Screw Love; Hate's More Fun
Number One
Taylor Marx hated school. Not because he hated his classes, not because he hated his teachers, not because he had to wake up at 6:30 every morning to catch the bus… Taylor loved his classes, his teachers were cool, and he had always been a morning person.
No, the reason he hated school was because of a certain Trent Willson. This Trent Willson was your stereotypical jock; all brawn and no brains.
He and Taylor were complete opposites. While Trent was at basketball practices, Taylor was down the hall in the music room with a trumpet in hand. Taylor couldn’t count the times he’d left the music room to go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water only to have a basketball thrown at his head. Of course, Taylor had learned two valuable lessons over the school year:
One: even if you go to the bathroom before band practice, even if you take a water bottle to band practice, Trent will still get a basketball in your face and say something along the lines of “That’s the only ball you have”.
Two: only the percussionists are safe. After all, who wants to mess with the guys (and that girl who plays Timpanis) that carry equipment twice their size up a flight of stairs like it’s nothing and are always armed? (Lesson number 3: Percussion Appreciation Day is April 29th; don’t ever forget that).
Life had become a pattern to Taylor, predictable and inevitable. After band practice one Wednesday, when he walked down the stairs from the music room behind Lucia, the timpanist, he wasn’t surprised when Trent hit him with a basketball.
“Be nice, Trent,” the timpanist said, taking the ball and throwing it back.
“Why don’t you make me?” Trent scoffed teasingly.
Though jocks and musicians typically didn’t mix, Lucia and Trent were good friends. While they spoke, Taylor left, his teeth clenched.
Taylor was not a violent guy. He did not like confrontation. He did not like Trent either. At all. In fact, Taylor even hated him. Fun stuff.
No, the reason he hated school was because of a certain Trent Willson. This Trent Willson was your stereotypical jock; all brawn and no brains.
He and Taylor were complete opposites. While Trent was at basketball practices, Taylor was down the hall in the music room with a trumpet in hand. Taylor couldn’t count the times he’d left the music room to go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water only to have a basketball thrown at his head. Of course, Taylor had learned two valuable lessons over the school year:
One: even if you go to the bathroom before band practice, even if you take a water bottle to band practice, Trent will still get a basketball in your face and say something along the lines of “That’s the only ball you have”.
Two: only the percussionists are safe. After all, who wants to mess with the guys (and that girl who plays Timpanis) that carry equipment twice their size up a flight of stairs like it’s nothing and are always armed? (Lesson number 3: Percussion Appreciation Day is April 29th; don’t ever forget that).
Life had become a pattern to Taylor, predictable and inevitable. After band practice one Wednesday, when he walked down the stairs from the music room behind Lucia, the timpanist, he wasn’t surprised when Trent hit him with a basketball.
“Be nice, Trent,” the timpanist said, taking the ball and throwing it back.
“Why don’t you make me?” Trent scoffed teasingly.
Though jocks and musicians typically didn’t mix, Lucia and Trent were good friends. While they spoke, Taylor left, his teeth clenched.
Taylor was not a violent guy. He did not like confrontation. He did not like Trent either. At all. In fact, Taylor even hated him. Fun stuff.