A/N: I don't own Dear Evan Hansen or any characters except for my own
I'm not a huge fan of math class. I think my head does better with letters, so algebra was definitely a better choice than AP Calculus. The way words work makes more sense than numbers. I like reading all the boring books from school (with the exception of Catcher in the Rye, which I detest).
But yes, I hate math. In this case, on my first day of senior year, I really hated it. I was in a class where I didn't know anyone. To boot it off, the first thing we did was the dumb icebreaker activities with our math partners.
Of course, I was not picked to be anyone's partner, but I could deal with whatever I was given. I stayed to the back of the room and waited for Mr. N to ask about who didn't have a partner.
Partnerships like that tend to work out better because when you work with your friends you get too focused on having fun. This type is for survival.
Mr. N asked about whoever didn't have a partner and I raised my hand high looking for the other half of our new partnership. Oh wow. Connor Murphy. He was the type of edgy kid I started away from. I try to stay far away from drugs and alcohol and to know why you can't until you unlock my tragic backstory.
Connor moved to the back of the class with me on my right side, bring his black backpack that was very light. My backpack was a stark contrast. Does that tell you something about us? My backpack was bright blue and I had a serious case of forever freshman backpack.
We were passed papers to fill out with our partner about each other. Before I continue, know that I am quite impulsive. I really don't feel the need to think about something so it can be funny. Alright, now we can progress.
"Ok, Connor, the first question my man: What season is your favorite and why? Know that there are wrong answers." I began to make the noise from Jeopardy.
Connor scoffed at me and turned forward in his seat to go on his phone.
"Alright then." I wrote down "*scoff* I am simply too edgy to like the seasons." I felt this was fitting. This is where a normal human would erase it and write winter or something. I, however, am impulsive as all hell.
Connor peered over when he heard the graphite graze the paper. He saw what I wrote and for a second, I saw the smallest of smiles on his face before falling into a frown once more.
"Connor, your smile is like a sunset. Fleeting, bright, hurts my eyes." I really should shut up.
He just scoffed again. "What's your favorite season then, Miss Poetic?" I laughed at the name.
"I love fall. The smells of the leaves and the air tastes like apples. I love apples. Only green and yellow though. Red apples are trash. Do you like apples?" I asked, putting the paper on my desk.
"I do." So I don't see myself getting too much out of this kid. That's alright. The bell rang and I was disappointed in our lack of work but I could deal.
Connor was also in my English class and Adventure Ed class. Great. I have one whole friend in my schedule senior year.
I don't even have lunch because I take so many fine arts classes. I am obsessed with music and performing. I'm getting to triple threat status slowly but surely. I dance now. I mostly just sang and acted but now I dance. Dancing sucks a big when you dance with kids who have danced since they were two, but I keep up. It makes me feel stupid but I have a good time.
My first day of school was over and the library was already open, so being the nerd I am, I went there. I sat in a ring of sofa chairs and pulled out The Dubliners. I began to read. I can say I got about two pages in when I heard a ruckus behind me. I saw a sweaty boy with a cast and Connor Murphy. Connor had run out of the library looked pissed and he knocked over a computer.
I have no idea what possessed me but I left James Joyce on the chair and ran out of the library to follow him. I consider myself to be decently nice because I always want to help. I don't always end up helping, but I want to.
He had run to the boy's bathroom. It was after-school, I'm a freak, and I'm impulsive. I'll give you three tries to guess what I did.
Connor was holding a piece of paper with his arms like pillars on the sides of the sink. He looked like a statue. He stood so still except for the quiver of his back. It was ever so slight, but I saw.
"Hey, Connor, what's wrong?" I felt stupid. That was stupid. Wow, what's wrong? I'm so helpful.
"Get the fuck away from me. You're a fucking freak. This is the boy's bathroom. Get out. I'm not here to be your circus act."
"Whoa, whoa, Connor. I'd never ask that of you this early into our friendship. The monkeys and clowns come in after two months." I joked.
He looked extremely puzzled and just sighed. He put his hand under the sink and wet them before slicking back his hair. I liked his hands. They were thin and graceful but covered in calluses and his nails were barely there.
He sniffed loudly and turned to me. I stood at a whopping five foot two. He stood at least half a foot taller.
"That kid Evan Hansen made a stupid letter to get me to freak out. He printed it, knowing I would be at the printer right then and he wanted me to get mad and make a scene." He bristled as a big hedgehog would.
I took the paper from his hand, read it. I laughed.
"Connor this is more of a suicide note than a dig at you. This rarely focuses on your sister. He probably just has a crush." I handed it back.
His eyes scanned over it. He took a deep breath in and out his nose.
"I guess. Hansen doesn't really have any malicious int- pfft." He began to laugh.
I heard footsteps behind me. Of course, like in movies, a boy had walked in behind me.
"Uh, this is the boy's bathroom. Oh shit, it's the dyke freak! Then it's fine, you're pretty much a boy anyway." I laughed at him.
"You're a degenerate, Mike. You probably were dropped on your head one too many times and now you don't know the difference between sexuality and gender. Attitudes like that are what get you killed in this kind of world." I tried really hard to be cool.
"You hang out with the other freak? Aw, maybe you'll have freak babies." He continued towards the urinal and I sensed it was my time to leave.
"You'll regret that when I write you into my suicide note, Mike. Big-time. Bye Connor! Oh, here." I pulled a pen I took off my choir teacher's piano and wrote my phone number on his arm.
Ignoring the very obvious scars, I told him to text me tonight. "I get lonely and I'm a night lark. I just never really sleep so I have plenty of time to spend just getting to know you." I waved goodbye and retreated back to James Joyce.