Chapter Text
“You realize this is serious Mr. Way, correct?”
Mikey shifted his gaze away from the polished name plate to stare at the cassette tape Principal Higgins was currently wiggling in his fingers. Across it written in sloppy red marker was the words New Mix. He continued staring at it, half-hoping it would suddenly materialize out of the man’s swollen hand.
The principal quirked his brow, already becoming impatient.
He deeply sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said, setting the tape down. “This school doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior, and I was hoping after last month’s offense that you would begin to realize that.”
“It’s just music,” Mikey muttered.
Higgins’ puffy face began to redden, as a lecture brewed in his throat. The sight would have been comical if directed at someone else, but all Mikey could do was clench his fists in anticipation of possibly being screamed at. He swallowed, his stomach turning as if he were waiting for something catastrophic to happen that he couldn’t put a stop to.
“No, It’s a distraction, Mr. Way!” The principal suddenly stood up from his chair, bracing his large hands on the desk in front of him as he peered down at Mikey. “Student’s need to focus on their studies, not listen to some god-awful garage music that sounds as if it were recorded inside of a tin can.”
His voice boomed inside of the cramped office space and Mikey watched in silence as spit flew from his mouth with each word. The boy dug his nails into the fabric of his pants, wishing he could be anywhere else. As Higgins continued to hurl up his speech, Mikey allowed his mind to drift back to last night.
The band had been lounging around the garage like a pack of stray cats, sharing cigarettes and booze as if they had nowhere else to be. Ray was busy locked into a particular melody, driving everyone crazy by strumming it constantly while muttering to himself. No one had the heart to tell him to quit it though, because when Ray thought something had potential it usually did. They all continued to chatter around him, just watching in amusement.
It was a good night, Mikey thought. It felt as if he had time in his back pocket then, as the night stretched on without worry. There was just the buzz of the garage lights, and the scratch of Illi’s pen. He remembered stepping out at one point to stand in the driveway and still being able to feel the presence of the others pressing against his back. As their laughter had spilled out of the open garage door and floated down the street.
“Mr. Way, have you been paying attention?”
Mikey blinked. “Huh?”
The night faded from his eyes like a scorched photograph, as he glanced up at Principal Higgins. His once pale face was now alarmingly red, with dots of saliva collected around his chin. Whatever thoughts were stewing inside of his mind went unsaid as he silently grabbed a pink slip from atop his desk.
Mikey felt the color leave his face at the sight of paper and proceeded to mentally kick himself in the head.
“I didn’t want to do this, young man,” Higgins said, shaking his head. “Hopefully this will teach you to abide by our school rules.”
“What, to not have fun?” he muttered under his breath, unable to stop himself. All he did was play music over the intercom, yet Higgins was acting as if he had sucker punched some poor student and stolen their lunch money.
It was damn good music too. There was something there, building in that garage last night as they recorded. They could feel it too, the energy pulsing between them, buzzing underneath their skin. The future was there in that room that night, pressing down on them with a promise for something more.
Higgins jaw ticked at his comment, as he proceeded to place the detention slip in his hands.
“Life is not always on your terms Mr. Way and that is something you’re going to have to accept,” he said, glaring down at him. “Now get to class, before your late.”
Mikey snorted. I’m already late.
He quietly stood and folded the detention slip before shoving it in his back pocket – where he hoped it would disappear. Without a word, he plucked his backpack from the ground and walked out of the office. As the door closed behind him, he allowed a little “asshole” to slip past his lips before moving on.
Casually leaning against his locker as if he owned the place, was none other than Frank. His out was sloppy, as the tie that was required for every school uniform was loose around his neck, and his dress shirt half tucked. He was flicking a lighter and watching the sparks with a dull expression. His eyes flitted up as he approached, and Mikey watched as a giddy grin overtook his face.
“Dude, I could hear him chewing your ass out in the hall,” he said.
Mikey groaned. “Great.”
He leaned up beside Frank and let his body slouch against the lockers.
“If it makes you feel any better, most of the student body can’t stand him either” he said, shifting to face him.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
Frank threw his hands up in defense and shrugged. He then went back to toying with the lighter, not particularly caring if someone might see.
“Sometimes I wish this school would burn to the ground,” Mikey quietly admitted. He looked down in shame at his confession, zoning in on the faint blur of his reflection against the waxed floor.
He wasn’t sure if he truly meant it, or not. But he knew he wouldn’t exactly weep if Mongomery High were suddenly wiped off the map tomorrow, with no explanation.
“Yeah, I get it, dude,” Frank muttered, his eyes suddenly drifting off somewhere. He quickly pocketed the lighter, and straightened up, as if preparing to leave.
“Practice after school, right?” he asked.
