Opheliac by J. F. Jenkins

conversation she had with her band teacher. Just thinking about it got her blood boiling all over again. Exhaling, she risked a glance at Orlando, who was sitting across the table from her. The two were at a coffee shop, killing time after school. Per usual, he was stoic and expressionless as he sucked down the blended, highly caffeinated, sugar-filled contents of his cup through a straw.
    She peered at him. “I’m boring you, aren’t I.”
    â€œNah.” He shook his head and scooped some whipped cream into his mouth. She tried not to focus on the action, but the attention he drew to his lips was irresistible, and she wondered, for perhaps the millionth time, what it would be like to kiss them.
    Stay focused. She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, because if I am, you can just say so. I won’t be offended.”
    â€œYou do remember who you’re talking to, right?”
    â€œI know. It’s kind of hard to forget. You’re just a lot more quiet than usual.”
    â€œIt’s called polite listening. That can’t be the end of the story.”
    â€œThere’s more.” She sighed. “I’m dropping band class. About the only reason I’m taking it was so I could do marching band this summer, but with everything going on I don’t know how I can commit to something so time-consuming.”
    â€œYou make a good point. I don’t think ‘Alan, I can’t save the world today, I have a parade’ will go over too well.” He smirked then proceeded to slurp the last of his drink, loudly. It was more than a little annoying, and she made sure to shoot him a glare. All he did was offer a goofy grin and stop. Most people wouldn’t think that to be in character. Orlando liked to be dark and mysterious, not fun. But the more time she spent with him, the more she noticed how average he actually was. Either that, or something about her brought that side of him out. Getting him to be normal had to be some kind of divine miracle or impossible task, so she felt pretty special for being able to do it.
    Angela sipped her mocha, her fingers tapping on the tabletop. “My parents aren’t going to understand.”
    â€œThey don’t need to. They just have to respect your decision.”
    â€œI’m not sure they’ll do that either. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing the piccolo and my flute. It’s why not being able to advance to the orchestra is so frustrating for me. Quitting is going to suck, but I can progress in my playing on my own. I’m tired of wasting my time in a class I hate so much. And I’m not going to be missing out on much by not doing marching band this year anyway. Sure, the trip is always fun. They’re going to Washington D.C. this year. At the same time, I can do without the bus fever and petty drama. You know?” She was rambling again. Embarrassing, but for whatever reason, she could open up to Orlando a lot better than she could anyone else.
    Sitting back and raising both of his eyebrows, he laughed. “No, I don’t know. What is bus fever?”
    Immediately, she felt her cheeks grow warm and she tried to hide behind her cup by taking another drink. “It’s like cabin fever, only on a bus. You start to see every member of the opposite sex like a supermodel and get dating rabies.”
    â€œDating what ?”
    â€œRabies.” She squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It’s where you just absolutely have to have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Being enclosed in a small space for a long period of time with the same people kind of makes you start to go crazy.”
    â€œDating…rabies…” he repeated. “Is this how the cool kids talk these days?”
    She shook her head. “No, that’s just my own secret lingo.”
    â€œIt’s definitely unique.”
    Coming from him, Angela couldn’t tell if unique was a good thing or a bad one. He had the tiny hint of a