You're Full Of Suprises

Chapter 7

Max was a bitter person. His parents didn't care what he did and, half the time, they were never even home to take care of him. To do what parents do. Max mostly fended for himself and lived off of ramen noodles or Mac n cheese that his mother bought. Which meant no family dinners for him.

And it also meant he never got a greeting when he came home.

Or anyone to ask him how his day was (apart from Nikki, Neil, or Preston).

So that day, Max came home, and vented his frustrations on Halo. First person shooting games calmed him. He logged onto a campaign, and took people down one by one. He was a great shooter (well, as far as video game shooting went).

Bang. First kill.

How could he have been so stupid as to think anyone could find him remotely lovable?

Bang. Second kill.

Why on Earth would he even risk anyone hearing him sing?

Bang.

Bang.

Bang. Three more kills.

Max felt a hot tear run down his face and angrily wiped it away. He was being stupid. He should just forget about it. He clicked the console off, and laid down in bed. He went to sleep immediately, exhausted from his emotions.

Two weeks before Student Voices auditions.

Preston walked into the little practice room. He only had one thing on his mind all day.

He was going to ask Max to do student voices with him.

He sat down on the piano bench, listening to Max play a small medley of different songs. After a few moments, he cleared his throat. 

"Max?"

"What?" Max didn't look up from his ukulele. He didn't want to look at Preston's face. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, whatever." Max became hopeful, but pushed the feeling down and tried to keep his cool.

"I know that you didn't want to, but maybe if you didn't sing we could, uh, we could-"

"Spit it out, Preston."

"Will you do Student Voices with me?"

Max froze, and Preston sighed, feeling like he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, sure." Max said, finally looking at Preston. "Which song?"

"actually," Preston said, "I was hoping we could do that Elvis Presley song."

"Alright." Max said. 

And so they set to work.

They met up at lunch every day for the next week. Max had probably heard Preston sing the song a hundred times. He never got tired of it.

Wednesday, two days before auditions.

'Max, your plucking is off."

Max groaned, frustrated. He hadn't been able to focus for the last two days. Spending so much time with Preston had made him grow angry. He could't shake the feelings he felt, and he was frustrated that he couldn't just get over it.

"Max, your plucking is off, again."

Max plucked harder, feeling his face grow red and feeling frustration boiling in the pit of his stomach.

"Max, what's wrong with you? You're plucking has been off for the last two days. C'mon, again."

Max began again, from the beginning of the song. Preston was getting on his nerves. He always got annoying and short tempered when he was stressed, and it was evident that this audition was stressing him out more than anything Max had seen.

"Look, Max, I don't know what's going on, but you need to-"

Max boiled over.

"I need to what, Preston?" He snapped back, glaring at Preston's surprised face. "I'm sorry I can't always be the perfect person you want me to be! God, not everyone can be as on top of every little thing like you! Not everyone is a perfect princess like you." Max sneered. He glared at Preston for a second longer until he realized what he'd said. Preston's face was bright red, and he looked close to tears.

"Look, I don't know what's been up with you, but I'm sorry for whatever it is. Sorry for trying to get close to you, for trying to make you open up. I thought we had something good going here. Sorry I cared. I guess all I am to you is some bitchy little theater princess, right?" Preston snapped back angrily. Max tried to take a step towards him, but Preston flinched away, and pulled the practice room door open.

"After the show, I'll leave you alone. Obviously you just can't stand me and my bitchy self."

The door closed, leaving Max standing alone in the room. He was glad the rooms were soundproofed. He yelled, kicking his chair. Plopping down on the floor wearily, he put his face in his hands.

He was an idiot.