6. Abigail – “Music is the strongest form of magic.” -Marilyn Manson
6
Abigail
“Music is the strongest form of magic.” -Marilyn Manson
I ran to class yesterday. Not literally, but I made sure that Toby didn’t catch me alone in the hallways. There was a rumor that he would ask me out at the bus stop, but when he found out that my mom picked me up from school, he changed his plans quickly and had to take another approach. I’m not sure what Toby and Blake had going on, but I saw them exchanging glances, and it was crystal clear they didn’t like one another. I can’t figure out why since I've never seen them talking at school. But somehow, Toby figured out my last class was English with Blake. Rumor had it he would ask me out on a date before class started.
Knowing that Blake and I shared a class together gave me the strength to Toby. As much as I wanted the attention of a hot, popular boy, I wanted to please Blake more. Prove to him that what I said about Toby wasn’t a big deal and that I didn’t take it seriously. Honestly, I didn’t like Toby that much. Sure, he was one of the hottest guys in school, but I only chose him because he was the only boy who had shown me any attention, and I had no idea why since he could have any girl at this school. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t like the attention a bit more than I wanted to. And a small part of me wanted to make Blake jealous or at least get a reaction out of him. Toby and Blake couldn’t be more opposite. Toby was sunshine, and Blake was darkness. Toby had blonde hair, blue eyes, and sun-kissed skin—a perfect example of a rich white boy with Abercrombie vibes. Blake had dark hair and brown paralyzing eyes, with angular, modelesque features that made him look like he was from New York kind. Add the pale skin, and he screamed Edward Scissor’s hand vibes, but in a charismatic way since he was anything but quiet. That is, when he was talking to me, being friendly.
I was the first one in class to sit down. My teacher eyed me and took this opportunity to praise me for handing in my assignment early. She told me that I should join AP English. I smiled sweetly and told her I would think about it. But after dodging Toby a second time now, then adding AP classes on top of it, that would be a massive blow to my already nerdy reputation. It wasn’t official, but it felt like I was an outcast, even more so now for chickening out to talk to a boy. But it was worth it because Blake looked at me and shot me a quick wink while flashing that dimpled smile when he walked into class. And just like that, we go back to texting our wishes every day at 11:11.
Sometimes it was in the afternoon, and sometimes it was at night. Most of the time, they were random everyday wishes, such as, I wish I could be with you and make myself invisible. I wish I were a genius. I wish I were the wealthiest person in the world.
Other times, they were serious and went deeper, showing each other our innermost fears, wants, and desires. He never said it, but I knew his biggest wish was to have a family—one that was there for him and cared about being present, not just throwing him the latest gadgets and saying, enjoy. Mine was similar, except I wanted a family that recognized me for me and saw my talents instead of the lack thereof because of my appearance.
Another semester passed, exams, orchestra practice, and classes, making it a blur. Feeling left out from my cousins and sister became easier to deal with daily. Acceptance was my new thing, like a coping mechanism, and when I say acceptance, I mean on my part, not others. I felt like I was preparing myself for adult life without being one yet.
Although Blake never asked me to return to the Fallen Angels band, I was grateful we kept in touch. I was more of a solo singer anyway. The Fallen Angels was a rock band, so I’m not sure how it would have played out in the long run.
Earlier in the semester, I heard rumors that they were lame, and some thought they were awesome since they got their first gig. Granted, it was a charity event, but appearing anywhere in public as an entertainer is always a good sign. We continued to send each other music pieces we wrote, in my case, I wrote and sang. Sometimes, it would be videos of ourselves. Other times, it would be the raw thoughts of pen and paper jotted down of what our hearts felt that day. Blake came out at lunchtime to smoke a blunt, and I would vent about how my family still acted like I didn’t exist and my cousins were sucking my sister into their snooty mean-girls circle. He would bitch about his home life and narcissistic brother and deadbeat dad but said how music and weed was the only thing he had to get him through. We checked up on one another to make sure my disorder and his addiction weren’t getting the best of us. And although we knew it wouldn’t stop the other from relapsing, it did help to know someone was on the other end holding the other person responsible. The effort of keeping at least one person’s hope alive helped. Their will to go on and try to stay alive made it much easier to hold on for dear life. At least, that’s what my optimistic mind told me to believe.