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sedementaryrocks · 7 months

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Invisible Touch, Part One

Word count: 3,904

Warnings: a decent amount of cursing

Molly Norman always struggled a bit with science class, but English was a different issue altogether. She dreaded third period, knowing she would have to suffer through writing a short story or a poem; she was never very good at getting the right words out. Speaking of third period, just her luck, that was the class she had next.

She walked down the hallway of the high school and saw the “Stallions ‘86” banners hanging from the ceilings and walls. She smiled. The final days of school were upon them, which meant the final days of sports. Everything but baseball was done for the year, so Molly was able to focus on school a bit more, taking time to study for any exams she might have. Cheer was the busiest sport to be in, and because of that, she barely had any time for herself when the school year was in full swing. But when summer drew near, and everything began to settle, she was able to relax. In a way.

As she walked, she saw a poster for Summer Cheer Camp and remembered the day her parents signed her up for it. She was so excited to go back and spend two weeks with all of her friends; she had been going to Cheer Camp every summer since her freshman year. She was set to start gymnastics lessons over the summer as well, which she was nervous about. Her parents insisted though, that if she wanted to cheer in college, she needed to be a step above, so she was going to be signed up for gymnastics lessons after camp.

She walked into the English classroom and sat down. When class started, she tried to pay attention, but felt herself getting lost in thought. She stared at a poster on the wall and only shook herself out of her imagination when it was time for free writing. Her least favorite part of class. She sat up straight and tried to write, a poem this time, since she always ended up trying to write a story. She just couldn’t get the hang of it, try as she might.

At the end of free writing, Ms. Jackson stepped to the front of the class. “Is anyone interested in reading for us?” she asked and Molly looked around. She never volunteered to read her work, always happy to turn it in at the end of the class along with the rest of the students. A handful of different people would volunteer each day to read, but there was always one person who the class could depend on to step up to read their work.

A hand shot up from the back of the class and a couple of students groaned, but Molly sat up straight, ready to listen.

Nate Wilson, she thought as she watched him almost saunter up to the front of the class in his red Converse he had been scribbling on not minutes earlier. She noticed he had a new patch on his jean jacket today.

Nate began to read his story, and as he did, the class shifted uncomfortably. Ms. Jackson sighed and listened to Nate’s reading about a person going through literal hell and their skin feeling the flames burning them, and they go to drink water but it turns out to be liquid lies they had told before in their life. Nothing they found could help them as they slowly burnt away in the flames.

He finished reading and looked at Ms. Jackson, who sighed again and nodded. “Thank you Nate, for reading. Anyone else interested in reading for us?” She asked as Nate made his way back to his seat.

He was always shocking people, surprising them. Molly never knew what he was going to do next in class. One time, Nate was in a really bad mood, and he spent the entire free writing time scribbling away on his paper. She had expected him to go up and read his poem or story, to shock everyone and upset others. But at the end of the period, he simply shoved it in his bag and left.

Her friend, Jen, shook her out of her thoughts by slipping her a note. Molly opened it quietly.

“Can you believe the weird stuff he wrote?” It read and Molly thought for a moment. It hadn’t seemed that bad. Sure, it was harsh and even a little painful to hear, but it was good, it felt real. Molly could never write anything like what Nate wrote, and she admired him for that skill.

Thankfully for Molly, she didn't have to reply to her friend's note. The bell rang and everyone was getting up to leave.

“Nate,” Ms. Jackson called out as the boy was trying to scurry out of the classroom, and he huffed when he heard his name. Molly wondered if he was going to get in trouble for his writing. As she stood up and made her way towards the door, she glanced at Nate. He looked almost…sad, she thought to herself. She looked away and walked out the door to her next class.

—-----

Nate flopped down into the tiny, beat up student desk that sat in front of Ms. Jackson’s larger, equally beat up teachers desk. Her papers that she had situated along the edge were neatly stacked and in order, but the papers in front of her, the ones she was using for writing or grading, were strewn around in a messy way.

Ms. Jackson was the only teacher Nate had who ever gave him chances. Everyone else was quick to dole out detention. Ms Jackson though, she was patient with him and praised his work that he read in class, when it wasn’t too ‘vulgar for a classroom setting’, as she put it. She was looking out for him, she would always say, knowing if the principal caught wind of some of his rougher works, it wouldn’t go very well for Nate. He was already always getting into trouble, the last thing he needed was a complaint from a parent about ‘devil writing in our students' classes’.

