Oh my God.
I have never received such good responses on something so soon after I posted it.
I did a little happy dance and was smiling with such intensity that it creeped people out.
I mean, I really wasn't proud of the last chapter. I had pictured it typing out better.
BUT OH BOY I have never received this much positive attention so soon! With my other stories it took days to get views, much less follows and reviews.
But thank you all so much :)
I have a new vigor when I type. I wasn't very confident in this before, so thanks again.
On with the fic!
Keith was procrastinating to put it shortly. He held a pair of Apple earbuds in his hand, the music playing full blast to feel the vibrations in his palm. The selected song was Chopin's Etudes, Op. 25: No. 5 in E Minor. This particular composition he knew like the back of his hand, from the days when he could hear. Feeling the sound waves pulsing from the minute speaker helped him remember the sound. Each instrument had a particular movement. The violin was a sort of drawn-out vibration that was low and steady as if the sounds were in line with the straightened path the bow made against the delicate strings. The opposite of this was the piano, notes being sudden and almost jumpy with each key pressed. The deeper notes out cause a stronger hum, and the opposite for the higher ones. The buzz of the piano was clustered and held more strength than the violin.
If he tried to explain this to anyone else he would surely seem crazy. So he didn't. But for the moment he relished the music he felt in his palm. He could hear it in his head, the vibrations matching with the melody in his mind. Keith closed his eyes, focusing, imagining. He was so close to hearing it...
Holding the earbuds in one hand, he drummed out the melody of the piano on the material of his jeans. Standing, he walked across the room and retrieved his backpack from the same place where he had abandoned it the day before. He figured he could do his homework in class. Instead of having a translator in his classes, teachers either wrote or typed out the instructions for the day's lesson. Keith was smart enough to figure it out without asking questions, so it worked out.
His disability caused all the teachers to treat him like he was different, and Keith understood that. He was different. But the adults treated him like he was a small fragile child, never pressing him or getting angry with him. He used that to his advantage in the best ways he could. Homework, for starters: they wouldn't scold him or mark him down for turning it in late. It was pretty awesome.
Taking a quick glance at the clock proved that he was running behind, so Keith disconnected the cord from his phone and strolled out the door, shoving them messily into the front pocket of his black jeans. He closed his bedroom door with his foot.
On his way out the front door, he slammed it extra hard to signify his leave to his father. It wasn't like he could yell, "Hey, I'm leaving, Dad!" like a normal teenager would. Once the deed was done, the fifteen-year-old made his way towards Paladin High.
Fifteen minutes later, Keith arrived at his locker. It was only a ten-minute walk to come to the building's front doors from his house. The raven-haired teen enjoyed the walk in the early morning, especially when it was winter. He loved the cold, loved the chilly breeze on his face. Winter wasn't much farther away as September was coming to a close. Keith was glad. Winter meant winter break which gave him the free time that he always desired with his piano.
Quickly cracking his lock open and gathering up his textbooks, Keith slammed the metal door of his locker shut, spun around and-
And crashed headfirst into Lance McClain.
The head quarterback.
The jock.
The bully.
The momentum had knocked the pair onto the hard tiled floor. Keith scrambled to gather his belongings, reaching for his notebook. He needed to write out an apology before the junior could get angry.
Lance lifted his head up, eyes filled with rage.
Too late for apologies, it seems.
Lance got swiftly to his feet, dusting himself off. All his big muscular friends stood behind him, making him seem even skinnier. How had he somehow made quarterback?
The lanky boy started yelling things at Keith that he could not hear. Digging his notebook from his binder, he scribbled the words I'm sorry across a page. Lance looked at it quizzically when suddenly his eyes widened as if understanding. He grabbed the book from Keith's hands, smiling like a wolf. More unheard insults were said, causing Lance's group of followers to burst into laughter. The brunette started to rip pages out of the book, white sheets of lined paper falling like cruel rain to the ground.
Anger bubbled in Keith's chest. Now was not the time to get pissed...
Lance threw the book down over the sophomore's head, laughing. Again, Keith scrawled out a response.
I'm sorry
The lanky sixteen-year-old yanked the notebook from his hands and read the short message. Grabbing an abandoned pen from the floor, Lance scribbled his own message onto the page. He threw it onto the tile for Keith to read.
die retard!
Keith's eyebrows pulled together in anger, and he started to stand, his movements aggressive. Lance kicked him in the side, knocking the wind from his lungs. The boy with the ebony hair had no choice but to lie there, clutching at his ribcage and gasping for oxygen like a fish out of water. His belongings still lay scattered around his crumpled form.
The tall, aggressive boy strolled away, thumbs in pockets. In that glimpse of him walking past, Keith knew something was off about him. The confidence he was projecting was fake. Keith had a way with these sorts of things. He could infer a lot from a person from simple things they did.
His hands were in his pockets, his chin was up.
There was no swagger in his step.
There was no light in his eyes.
Using his elbow to push himself upwards, the boy gasped and held tighter to his abdomen. He was pissed off as hell. Anger, a magnificent and terrifying beast, clawed at his chest and a glare plastered itself on his face. His lips formed into a snarl.
But only for a moment. His pure hatred turned into a vacancy in the time of a heartbeat. It was better to remain indifferent than to get worked up over something he couldn't change. At least, that's what he told himself. Rage still stirred in his chest. He didn't care if something was going on with that asshole. He couldn't care less!
He was lying to himself.
That was all he ever did, really.
Woah okay hello. So um
I know it's been like months *cough half a year* since I uploaded the last chapter. Sorry. I haven't been this stressed out and busy in my life. I'll try to upload more, but no promises. Sorry my dudes.
Remember, hugs not drugs.
Peace out kids.