The Days of Our Lives

Chapter Three

Roger POV

As much as I don't like to admit it, my backside hurts. Some freshman bumped into me, and it's embarrassing because, well, a freshman shouldn't be able to hurt a junior as myself, even if the bastard was my size. So, to be able to complain properly and keep my tough image, I had to switch up the story a little bit.

"Some wanker ran right into me," I complain to Brian, rubbing my backside on cue. He doesn't look up from his book. I continue. "It was totally on purpose. He knocked me on the ground and made ME apologize to HIM." I whimper at the pain for effect. "He was so much bigger than me too." Brian looks up finally and rolls his eyes at me.

"Nothing's ever your fault, is it?" He questions me. I open my mouth and then close it, pouting. I shoot Brian a classic why-does-no-one-in-this-dark-dark-world-understand-me-look, but he's reading his book again, not paying any attention to me.

"Whatever," I grumble. "You're just too dense to understand that this obviously wasn't." It probably was, my conscience tells me. Stubbornly clenching my teeth, I look at the clock. We have a few minutes before the next class, which is music theory, so not too bad. I'm in desperate need of attention.

"What are you even reading anyway?" I dully ask Brian. He doesn't look up.

"Hm?"

God damnit. "I said, what are you-" I cut myself off. There's no point.

Eventually the bell rings, and I trudge off in the direction of music theory. All by myself. I sigh, and out of nowhere, I'm hit with this wave of sadness. It's sudden, but not surprising. For someone who knows so many people, I guess don't know why I feel so lonely. Lots of girls like me too, which is supposed to be any guys dream. But even when I'm doing what's supposed to be cool I just feel so-

"Stuck."

I look up, surprised at the voice that both interrupted and finished my thoughts. In front of me, some guy is trying to get a large instrument out of their locker to no avail. He grunts as he yanks on the case, his long brown hair covering his profile.

"Come on..." he grumbles to the instrument. Fuck it.

"Need a hand?" I ask, walking over next to him. He looks up at me. Oh shit. My eyes widen. I immediately recognize him, he's the kid that bumped into me during free. He recognizes me too, because his cheeks blush bright red and he backs away. Talk about a good first impression.

"Oh, hey," he stumbles. "Um, uh, no you don't have to help me if you don't want to. Really." He looks genuinely terrified of me, and guilt fills my insides as I look down at the floor.

"No, uh," I start. Why am I stumbling? "Let me help." I look up and make eye contact with him, which he immediately breaks.

"Oh, um, ok," he says. "Alright, yeah. I'd appreciate that."

I want to apologize somehow, but I can't do that. It's not something I do. Also, I have no idea how. I rack my brain for something to say, but something instead of an apology surfaces instead.

"Wait, are you in my music theory class?" I ask him. Well duh, Roger. Why else would he be getting his instrument out of his locker? He brushes a hand through his fluffy hair anxiously.

"Uh, yeah," he says. "Yeah I am." Why don't I recognize this kid?? Double guilt.

"Oh, yeah," I lie. "Of course I remember you." I turn up the sides of my mouth into a forced smile. He can see right through me.

"It's ok if you don't," he smiles gently. "I'm quiet." Go figure.

"You're a freshman?" I ask, changing the subject. He nods, his hair bobbing up and down. There's an awkward silence.

"I'm a junior," I say. He nods again. I shift my weight back and forth between my feet clumsily for a little bit before I recognize that I forgot why I'm even talking to this kid in the first place.

"Oh yeah, your-" I realize I don't even know what instrument is even stuck in his locker.

"-bass." He finishes for me. "Yeah, can you help me?" A smile creeps on to my face. Fuck. I quickly try to stop it and turn away from him. Biting the inside of my cheek, I tug on the case of the instrument. It's pretty stuck, but with his help we manage to free it.

"Thanks," he says, moving a piece of brown hair behind his ear.

"Uh, you're welcome," I mutter. Why does my face feel so hot?  I conceal it best i can as I turn on my heel and head off to music theory, realizing that I never even asked his name.