Ms. Jackson looked at Nate and studied him a bit. He looked like he had gotten some good rest the last couple days, he had been looking so tired recently, she thought to herself. He had his usual jean jacket on, with homemade patches, bottle cap pins, and embroideries he had undoubtedly done himself. He knew not to wear band shirts anymore. Getting sent home to change was too much of a hassle for his mom, who got called and reprimanded every time he wore an ‘unauthorized shirt’. Sure, he drove himself and a couple of his friends to school, so she didn’t have to come pick him up or anything, but he didn’t want to cause his mom any more trouble. He resigned to wearing plain shirts, using his jacket and his long black hair to make statements.

The teacher looked at Nate pointedly and waited for him to speak. Nate crossed his arms and waited back. He knew what was coming, he got it after almost every English class.

“Nate,” Ms. Jackson said with a sigh. “We talked about the graphic stuff. Your work is amazing, but some of it just isn’t ok to read in class,” she explained and Nate scoffed. “Some of the other students aren’t capable of handling the more difficult stuff.”

“How is this graphic? It’s just someone going through a tough time in their life. It’s a short story. The other students probably don’t even realize what it’s really about,” he argued back and she shook her head.

“Nate, please, work with me a bit,” she tried but he stood up, his chair screeching across the floor as he did.

“I’m the only one in class who’s trying to write from tue heart, the stuff that you preach to us about. Why am I the one getting crap for it?” He asked, confused and upset.

“Just…get to your next class. And keep writing,” she said to him and he scoffed again.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled and turned around to leave.

“Nate,” Ms. Jackson called out after him and he stopped to turn and look at her. “Your short story was enlightening, I loved your symbolism and the way you described the feelings your subject was experiencing,” she said with a grin and Nate gave her a small smile back.

“Thanks,” he said and left the classroom.

———

Molly jogged around the gym with a couple of her cheer friends who were dressed in the same blue and yellow P.E, clothes that she was wearing. They were laughing about a party or the next game, and Molly was only partially paying attention. She couldn’t stop thinking about English and her writing, how it wasn’t at the same level as the poems and stories they read in class. Nate was a much better writer, and she admired him for that.

Nate, she thought and glanced over at the worn down, wooden bleachers.

Nate and his friend Paul were sitting, writing in a spiral notebook. Nate was pretending to play guitar and Paul was drumming on the notebook. They were laughing and chatting, it looked like they were writing a song, Molly thought to herself and turned back to her friends.

The girls jogged up to the small group of jocks and cheerleaders standing around talking, one of the boys dribbling a basketball, one of the girls was stretching. Everyone was chatting about one thing or another, probably the next big game coming up.

“Man, look at those weirdos,” she heard Keith say and the cheer girls around him all agreed or nodded their heads, tossing their hair around in high ponytails, the exact same style Molly had her own blonde hair pulled up in. The other jocks snickered and shoved each other as the group turned away from the two boys and focused back on more important things.

Molly stayed silent and looked over her shoulder at the boys on the bleachers again. She hadn’t thought what they were doing was that weird. She saw the band kids doing similar stuff all the time, why couldn’t they?

The group around her continued to chat but Molly still had her eyes on Nate. She watched him play air guitar, and she could just barely hear the notes he was making with his mouth. Nate pointed at something in the notebook, and at that moment, he glanced up and they made eye contact.

Molly whipped her head around and tried to tune into the conversation around her, but she could almost feel his eyes on the back of her head. She hoped he hadn’t thought she was making fun of him.

When she thought it was safe, she glanced back over her shoulder again and instantly found Nate’s brown eyes staring straight at her.

She gasped and turned around quickly, telling herself off for looking again. But he was looking at you too, she thought and blushed. She managed to avoid looking his way for the rest of gym and was happy to slip out of the locker room as quickly as possible at the end of the class.

———

The next day, Molly left first period and was making her way to her next class.

Her next class.

It was always her next this or that, or what her parents had her do. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she would beg her brother Rob to suggest something to their parents for her. He was the one who had planted the idea of music in their parents' heads five years ago. Her parents had reluctantly agreed and let her take violin lessons. She had loved every minute of it, but there wasn’t much time for music since cheer had picked up this year, her junior year.

