Chapter Ten: There's Nothing You Can Sing That Can't Be Sung... Wait, I Lied.
Tommy's POV

Last night's party was... A good one. I'd promised Adam I wouldn't get drunk at parties anymore like I had last week, and I didn't. But I still had to give into some temptation and natural desire, given I wouldn't be getting majorly drunk anymore. And I definitely couldn't deny that it was a hella lot easier to walk through school sober, not to mention to talk to Adam. A measly half glass of vodka wouldn't get me drunk, anyway.

I still didn't sit with Adam all the time during lunch. Most of the time, Longineu or Monte pulled me to their table before I could even think about changing my mind. I always looked over my shoulder at him, seeing him engrossed in Wicked. He must have read that book five times in the past three weeks. Was it really that interesting? As far as I could tell, it was just about some green witch... But what did I know? I'd just have to ask him to borrow it, I guess.

I knew he missed me, you didn't have to be Elliot Stabler to figure that out. But he was trying his best to hide it. Don't ask why, I was still trying to figure that out myself. On a side note, Mia was starting to get less and less animate with our daily speaking. I mean, not the whole time. At first, we just talked about... I'm not even sure about what, but we talked, and it's nice. But after a while, she just kinda... Fades. Her voice is there, but her mind is somewhere else, off in La La Land. Hey, don't get me wrong, La La Land's a great place; I spend a lot of time there, especially during Math. But it was nice to talk to Mia when she was actually listening. The funny thing was that she left me for La La Land a couple of minutes after I bring Adam up. Well, yeah, I talk a lot about him, but how can I not?

My hands were shoved deep into the pockets of my striped hoodie (the hood up, naturally). There's really no use in describing the rest of my outfit; dark skinny jeans around my lack-of hips and thighs, beaten up Con's, and a bit of smudged eyeliner around my eyes. Everyday attire. I had, what, eight pairs of skinnys? Only thing that changes every day is the jeans and shirt and-slash-or sweater (and briefs, if I chose to wear any that day. What? Have you tried wearing skin tight jeans with any article of clothing underneath? It's seriously uncomfortable with tight jeans, what with them rising up my ass every two fucking seconds).

I trudged along the mostly empty hallways, my mind fixated on the week before. I smirked to myself. It was quite an interesting night. By the time we'd had spaghetti with meatballs- the real shit, not out of a fucking can, compliments of his mother, which was equally as great of a cook as my own- I was my old self and better, all traces of booze gone. Well, except for my clothes that had still reeked of it, but besides that- completely replenished with energy.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I remembered the rest of the night. The movies? Yeah- total disaster. There were maybe three other people in the entire theater, and we sat in the very back. I wasn't even sure of the movie's title. All I knew was that it was horror (duh, wouldn't have it any other way), and Adam looked less than pleased when he said that he was fine with it. Every time some dude's head flew off, his hand twitched, slightly, towards me. And it happened pretty damn often. It was cute, really, but I couldn't understand why he said he was okay with it if, clearly, he wasn't. Eventually, the time came to the eighty fifth spasm, and I stopped his hand mid-twitch. He'd turned his head towards me, his face paler than usual, the lights from the screen not making him look any less sickly.

I'd laughed just as another head flew off, and even though his face was towards me, I guessed he could see it from his peripheral vision, because his hand twitched in mine. "Adam, it's just a fucking movie. It's not real." But he seemed less concerned with the 'realness' of it, and more focused on blood spewing from the recent victim's neck. "If you don't like horror, why the Hell am I sitting here instead of watching some ooey-gooey lovey-dovey story instead? I would have suffered through it, but it doesn't look like you can suffer through this." I motioned towards the screen with my head. He gave me a weak smile and closed his eyes for a minute.

"And worst had come to worst, you could've just taken my hand." His eyes immediately shot open, and he stared me dead in the eyes before speaking.

"I'm not some damn pansy, Tommy. I don't need Mommy holding my hand," he muttered, jerking his hand away from mine. I blinked a few times, attempting to figure out what he'd gotten upset about. I was only trying to help, wasn't I? It's not my fucking fault he said he was fine if he wasn't! I just shook my head and turned my attention back to the screen. Another head, another twitch. I chuckled loudly, bringing my hand to my hair and shuffling it about. He groaned, sinking lower in his chair, putting the right side of his face in the palm of his hand. My thoughts lingered on the earlier times of the day, and I leaned towards him.

