School sucked. Whoever thought it was smart to put a bunch of horny hormonal teenagers in a building and make them sit for 7 hours a day was a moron. And Seven was sooo bored. They only had two weeks left including finals. It wasn’t fair. Travis was already out of school. He was just going to work on his house for the next two weeks.
Some asshole hick walked by him in the hall and shoved him hard against the lockers. Seven winced at the pain in his shoulder.
“Dickwad!” he yelled. The guy turned around and glared at him.
“What’d you just call me, bitch?” he asked, coming toward him angrily.
Seven sneered, “I called you a dickwad because that’s what you are. Generally that’s what I call people that slam others into lockers and I have trouble telling if you’re looking at a face or an ass when I see them. Yes, that very appropriately describes you.”
The guy raised his fist and slammed it into Seven’s face.
“Ow!” Seven yelled and held his cheek, “Fuck! Aw, dammit, you prick that fucking hurt!”
“Bitch,” the guy muttered and walked away.
“Aawww,” Seven moaned, “Damn, that’s going to bruise.” Usually they at least punched him in the stomach where his mom wouldn’t notice it. This must’ve been the first time he’d taunted that one. He wasn’t a glutton for punishment or anything, he just felt that people needed the truth spelled out to them and trying to do that for them usually involved somewhat violent ramifications.
He hurried to his next class, creative writing, moving his jaw around carefully as he did. He went and sat in his class, a chair in the back with no one around him. And he lost himself inside his mind.
He’d had a wonderful dream last night. Travis had been kissing him, touching him, telling him beautiful things… Seven closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from moaning as he remembered the imaginary sensations that had assaulted him in his sleep.
“Seven!”
He jumped up and stared at his teacher. Apparently the bell had rung and he hadn’t noticed… and class had started. Now the teacher was glaring at him and the class had all turned around to look at him. The girls giggled and the guys rolled their eyes. If Seven had been any other person, he would’ve blushed or something, but he just gave his teacher, Mr. Lange, a curious look.
“I was asking everyone for ideas on our final paper. Please pay attention. Do you have anything to contribute?”
Seven shrugged and slowly replied, “Um, I don’t think we should have one because it’s the end of the year and no one really cares.”
A couple people chuckled and a couple of the more serious students scoffed or rolled their eyes. Mr. Lange glared at him, still annoyed by all of his sarcastic retorts. This was not a common occurrence. Generally Seven was a teacher’s pet, but on some days he was just a ornery brat. Teachers did not at all appreciate these days.
“Since you refuse an actual suggestion, perhaps you can share with the class the subject of whatever you were day-dreaming about and everyone can write their final papers about that.”
“I don’t know about that sir,” Seven said with a playful false sincerity to his voice, “The school board might get really upset with you if you make all of us write our slightly masturbatory fantasies about the divine specimen that haunted my dreams last night.”
Mr. Lange blanched, a couple of girls giggled, and several guys just cracked up laughing. Then of course, some kids looked grossed out. The teacher put a hand over his forehead and sighed, “Seven, go sit in the hallway.”
“With pleasure, sir,” Seven replied and left with gusto.
There was a chair in the hallway reserved just for these instances. Days like these used to happen about once a week, but he’d been getting better and it was only about once a month or so now. He sat and doodled in his sketch book for a couple minutes before Mr. Lange came out to talk to him.
“Seven,” he sighed, “We have just a couple more days of class. Do you think you could refrain from disturbing content in your comments until then?”
Grinned, Seven replied, “I can’t help it when you just keep setting me up, sir. You know how the saying goes, you set ‘em up and I knock ‘em down.” He gave him a big grin.
“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Mr. Lange chuckled.
Most of the stuff in class was a front with his creative writing teacher. Mr. Lange got annoyed with him a lot, sure, but they always got along well when no one else was around.
“One of these days I’m going to write you up,” sighed Mr. Lange, leaning against the wall. Seven grinned and replied, “Suuure you are.”
“Could you please not fantasize about women in my class room ever again?”
Seven smirked, “I never did, sir.”
Mr. Lange chuckled, “So you just made it up?”
“I didn’t say that,” Seven sighed. Mr. Lange was probably the closest thing he had to a friend other than Travis and he figured he could tell him. Tell him he was…
“You’re gay?” Seven nodded and Mr. Lange followed suit.
