Chapter 2

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two

t h a t . b o y . h a s . a . n a m e . n o w

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I avoid social settings. And social constructs. And socializing in general. Saying that I hate it would be an overstatement, but saying that I dislike it is an understatement.

I just don't think it's necessary for the longevity of my life. Fortunately, I do live in the modern world, where humans (who I assume share my mindset) have developed technologies and systems that can allow me to go long periods of time with as minimal human interactions as possible.

Ordering food? With a click of my phone.

Basic knowledge? I have endless gratitude to people who uploads videos and write books and pour content to the internet.

Grocery? My phone can do that, too.

I won't say that I'm an awkward person, although when you compare me to Orion, then yes, I will look and act and speak awkward. After all, he's spent 17 years perfecting his art of communication, while I spent mine trying to keep it dormant.

The walk from the library to the music room will take approximately 12 minutes, if we walk briskly. Such is the design of our very vast and very expensive school.

Orion doesn't walk briskly. He walks as if the world clocks more than 24 hours in a day. There's a spring in his steps, and every once in a while, he will turn towards me and attempt a conversation.

5 minutes in, and he's asked me more than five question. I know that people are talkative, but this is too much for me to handle.

"How long have you been writing?"

"Do you have your own band?"

"I can't believe that we share the same taste in books!"

(That one isn't a question, but he looks at me expectantly after he said it, which indicates a need for a response.)

"Why are you so quiet?"

And my favorite,

"Am I bothering you?"

I stop in the middle of my tracks. Orion follows suit. I can feel his eyes on me as I try to concentrate on the road ahead of me. Now I can't get his name out of my head. Now I have to refer him as Orion instead of 'that guy who plays guitar'. I don't like it.

"What would it takes for you to stop talking?" I say.

Orion lets one, two, three seconds pass in silence. I almost think that he gets offended and leave me alone, but then the answer comes. "Whoa, I've never heard your voice before."

A cold reply like that should have warded people off. Not this one, though. This one is tough-skinned. Or thick-skulled. Or both.

"And to answer your question, all you need to do is answer my question."

I sigh. "If I answer your question, you'll come up with new ones in response of my answer."

"I'm glad that you think I'll be very interested in what you're about to say." There's nothing funny or amusing about his words, but he grins as he says it.

I resume walking. "I don't have a band."

"Well, you should! Since you write really good lyrics, albeit a little on the dark side, and I think your voice can be a decent singing voice."

I don't answer.

"Oh, is that how it is? You won't respond to a statement? That's fine, I will just end everything with a question, then." As if to prove that he's being serious, he starts immediately. "Is the library where you spend most of our free periods?"

There's no end to this. Finally, I cave in. "Yes."

"Are you not interested in eating? Our cafeteria food selection is pretty good, you know." He looks at me, his eyes going up and down from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. "Well, you don't look like you eat a lot."

"I just eat when I have to."

Orion laughs. "Marian will be absolutely pissed and jealous when she hears that!"

I don't know who Marian is, and even if I do, I'm not about to comment about some other girl's eating habits.

"Marian is the drummer. She's the girl who always wears chokers." Orion gives me explanations. "There are four of us. I play the piano, in case you need a memory refresher. Then there's Marian on the drum, Lacey on the bass, and of course Jake as the vocal and the guitar. I think Jake is the reason why our band picks up traction outside our school."

Orion continues. "Jake is the tall guy with black hair and shoulders that should be banned in real life. Come on, don't tell me that you don't recognize even him!"

That one I know. I might not be interested in most people, but Jake's appearance stands out so much it'll be impossible not to notice him. "Yeah, I know him."

"Figures. Girls go crazy for him." He loses a little bit of smile, but it only lasts for a second or two before it goes back to his face. "So that means you're interested in guys?"

"I'm not gay," I say. "I'm also not looking for a boyfriend."

"Are you sure? Even if it's Jake?"

I think about it. I guess it's nice to have a good looking guy taking care of me. He might even come in handy when I need physical touch, although the impulse doesn't come that often. On the other hand , an intimate relationship has its drawbacks. A boyfriend will require me to actively nurture his feelings. And that's the kind of commitment I don't know I want to have.

