So, I grew up in this little ass town in New Mexico, like, real small. Like one high school small. I went to this school, right? The only school in this small boring ass town, filled with the same people that I had seen my entire life. Same people, same friends, same sameness. And don't get me wrong, I didn't want to leave. I appreciated the sameness, the stability, in a place where nothing ever changes, it was a comfortable routine. In the cookie cutter life, with the perfect white suburban family in a not so racially diverse neighborhood, you'd think there'd be more hispanic people in a place called New Mexico but you know, who am I too judge? Where was I? Oh yeah, I was going to say the one thing I couldn't stand about this place.

The goddamn singing.

Everyone was always singing. You meet a cute person? Musical number. The final game that would make your school the state companions? Better sing a musical number! Summer vacation finally here? You bet your ass that calls for a fucking musical number. Are you fucking graduating? LET'S HAVE A SCHOOL WIDE GODFORSAKEN MUSICAL NUMBER!

Not to mention the dancing. God lunch times were hell, there was no end to the singing and the dancing. I don't think the tables where even there for eating, I think they were there so the main assholes could stand and dance on them for dramatic effect. Lunch was usually about the struggles of the most popular guy in school and the smartest new girl and how, "Oh I love her, but oh she's in a different social group, but oh we've sung together it must be meant to be, and oh we've bonded over the pull of THEATRE which I didn't want to do anyway and involves singing because of course it involves singing." It got old fast.

And then there was this whole drama with the most popular girl in school and her wanting to be a power couple with the guy who wouldn't stop whining to his friends about that smart girl. It was Romeo and Juliet like. And the main characters just as fucking stupid. You have no idea how many times I would hear music and turn tail back the other way, even if my class was the way I had originally been going.

And that, my dear friend, is because that school has a way of dragging you in. Never once have I seen anyone practice the sudden dance routines that just show the fuck up whenever they feel it's appropriate, there are transfer students that I have seen look at their own bodies in shock and fear because they had no clue why they were dancing along perfectly in sync with at least a hundred other people when they hadn't practiced the dance even a bit, maybe not a dance like that in their lives. Or dance at all. Which I would always find hilarious, as I watched from three rooms and a barricade of people away. I refuse to go anywhere near, you see, when you go too close, by the time you realize it, it's too late, next thing you know you're shimmying with some guy from Algebra two who you've only talked with once for notes. Okay maybe I got pulled in once. It was tenth grade and I didn't take my friends warning of "don't eat in the cafeteria if you have any value for your pride" seriously. I have now learned that guy from Algebra two's name in Nick, and he's an asshole.

But that's besides the point. After a few years I started to wonder if anyone in this school actually went to class. It was Junior year when the infamous Summer Time musical number happened, and the blonde rich chick and her probably gay brother were clogging up the halls with their mere presence, the basketball team was doing some kind of dance routine in the south hall, and those two lovebirds, the popular guy and the smart girl from earlier, well, they were singing about vacation like it was a magical time filled with romance and magic. When I heard stories about how their summer actually turned out I almost busted something laughing. I mean, what happened to them sucked, the lovebirds almost broke up, and everyone knew it'd take some serious shit to jeopardize their relationship, but I just couldn't feel sorry for them after dealing with two years of their bullshit.

Freshman year wasn't to bad, but after she transferred in, all hell broke loose. It doesn't help that I'm in their grade, because as we kept all growing up, with the same people I'd known since I had known that I had the ability to know people, it's all they could seem to fucking talk about. Troy this. Gabriella that. Which is their names, by the by. And then senior year and graduation. Never before have I been so happy to see the calendar change to September. Because if it was September, than that means I could finish this year and leave this small ass town behind, and get on the nearest plane away from what feels like a fantasy version of high school and the constant singing.

I knew by sophomore year I'd be going to college out of state, preferable out of country if I could manage it, I wanted to be as far away from Troy and Gabriella and the sudden flash mobs that followed them wherever they went as I could physically be. Which is not very far come around May, during that last basketball game. Our team is singing, and so are the cheerleaders, but that was completely normal. Both of that actually. By the country's standards, the cheerleaders singing was completely fine, and by ours, the basketball team's tune was a everyday as the humdrum drone of the drama teacher.

And then, only a few minutes before the final buzzer, we're down a few points, but nothing we can't make up if we give a signature Wildcat's push towards the finish line, and then suddenly there the high pitched notes of "TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY", which are ear splitting because I was right next to her, obviously because I hate myself, and I want to leave then and there, but school spirit glues me to the bleachers, no matter how much I actually hated the place. Gabriella's part ends, they continue playing, Troy passes it to the newer and really bad freshman, but just in time so that when the kid shoots he scores, which was the one thing I'll commend that golden boy on, he was nice.

Graduation was a gift from the gods. Never before have I been more happy to see that principle in my goddamn life. When they called my name, I don't think I had ever been as ecstatic as I was to walk up a flight of stairs to get a piece of paper. And not just the fact that I worked hard for that piece of paper, but what it meant. It meant freedom. It meant a ticket out of here. It meant no more singing. We threw our caps up in the air and I left before Troy or Gabriella could take a breath to sing the first notes.

From the video I saw, even I had to admit it was pretty damn catchy. Not their best work though. Not even close. That would probably be that one at the baseball field. Or the junkyard. The best ones always happened outside of school.

Now I'm in college, and though that's not a life story, it's a roundup of every stand out thing that happened to me back then. But that was back then. Today, in the now, I put down my book, listening to the stillness of my dorm and the hallways outside, listen to my roommate's breathing and the quietness of the campus outside our window. And I smile.

"No singing."

This is the crackiest shit I will ever do dear god