She was so tired of all the pressure her parents put on her, the hoops they made her jump through because it would be ‘good for her future’. She sighed and picked at a piece of paper that stuck out between her chemistry book and she glanced up to make sure she didn’t bump into anyone when she saw him.

Nate Wilson.

He was walking down the hallway in the opposite direction she was headed. They held eye contact for a moment and she felt a warm flicker of a light spark up inside of her.

Suddenly, they were back in elementary school. Nate had gotten into trouble frequently then, but nothing like when he beat a kid up in the fourth grade. Why had he done it? The kid he beat up had been bullying a girl for a few days and Nate had had enough. He had a smile on his face as he got yelled at by the teacher while bring ushered away to the principal’s office.

Nate and his friends never received anything for Valentine’s Day, so one year in middle school, in seventh grade, Nate got all his friends chocolates. People had teased them about it, but Nate’s friends happily ate their candy, and Nate couldn’t keep a smile off his face.

In English class, in high school, he would read a personal essay, or a poem, or story, in class, and people thought his writing was so weird. So odd. She thought it was raw, personal, honest. She always loved hearing him read. He smiled at the end of each story, even though he thought no one would like it.

She was back in the hallways before a second had even gone by. Nate was smiling at her. That shit eating grin he always gave the teachers when they sighed at him. Smile back, she told herself but she was completely stricken by these thoughts. Before she could force a smile onto her face, the moment had passed and he was gone, down the hall, laughing with his friends about some game they were playing.

Nate was so happy. So so happy. And he didn’t follow other people's rules. The rules she had so strictly followed her whole life. The ones crafted to mold her into a perfect person. Who was this perfect person, though? Why has she followed these rules so blindly? And who was she now because of it?

She sat through her classes, feeling numb. Her friends noticed, and Kelsey even passed her a note to ask her what was wrong. She simply shook her head, whispered a “nothing” and turned back to her desk, trying to keep it together.

——

Nate noticed molly more than usual that day. He saw her sitting quietly in English class, almost curled in on herself. She looked so sad. She’d never looked sad like this before. Bummed out maybe, irritated sometimes, but never this sad. He wondered why she looked so upset. He wished there was a way he could help. He wished he could just walk up and ask her what was wrong.

But what kind of a look would people give him for doing something like that? A freak waltzing up to a cheerleader, asking her about her feelings? That wouldn’t go over well with the rest of the school population.

He settled for trying to ignore her, but he failed terribly at it. He couldn’t stop glancing at her in English, and he opted out of reading in front of the class, not wanting to create a spectacle that day for some reason.

Gym wasn’t any easier. She was always so active, and he and Paul always ended up sitting on the bleachers or hanging out under the big tree by the field. The perfect place to stay out of the way, and the perfect spot to see everything going on. So no matter where he looked, he saw her. Running or practicing her cheer routines with her friends. Big, fake smile plastered across her face. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wondered what was going on to make her feel like she needed to pretend everything was ok, when it clearly wasn’t.

———

Rob didn’t know what to do. Molly sat in the passenger seat of his car on the way home after school, and she looked miserable. He kept glancing at her, trying not to be too obvious about it, but Molly noticed.

“Let me know if you want to talk,” he said quietly and she nodded numbly.

“I think I just need to sleep,” she said after a moment and Rob could tell by the sound of her voice that she was close to crying. He didn’t want to make her tip over the edge by saying the wrong thing, but he was worried staying silent wasn’t the best move either. Reassurance is always nice, he thought to himself and glanced at Molly again.

“Listen, whatever’s going on, you’ll know what to do. You’re so level headed,” he said and she nodded again, smiling weakly at him. Rob mentally cursed. Why did he feel like he had just made things worse? He gripped the steering wheel and kept driving, keeping his mouth shut.

———

The rest of the drive home was quick, and Molly was out of the car the second Rob turned the engine off. She practically ran inside and past her mom, straight to her room.

She closed the door, threw her bag on the floor, and collapsed into her bed. The tears started streaming down her face before she realized she was crying and she curled up, pulling a blanket around herself.

Why did she hurt so much? She could barely breathe. How much of ‘her’ personality was just her blindly following orders, not speaking her mind, doing what everyone else had her do? Maybe that’s why she was so unhappy, because she wasn’t…anyone.

