Ok, so let's just go over this briefly.
Brandon, he is my boyfriend.
The other boys are my best friends.
As of the last chapter, we are in the summer of 2013.
And I shall move onward
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Ah, the start of eighth grade. I was hoping it would be my best year.
Those kids who were marching band, their season would end in November.
I was so excited to found out that a lot of my band friends were in my block (section of eighth graders).
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Lunches were annoying. All they EVER talked about was their time in band.
If I tried to bring something up, then I'd get another conversation that I didn't know what they were talking about. It felt like they were pushing me away on purpose.
Two of them were in my section, the alto saxophones: Brandon and Kaelyn.
Ironically (and of course), they talked about band the most.
All I ever heard was them playing that season's music.
Over
And over
And over again.
I started to hate band.
I joined band to make friends and enjoy music.
Not to get left out.
I had that feeling of emptiness inside.
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My mother would argue with me a lot too.
I would trap myself In my room and cut.
I had given Brandon my scissors so that maybe I could stop cutting, but I found a box cutter instead.
And it worked faster than the scissors with better results.
One day I found a pocket knife, and I pretty much stabbed my thumb.
I did too many things like that. So much blood.
I would text Brandon about it. He cheered me up a countless amount of times.
Without him, I'd be a mess of scars.
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The season had started slowing down in November, but the way they talked about it in December made it sound like it was starting again.
Alone.
I tried not to talk to anyone sometimes.
A lot of times I would run into the bathroom during practice and cry.
It made feel better to cry.
I just never understood why people have to be that way.
It hurt so much inside...
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Eventually (gladly), they stopped talking about marching band.
I like to do my own thing, which I learned from separating from them. I just hate it when it gets interrupted.
I don't sing at home. Whenever I get a chance, I like to go over to the piano and figure out some chords to put behind some singing.
But guess what?
Whenever I go to play, so does the others. Therefore, I get to play for about a minute. Woohoo.
I'm apparently very unlucky.
It's not fair...
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