Band Geeks and Emo Freaks
an excerpt

Stupid locker! Open up, open up, open up! Urgh, I’m going to be late if my dang locker doesn’t open!
I cast about desperately for any teacher still in the hall, but no such luck. It was almost completely deserted this close to the bell.
“Come on, open up!” I entered my combination and furiously jiggled the latch. Nothing came loose. With a groan of frustration I dropped my head to rest on my locker. I stayed that way for a moment breathing heavily, trying to remain calm.
“Hey, you want some help?”
I looked up to see a boy who towered over me. Of course this was without taking into account I was sitting on the ground and he was standing up. He was swinging a wooden bathroom pass in one hand and his head was cocked to the side. A pair of fitted jeans hugged his legs and rode low on his hips. His t-shirt was black with neon scribbles across the front, his shoes were black and neon green checkered. Damn he was fine.
“Do you need any help?” he asked again, twirling the pass in one hand like it was a weapon or baton.
“Y-yeah.” I scooted over as he bent down next to me.
“What’s your combo?” he asked. I hesitated for a moment and he gave me a small smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t remember it later.”
“7 – 35 – 11.”
“7 – 35 – 11,” he repeated each number out loud as he turned the dial. He pushed up on the latch and was met with the same results I had received. He jiggled the latch for a moment before leaning back on his heels. He smacked the locker around the dial before clearing it and trying again. This time it worked.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I gushed, trading my current binders for the ones I would need in my next few classes.
His mouth pulled into an amused smile. “You’re welcome.” He ambled down the hall as I sped off in the opposite direction.
The bell rang just as I threw myself across the classroom threshold. My teacher looked up from her desk, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Locker jam,” I explained, panting. She nodded and turned back to her computer. Breathing hard I flopped into my desk. I was about to open my binder when I glanced at the cover. Shit. I’d grabbed the wrong one.

“You mean an upper classman actually acknowledged you? Go Janson!” I looked down at my lunch, trying to hide my blush. Kyle, my friend, had just announced to the entire cafeteria that I had come into contact with an upper classman.
The only thing is Kyle doesn’t announce that sort of thing. He squeals it. I can feel my social status drop by several notches every time he dose it (if that’s even possible).
“So who was it?” Kyle asked, his messy brown hair was falling in his face and his dark eyes had their mischievous glint.
Kyle is practically the exact opposite of me. He’s dark featured and a bit on the tan side while I’m fair and pale. He’s hyper and outgoing and I’m too shy for my own good. He’s brass (trumpet actually) and I’m woodwind (Tenor Saxophone thank you very much).
Our mutual friend Eden is our mediator. He’s not tanned or pale but more in between and has light eyes and dark hair. Eden is also one of the few male flutists in the school band. He’s very proud of it.
“Calm yourself Kyle,” said Eden.
“Party-pooper,” Kyle said, sticking his tongue out at us. “Any who, tell us Janson was this kind upper-classman hot?”
I squirmed in my seat as Kyle continued to grin at me like a Cheshire Cat.
“We’re waiting,” he said.
“Kinda,” I told him, glancing up.
“Just ‘kinda’?” Kyle pressed. “Just ‘kinda’? Come on Janson, I know better than that.”
I tried to keep silent, but no matter my will-power Kyle can be quite persuasive.
“Okay, okay. He was hot,” I admitted.
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t exchange names,” I said meekly.
“YOU DIDN’T GET HIS NAME?!” Kyle exploded.
“No.”
“Well you better hope you can point him out.”
Where was Eden during all of this you may ask? Eden was eating his lunch seeming half amused. He generally doesn’t step in until absolutely necessary or he’s gotten annoyed.
I scanned the cafeteria for the guy who had helped me earlier. ‘Black hair, black hair. Why do so many people have black hair? Wait, his was spiky and he had neon on his shirt. That makes it much easier. Neon on black, spiky hair, tallish… ah-ha! There he is.’
I pointed in his general direction “He’s over there.”
“Where?” asked Kyle craning his neck to see. “is he that sexy blond in the button up blue shirt? The one next to the garbage bins?”
“Gods no!” I shuddered. “He’s the one with the spiky black hair and black and neon shirt. Look three tables over from the teachers and next to the person in the light blue jacket.
“Damn he’s a cutie!” Kyle said, kneeling in his seat for a better look. “Eden you’ve got to see him.”
Eden had to stand up to see past Kyle. “He’s okay if you go for the whole Indie/Emo thing,” he said shrugging a little.
“I always thought you’d go for the hot football player or cool geek,” said Kyle returning to a normal sitting position. “You know, follow one of those cliché high school stories where the popular jock falls for the unpopular nerd, true love conquers differences in social status and all that jazz. Then they ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.”
“Well, it is a cliché if you look at it in a different way,” said Eden throwing in his two cents worth. “Whoever that guys is he probably hangs out with other Indie/Emo kids who in turn get a lot of attention. Seriously, you can spot one of them from the opposite end of the hall.”