"I heard you singing, you know." I whispered. His face was unreadable. It held no emotion. After a few moments of awkward silence- except for... Well, the bombs in the movie- he turned towards me again, his hand slipping from his cheek.

"Singing?" He asked, his eyebrows pulled together and his lips slightly parted, showing off a bit of the metal. His glasses shadowed the creases of his eyes, casting his cerulean eyes with a dark look to them.

I nodded. "When I was in the nurses office. You came in, like, before History. I heard you." I offered a smile, but he only shook his head.

"Yeah, I did come in before History, but I didn't sing. You were practically knocked out unconscious. What are you imagining up there, in your little world, Tommy?" He scoffed and ripped his gaze away from me. It was my turn to be confused. He didn't sing to me...? Was I really imagining it? But I wasn't really asleep... It was so real, so in-the-now. Maybe I really was sleeping, and was just dreaming...

I was suddenly snapped back into reality, just as I passed the music room. The only reason I knew it was the music room was because I had band in there, otherwise I would've just thought it a classroom, not even knowing that it held beautiful instruments that gave off just as equally beautiful music. What I heard was muffled, because my hood was hugging my ears. My eyebrows pulled together as I stopped walking, staring straight down the hallway at nothing in particular. I took a step back and another one to right, placing my left hand on the middle of the door and pressing my ear to the door of the music room.

There were no windows on the door, and it was shut, but I still heard it clearly, even through my hood. A rock-and-roll of a voice was streaming through the edges of the door, filled with magnificence and pure passion. Whoever was singing was singing something by Aerosmith, but the name of e song escaped my mind because I was way too fixated on the voice filling my ears. It didn't sound like there were any instruments playing; he was singing a cappella. My mouth hung wide open as the song seemed to never stop, and I was disappointed when it did.

Who held such a voice? I'd never heard anything like it. The hand that was resting on the wood of the door curled into a fist, and I knocked lightly, waiting for a response. For a moment, there was utter silence. I knocked again, but this time there was shuffling and shoes slapping against the linoleum floor. Ah, trying to run away? I don't fucking think so!

I gripped the knob in my hand and threw the door open as fast as I could, and was greeted with papers flying around the entire room. I blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it. The papers settled to the ground, and all there was, was... Nothing. Nobody was there. My eyes dated to different sides of the room, but there was the same nothing. My hand uncurled from around the knob and I took a few steps forward, almost slipping on a couple of the papers in the way. I walked down the three steps that led to the main floor of the room, and looked around again. The same damn emptiness.

Could he be hiding behind the instruments? No, they're too small for a person to hide behind... Even my guitar, sitting in the corner. He probably went out the second way of the band room... Fuck, what was that second door for, anyway?

"Hello?" I called out, just in case I was missing something. "Is anybody in here?" Silence. I suddenly felt like an idiot, standing in the middle of the band room, all alone. I grumbled something to myself, clutched my messenger bag closer to my leg, and stormed out of the room the same way I'd gone in.

As I closed the door behind me, a couple of really tall, beefy guys, that were well acquainted with my fist and rough voice, were passing by, giving me dirty looks. Damn, they never learn. I stuck my tongue out at them and scoffed, shaking my head as I walked down the hallway opposite of their direction. That voice was still in the back of my head, though, nagging me to find out who it was or to just go back and maybe find them there. It was so enticing. Like cinnamon. I wanted more of it; I couldn't get enough of it. I decided that the next morning, I would go back. Because what were the odds of him not being there?

It really was a shame that I only had two classes with Adam out of (technically) five. I had Algebra, he had Choir. I had Band, he had Advanced Algebra. Of course, I had History and English (and sometimes lunch) with him, but on the off days, he had Theatre and I had Gym. It just wasn't enough time to be with him.

Woah, speaking of Adam, where the fuck was he? I hadn't seen him all morning. I mean... Not that I saw him every morning, but... More often than not. Ah, well. I'll see him at lunch.

Maybe.