welcome
After looking over his writing one last time to make sure it was perfect, Brad placed the sticky note back in it's place. Pulling his history textbook out of his bag, he stared ahead as Mr. Thompson began the lesson.