"If he's as popular as you say he is, then he'll probably be high-maintenance," I say. "It's not worth all the troubles."

Orion blinks quickly. Then he laughs. I often hear his laugh from across the classroom, but it's the first time that laugh is directed to me. I don't know when it starts, but there's a drumming inside my chest.

"Stop laughing. There's nothing funny," I say.

"You really need to meet Jake and have a proper conversation with him. Maybe you can drag his head back to the earth."

"If you're implying that he's pompous, then that's none of my business. I don't even know why I'm coming with you."

Orion shows me the papers that I've written on. "Because you're clearly a gifted writer?"

I don't look at him.

Orion steps so that he's now in front of me. The papers are still in his hand. "Because I need you to write some lyrics for me?"

I don't look at him.

I begin to walk away.

"Wait. Lucine, wait!" he grips my hand from behind. I swallow, firstly because I didn't anticipate this, and secondly because I've forgotten when was the last time I touched another human's hand.

"I can feel that this is making you uncomfortable, and I'll totally let you go, but promise me that you'll hear me out for one minute," he pleads. "Promise?"

"Promise."

The warmth leaves my hand, and I stay on my place as I wait for him to speak. I don't turn to look at him. I don't want to. I promised him one minute, and that's all I want to give.

"Our band is called Far Away Galaxy and our most popular songs are the sad ballads. We've been playing at some clubs and cafes all over the town, and finally someone is recognizing us. Right now, we're being scouted by this big record. The big guy wants us to write a whole new album about teenage angst, though, since he thinks our previous songs need major reworks. The problem is, none of us actually have angst anymore. All the songs that we've been singing was written two-three years ago and we all have solved most of our problems."

He talks seriously, without any grinning or giggling or beaming. I count from one to sixty and I find myself giving him more than what I promised. This is why I avoid people. I know that I'm a pushover.

"I'm in charge for the band's lyrics, but I'm really really really stuck. Has been stuck for the last year. The best thing I can come up with is 'I'm sad and I hate cereal now' and there's nothing inspiring about that."

He keeps talking even though he's well past sixty seconds.

"And believe me, I tried! I tried so hard to get angsty, but it's just not coming to me. I even broke up with my girlfriend and all I could think about is how good it would be to not pay for her meals anymore.

"You're so good at writing angst. I've been collecting your papers for a while now. I found one when I borrowed 1984, and then I found another one when I borrowed Black Beauty. I borrowed a lot more books on the library ever since then, just so that I can find those nuggets. Your words aren't hysterical, but they also don't feel fake. They're not words that come while you're in the middle of experiencing something. They're just the way you see life. And that's the kind of lyricist we need."

I wait a few more seconds just in case he still needs more time to talk. But no, that's it for now. His breathing grow rough, and I'm a little concerned that he will try to take my hand again.

He doesn't do that, though. He waits until I reply him.

"When do you need your lyrics to be ready?" I ask.

"Six months from now."

"That's good. I can do six months. But after that, I don't think I can help you anymore, so you will need to find another source of angst. Or better yet, change your whole band theme. You'll write great happy songs."

Orion laughs. "That's the longest I've heard you talk."

I turn to him. It's always hard for me to look at people in the eye. It's even harder when the person is so happy and so full of life, something that I'm not. Orion stands near the window, and the sunlight spills all over him. It's quite a beautiful sight, and he has a beautiful smile.

And I'd hate to disappoint him.

That's another thing I can't do when I'm dead: I can't disappoint people anymore.

But now I still have 250 days to live, and I guess I'm still prone to 250 disappointing acts.

"I've ensured my death in March next year. That's about nine months from now."

I don't know what to expect from Orion when I say this.

He might shout at me about my decisions and lecture me how beautiful a life is.

He might tell the teachers and they will throw me into a psychiatric ward.

He might stop wanting me to write sad lyrics for him.

But he doesn't do any of all that.

Instead, he smiles at me. His gray eyes twinkle as his gaze softens. "That's a shame. You'll miss the most beautiful part of spring."

I stay silent, but not because I don't find it necessary to answer.

I'm just speechless.

The little thud inside my chest confirms that yes, now I won't be able to purposely forget Orion's name anymore.

His name will always be here.