Modern Love

Chapter One (David's POV)

My saxophone case feels heavier the closer I get to school. It's no wonder the case is so heavy to me; my arms are practically as thin as the handle. I hate walking, but I certainly can't drive anymore after everything last year. I know that worse weather would come later in the school year, but I still feel miserable. The air humid and my t-shirt sticks to my chest. I wipe some sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand. It wouldn't seem as hot if I wasn't wearing jeans, but I'm always embarrassed of my scrawny pale legs.

I'm panting as I finally make it to the band room, which is on the far end of the school. I reach my arm out to open the door, almost making it. I should've known Page wouldn't let me off easy just because it's the first day of our junior year. I barely get a chance to see him in the reflection of the glass door before he tackles me to the ground.

"Nice nails, faggot," he snickers as he pins me down.

I know it'll just be worse if I try to get away so I just lie there and take it. He kicks me in the gut, then the nose. I'm pretty used to it by now, but there's still always that gross feeling in your nose when you're hit. It's peculiar, like a mix of an unpleasant smell and the feeling in your arms after you're forced to do twenty push ups in gym. And then comes the blood.

"Hmm, I think I'll stop there. The nose thing will be pretty noticeable. Your excuse is up to you," he says grinning.

I sit up once he's left and lean against the wall. I cup my hand under my nose to keep the blood from staining my shirt and shakily stand up.

I yank the door open and pick up my case before I shove it in it's slot in the storage room. I make my way down the hallway, squeezing through the crowd of freshman looking for their lockers.

The boys bathroom is deserted. Placing my bag down I stare at my disgusting reflection. A skin and bones frame paired with a Snow White tan. I sigh and reach for a paper towel as the door squeaks.

"This is the boys bathroom," a confused douchey looking guy tells me.

"I'm quite aware, considering I'm a boy."

His lips form an O then he laughs. "I couldn't tell."

I stuff the paper towel up my nose to stop the blood. I already have several stains from the nosebleed and the dirt from Jimmy's foot. So much for a white shirt. I'm drenched with sweat, but I throw on a dark green sweater from my bag. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm down. Today will be fine, I repeat to myself. It'll be okay. By then my nosebleed stops and I throw the paper towel away.

Rushing to my locker, I bump into James Osterberg, who looks like as slimy and grimy as ever.

"Iggy!" I grin, calling James by his nickname.

"Hey David! I've got Chemistry first period, what about you?" he asks.

I frown. "English."

Before I can ask what period he has lunch, the crowd pushes him along. I locate my locker and place my bag inside. I pick up my schedule and books, and head to class.

The room is plastered with posters of motivational quotes. Sitting down in the front at one of the few available desks, I pick at my blue nail polish as I wait for class to start. The desks are arranged in sets of two, so I have no one to sit with. I watch the door as the remaining people enter. John and Paul come in, obviously planning to sit together. I don't think anyone has ever seen them apart; they're really a package deal. Pete comes in following a football player I didn't really know like a lost puppy. The one I didn't know seems relieved to have spotted the empty spot beside me and sits down on my right quickly.

"I'm going to sit in the front to see better," he tells Pete, who sulks to the back of the class and sits down.

I turn my head to get a good look at the boy sitting next to me. My mouth feels dry. He's gorgeous with dark brown hair that came a little below his ears and rather large lips. And he's staring right back at me. He opens his mouth like he is about to say something, but right then the bell rings. The teacher came to the front of the class and introduced himself. I turned back around to face the teacher, when I felt him tap my arm.

I look down to see a sticky note. Thanks for helping me escape Pete, it says.

I scramble to find a pen to write back. No problem

He smiles and took it back to write something else. I really like your nail polish.

I smile nervously. Thanks

Why are you wearing a sweater when it's a million degrees outside

I fell outside this morning and stained my shirt

The teacher starts to call attendance so I tune back in. "David?"

"Here," I say.

He continues to call names and the person next to me raises his hand when the name Michael is called.

"I go by Mick, actually," he said.

As the teacher calls the rest of the names I pass more notes with Mick.

You're in band right? I think I've seen you at games

I'm surprised, I never thought anyone really noticed me. Yes I am

Attendance doesn't take long and the teacher begins to pass out papers. "You'll be working with the person next to you on your first assignment. It's due next Monday."

I grinned at Mick and looked down at the paper.

"You'll need to interview your partner and write a poem following the rubric. This is for me to evaluate your writing style and learn a little about you all. You can start on it now."

I flinch as feel a hand on my thigh.

"Calm down, you're tapping your feet so fast you're shaking the entire room," Mick chuckles.

My cheeks start burning. I always get shaky when I'm nervous. "Sorry."

"You're fine, don't worry," he says, removing his hand to pick up the paper. His light blue eyes skim up and down the page. "It starts out with a word about you. Describe yourself to me."

"I'm really not that interesting." I shrug.

"I'll bet you are. What are your interests?"

"Well, I love music."

His eyes widen and I notice he's wearing a bit of makeup. "So do I! Can you sing?"

I shrug again. "I'm decent at it, I guess."

He leans forward slightly. "What artists do you listen to?"

"I love The Talking Heads and The Pixies. Those are probably my favorites."

He looks about ready to spring out of his chair. "You have fantastic taste!"
A jock likes good music?

He runs his fingers through his hair. "Alright, I need to stop freaking out about your amazing taste. I'm going to get really deep for a second. What's your favorite color?"

I chuckle. "Orange. You?"

"Red."

We talk about random things until there's five minutes left of class. "I'll say you're outgoing," I say.

There's a hint of red on Mick's cheeks, probably from how warm it is in the room or maybe I'm just imagining it. He can't possibly be blushing because of me.

He looks at the floor nervously. "I'd say you're perfect."