Today was the day that they were putting up the sign-up sheets for the annual senior musical production. As always, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it, the thought of auditioning lingered at the back of my mind throughout the day.

It seemed to happen every year until it then became a sort of routine for me. During that suspenseful and uncomfortable week as students one by one scribbled their name onto that sheet of paper as it hung on the noticeboard, I would simply pass by, the sight of it silently taunting me every time I walked past. I would send it a discreet glance every once in a while as if it would be a crime to look too long at it, but nevertheless I managed to fight the temptation to put down my own name, somehow getting through that time of the school year unscathed each time.

It hadn't always been like that, but I had realised a while ago that that was how it had been meant to be all along.

"You did great up there," said Emma, walking up to me. She was wearing a short, black skirt that clung loosely to her body, the hem flowing a little as she walked. A black shirt with some random message in a glittering font was half-tucked into it, some of it hanging out fashionably.

"Thank you. So did you," I replied shyly. I was still embarrassed from two nights ago when she'd almost kissed me. Luckily, everyone had called the game off at the last moment because the hostess's parents had arrived earlier than expected.

"Very funny, Wylie. No one even listens to the choir when they sing. Thank you, though," she said, taking my hand suddenly. She simply smiled as I stiffened at the contact. Ever since that night, she had been acting very weird around me - before this she hadn't even acknowledged my existence save for whenever she decided to make fun of my singing and my fashion sense. Or was it just me?

"Wanna see something?" she asked out of the blue, her hand still tightly gripping mine. I was amazed that she wasn't pulling it away yet; my palms were beginning to sweat like crazy, both from post-performance nervousness and present nervousness in response to her unusually touchy nature.

Before she could take me wherever she was planning on taking me, we were interrupted by the loud applause of the crowd and one of the stage managers beckoning me to go back on stage.

"Wyle Calfbie? Wyle, go on, quick. You won first place!"

"Are you going to sign up this year, Wylie?"

I quickly stepped away from the noticeboard out of instinct, turning my head in the direction of the familiar voice. It was Amy, the only proper cello-player in our orchestra (the other two were terrible at it but we kept them in the club, anyway).

I shook my head 'no' in response. "I'm already performing with you guys for almost all the acts. What more could I want? I feel happier sitting amongst the real stars of the show."

She laughed lightly, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, we are the real stars, aren't we? They should be giving us centre-stage, not these other petty performers."

She made a sour expression, playing along, before smiling affectionately at me.

"I really miss seeing you perform. You have a beautiful voice," she said, her tone genuine and wistful. I thanked her, turning my head away to hide my face as I felt my cheeks flush at the compliment. "We moved this week's orchestra meeting to tomorrow, by the way. We didn't want to have it without you. You better attend this time!"

I was taken aback at the gesture, but managed to thank her again, "Oh, thank you so much... You didn't have to do that! That's so nice of you guys. I'll definitely be there."

I watched her walk away once we had bid each other goodbye, smiling to myself. They were such good people - I was grateful to be a part of their little group.

"Wyle!"

I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hallway towards me. I looked over my shoulder to see James and two of his friends approaching me. I was growing immensely tired of their incessant concern for what I was doing, who I was talking to and what-not. It wasn't any of their business, for god's sake.

"Wyle, wait, I have to talk to you," he said. Of course, you do, I thought.

I didn't get enough time to take a step back when he grabbed the front of my shirt and shoved me up against the noticeboard, making the thing shiver and a pin came loose to fall to the ground with a soft clink.

"Are you signing up now? You're not planning on taking our place again, are you?"

I gritted my teeth, stopping myself from snapping back at him which would only cause more trouble. Instead, I tried my best to respond calmly, "I'm not. I know no one wants to see me perform. I know, okay?"

He let go of his hold on my shirt after that, keeping his scrutinizing glare fixed on my eyes and I rubbed my chest where the force of his knuckles had left a harsh ache. Hopefully, there was no visible bruising this time.

"Good," he stated, as if he was some sort of authority. He seemed to have calmed himself down a little as he added stiffly. "Sorry."

"What are you saying sorry for, James?" Abel, one of James's 'friends' asked, his tone accusing.

The other one, Carl, joined in, "Yeah. This one's the one that should be apologising."

"I was being sarcastic!" James hissed defensively before shooting me a cold glare to make up for his moment of weakness. He had these fleeting moments where his good side from long ago peaked through the arse he was now. "Meet me at the usual spot tomorrow. After school."

Abel and Carl hollered and grinned amongst themselves. I barely held in the urge to hit them with an insult.

I replied indifferently, "I have an orchestra meeting."

He scoffed. "Fine, then, fourth period."

I gave him a scoff in response, turning away and walking fast down the hallway towards the exit. They didn't follow me, thankfully.

Looking up, I noticed the newly installed speakers lining the hallway. They were bright red and noticeable from every corner of the hallway.

The sight of them sent a chill down my spine.

"Hey, everyone, listen up! Wylie has a confession to make!"

Everyone looked up at the sound of Emma's voice crackling excitedly through the school's speakers. Some turned to look at me with curious expressions.

I froze, waiting for what was to come next.

There was a click as some sort of recording started to play.

"I think you're so pretty, Emma. Can I kiss you?" my voice crackled over the speakers.

All the students listened in silence.

I sat still, unable to move, unable to react, waiting for someone to say something. Waiting, to open my eyes and wake up from this nightmare as soon as possible.

The recording continued to play.

"I've always wondered what it's like to kiss a girl."

They turned, one by one, staring at me like I had turned into some distorted creature.

"Emma, can you teach me?"

It went on...

"This is the first time I've admitted it to anyone, but..."

And on...

"I like girls."