Chapter Text
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1 e and a 2 e and a—
"On the edge of great, on the edge of great, on the edge of great," Alex sings into the microphone, listening to the rest of his band around him and hearing the audience of their music class as he performs his midterm with his band. On one hand he's thankful that the four of them only have to perform once for all of their grades instead of four separate performances—less opportunities to mess up. However, on the other hand, he's bummed about it because it means they only get to play in front of their class once rather than four times. Performing music for a live audience is like nothing else—even if it's an audience as simple as a group of thirty high school students. The music their band makes is undeniable, so even while listening to performances is routine in this class, most of the students still end up getting into their music and dancing along.
Alex drums and sings along and watches Julie from behind as she belts out her high note at the beginning of the final chorus. He can't keep the grin off his face as he sees various students dancing in their seats to the song. He makes eye contact with a few and even sends one of them a wink, just as he hits his last cymbal before Julie and Luke go into their duet over the piano. He looks towards his two band mates and friends and smirks at them being just a little too close for a midterm performance, but—glancing at Mrs. Harrison—the teacher doesn't seem to mind, so. The two of them finish and all four of them stand and take a bow, and Alex lets the cheers and clapping wash over him.
"Very impressive," Mrs. Harrison compliments. "Who composed the song?"
"Julie and I wrote the lyrics, all four of us worked on the melody and harmonies, and each of us worked on our individual instrument to compose our piece," Luke answers readily.
"It was very well done," she nods at each of them in turn. "I'm sure you'll be very pleased with your grade. You all may take your seats."
Alex follows behind Reggie to their group of four seats in the back of the music class room, nodding at a few of his class mates as he goes when they offer him praise. When they get back to their seats Mrs. Harrison calls for the classes attention and then next performance goes, and then Flynn goes next, and then music is over for the day.
"We nailed that," Luke bursts as soon as the bell rings to end class.
"Luke, what was that riff at the end of the bridge?" Reggie asks with wide eyes. "It was killer."
"You think so?" Luke asks, bouncing on the balls of his toes. "I didn't mean to improv but it came to me and it sounded so good in my head so I just—"
"Luke," Julie smiles softly, placing a hand on his upper arm, "don't worry. It was incredible. You were right to add it in."
Luke looks between the other three band members and bites his lip. "Yeah?"
Alex laughs. "Yeah, buddy."
"Awesome," he grins, swinging his backpack up onto his shoulder and hopping towards the door. "And now—that's three midterms down and only two to go."
Alex groans. "I only have one left."
Reggie frowns. "Why are you more upset about that then Luke is about two?"
Alex sends a look at Reggie. "It's public speaking."
"Oh no," Julie murmurs from next to him, reaching up to rub a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You'll be okay. Just imagine you're sitting behind your drums."
"Yeah, that's never worked."
"Imagine you're on stage with us," Luke says from Julie's other side, tossing his arm around Julie's shoulder and leaning in her space so far that he's nearly in Alex's space as well.
"That's also never worked."
They reach the cafeteria then and their conversation falls away as they make their way through the lunch line. Alex grabs only an orange, because if he's going to be giving a speech in the next two hours, he doesn't want to give his stomach much ammunition.
They make their way to the back table of the cafeteria where Flynn, Willie, and two of Willie's skateboarder friends, Greg and Shawn, are waiting for them. Alex can count the amount of words he's said to Greg and Shawn over the past two years on both his hands, but they shared Willie nicely, so that was enough for him.
See, Alex had met Willie in elementary school at recess—it had to be at recess because Willie was a grade above him. Alex remembers Willie doing cool tricks on all the playground equipment—flipping off the benches, pin wheeling on the bars, jumping off the parallel bars—exciting things like that. He'd always had Alex's attention. And then in fourth grade Alex jumped off the swing really far (he'd never admit it was on accident). Obviously this started a jumping contest off the swings and the only one who bested him had been Willie, who came over and introduced himself after the recess aides stopped the competition. At the time, Alex didn't know what he was feeling when Willie smiled at him. He'd been told crushes were for girls, so he didn't realize that his crush was on a boy. Over time he'd learn though, and over time it'd develop.