“I came out to my family this weekend,” he said quietly, “They’re… they didn’t take it too badly, but they weren’t jumping for joy or anything…”
“I can imagine that would be difficult.”
If Seven had one real friend in the world other than Travis, it was Mr. Lange. He’d told the guy tons of things, his frustrations and the like and the man had always offered a listening ear. But they were teacher and student, so Seven didn’t really think it was an actual friendship since they couldn’t ever hang out or anything like that. Generally people frowned on such a thing.
“I wish you were my brother,” Seven sighed, “Instead of Evan. Chad is ok sometimes, actually really great this weekend, but Evan’s always such a dick…”
“Give him some time,” Mr. Lange said in a calm, soothing tone, “He’s only human, and humans make mistakes, right? Give him a chance to get used to the idea and maybe he’ll realize how he treats you and straighten up, ok?”
Seven nodded and sighed, “I just wish he’d go away…”
“My brother died when I was a kid,” said Mr. Lange, “It was Leukemia. I was six, he was only nine. For the longest time, I was so angry and I would’ve done anything to have brought him back. I’ve accepted it now, but just… don’t take your brother for granted, ok? Because once he’s gone, he’s not coming back,” Mr. Lange sighed heavily, “Now come on, let’s go back inside and you act like a decent human being, alright?”
Seven agreed and followed him into the classroom where a girl was writing the suggestions people gave on the board.
“Thanks, Christy. You can have a seat now,” he said and returned to his duty as a teacher.
Seven zoned out. He wasn’t really concerned with his final paper. He was good at writing so if they just gave him an idea, he’d have an outline and a rough draft done in half an hour. Outlines were key. Once you have your outline done, it was just a simple matter of fill in the blank for the rest of the paper.
Class ended and Seven headed to his math class. He really, really hated Algebra, but at the same time he’d rather take Algebra than Pre-Calculus, which was what he would be taking next year. Couldn’t he just be done with math already?
“Seven!”
He turned and saw Travis walking towards him and a smile lit up his face, “Travis! What are you doing here?”
Travis stood in front of him, awkwardly hunched down so he didn’t quite stick out as much, but he still loomed over everyone else that walked by, “I had to meet with a counselor and figure out my schedule for next year. They gave me a pass saying I could walk around a bit and get used to the school, maybe meet a few people, but you’re the only one I’ve really seen worth talking to.”
Seven smiled and tried not to let how much those words affected him show on his face, “What classes are you taking?”
Travis pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and looked at it, “British Lit, Pre-Cal, Bio 2, Gov, Wood/metal Shop, College English 1, Percussion, and Basic Automotive over at the career center.”
“That’s cool,” said Seven, “You have a lot of electives.”
“I’ve taken almost all of the classes I need to graduate already since my mom usually does my schedule and tries to give me the hardest classes she can, but I got to do it myself this time and I figure I should have some fun while I can, right?” Travis grinned and Seven’s stomach went squish. “What are you doing now?”
“Skipping Algebra to hang out with you,” answered Seven, “Can’t let the crazy white people brain wash you and steal you away from me. I must ensure your safety at all times.”
“I thought I was your knight, not the other way around.”
“It can switch back and forth since we’re both guys. If you were a chick it would always be me, but you’re not so you can fight for my honor every so often, but not too much or it might make me insecure in my masculinity.”
Travis laughed, “Sev, you are the craziest little crackhead I’ve ever met.”
“Why thank you my dear Watson,” replied Seven in a posh British voice, “To the cafeteria. We are in need of nourishment.”
“Now is it actual nourishment or is it creepy stuff that you have to stab or it’ll run away?”
Laughing, Seven replied, “It might run away, but they usually kill it before they serve it. So it’s at least fresh, right?”
They headed to the cafeteria where Seven explained that they had accounts with the school and while you could pay with cash, most kids would punch in their code to the number pads that would access their account and just pay that way. His mom usually just put in three hundred at the beginning of the year and if he needed more at the end, he just needed to ask for it. It was easier than the parents who gave their kids fifty bucks whenever it ran out.
Seven bought them each a mini cheese pizza, a can of fruit juice, and little bag of baby carrots with a little cup of ranch dressing. Seven grabbed a couple of ketchup packets and they sat down at an empty round table. Travis watched in disgust as Seven dumped his ranch dressing on his pizza and ate it with gusto.