Mikey frowned. “I got detention, man.”
“Shit,” Frank hissed. “Fuck that guy, seriously. You didn’t even do anything wrong, it was just music.”
“That’s what I said.”
Frank sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “Alright, I’ll let Illi, and the others know then to push it a little later.”
Mikey nodded. “Thanks.”
With a sympathetic smile, Frank pushed himself off the locker and strutted off down the hall. Mikey watched him go, envious of the bounce in his step. He glanced up at the wall clock and sighed, before heading off in the opposite direction to class.
As he walked down the hall, the faint sound of music coming from one of the classrooms caught his ear. He stilled, stopping in the middle of the hallway as he strained to pick up the melody. Mikey peered over his shoulder at the door where the music was coming from, and swiftly turned, slowly walking over to hover outside of it. A small window on the door allowed him to peek inside the classroom, where he could make out a girl sitting before a sleek black piano.
Her back was turned to him, yet Mikey noticed how at ease she seemed, as her fingers glided over the piano keys. The music she played was tranquil, lulling his body to lean against the frame of the door. He focused, trying to figure out if he had heard it before but it was completely unfamiliar to him. Her head swayed with the music, as if caught in a trance.
Mikey squinted, pushing up his glasses as he stared at the back of her head. He almost wished she would turn around, just to see if he recognized her. He hummed and nibbled on his bottom lip in thought.
The sudden shrill sound of the bell made him jump, and hastily back away from the door as he noticed her head snap up. “Shit,” Mikey cursed, realizing he had missed the entirety of homeroom. He straightened out his glasses and hurried off down the hallway.
Ignoring the detention slip that was currently burning a hole in his back pocket.
____
The end of the school day came slower than Mikey would have liked, as he and Ray stood on the stairwell watching the other students file out of the classrooms and spill into the hallway like a hoard of zombies. The matching blazers and ties made it difficult to separate them from each other.
“Higgins is a certified dick,” Ray said, leaning against the railing.
Mikey sighed, and toyed with the detention slip in his hand, resting the urge to tear it up.
“It’s whatever, I was the one who volunteered to go into his office anyways,” he said. A headache began to swell inside of his skull, as he thought about sitting inside another dull classroom with another dull teacher.
“Dude, I’m sorry.”
He glanced up, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, to find Ray’s brown puppylike eyes staring back at him in pity. Mikey glanced away and gave a small shrug, as if it didn’t matter. Because at this point, it fucking didn’t anymore.
Higgins can stay miserable, Mikey thought.
“I’ll meet up with you all later,” Mikey said, softly smiling. He picked up his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, before bounding down the stairs. Even without looking, he could feel Ray’s gaze trained on him as he disappeared within the flood of students.
When he finally approached room 12, he halted just outside the door. For a second, Mikey considered bolting the other direction and forgetting about it entirely. Just as the thought crossed his mind, someone’s palm collided with the back of his head. Sending his glasses flying off his face, and onto the floor somewhere.
“Shit,” he hissed, stumbling forward.
Someone snorted behind him, chuckling as his hands had reached out just in time to avoid faceplanting onto the door. The familiar sound made Mikey’s stomach churn, and his heart spike. He swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping it wasn’t who he thought it was.
“Nice going, four eyes,” Wesley snickered.
“Fuck you,” Mikey muttered, as he crouched down to look for his glasses. The boy behind him just scoffed and smacked him upside the head again before walking into the classroom.
Mikey sighed. This must have been some sort of divine punishment for him to wind up having detention with Wesley fucking Adams, the rowdy clown of the school. He was just another student born with a silver spoon in their mouth, and a wallet that never stays empty.
“God, please strike me down,” he whispered, shutting his eyes.
“In the middle of the hallway?” A soft voice asked.
Mikey jumped up to his feet, and whirled around, only to come face to face with a blurry outline of a girl standing in front of him.
“Uh-yeah…y-you know just seems convenient,” he stammered, rubbing his eyes.
The girl before him chuckled, before quickly swallowing the sound down.
She cleared her throat. “Here, you dropped this.”
Mikey squinted as she extended her arm, holding something out to him. It was his glasses. He snatched them from her and hurriedly put them back on.
“Thanks,” he said, adjusting the frames. He blinked a few times, allowing his vision to settle before his eyes landed on…you.
He cocked his head, as a sense of familiarity rolled over him. You were the girl from the music room earlier, but he realized he had recognized you from somewhere else before.
It dawned on him, as he continued to study your features. Right, you were deemed Montgomery High’s piano prodigy in the school newspaper a few months ago. Mikey recalled seeing your photo in the paper, of you on stage dressed in a slim black dress sitting in front of a piano. Your eyes were closed in the picture; lost in the music you were playing.
