"I tend to believe in luck because I don't usually have it."
I kept repeating those words in my head that I had recently read from a book in the school library. According to the heroine of the story, luck is a force that influences the course of events in a highly efficient manner.
I couldn't really understand the spirit of the quote the first time I saw it written, but now I could actually relate to it.
I was thinking about it while I was swobing the dark-colored wooden floor of the gym with an old mop. I spent my whole break doing this chore and I was getting too upset with this whole situation. I wasn't expecting from Mr Howell to understand me or let me proof my innocence for this ridiculously stupid and insubstantial incident. I mean, how old are we to be fighting and be subsequently punished because of a bottle? Five? I thought that this stage had passed a lot of time ago, in the kindergarten.
But what am I expecting? We live in Franklin, so immaturity has been proven to be part of the local genes. Our town is so small that a lot of old-school perceptions are alive in the minds of the residents. Thank God, Nashville isn't far from here, so when I want to escape for a while from here and come in touch with contemporary civilization, I end up in the large nearby city. I would escape from here one day for good. That's for sure.
I left the mop back into the small dirty warehouse and I headed the fastest I could to the best lesson of the day. Music. I knew I would be a few minutes delayed because of the floor mopping but I knew that Mr Evans wouldn't be bothered. He was an excellent professor that loved his job. For that reason, I think that's why I was one of his favorite students. We both loved music, we shared the same passion.
But when I reached the music class, I saw the door wide open and my classmates talking loudly with each other about God knows what. Mr Evans was late and the class was upside down. That was positive for me for two reasons. First, my professor wasn't aware of my 10 minute delay and second I didn't get that awful bone wrecking stare from my classmates when I'd pass the doorstep late. Yeah, l have a complex with stares. That's because I don't know what thoughts are concealed behind those eyes, so I always assume the worst case scenario.
So, as my entrance into the classroom wasn't quite noticeable, I made my way to my seat. There I saw my partner in music lesson who stopped talking with the guys in the front desk as soon as he saw me coming and turned his head to my direction.
I don't know why but I felt like I was standing frozen for some moments because of his dazzling blueish- greenish eyes laying on me. Those eyes were so hypnotic and I could really sink into them. He generally had some kind of magic on him. I couldn't describe it, but whenever he looked at me I wanted to talk to him. To open up my heart to him and tell him some of my deepest thoughts. I don't know why but I believed that he could understand me, although he didn't know much about me. That he could somehow fix whatever was broken in me.
How can I feel like this over a guy that I'm not even hanging out? I know too little about him.
When he broke our eye contact, a sweet little smile spread across his lips and caressed his cheeks, giving them a cherry pink blush. Was he embarrassed? I don't know. I couldn't help but smile, too. I murmured a quick "hello" when I took my seat beside him and opened my put my bag on the floor. He gave me a hello gesture and asked 'How are you, Hayles?' carefully avoiding to make eye contact with me.
It was a common question. The most common actually. But what really took me by surprise was how he called me. Hayles. No one calls me like that. Not anymore. But someone used to call by this name a lot of time ago. My dad. Before he left. But my beautiful eyed classmate couldn't have known that. Now my cheeks were fevered. I took a moment to respond to my partner. I must have been staring at him like he had said something unusual, false, stupid or inappropriate. But he hadn't. And that made me look like a complete idiot.
'I'm...I'm fine. Thanks for asking. ' I said the most casually I could, rolling my eyes. But I was trying too much and it was obvious.
Why do I always screw things up in human interaction?
'Okay' was his only response.
He was wearing a grey fedora on his head that covered his soft hair which had the color of sand. He had big dorky glasses like mine with the difference that he was actually wearing them, while mine were usually in their case. He was simply dressed. Blue jeans, black t-shirt and a black leather jacket. Comfortable and classic.
And while I was analyzing my classmate's fashion choices, Mr Evans rushed into the class, dragging me away from those thoughts.
"Kids, I am so sorry I am late but I got stuck in a traffic jam. Now without further ado, I want you to cooperate with your partners on a song that you are going to write in this hour and youll perform it in front of the class." Noises of annoyance and boredom were released by everyone's mouth, including me. So Mr Evans quickly continued.
"I don't want you to feel stressed, it can be anything that expresses you. I don't expect it to be perfect. I just want to check your potential because of a special reason. But I will give you more details at the end of the procedure. Use the guitars which are positioned at the back of the class. Good luck, kids. I am sure you will thrive."
He was my favorite professor butsame what he asked was too difficult. I mean, I had written a couple of songs but they were personal to me and no one had actually heard them. We had so little time and we had to cooperate with a partner. What if we didn't have the same viewpoint? How could we write? As a musician myself, I didn't want to write just to write. I always want something that expresses me and talks to my soul. And that takes a lot of time to write. Let alone by cooperating with a guy a barely knew. We looked at each other and sighed. We had a lot of work to do if we wanted this to work out.
The positive thing in this story is that my partner is really good. I mean he knows how to play really well. I couldn't ask for a better person to collaborate with. The boy with the hypnotic eyes had really good skills in guitar. I could recognize that from the first time we had started being partners. Me and him were the best in class. And I am not bragging. That is Mr Evans' opinion and he had stated it the previous month feeling me with pride. I think that's why he had us collaborate in his lesson.
But now it is time to work.
Me and the boy with the hypnotic eyes.
Me and Patrick. Patrick Stump.