“You just put carrot dip of your pizza,” Travis said in shock, “That’s sick…”
“It’s good!” protested Seven and proceeded to take another bite to express his point. Travis thought it was revolting, but ignored it and began eating his own mini pizza sans salad dressing. The bell rang and everyone left at the same time as a bunch of other kids piled in. It was a little entertaining to watch.
“So what did you want to see?” asked Seven, dipping his baby carrots in ketchup. Travis wasn’t sure if he would be able to eat lunch with his blonde friend every day if he constantly ate like that. He ate normally when he was at home…
Shrugging and hiding how grossed out he was, Travis asked, “Do you think you could show me the band room?”
“Yeah, I’ll get Cody to let us in. There are no band classes right now so it’s a good time.”
“Who’s Cody?”
“He’s the music department intern. He was the director for the musical and I helped out making the sets and stuff. The guy absolutely loves me,” Seven answered with a grin and threw all of his empty food wrappers on the tray. Travis didn’t even bother eating his carrots.
Seven tossed all of it in the trash and they left the cafeteria, exiting through a small door off to the side so the lunch monitors wouldn’t notice their departure. He lead his incredibly tall friend through the halls to a pair of double doors holding the sound of a deep brass instrument playing some complicated piece inside.
Knocking loudly, Seven barged in and grinned, “Hey, Cody!” A tall, incredibly scrawny man stood up, and put down the baritone he’d just stopped playing. He was just a couple of inches shorter than Travis, but looked to be the same size around, possibly smaller, than the exceedingly petite Seven. He had mousy brown hair that was spiked up with gel and a dumb looking soul-patch under his wide, thin lips. He wore square glasses and his eyes lit up when he saw Seven.
“Mr. Owens, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“This is my friend, Travis,” explained Seven, “He’s going to be a new student next year and he asked me to show him the band room.”
“Cody” walked over to Travis and stuck out his hand for him to shake, “I’m Mr. Walker, the intern. The actual band teachers are out to lunch right or I’d introduce you to them. Have you signed up for a band class for next year?”
“They put me in the percussion class,” said Travis.
“Well that’s great!” exclaimed Mr. Walker, “This school has a great percussion program. The class is separate from the wind instruments so you’re given your band music and expected to learn it during independent working time with instructors here to help you, and then they also have ensemble time where you work on improving you versatility and individual skills. Are you doing marching band?” Travis shook his head, no. “Too bad, we have a great marching band.”
A phone rang from the office and Mr. Walker sighed, “I have to get that. That room over there has all of the percussion instruments in there if you’d like to see them. Feel free to mess around with whatever you like as long as you don’t let Seven break anything.”
“Hey!” Seven shouted indignantly as Cody hurried off to answer the persistently ringing phone. Travis gave him a smirk and Seven lead him into the percussion storage room.
There were marimba, xylophones, Tympanis, and other large drums everywhere as well as shelves lining the walls holding all kinds of bells, cymbals, maracas, and varying shapes and sizes of hand drums. On the bottom shelves were coffee cans containing all kinds of drums sticks and mallets. Travis grinned broadly.
“I can tell you’re going to have too much fun already,” Seven chuckled in reaction to Travis’ expression. Travis started lifting up the covers on the different drums and looking at what was underneath.
“What do you think these are?” Seven asked, pointing to a large stack of big round containers.
Travis looked over, “Those look like bass drums and snares for the drum line.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Laughing at his childish voice, Travis unearthed a beautiful drum set and audibly groaned, “Aw, it’s so gorgeous.” He lovingly ran his fingers over the drum heads and shining cymbals.”
“That’s brand new,” came Mr. Walker’s voice as he entered the storage closet, “It’s a really sad story, actually. One of the parents had just bought it brand new for his son’s birthday then his son died of heart failure before he ever had a chance to play it. It was a real tragedy, but his dad donated it to the band program, saying that he would’ve wanted us to have it. We’re going to get something in honor of him written on the bass drum.”
“I remember that,” Seven said quietly, “It was really sad. He was a pretty nice guy.”
Travis nodded and continued gushing over the drum kit, “I’ve always wanted a drum set,” he sighed longingly, “but my mom refused to get me one so I played the one at my old school all of the time. I’d stay after school for hours, till they would kick me out some days…”
“You’re welcome to come here and play on this one or the other one we have anytime you’d like.”
Travis turned to him and smiled bigger than Seven had ever seen before.