It wouldn't progress much further though until Willie was in tenth grade and Alex was in ninth, both of them at high school. It was Alex's second week at high school and he lost rock, paper, scissors to Luke and had to go up to the concession stand at the beach to get everyone their hot dogs. On his way back to the group, however, Willie skated right into him. After lengthy apologies, Willie took him back to the concession stand and bought him new hot dogs in apology, plus an extra one, and joined them. That day would cement Alex's helpless crush on Willie which—
Has not gone away now that they're half way through fall term in Alex's junior year of high school.
Ask him how he's doing.
"Hey, hot dog!"
(He's doing great.)
"Hey, puka," Alex rolls his eyes back, eying the puka shell necklace around Willie's throat. Willie grins wide at him, bouncing his eyebrows up and down. Alex moves to take his seat next to Willie.
Willie takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at the group. "How'd your music midterm go?"
"So well they left me there," Flynn huffs from where she's picking her lunch out of her lunch box. "I had to put my trumpet away and by the time I was done they were gone!"
"You know what Luke is like after a performance," Julie apologizes to her friend. "I couldn't keep him still if I tried."
"It's for that reason and only that reason that you're forgiven," Flynn says.
"Our midterm was amazing though," Luke jumps in as soon as Flynn finishes speaking. He looks up to the ceiling and shakes his head. "Man, I wish you were in the music program so you could have seen it—but we'll play it for a gig soon, so I guess you didn't miss too much—"
"We did kill it though," Reggie leans forward, around Alex, to see Willie. "So you can be sad about missing that."
"Consider me sad, then," Willie says. "Flynn, how did you do?"
Flynn answers, and the rest of the table is quiet, giving Alex a moment to let his mind wander. Next period is his public speaking class, and his final midterm. His biology midterm had been yesterday, so after public speaking he's technically free to go—well…
Not actually. He's got an obligation after school today, but. He's not exactly sure how he feels about it.
He doesn't need to think about that now, though, because the rest of lunch passes with various conversations ranging from the start of new songs ("where's my notebook—write that down, write that down!"), cats versus dogs ("you can train cats too, you just don't have enough patience"), and the dance team ("there were kazoos and immediately I knew I was in the wrong"). It's a good distraction from his impending doom of public speaking, but when the bell rings to dismiss them from lunch to class, he realizes that it was just that: a distraction.
He feels his hands clam up, his breathing pick up, and his pulse skyrocket. He can't even force himself to get up from his seat.
"Hey," Julie's voice says from across the table. "We'll be here for you after your speech, yeah? I have a free period after next period since we already took our history midterm so I'll meet you here, okay?"
Willie's hand falls on his shoulder and Alex is already tense so it doesn't even matter that he gets even tenser. "Hey, man," he says "I read through your speech like, ten times. It's ace, you've got this. Don't even bother looking at the audience, just read right off the paper, okay? You don't even need public speaking skills, you're gonna be a fucking rock star."
"C'mon," Reggie says, standing behind him. "I'll walk you to class."
Alex looks at each face surrounding him, and each of them are encouraging, each of them believe in him. He closes his eyes then and swings his legs over the bench and stands up. "Yeah, let's go."
"Good luck!" he hears a group chorus behind him, but he doesn't look back to acknowledge them, doesn't think he can because if he looks back then he'll see their faces and he'll want to hold on to them and so he focuses on the feeling of Reggie's arm brushing against his and keeps walking forward. It doesn't even take them two minutes to get to class, and then Reggie is shaking Alex's shoulder and wishing him luck. Alex doesn't look at Reggie's face for the exact same reason he didn't look back at his group of friends. He doesn't think he'd actually go into class if he'd looked at Reggie.
