The engine stops. The rain explodes upon contact with the cold glass of the windshield, at times louder than the engine itself.  His breath lies on the glass, stretching out, resting. He puts his earphones in and opens the door. Icy water soaks through his coat, freezes his hair. He doesn't mind; he's always cold. The music sings in his ears, just loud enough to fade everything else. The invisible wall he puts around himself; shields him from the world. He enters the imposing building from the side. Warm air shocks him, sending a shiver down his spine as his body adjusts. Shaking his hair, he continues walking, listening to the sweet nothings his music whispers in his ears.
The halls are dimly lit. There are no windows to the outside world except in the front lobby, as it's called, and a few classrooms. He is trapped inside with others and then released, only to be trapped again. The building is two stories, all of the core academic classes in a square with a library in the center. Social studies and English on the first floor; math and science on the second. A hamster wheel built on philosophy, opinion, and existentialism in order to support logic and deduction. He deftly twists the dial. 11. 27. 49. The lock greets him with an excited click as he shrugs off his coat and puts it inside. He shakes his head again and fixes his hair, still black with water. It takes forever to dry now. He always wanted longer hair. Something new, bold. He closes the locker and slides down its door, closing his eyes, trying to feel for the footsteps of others on the hard tile floor. What happened on November 27th of 1949? The vibrations are stiff, muted by concrete and plaster. Everything is concrete and plaster, halogen and glass and metal. Cold, unforgiving; stealing the warmth the air so desperately is giving him. He feels someone getting closer, someone passing. Ebb and flow. Ebb and flow. Ebb and--. The wave gets closer, larger. Curiously, he opens one eye to see where the wave will crash.
"Good morning, Joey." He found its destination. He stood up slowly, taking out his earphones. The wall is gone. He doesn't need one for a friend. He's safe now.
"Hey, Mitch." Short and concise. He doesn't talk much in the morning. Still asleep. Still frozen. He walks alongside Mitch around the wheel, hardly conversing this morning. The rain outside is doing all the talking. The halls begin to fill with other students, teenagers, wet from the weather as if it was demanding full attention. The first bell rings, a stern reminder that the laws of time no longer exist; the school is its own world, abducting children and giving them back before their parents get home from work. It shuts out the earth, giving rigid structure to those deemed inside unorganized, young, inexperienced. He is still asleep until the early afternoon, the bell like a persistent alarm clock. Finally, he is awake. He is thawed, his hair back to its original light brown. He gets his coat from his locker and grabs the book he needs to read for his English class. Ordinary People. His teacher suggested it to him. He can see why. He is aware of the masks, the curtains. All around him are actors and all his world's a stage. He still cannot memorize the lines. It only made sense to be given a book to show him how, to remind him that people take off their masks when he's not looking. He leaves through the side of the school, the sky silent. The bells had won the day, forcing the rain to retreat for now. The water still lingering in his coat betrays him, letting the brisk air bite his skin through the thin black canvas. He sighs as he unlocks his car. He doesn't sigh from boredom or displeasure, but that he gets so caught up in his own thoughts, he forgets to breathe. So he tells himself. He puts the key in and puts the book on the passenger seat. Cool air filters through the vents. The fans do not care if the heater is warmed up or not. His skin pulls tight and he shivers slightly, a hint of his breath escapes as he sighs again. The car glides down the street, shiny from the rain and oil. The red lights melt onto the street like watercolors, dancing underneath the actors who move synchronized. Organized chaos.
He pulls into the driveway and parks his car; comes through the garage and takes off his shoes before continuing through his house. How he has grown to hate the house he has lived in the past six years. One of the only things left as evidence that his family was once whole. Where is everyone? He goes upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Never rushed, but always moving fast. He tosses the book and his coat on his bed and goes to check his e-mail. Nothing there for him. Everyone else who would write him was abducted too. Why would they write? He closes the door, locks himself in. One cage for another. He empties his pockets of all his electronics, his keys, his wallet. All neatly on the side table; they won't be needed anymore today. He turns his music on, building his wall again.
His room is bathed in light gray and black. Numerous designs left on his walls from friends who have passed through his room. Notes, dates, handprints of paint. His room was once white and blue and yellow. Those colors had left with his earlier childhood. Memories he misses, but wishes he could forget. He lays on his stomach on his floor, reading the book. His phone chirps occasionally. It's Mitch. He wants to know if he's busy and if he'd come along with him and Alex to the movies. I have to read. When I finish the first few chapters, I'll get back to you. I promise. He never liked reading but lately he has found that is all he's done. Newspaper articles, fiction, short stories, poetry. He wonders sometimes what happened to the obsession with video games and paintball. Too expensive. Too loud. His father gets angry; says he should be saving his money for college, for his car payments. He puts down the book in favor of his phone, desperate for his attention. He flips it open, letting his thumbs talk, bragging to the mouth, now rarely used compared to the past. He accepts Mitch's offer, grabbing his coat and his keys. He has fifteen minutes to get to the theater.
He walks into the kitchen, finding his father there making a sandwich. The man looks up, smiling with his eyes.
"Hey, Joey. Anything new today?" Concern. At least that's what he likes to think. The same question after twelve years asked every day.
"Nah, same as usual."
"Well, I have something new today. Your mother sent me an e-mail." I don't want to know.
"That's news?" Why do you tell me? Obedient, respectful; goes against his own discomfort in order to ease that of those around him. His burden.
"Well it's news that she wants to take me to court for more child support money for your sister." Threats. A tactic his mother favored greatly. They shatter now against him, dulled down from the calluses he grew in his defense.
"Then take her to court. Her lawyer's a moron." The same man, a friend of his mother's, promised him an internship after he goes off to college. More lies. Offered charity while robbed behind his back. At least that's what his father convinced him to believe.
"Oh, we will. She never stops." Please, will you stop then? His father sighs. "I'm sorry, bud, but your mother's such a..."
"I know." He has been told before. He knows what his mother is. "I'm going to the movies with Mitch and Alex."
"When will you be back?" Concern again; sensed his son was uncomfortable.
"Eleven. Eleven-thirty."
"What movie are you going to go see?"
"Want to call Mitch and ask him?" He smirks. His father likes to ask questions. He doesn't like questions, but he entertains them, trying to remain patient. At least someone cares.
"Nah, just stay out of trouble." His father's tone is playful and strict. Only has he known his father to mix the strangest things, ideas, emotions.
"Where's the fun in that?" He grins. His father raises an eyebrow, then smiles. He returns to his sandwich, pressing a piece of wheat bread down onto the layers. The chips snap under the weight of his hand, embedded within for texture. He doesn't understand his father; fears he never will. His father leaves to go back upstairs, back into his own room, the door closing behind him and echoing throughout the house. Too big a place for his liking. He slips on his shoes and goes out to the car. Key reunites with ignition. He pulls out of the driveway. It's raining again.