The Remains Of My Wasted Youth.

I was impatiently waiting for class to begin when I felt a presence beside me. I looked up to see the same tattooed boy beside me. He dropped my agenda on the desk and dropped into the chair beside me.

“You left this in English,” he said, and then turned away from me, focusing on something on his cell phone. That was perfectly fine with me. I turned back to my notebook. I’d started a song that I was dying to finish, but I hadn’t any motivation until now.

The song was haunting. It was something I’d stared right after we’d gotten to Baltimore. For some reason, my mom didn’t seem to approve of the song because it’d gotten ripped up on several occasions. However, I’d memorized the damn thing and I was going to finish it one way or another. I just had to.

You’re a stranger with familiar eyes.
A ghost of a boy with a body that cries
A pretty face telling the mirror lies.
Your body shakes and it breaks and you take a second,
Just take a second, to remember where you are.
If you go too far,
You’ll never know who you are.
If you lose, if you choose, if you don’t break through
You’ll never know who you are.
I’ll never know who you are.

You fall from grace because you’re too scared to fly.
You’re reading the covers, painting the pictures, ignoring the words that cry
Out to you, they want to shine through.
One more time, one more time.
I just want you to try.
Tell me, how do you live your life?
Are you blinded by your sacrifice?
Will you find a way to get inside?
Can you even tell what is on your mind?
Will you let me get inside your mind?

You’re a walking zombie with head held high.
A waste of space that just can’t get by.
A pretty face telling everyone lies.
Your body’s cold and alone and you won’t let go.
Just take a second, to remember where you are.
If you fall too hard,
You’ll never know who you are.
If you bleed, if you leave, if there’s nothing left to believe
You’ll never know who you are.
I’ll never know who you are.

I was so into my work that I never noticed the assigned that the teacher had handed out for us to do until I got poked and the paper was set on top of mine. I impatiently pushed the paper out of the way and tried to return to my song but was distracted by a voice.

“You might want to consider doing the assignment – its pretty easy, if I do say so myself.”

I glared at Zachary. “Leave me alone.”

He frowned at me. “Look, I’m sorry for being an asshole to you in English, okay? I was just … it was just … everyone was expecting me to rip your throat out, you know. You should be pleased that I ignored you instead.”

I shook my head, incredulous. “Oh, thanks, thanks a lot. Next time, please rip my throat out.”

An eyebrow was raised at me. “What is your problem?”

I wanted to scream and yell at him, but instead, inexplicably, my eyes watered and I just wanted to get out of there. I missed my old school, I missed my friends, I missed my lazy England life.

For the rest of the class, I was silent, and when the bell rang, I once again left the class quickly. Except this time, I ran into the other kid from English. The one who’s first name I’d never learned but now knew.

“I’m Jack,” he said as he fell into step beside me. “From English, in case you suffer short term memory problems or something. What class did you just come from?”

“Music,” I answered uncertainly. Was this kid bipolar? First he seemed to love me, then he seemed to hate me, and now … now I didn’t know.

“Did you do anything important there?” he asked conversationally.

“I wrote a song.” I couldn’t have told him what the assignment that the teacher had given us really was, because I hadn’t even glanced at it. I’d just stuffed it into my bag to do later on at home, when I actually felt like it.

He seemed impressed and annoyed. “Writing songs already? On the first day of class? That’s not usually until the end of the year!”

“It wasn’t for class. It was personal.” My voice turned slightly cold as I said this.

Jack’s eyes brightened again. “Thank God! I was worried that he’d have us doing the hard stuff already since we’re seniors this year. I have him for fourth; I really didn’t want to have to start thinking of something right away. And besides, we’re usually in groups, I suck at writing, words are just so … strange, you know? Powerful. Words are powerful.”

I couldn’t help but smile this time. “You talk a lot, you know.”

The kid beamed at me. “I know. I love people, what can I say? Hey, can I read your song?”

I hesitated. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s kind of personal.”

He pouted. “Awww, come on. Tell you what; I’ll make you a deal. We’ll play for you if you let us read your song – can you sing?”

The kid jumped around from topic to topic, didn’t he? “Who’s we? And yes I sing, why?”

“We are my band. Well, my almost band. Our singer moved during the summer so we’re really just instrumental right now, haha. Our last singer was a girl, though, and we weren’t really going in the right direction anyway, so it might be for the best that she moved. Now we can move on. Our bassist writes some music, but he doesn’t want to sing it. So, will you come? After school? I can meet you.”

Somehow, I found myself agreeing.

I flipped through my songs and decided that I wasn’t going to show them my newest one. It was too personal, and it wasn’t finished. The one I chose was just as personal, but at least I understood it. I’d also written the music for it, or, at least for the acoustic version.

I was going to play them Therapy. Let them judge me.