"You're good," the lunch lady cashier says, moving her eyes from you to the student behind you.

You open your mouth to say something, but suddenly are struck by the awkward feeling it might fall on deaf ears. You pick up your tray and move out into the lunch room. The tables stretch on, and on, and on. Each table has a small group of friends, their words fading together into a cacophony of rhythmic sound. A few guys at a table a few feet ahead run their eyes over you apprehensively.

The spotlight is on you. Action.

Your feet move forward and a light clammy sweat forms on your palms. You find an empty table somewhat near the center of the cafeteria. However, not in the exact center. That table is probably reserved someone.

The tray clacks lightly as you set it down. Pulling one shoulder strap off, you slide off the heavy load of books that are making your back ache. This weird modular schedule is certainly a change from your last high school. There's nearly no time to visit your locker during the day, so it's just easier to keep all the books in your backpack. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your MP3 Player and cheap wired headphones. You've got a flip phone in your bag, but that's only for emergencies since you can't have a smart phone anymore. That's fine. An old MP3 player has more space.

You pop in your headphones and press play.

A cooling breath of fresh air flows through your veins, hearing the familiar pulse of bass and snare drum.

You sit down and feel the world around you slowly disappear. Now you feel like you can think. You can focus.

And you can realize how itchy you feel in this stupid uniform.

For the first day in school, this day freakin' sucks. This private school doesn't mess around with syllabus days or class introductions like your last one did. You've already got 4 assignments for tomorrow. But it's not like you really do anything in the evenings anyway. At least it'll fill up your time. You can get used to your new room and use that new desk.

You idly munch down on the turkey sandwich and milk that you grabbed. You scan the room for any sort of sign or indicator of this school's cliques. The nerds were easy enough to find. They're over in the corner with a light over them, shuffling cards. Then surely enough a group of particularly tall and muscular guys sit in almost the opposite end of the lunchroom. Surely the jocks. Next to them, a group of particularly good looking girls. Cheerleaders?

Yet as you scan the room, more students find their friends and start conversations. Like the group of kids that all seem to be wearing black eye liner, rubber wristbands, and oily dyed black hair. It stands out completely from the fancy look of the school uniforms. You snicker to yourself, remembering when you were a freshman and dyed your hair black. To be fair, the goths had good music.

But dishearteningly, there doesn't seem to be any table that's swapping headphones, your key indicator for finding music fans. Not that you should be surprised. It's hard to find people who not only have a similar love of music that you do, but also have a somewhat eclectic taste. Not that music has to be the main facet of a friendship, it just makes things... easier.

And going goth to fit in didn't really work last time.

You look through your first day playlist and realize how melancholy it somewhat feels. Sure, there's a wide variety of music, but you can't help but feel like all of the songs are talking to you. Talking about things you'd rather not think about.

However, you seem to be in luck. Someone pops your bubble.

A girl with long blonde hair sits down at your table. It seems like she has... green highlights in her hair? That's pretty cool, to be honest. But you know this means you probably sat down at someone's table.

You set down your sandwich and pull out a headphone.

"Sorry, did I sit at the wrong table?"

She looks to you, as if just noticing you there for the first time. She pulls off one of her over-ear headphones that were somewhat hidden by her voluminous hair.

"What?" she asks.

"Oh! Sorry. I was just asking if you needed me to move."

She gives an idle shrug.

"I don't really care, dude. I'm just going to listen to music and eat. The seat was open. Is that cool?"

The music blares from her headphones at an incredibly loud volume. And you try to listen carefully. It's some sort of metal, that's for sure. But it's not that 'Bullet for my Valentine' emo sort of metal you expected. It's almost... thrashy?

"Yeah, sure."

She puts her headphone back on and sits down, her attention going entirely to the sandwich in front of her.

You're kind of surprised how easy of a social interaction that was. You put your headphone back in and move your attention back to your lunch. But you begin to wrap your mind around the the song that you heard. It was definitely some sort of thrash metal. But what? You didn't get a good grasp on the singer's style. Was it old Metallica?

Probably not. They had a pretty signature sound. Could it have been Slayer? The guitar sound checks out. The drums were probably fast enough, but at the same time you aren't sure. Maybe Megadeth? But it didn't sound like anything off of Rust in Peace or Peace Sells.

Also, is it weird that you're obsessing over this so much?

You could probably just ask. That wouldn't be too weird, would it? She seems nice enough.

What if she gets the wrong picture though? You're not trying to be weird. Maybe by thinking you're being weird, you're being really weird.

It'll probably bug you if you don't ask.

You look from your food, to the mysterious girl.

"Hey, uh," you say, waving you hand at her.

It takes a moment to get her attention, but you register a flicker of annoyance in her eye. She pulls out her smart phone and pauses her music.

"Yeah?" she asks.

You pause for a moment, thinking this might have been a bad idea after all.

"Megadeth or Slayer?"

She blinks, her head tilting ever so slightly.

"What?"

You point to your her phone.

"Megadeth or Slayer? I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But I didn't recognize it, and I listen to a lot of music."

Her face registers the question and she shakes her head.

"Exodus."

"Oh, huh. What song?"

"Dethamphetamine."

"Cool, thanks."

You pull your personal notebook of notes to yourself and scribble down 'Exodus - Dethamphetamine' right underneath 'Public Service Broadcasting - Gargarin', then put your notebook back in your backpack.

You put your headphone back in and make an effort to continue to stare down into your sandwich and not look up at the person sharing your table with you. Finishing your lunch quickly, you feel a sense of awkwardness, knowing eventually you'd need to do something to not idly look around the room and not lock eyes with the person across the table from you. You can't help but feel like you're being watched at times, as you play a little brick breaker game on your MP3 player.

Soon enough, the bell rings. You pull out one headphone, and your eyes naturally drift to your lunch partner as you put your backpack on. To your surprise, she's already on her way out of the lunch room.

Well, that worked out just fine. Take THAT social anxiety.

You throw your backpack on your shoulders and get ready to head to your next class.

Which is.... uh.

"Shit."

With an exasperated sigh, you slip your backpack off and search for that stupid schedule.

Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TPdasz6nN4

In before someone keeps a set-list of all the songs featured in this story.

Author's Note:

I've always wanted to begin to write something that my background with music make something uniquely mine. This is a long-haul story, not unlike Fluttershy Wants in Your Pants. I have some plot points in mind, but the overarching narrative will be about two music enthusiasts challenging each other and exploring what that medium can give to a person. While being written in a completely different medium than what's being described.

The audience for this story is me. But I hope that readers also feel comfortable sharing their music tastes in here too. Not everything in this story will be for everyone.

This story is therapy for me.