It was never the stares from kids that Troye hated—it was the lack of stares. He didn’t necessarily take part in some huge drama that consumed the entire student body, but he’d like to at least have friends. No one stared at him, no one noticed him. And as much as Troye hated it, he wanted people to notice him. There was always a constant battle inside his head. Be not true to himself and have friends, or be true to himself and not have friends. He had certainly tried the first option, but it never worked. His words would come out garbled and messy, like they had been written with the wrong hand. He’d like to say that he had just given up at some point, stopped caring about everyone, but he couldn’t. And he hated himself for it.
The only people who have ever noticed Troye Sivan were his teachers, and the nice girl Louise who gave him a pen once and sometimes asked him how his day was going. Granted it was a big school, so when Troye’s family entered a Michigan high school due to his mother’s work, no one really batted an eyelash. Two years later and Troye was a junior, a loser, and a hardcore introvert wishing he had a chance to be an extrovert.
It wasn’t even like he just sat around and did nothing—he was busy with extracurriculars. He did tech for the theatre department religiously, and he wrote articles for the school newspaper, and he was part of a small writing club that never gained over three members.
But Troye didn’t have time to mourn over his social status—he didn’t have time to mourn over anything besides the relentless squeaking of the spotlights in the lighting booth because it was tech week.
A collection of monologues, was what it was described as, but it had been Troye’s life for the past few weeks. Setting light cues, moving lights, making sure props were in order—theatre tech was Troye in his glory. He was sitting on the floor of the lighting booth with smudges of oil peppering his pale complexion. All week, this stupid spotlight would squeak with the slightest movements and as usual, if Troye didn’t fix it, nobody did. “Shit” Troye breathed, as a dollop of oil fell on his shirt. This was the third shirt he’d lost to tech week so far, and his mom was about to lose it with him.
“Language, Mellet.” A sharp voice said behind him, making Troye whip his head around. “Wouldn’t want to get in trouble would you?” Ms. Burr said with a slight smile, relaxing Troye’s worry of actually being in trouble.
She was by far the nicest teacher in the school, and the best director Troye had ever worked with. Stern, but warm, she could probably talk a fish into climbing a tree. “Here, I have to run to the store to grab a pregnancy test.”
Troye could feel his eyes widening before he could register what she said. Should a teacher be saying that to a student? Is that allowed? Is that—
“For the teen mom monologue! Jesus, Troye, calm down. Anyways, I need you to go check with people that they have their props.” Ms. Burr said, trying not to laugh from Troye’s reaction.
“Yeah, sure…no problem.” He reeled off, picking himself up from the floor and sighing one more time at his oil-stained shirt.
Ms. Burr grinned and walked away, saying something to herself along the lines of “The look on his face…”
Troye put the small container of oil down with a cold glance before stepping out of the lighting booth. He didn’t even have to look up before a loud cackle determined precisely where the entire cast was. A small grin found its way on his face as he turned to see the huge group of thespians chatting and joking in the pit of the auditorium. He wanted friends like that. He wanted to tell a story so enrapturing that people hung on to every word.
