He was glad that he did not miss anything too important when he came back to class. The teacher, Sakimoto-sensei, was only going over what they had learned so far. He sighed as he sat down, setting his violin next to him and his satchel on top of it.

"Hey, sunshine, I see your late again." Fuuji, who sat behind him said.

Michael leaned back in his chair. "I wasn't late, I was called to the principal's office." He started to feel angered again. He hated that man.

"Was it about your hair again?"

Michael had always been yelled at by the teachers and the school administration about his lengthy hair. It was mandatory that all boys in the school had short hair. But Michael, with he aid of his father, who's hair was longer than a horse's tail, was able to maintain his longer hair.

"No, not this time, it was a misunderstanding." Michael was not paying much attention to his friend or the teacher, he was busy trying to find where Nanami sat. He didn't see her at the front, or at the sides of him. She must be somewhere in the back. "You know that girl, Chaika?" He asked.

"Oh that girl who's been crushing you since grade school?" Fuuji chuckled lightly. "What about her?"

Crushing? She had a crush on him since grade school? They went to grade school together? He realized how little he paid attention. "Nothing, never mind..."

it was the last thing that he said that day to Fuuji, he ignored him for the remainder of the day, too angry at the principal, and thinking of why he had not seen her before. As the school day was at its closing and he was walking home, he didn't really pay much attention to the walk or his surroundings. He came inside the apartment, half expecting the band singer to be there. But he wasn't. He shrugged it off, glad he didn't have strings practice today, so he set down what was in his hands and walked to the fridge.

There was nothing much in there still. Only a half a carton of milk, a few left over take outs a full pack of beer and a half eaten cake, from what, he did not have a clue. He looked around the contents once more before picking up one of the bottles of his fathers beer. He opened it, smelled it, almost gagged from the smell, but took a wig of it. Choked it down and almost threw up from the taste. But for some reason it made him want to drink it more, not because he could potentially get drunk, but because it was his fathers, and he would be mad at him for drinking it. But that did not stop him, he was mad at him for not listening to him. He took another gulp of it.