Sitting at the back of the class, you found some peace for your frayed nerves. You excelled at math and always had, so you had already completed the work set for the lesson. From here to the bell, it was just doodling and trying to block out intrusive thoughts until it was time to go home. Every time Munson's voice crept into your mind, you mentally batted it away. You could acknowledge he was correct but just felt really grossed out about this potential voyeur. Who else knew? Geez, so gross.

Absent-mindedly doodling and looking as though you were entirely focused on the teacher at the front when you had zoned out a while ago. You remembered how you'd sit at the front of the class in middle school, eagerly darting your hand up to answer anything you might know.

You mentally made a seating map journey over the years. You'd steadily worked your way back here, become much less bold, your hair less perfect, your clothes more loose fitting and definitely less planned out and more grab and go. You were never jock-level popular, but you didn't mind being noticed back then. Besides, perfection was overrated. You just needed to make it to graduation, which shouldn't be an issue with your grades. It was more about surviving the social minefield of the day-to-day.

It wasn't like you were a total loner. You just seemed to prefer more shallow relationships with others. It was just easier. No one ever expected you to attend gatherings, or remember their birthday, remember to pick something or someone up for them. No one depended on you, and you relied on no one. Sure, you had people you talked to occasionally, but friends had slipped by the wayside this last year. Instead, you'd been...spending your free time with him, waiting for him, or alone because he cancelled last minute.

"You are so much better than this. Anybody is. No one deserves to be treated like a guilty secret" Munson's voice swam through your head as you tried to brush it aside again. The more you thought about it, the more a tiny seed of realisation grew.

You had all this information before this afternoon, you knew this existence wasn't proper, it was just an easy routine, with no pressure, but with no genuine respect, care or...you know what... on paper...did you even like this guy? Or was it he'd be one associated with a flood of hormones on a rare occasion? He was handsome, sure, but you didn't talk about anything of substance, like an actual conversation, he never asked any questions about yourself...the seed of realisation sprouts...you only ever talk about him and what he's doing. Your mind flashes back to how it started, though. It was different then, a random seating change, a passed note. Then, the flood of messages in your locker telling you all sorts of flattering, albeit generic, complements, in fact, the same lines he told you in person, almost like a script. A flash of anger sparks in you, a fucking script. That was it. You'd made your mind up. This was over.

The bell marking the end of class reverberates through your thoughts, and you nearly jump out of your seat, much to the amusement of your classmates. You scoop your things into your backpack and get out of there as quickly as possible, heading to your locker's sanctuary.

Resisting the urge to climb inside the locker and disappear into an abyss forever, you pick up the usual note with the usual time on and stuff it into your back pocket. The inside of your locker door was as plain as possible, a mirror, a timetable of classes. At least this way, you could blend in, be forgettable, nothing would stand out, and no one would ask any questions. The real personality here was right at the back, where your idols lived Joan Jett, Suzie Quatro, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and Bowie. You gaze up at them for a moment, pull the paper from your back pocket, and look at it again. The note was hastily scribbled, no complimentary quote, no kiss, no nothing, just a time, an appointment. You look over each of your musical heroes again... they wouldn't stand for this, not now...not ever. You screw up the paper tighter in your hand, so tightly the corners of the paper dig in a little.

You shudder, feeling like someone's eyes were on you. You glance sideways into the mirror to check it wasn't someone you shouldn't be looking at. A flash of primarily black, with a dash of blue, red and white. Munson. You turn to the mirror and scowl back at him. He averts his eyes and almost looks, sorry, maybe? Awkward? Your brain interrupts. You do not have time for this right now. You are already 10 minutes late.

You resist the urge to slam your locker door. It would only attract too much attention. So instead, you grab your Walkman and walk to the picnic table.

About 10ft away from the bushes, you make out his letterman jacket and freeze to the spot. You can't be seen together. His hand is trailing behind him, attached to it a cheerleader. It's as if the wind rolled up its sleeves and sucker punched you in the gut.

10 minutes. He couldn't wait 10 minutes. If it wasn't for all the practice of resisting having facial reactions when encountering him in the hall, you are sure your jaw would have hit the ground with the audacity of this display.

