Invisible (A Hunter Hayes One Shot)

Invisible

I was picked on, hurt, abused verbally and mentally, ignored, shunned and many more. I would shrink down, blend in with the others, try to go unnoticed. I looked to my left to a pretty red head girl, pinned against a locker, shaking in fear, eyes empty, but full of confusion, and horror written across her face. I looked to my right to see a boy, a skip in his steps confidence written all over him. He went up to some girls, being his normal self, but wouldn't make eye contact with any guys and blush with a couple. I looked ahead of me to a goth girl, trying to look all tough and careless, but you can read her like a book, wanting to look tough to avoid all the drama and hate she gets. Whispers and laughs as she walks down the hallways by her unique attire. I looked behind me, a boy with his nose buried deep into his book, not bothering to look up at who or what was in front of him. He would look up occasionally, making sure not to bump into someone or to say sorry he accidentally bumped into. His checkered pants were too high with a white button up shirt and brown suspenders with his oversized glasses. He was made a target to get, we all are, no reason not to know we aren't.

Standing in front of millions of people, getting the sensation of performing to people's pleasure, enjoying and singing along to my music, looking out into the crowd of smiling faces. The depressed and overly happy, joined into a mop, sharing one thing in common. A nerd sitting next to a jock, a jerk sitting next to the nicest person they'll ever meet, a nobody sitting next to a somebody, a workaholic sitting next to a lazy bum, they just don't know it. As I look out into the crowd, holding my guitar up in the air, I scan the crowd, smiling, full of glee. I am no longer Invisible.

**********

I stood at my locker, minding my own business, grabbing my things I needed for my next class. "You see that kid over there?" "Yeah?" "He's the freak of the school. He's always in the music room. It's like he doesn't know how to communicate with the real world!" "Seriously?" "Dude, seriously." I felt pain in my heart, something that I got use to since 9th grade, but this pain, I shouldn't be use to it, it should be something that bothers me constantly. I slammed my locker door, still feeling hurt about being called a "freak," walking to my next class, History.

I sat in the back, making sure to go unnoticed. I mean who wants to sit behind the pimpled face, brace geek, freak show guy? I mean, I would make friends with them, but most wouldn't want to become friends with them. "Mr. Hayes, what immigrants worked in making rail roads when they were popular?" I looked at her for a couple seconds, not knowing what to say. "My thoughts exactly. What on earth are you doing back there? Let me see, bring it up and share to the class. We would ALL love to hear it." "I'm not doing anything Mrs. Loren." "Well then what ARE you doing Mr. Hayes?" I shrugged my shoulders. It would sound ridiculous saying I was thinking about vacuuming all the bullies and sending them to Mars now would it? "Mr. Hayes, you won't be able to get out of this little town, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, if you keep staring off into space back there." "Yes ma'am." "I expect you to do for homework an essay on Lafayette, Louisiana, 6 pages, about the history and landscapes and everything we need to know. Your sixth page needs to be about what you see in your future and how you'll reach it, understood?" I internally groaned, but nodded my head. "Yes ma'am, completely understand." "Ok then, class open your books to 578 and start reading Chapter 10, Section 3, The Louisiana Purchase."

********

The final bell rang, signaling school ending. I walked to the music room, setting myself up in the corner on my guitar. I pulled out my music sheet and laid on top of the desk in front of me. I started to strum some chords, practicing so it didn't sound so rusty. Everyone started to slowly leave, soon leaving me in the room alone. "You have a bright future ahead of you Mr. Hayes." I snapped my head around to the music teacher, Miss Windsell. "Nah, I don't." "You're so talented with each instrument and that voice of yours is like a slice of heaven." I let out a chuckle from her response. "Saw they put you on youtube and iTunes." "Yeah, dad worked some things out." "You're pretty popular down here since you were little, I mean not a lot of 8 year olds meet the president and go on interviews." I shook my head and smiled. "Yet I'm still picked on." She walked over and picked up my sheet of music. "What's this?" I quickly grabbed it back from her hands and moved it under my leg. "Just some music I've been working on." "Play it for me." "I didn't finish it yet. It's still in the process." "Play what you have now." "Miss Windsell..." "Play!" I started to strum my guitar, tapping my foot and nodding my head along to the beat I was making.