Mikey remembered thinking he had never seen someone look more at peace.
You flushed beneath his gaze, fidgeting with the edges of your skirt the longer he continued to stare in silence.
He felt his face grow warm from his actions and opened his mouth to apologize when someone cleared their throat behind him.
“Not trying to skip detention, are you, Mr. Way?”
Mikey froze, being able to recognize that baritone voice anywhere.
“No, Coach Jackson.” Mikey slowly turned, doing his best to wipe the grimace from his face as Montgomery High’s beloved Football coach loomed over him. His dark heavyset brows were pinched in annoyance, as he glared down at the boy with disdain. The man’s hefty looking arms were crossed over his wide chest, giving him a broader appearance.
Mikey was suddenly aware of how loose his own uniform fit around his arms and hips, as he continued to look up at him. His bony fingers itched to fidget with his glasses, if only to offer him a brief distraction from the man’s icy gaze.
“I was just heading inside,” Mikey said, stiffly smiling at him. Coach Jackson grunted before stepping aside, ushering him into the classroom with the wave of his hand.
Mikey slinked around the man, cringing when his shoulder brushed against him and rushed to sit at one of the many empty desks. He dropped his backpack on the floor by his feet and slouched back in the seat. The harsh scrape of a chair caught his attention, as he glanced over to see you sitting down at the desk beside him, with a sheepish look on your face.
He quirked a brow. What in the hell did you do to wind up in detention?
“Alright, listen up you three!” Coach Jackson announced, clapping his hands to get their attention. “There will be no talking, no reading, and no cellphones for the next hour. If I hear as much of a whisper out of any of you, you’ll be sent straight to principal Higgin’s office.”
Mikey huffed, and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk.
“Are we clear?” Coach Jackson looked at them expectantly.
The trio muttered out a dejected “yes” and watched as Coach Jackson gave them one last glance over, before moving to sit behind the teacher’s desk. He pulled out a rolled-up sports magazine he had stuffed in his back pocket and reclined back in the office chair. Mikey anxiously glanced up at the clock, only to find that not even five minutes had passed since he first entered the room. He quietly sighed, and placed his chin in his palm, slowly counting the ticking hands of the clock.
Time dragged on, as if it had nowhere else to be. The only sounds that pervaded the stuffy classroom were Wesley’s foot relentlessly tapping against the polished floor behind him, and the shuffling pages of a magazine. Boredom soon seeped into his weary bones, causing him to slump over the desk as the school days exhaustion washed over him. An entire hour was already beginning to feel like an eternity.
Mikey found his mind wandering back to the brief conversation he had with you in the hall. He stole a glance in your direction, to find you staring at the desk deep in thought. A pout had formed on your lips, as your fingertips softly tapped against the table’s surface. At the motion he couldn’t help but think back to you in the music room earlier, serenely focused on the keys of the piano.
What were you playing, anyway?
The crackle of the intercom startled the class away. “Coach Jackson please report to the front office,” a muffled voice said through the speaker. “Again, Coach Jackson please report to the front office, thank you.”
The man groaned and tossed the magazine onto the teacher’s desk in front of him. “Behave while I’m gone,” he ordered, before dragging his body out the chair and rushing out of the classroom.
A still silence filled the room for a moment, as they all warily watched the classroom door slowly shut. As soon as the gap closed, sealing off the penetrating light from the hallway, Mikey could hear them all collectively let out a heavy sigh of relief. As if a weight had been lifted from the room.
“I forget how intimidating he can be sometimes,” you said, glancing over at him.
Mikey snorted. “I don’t.”
You furrowed your brows in concern at his words and opened your mouth to speak when the harsh scrape of a chair interrupted you.
“Well, I’m out of here, losers,” Wesley said, gathering up his bookbag. He walked by Mikey’s desk and flicked the side of his head, snickering as he did so.
“Cut it out,” he hissed, slapping his hand away.
“Cut it out,” Wesley mocked, flicking the side of his head again.
Mikey flinched back, clenching his fists in agitation. He dug his fingernails into his palm, mercilessly watching the clock’s slow crawl. A dull ache began to bloom across his skin, from Wesley’s torment. The boy felt compelled to close his eyes, and drift off, in hopes it would momentarily distract him from the growing pain. He let himself wander back to last night, back to the stuffy air and lingering odor of nicotine that hung around the garage. If he thought hard enough, he could even feel the cool drip of the beer can against his palm.
Before he could slip away, the sensation stopped as Wesley let out a surprised grunt. Mikey opened his eyes, to find the stocky boy on the ground.
“Quit being a dick, Wes,” you demand, as you towered over him. Your face was twisted in a scowl, as your fists shook with anger. Mikey gawked up at you, momentarily stunned.