You are frozen, your eyes meet his, and you can't look away. His eyes flash in surprise but no remorse. The cheerleader tugs at his arm, and he leans down and plants a kiss on her as they walk past, "What are you looking at, weirdo? Take a picture. It'll last longer", he scoffs at you as they laugh between themselves, walking towards the parking lot, leaving you glued to the spot, you feel unable to move.

I was...I was only 10 minutes late, right? You frantically look at your watch to check if the laws of time had screwed up, and you were just too late. The watch face blinks back at you. No, it really was 10 minutes.

The pit in your stomach is growing by the second, an emptiness starts to creep over you, a lump in your throat you can't swallow down, your breathing shallower and more rapid. That's when you feel the tears start to well up.

You quickly pace to the picnic table with your hand on your heart. It's pounding furiously. Sitting down on the hardwood bench with a thud, you think, did that just happen, did it really? Am I in some kind of nightmare?

Your heartbeat feels as though it's getting louder and louder until you are sure you feel it explode into a million tiny pieces under your fingertips. Then, the first teardrop breaks the dam you sob furiously, burying your face into your hands.

10 minutes. It just keeps ringing around your head. You slam your fist down on the table. What the actual fuck? A year versus 10 minutes.

A twig snaps behind you. You whirl your head around and frantically wipe the tears from your eyes. It's fucking Munson again. His eyes scan your face, "Hey, sorry, didn't mean to scare you" he puts his hands up in that surrender stance from earlier, "I just, um, well, I wanted to apologise for earlier, but then I saw what happened out there and I just, ya know, I just..." His voice trails off as his arms fall to his sides.

"It's f-fine", you stutter, "Everything's fine, nothing to see h-here. I was just leaving anyway, so I'll get out of your office" you stand up, though your legs feel like jelly and lead at the same time, and the pit in your stomach is now a swirling vortex of nerves, upset, and nausea. You use your sleeves to dry your face, "You know, I mean, what did I expect anyway, right? This was inevitable, right? Right?" Something is not right. You clutch at your stomach, letting out a concentrated exhale of air in a vain attempt to calm down. Bad move. It feels like that was all you had left in your lungs, your chest heaving violently quick now. What is happening right now? You stumble backwards back onto the bench, your eyes wide with fear. You look to Munson, who is hurtling towards you in what feels like slow motion.

He grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you, "Look at me!" he yells. Your eyes snap to his, "Now listen, LISTEN! OK? We're gonna get through this, alright?! Alright? Nod if you can hear me" his tone flows between panic and command.

You nod, breathing still ragged and offbeat, the fear creeps in again, your eyes darting around, and your brow contorting with worry.

"OK, OK, good. Hey, HEY!" He snaps his fingers at you. "Eyes on me, OK?!" You stare into his eyes like it's the last tether to this land of the living.

"You like music, right?" His hands squeeze your shoulders again. You can feel the metal from his rings cold against your skin. He glances over at your Walkman. "Right, right, OK, Jesus." He seems to be frantically thinking, "So, OK, you know...um...yeah, that'll do it... We will rock you. It goes dun dun tiss, dun dun tiss. On the tiss we are gonna breathe in, and on the next, we breathe out, OK? Together, ready?"

He taps the beat out on your shoulders, his face overly animating the ability to inhale and exhale until you start to meet the rhythm. A sense of relief spreads across his face, and his grip on you loosens, "OK....phew...are we good?" He says gently, and you nod in agreement. He falls back onto the floor, arms splayed out, "Well fuck, I feel like that was my good deed for the year" he half sits up, leaning back on his forearms, "Jesus Christ, that was scary."

"You're telling me," you croak out, alarmed at the sound of your own voice. You clear your throat, "What even was that?"

He stands up, brushing the leaf litter from his clothes, "That was, what we call, a panic attack" he gestures his hands outwardly and clasps them back together, "I'm guessing you've never had one before. Well lucky I was here to save the day, right?" He smiles, reaching up to his shaggy mane. "Do I have something in my hair?" You let out a tiny laugh watching him take a seat opposite and try to clear it of leaves. His smile broadens at the sound of your laughter.

Still shaken but so glad to still be alive, you smile back at him and try not to start crying all over again.

Luckily you are well practised in harnessing your emotions when others are around. You remember Eddie laughing earlier today and decide that humour was the way to go with this one.

"Jesus Christ, let me, OK? Move over," you say, mimicking his voice and movements from earlier, and you go over to help him.

