I hated bus rides.
Being jammed in a small space with lots of people always made me irritable.
However, it was our only connection to the outside world.
We lacked the finances to buy a car.
Grams and I were only living of the pension of my grandfather who had been an official in some important position in Gotham City's administration.
I couldn't really remember as I had been only five years old when he'd died.
Sometimes I wished that my grandparents had never left Gotham City.
At least there we'd have good transport facilities, busses and subways that were driving around the clock.
Plus the comprehensive amusement facilities, cinemas, bars, clubs, discos, theatres and festivals!
Here, the biggest highlight seemed to be the annual town fair, where everyone got together to get shitfaced collectively.
Yawn.
Even though I had spent nearly my entire life here, I never really felt like I had arrived, like I had become one of them.
I was somehow – different.
And even though that sounded special and mystic – essentially it was just shitty.
Because everyone wishes to belong somewhere, at least sometimes.
I never belonged anywhere.
Much less here.
Somehow there'd always been a trench between the other teens and me.
After my return from the school for the gifted and talented, it became even worse.
With a sigh, I propped my head against the cool window glass, while fields and forests where flashing by.
I'd went to primary school here, but the classes had begun boring me soon.
The subject matter had been childishly simple and because I'd never felt challenged enough I was always doing mischief.
I painted my table, kept distracting my seatmate or talked back to the teachers until they'd throw me out of class.
More than once I had to write the sentence "I must not draw with crayons on the walls." in my notebook.
And more than once my Grams had an appointment with the headmistress because of me.
Eventually, she became desperate because she wasn't able to handle me anymore.
Then, finally, my art teacher, who I was getting along with quite well, discovered that I wasn't, in fact, hyperactive but instead highly gifted.
The situation got immensely better after I was allowed to skip a class because I finally felt challenged enough.
After finishing elementary, my teacher and Grams did everything to get me into a special school.
The problem, as usual, was money.
They ran from bureau to bureau to get me a scholarship and when I turned 13, they succeeded.
From that moment on I went to a boarding school, a good hour-long bus ride away from Goldfield.
Grams was so happy.
She thought everything would be better now.
The opposite was the case.
Even though the classes and teachers were a lot better, because we actually got difficult tasks, everything else pissed me off quite quickly.
Especially my classmates.
All of them had grown up in wealthy families and they only seemed to be talking about one thing: money, money, money.
All of it was only ever about who had the best of the best.
I felt constantly interviewed:
Where were you on holidays? What car does your dad drive? How much does he earn?
Obviously, I was quickly branded as a misfit.
I had neither money, nor parents that I could proudly tell other people about.
The other students rapidly told me, non-verbally most of the time, that I was never going to be a part of them, which was convenient to me since I found them horrible anyways.
The entire atmosphere appeared downright toxic I didn't feel comfortable at all and began skipping classes.
It started with simply not going to one lesion at a time and then I sometimes stayed away for whole days.
I spent this time mostly on my own wandering through the surroundings of the school since it was located a bit remotely on top of a hill.
I had found a small space there for me.
A lake surrounded by huge trees.
There I sat for hours, starring at the water, painting and writing songs.
That was probably my only, real hobby.
I genuinely enjoyed singing as well and music soon became the only subject I'd even show up to.
Of course, it wasn't long until my teachers caught on to what was happening.
They wrote to my Grams, she'd in turn tried appealing to my conscience.
It didn't help.
Then came the end of the year and my grades where shared with the bureau that was financing my education.
Promptly, my scholarship got cancelled and shortly after my 15. birthday I had to leave the school.
I wasn't sad about it, the opposite was the case.
Only for Grams I felt sorry.
She cried a lot.
I think she was scared that I was going to disappoint her just as much as my mother once did.
She'd also had the best preconditions for a steep career – and ultimately had thrown it all away for… whatever.
I faithfully promised Grams that I was going to better myself.
Now I was finally back in my familiar surroundings and the old high school I was supposed to go to in the first place.
Since a lot of my old friends from elementary were going there I was sure to find my way there shortly.
It could only go up.
I was wrong.
My so called "friends" never forgave me that I had gone to a school for gifted children.
They thought that I was taking myself for something better and my coming back only made them express their spitefulness.
"Well, the higher you climb, the harder you fall. Serves you right that you didn't make it there.", had one of my former classmates said to me.
And so I was alone all over again.
It wasn't a good time and the only reason I didn't fall back into old habits was the promise I'd given my grandma.
About half a year ago everything got a bit easier.
I'd found friends, although outside of school.
They were four young men, all working a job that didn't interest them at all.
They'd much prefer to be standing on a stage, doing music and touring through big cities to escape town life.
It was this dream that had brought us all together even though we were pretty different people.
The boys had a little band but were missing a singer.
They wrote a notes telling everyone they were looking for an appropriate candidate.
One of those ended up on the notice-board of my school.
I hesitated for quite some time but in the end told myself that I didn't have anything to lose.
I went to their rehearsal room, which was actually just a garage, and auditioned.
An hour later, I was a part of the group. To this day Jason, Phil.
John and Sam where are only people to which I have contact privately.
And that was enough for me.
