Entry 5:19th October
Journal,
So, the other night I was talking about my dislike of Harry on meeting him for the first time. Maybe I was a bit harsh on the guy at first but I've definitely grown to strongly dislike him. For good reason too, which I shan't get into just yet.
I may as well deal with Niall first of all. So, you remember I was talking about the moment of bliss I had in the theatre on the first day. Well, I had snuck in the audience's entrance that first day, which I was surprised to find unlocked.
I was in bliss the moment I walked through the doors. The sight of the stage far in front of me past the rows of seats seemed to hit me in the gut. Even in the dark. he place was beautiful; modern, tall, majestic, spacious, powerful. I knew then that I would always be right at home there.
I dropped my bags and walked tentatively up to the stage. I was encapsulated by the sheer power that seemed to radiate off it. On this stage, tears were shed, people were killed and emotions were played out. Stories, hundreds of stories, were told from there.
Before I was conscious of what I was doing, I was climbing up the steps that I had spotted at the side of the stage. From the moment I took my first step onto it, I was in heaven. This is what I had worked so hard for these last few years: to earn the right to be stand right there. To do so alone without actually performing was enough for me at that moment. I spent a few minute walking every inch of the stage, exploring every angle as I thought about how lucky I was to be starting on the course of my dreams. It was blissful.
I was woken from my thoughts with a loud thud and a small squeaking sound from the back of the auditorium. I spun around and froze. What the hell was I supposed to do? I wasn't even allowed to be in the bloody theatre and I didn't want to get in trouble before I even started my course.
There was no other choice but to make my way back to my bags and try to escape unnoticed and hope that whoever was there hadn't seen me through the darkness.
As I snuck back to my bags, I could see the figure who had caused the noise. He was sitting on the ground in the middle of the very back row of seats, hugging his knee to his chest and rubbing it through the fabric. I could sense he was a student so I figured it would be OK to talk to him.
"You okay?" I called over gently.
The boy, who had blonde hair and a baby face, looked up like a rabbit in headlights. He gave out another small squeak to himself before he nodded slightly.
"Grand," he mumbled in an accent I found difficult to place. "I was just looking for something and fell over."
He sprang up and pushed past me- obviously mortified- on his way to the door that led outside. I considered running after him and asking him had he found what he was looking for. I decided against it.
I didn't see the boy again until that Wednesday, the day after my first meeting with Twatface in creative writing. I had my first English literature lecture last thing and when I arrived, there the strange boy was, sitting on his own at the very back of the small room.
I tried to raise my eyebrows in greeting at him but I wasn't able to catch his eye; his head was engrossed in a book on his lap. I chose to sit in the middle of the room beside Ben, who I knew from most of my actual performing arts lectures.
For days afterwards, I cursed myself for not going up to him and talking to him. Yet, every time I glanced at him during that lecture, there was such serenity in the way he was sitting and reading that it would have been a shame to ruin it.
I told Liam about him afterwards during our third post-day-in-college discussion on Wednesday night.
"Yeah, English lit was fine," I said, answering his question. "Ben from my performing arts course and room 304 was there so that was good. There was this guy, though, that just sat at the back of the room reading a book. He never said one word to anybody during the whole hour, apart from saying 'thanks' when someone past him the attendance sheet."