"Not a bad impersonation. I have a few notes, though," He laughs, letting you sort through his locks of hair. His nose wrinkles a little, and his head bows ever so slightly. "Look, I'm really sorry-"

"Hey!" You interrupt his apology. "I think you damn near saved my life. I think I can forget earlier, OK. Don't worry about it. A free show is a free show, right?" You force a laugh, which is quickly cut off as he turns to you with a severe look on his face.

"No, you don't understand. It wasn't like that, I swear. I just waltzed in here and waltzed straight back out. From then on, I just watched for anyone coming and going from the playing field." His eyes search yours for belief, and he doubles down, "You think I want any trouble with jocks? Especially with what I get up to back here? They are some of my best customers."

You couldn't detect any lies, and logically it made sense, but then what did you know about liars?

You switch sides, mostly to get away from his pleading eyes, but also because that side was as clear as it was going to get at this point.

"I believe you, Mun-" you begin kindly.

"It's Eddie", he mutters.

"Of course, sorry. I believe you...Eddie," you say warmly and give his shoulder a little squeeze.

You feel his posture shift a little under your hand as he adjusts his seating position a little.

For the next minute or so, there are just the sounds of the surroundings, the breeze forcing some of the last remaining leaves to the ground, occasional birdsong, you concentrating on the mass of hair in front of you and him occasionally tapping his feet or twiddling his rings.

"There, I think you're all set," you say, pretty pleased with yourself

He drums his fingers against the table and taps it a few times. Without looking up, his demeanour shifts back into its normal status, "I was wondering when you were going to finish enjoying yourself in there," he smirks.

"I was just returning the favour!" You protest

"Yeah, sure, that's the story we'll go with" he laughs, sighs a little and gets up from his seat. "Well, it's been quite a rollercoaster of a day, huh? Do you need an escort to your noble steed?"

"What?"

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, and with a molecule of exasperation, translates, "Do you want to walk to the parking lot...together?"

"Oh sure," you say with a nod of realisation, you feel so dumb right now, but it kind of....yeah...it feels OK to be right now.

There weren't that many people around now, you've been walking primarily in silence, and as soon as the sole of his sneaker steps onto the main school grounds, he begins enthusiastically telling you about and acting out this new solo he's working on. Circling you with a phantom guitar in his hands and mimicking the noises with his mouth. It's an abrupt switch but an amusing one. Anyone looking your way is driven back by one of his devil faces, monster voices or him asking them if they wish to do battle.

You get to your car, "This is me", you gesture at your old, beat-up, jet-black AMC Gremlin. You both stand awkwardly for a moment, "So I'm just gonna..." You start and lean toward your car.

"Yeah, sure, sure, me too" he taps his chest and points over at the van.

"Right, yep, of course", you nod, looking at the floor. "Thanks for today. I know it wasn't a great day, but you really helped. So I'm... yeah...I just wanted to say thank you...Eddie," You offer up an awkward smile.

He folds his arms around his chest and sways gently, "All in a day's work... until next time" he bows again and heads towards his van.

You get in your car and check your face in the mirror. You look a whole heap of mess, so you just try to fix what you can and drive to the exit, past Eddie's van. You exchange smiles, and just as you are about to turn out of the lot, he yells, "Hey, anytime you feel like uppercutting yourself again, let me know. I haven't laughed that much in a long time.

You feel deeply embarrassed, but you still laugh, and you playfully flip him the bird. In your rearview mirror, you see him laughing and shaking his head.

On the road home, the day's events play through your mind. He was right. It had been a rollercoaster of a day. Your mind switches back to his eyes, dragging you back to reality. His fingers tapping against your arm. You feel your heart rate pick up. Worried, you pull over, scared it's the beginnings of another panic attack, but as soon as you do so, you realise this isn't panic. It was something potentially far worse.

Were you? No, you couldn't be....after what happened today, it would be an easy mistake to make, but your brain is refusing to shut up about it. Instead, it's racing through a quick slideshow of him. Him delicately cleaning your hair, his laugh, his comedic performances, the air guitar, his smile, how close he was to you, his body gently brushing against yours, that intoxicating mix of aromas.

You grip your steering wheel and look out to the road ahead with a gut-wrenching realisation that you were crushing on Eddie Munson.