Wesley’s face grew red, as he stammered out a reply – the sight reminded Mikey of principal Higgin’s meltdown earlier. The boy huffed, lost for words, and stood up snatching his bag up from the floor.
“Whatever,” he mumbled, before storming out of the room.
Mikey leaned back in his chair and tried to calm the thumping of his heart. He splayed his hands against the desk, noticing they had been shaking since he first heard Wesley’s chair. A giggle began to lurch up his throat, as he felt the very nervous threads he carefully wove throughout the day beginning to fray. He promptly swallowed down the sound though and instead focused on counting the steady beats of his heart.
“I fucking hate that guy,” he admitted, unsure if it was to you or himself. His body was still tense, as if Wesley had never left the room.
You sighed. “Me too.”
Mikey peered up at you from behind his glasses. “Why, does he also torment you?” he asked.
A beat passed, before you answered with a quiet, “yes”.
“O-oh,” he mumbled, unsure of what to say.
You nodded and tugged at the sleeves of your blazer, shifting your gaze over to the door as if waiting for him to return. An awkward silence settled between you two as you moved to sit back at your desk. His fingers twitched, as he kept his gaze trained forward and tried to stuff down the horde of questions currently burrowing inside his mouth.
“Why are you in detention, anyway?” he asked, the words tumbling out before he could think about it.
“I u-uh…skipped class.”
“Really?”
“It’s not like I meant to,” you argued, crossing your arms. “I just got caught up with something, and before I knew it the bell rang.”
“What did you get caught up with?” he asked, turning to face you.
You squinted at his question, mulling something over in your mind. He waited, feeling his face grow warm the longer you continued to analyze him. His hand subconsciously reached up to fidget with the end of his blazer, trying to discreetly straighten out any wrinkles.
You hummed, making your decision. “Tell me why you’re here first.”
Mikey snorted. “I played our band’s music over the intercom this morning.”
“That was you?”
“Yeah,” he said, scoffing. “Higgin’s said it sounded like we recorded it inside of a tin can.”
“That’s because the intercom speaker sucks,” you mentioned.
Illi was the one who had suggested playing it from the principal’s office in the first place, and none of them argued against it. Sure, the speaker muffled every sound that came through it, but it was too perfect of an opportunity to pass up.
“It was good, by the way,” you said.
Mikey shook himself out of his thoughts and blinked over at you. “What?”
“The music,” you explained, glancing away from him. “It was uh-it was good, whatever song you played. I think your band has…something.”
“Something?” he inquired, hoping to pry more of answer out of you.
“Your band has potential, I meant,” you said, shifting around in your seat.
Mikey smiled, his chest swelling at the compliment. “Thanks, man.”
You seemed to settle at his words, relaxing back in your seat as a soft smile grew on your lips. His heart stuttered at the sight, as he felt his body relax along with you. “So, what made you skip class?”
“I was writing music,” you confessed, sheepishly smiling at him.
“Right, I’ve seen you in the school paper before.”
You groaned at his words. “You’re talking about that piano prodigy article, aren’t you?”
He threw up his brows in surprise.
“Sorry I just…” You trailed off, letting out a deep sigh. “I know I should be happy about that article, but my mother has been breathing even more down my neck since it came out.”
“How come?”
“She’s been my teacher since I was five years old,” you explained, “so she sees every success and failure of mine as hers too.”
“That…must be difficult,” he said.
You snorted. “Yeah.”
“How long have you been writing music?” he asked, trying to divert your attention. He noticed the way your body curled over the table’s surface now. As if speaking about your mother had applied some unknown weight to your shoulders.
“A while now, but I have yet to actually complete anything,” you said. “What about you, are you the writer for your band?”
Mikey shook his head. “No, all that credit goes to Illi.”
“Illi?”
“They’re my older sibling,” he explained.
You hummed in thought, as your eyes quickly traced over his features. Recognition then passed over your face, as you found whatever it was you were searching for. “They’ve mentioned you before, but I could never put a face to your name.”
“You two know each other?”
“Somewhat, we have chemistry class together.”
Mikey hummed in thought, trying to remember if Illi had mentioned you in conversation before.
“Don’t think too hard about it, we barely know each other anyway,” you said, as if reading his mind.
He nodded, even though his body itched to know more. Why exactly had they mentioned him to you?
The classroom door was yanked open, as Coach Jackson strutted inside. His lips were pulled back in a sneer, as if he were replaying a bad memory. As he came to stand in the middle of the room, his cold eyes swept over the row of desks.
“Where the hell is Wesley?”
Mikey and you shared a glance before shrugging in unison.
Coach Jackson let out a defeated sigh.
“That damn kid.”