So he doesn't look at Reggie, and instead walks into the classroom where Mr. Kullins is waiting. Alex takes his seat—second row next to the window—and waits while the rest of the class files in. He pulls his speech out of his backpack and stares at it. He mumbles to himself, reciting his speech as students fill their seats.
"You never write a theme for a movie thinking 'this will live forever.'" John Williams, famous composer, said this. He and countless other composers create the accompaniment to films we know and love. Consciously, we hardly pick up on these melodies, but subconsciously, they influence how we consume the media. A good score can cause a tear, while a great score can make you weep. A good score can make you pause while a great score can make you hold your breath. A—
The bell to start class rings and Alex clenches his fist tightly around the edge of his desk, fighting down the wave of nausea that rises up in his throat. Mr. Kullins is speaking in the background, welcoming everyone to class, explaining that they'll be finishing up the last of the midterms today. It's in alphabetical order by last name, and Alex isn't sure if he's glad to have been granted the grace of going on the last day, or if he wishes he had just gotten it over with on the first day.
McConnell, Rebecca goes first and Alex's nausea rises. Then Stenson, Ryan goes, and the nausea is in every part of Alex's body now, from his head to his toes. Then Mr. Kullins calls Taylor, Alex, and Alex really, genuinely thinks he's going to be sick.
Don't even bother looking at the audience, just read right off the paper, okay?
Right—like Willie had said, he could pretend he was just reading it to himself, right? Just read it straight off the paper. Alex stands from his desk and walks to the front of the room, going to stand behind the podium that's set up for their speeches. He sets his speech down on the stand and doesn't lift his head, not once.
"Everyone, give Mr. Taylor your full attention," Mr. Kullins says from where he sits behind his desk, and Alex wants to scream at him. No! Let them—let them go on their phones! Let them talk to each other! Don't make them pay attention to me!
He starts by taking in a deep, quivering breath. "'You never write a theme for a movie thinking 'this will live forever.''" Alex pauses here, swallowing. He can hear people in the audience shuffling. Someone shifts in their chair and he glances up to see who it was. Shit. All of their eyes are on him. Quickly, he looks back down at his paper. The words are blurrier than they were when he started, and there's a pressure in his head that wasn't there at lunch, but he presses on. "John Williams, famous composer, said this. He… and countless other composers… create the accompaniment to films we know and love… Consciously," he glances up again against his better judgment and feels his face flush hot when he connects eyes with one of the students. "Uh. Consciously, we hardly pick up on these melodies, but subconsciously—" Alex cuts off when a large black dot dances in front of the words he's reading. His throat is burning all the way down to his gut. Without thinking, he leans both his arms on to the podium and hides his face between them.
In, 2, 3, 4.
There's murmurings from around him, but he can't lift his head.
Hold, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.
There's a louder murmuring from closer to him this time, but he can't, he can't.
Out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
There's a hand on his back.
His head shoots up, and the room spins.
"Mr. Taylor?" Mr. Kullins asks with a cautious voice, and oh, does he have a lot to be cautious about right now.
"Gotta sit," Alex says quickly, moving to the back wall as quickly as he could to slide down it and put his head between his knees to continue his breathing exercise. He might have felt embarrassed, but the alternatives were passing out or throwing up—he'd know, it's happened multiple times before.
He hears footsteps all around him and the shuffling of desks as he assumes students are trying to move to get a better look at him, but he keeps focused on his counts, and lets Mr. Kullins tell them that the next student is going to go. Someone gets up from their desk and shuffles their papers around before settling it on the podium. Alex briefly wonders what happens to his paper.
The rest of class passes with Alex curled up in the back of the class room, listening to his final three class mates give their speeches, and then they're done. There's extra time left before the bell rings, so that means extra time for everyone to stare at him, so he picks his head up, confident that he's not going to pass out or throw up anymore, and looks at Mr. Kullins. His teacher looks back at him and wheels over in his chair to Alex and frowns at him.