Everything came crashing down on her. All the times she felt these feelings and pushed them down or ignored them. Every time she had looked in the mirror and not recognized who she saw staring back at her. It all surfaced. Molly heaved a sob and pulled the blanket around herself more. She looked around her room and saw everything that defined her. The posters and photos, the clothes hanging around, her stuffed animals, her cassette collection, the pom poms and her cheer uniform, even her violin, everything was picked out by her parents.

She cried harder and closed her eyes, trying to will herself to feel better, but it didn’t work this time. She gasped for air and kept crying, until she had yawned one too many times, and drifted off to sleep, still in her clothes from school.

———-

Nate sat on the couch in Paul’s garage that the band used for practice, a cigarette between his lips. He pulled his long, almost-curly black hair back and tied it out of his face and off his neck. It was hot, he was sweating, and the amps and electronics weren’t helping.

Paul, Brent, and Vic were all playing around on their own instruments while Nate sat with his guitar on his lap, a notebook and pencil in hand. He was writing and erasing and rewriting lyrics like a madman.

Paul glanced over at Nate from his own seat on the drum set and smiled. “What are you working on?” He called out and Nate waved him off.

“Nothing man,” Nate shot back and Vic smirked, walking over and snatched the notebook from him. “Dude! Come on man, don’t fuck around,” he said while Brent and Vic looked over the song, snickering.

“You’re such a sap,” Brent said and tossed the notebook to Paul, who read it over and smiled.

“I think it’s cute,” he said and Nate stood up to swipe the notebook back from them.

“Fuck off,” he said casually and flopped back down onto the couch and smoothed out the papers of the notebook.

He knew it wouldn’t really help anything, that she’d probably never hear this song, but he had so much building up inside him. He was bubbling over with frustration and he had to do something about it. If he couldn’t actually help her, he could at least write about it. He hummed under his breath and sang a couple verses of the lyrics before scribbling something else down on the paper.

———

“-Love don’t cry, just look up and look around.

We’re right here for you, don’t fall down.

Life may seem hard, it ain’t gonna be easy,

But if you need someone, that someone can be me.”

Nate finished reading his song and looked to Ms. Jackson for approval, who smiled and nodded at him. That’s more like it, she thought.

He smiled back and looked out over the class and saw Molly watching him with a sparkle in her eye. She was moving her hands like she was about to clap, but she awkwardly stopped and looked around quickly, before lowering her hands.

Nate looked at her, almost a bit shocked. Was she mocking him?

No…no, he knew Molly. She was too kind to do something like that, she was being genuine. She liked it, he thought to himself. Huh. Now that he really thought about it, Molly always seemed to pay attention when he read in class. He looked down at his paper, then back up at Molly.

Something clicked. Nate slowly let a smile spread across his face as he made and held eye contact with Molly.

She was stuck on him somehow, unable to tear her eyes away, and he kept his steady on hers as he walked back towards his desk. She glanced down at her own desk then back up at Nate about five times before she finally looked at him fully again and smiled shyly at him. His smile grew wider, showing a bit of teeth, and he winked once at her.

She gasped and turned around quickly, suddenly very interested in the paper on her desk. Nate chuckled and looked back at his song, that easy smile on his face. Damn, she’s adorable, he thought as he erased a couple words of his song and filled it back in, changing things just a bit.

——-

Molly sat at her usual table in the library after school, studying. She had to keep up with her grades if she wanted to do cheer in college, her moms voice rang in her ears and Molly closed her eyes, she tried to focus but her mind kept wandering.

As she reached for a pencil, she knocked one of her pens off the table and she tutted once. She went to bend over to reach for it, but before she could pick it up, a strong hand with a single silver skull ring on snagged it for her. Her head snapped up and she found herself face to face with Nate.

He smiled down at her and gently placed the pen on the table next to her hand, never taking his eyes off hers.

“Hey,” he whispered, barely a breath. Molly almost shivered.

“Hi,” she managed to say before he turned around and walked away, the smile still on his face. Her face was read as she watched him leave, a saunter in his step, his hands shoved in his back pockets.

She tried to get back to studying, but now all she could think about was Nate’s brown eyes, and his sweet smile he seemed to save only for her.

#original writing #metal head x cheerleader #original characters #cursing #the 80’s #writing #story time

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