"Are you okay?"
"Now I am. I was about to pass out," Alex explains, far beyond feeling embarrassed about it.
"Does… that happen often?"
"With public speaking?" Alex asks. "Yes."
Mr. Kullins frowns. "We'll speak with Principal Lessa, see if we can't get something figured out. You're not the first one. Do you think you'd be able to do your speech for just me?"
"No, yeah, that would be fine, I just… not… crowds."
"Aren't you in a band?"
Alex nods, just as the bell rings. He carries on, anyways. "Yeah. But that's—different. First, I'm not alone when I'm with my band. Second, I'm good at drums. I'm not good at speeches."
His teacher sighs. "Alright. Your midterm grade will be delayed but we'll speak with Principal Lessa next week."
"Thank you, really."
He nods. "Your speech is on the edge of my desk. Don't forget it when you leave. Are you okay to leave?"
"Yeah," Alex nods, pushing himself to his feet. He's a little unsteady at first, but his balance comes back quickly and he's able to make his way to Mr. Kullins desk and grab his speech. He goes to gather his backpack then, stuffing his speech inside of it, and waves goodbye to his teacher, who waves back.
When he leaves the classroom, he makes his way to the cafeteria like he promised Julie he would. She's waiting for him at their usual table, waving and beaming. He offers a small smile back as he sets his bag down.
"You got through it!" she yells. "It's over!"
Alex laughs humorlessly and slips on to the bench. "No, it's not."
The smile drops off of Julie's face. "What?"
"I nearly passed out, so we're talking to Lessa and I'll be giving my speech to just Kullins. Which, is better, I guess, but now I still have to worry about it until next week."
"Oh, Alex," Julie sighs. "I'm sorry. I wish the band could just… be there with you."
"That'd be nice," he says, putting his elbows on the table. "But I still suck at speaking anyways, so I'm not sure how much that would help."
"Alex, that speech you wrote is amazing," Julie says. "You're good at words, which is what speaking is. What you're concerned about is how people perceive you. When you have us with you, you think that people are looking at you similar to how they look at us just by association and you're okay with that because you love us. But when you're alone you think that people are looking at you similar to how you look at you, at that's nitpicking every little thing and criticizing every fault."
Alex blinks, stares at her. He feels his mouth open, ready to defend himself, but he's not sure what he'd actually say, so he forces it shut again. Julie sits, staring at him, unwavering. He leans forward on his elbows and brings his hands together, twining his fingers. "I… okay."
Julie rolls her eyes and huffs a small laugh. "Come on, Alex, you know I'm right."
"Do I?" Alex asks, voice pitching up an octave. Because, really. Does he? He's pretty sure it's more due to what he told Mr. Kullins—he's good at drums, he sucks at speeches. Even if he is good at words like Julie said, speeches are an entirely different brand of words. They're spoken word. And that… that is the kind of word that Alex does not do. See, if his assignment were an informative written paper on the impact of film and television scores, yeah, Alex would ace that. But it's not. And not because he thinks his class is looking at him the same way he looks at himself, Julie, but because he sucks at speeches. He says 'uh' too much, he pauses in weird places, his flow is weird, his thoughts wander, and he could go on. There's no room for any of that in papers—well, yes there is, but they can be edited out, is the point.
Julie reaches a hand across the table and covers Alex's fingers with it. She shakes it and offers a soft smile. "You should. You would kill speech class, Alex. You just have to get out of your head."
"Yeah, the person with anxiety has to get out of their head," Alex says, flipping his hand over so he can grab hold of hers. He shakes her hand so her arm wiggles. "Never heard of that quick fix before."
"Hey, I never called it a quick fix! Just said it needed to happen."
Alex smiles at her and pulls his hands back. "I'll keep that in mind." Julie lets him drop the subject after that and they turn their attention to their home work, settling into silence.