“Colin.” A quiet whisper breaks through the cohesive sounds that travel through my body, the beat pounding in my ears.

“Colin.” A bit louder this time, but the faint word is still quiet enough to be ignored.

“Colin!” I roll my eyes, pulling my headphones out of my ears. The music grows faint and slowly empties out of my body, the rhythms and melodic notes gradually spilling out of my head.

“Turn that music down! I can hear it from here!” My mother says that like it means something, as if she isn’t sitting in the driver’s seat, only a foot away.

I turn it down the slightest it and I diligently pretend as if I satisfied her. The volume is still very loud, but that’s the way I like it. When it’s loud, the music has nowhere to go but into your brain, and from there it spreads through your veins until you’re breathing the melody’s rhythms and your heart is pumping to the beat. And if the music’s soft, less hear it, and where’s the beauty in that?

“Colin, I can still hear it,” Mom says, pulling into the school’s chaotic parking lot.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I remark, but my mom merely sighs and mumbles, “Fine, go deaf if you want, see if I care.”

“What was that?”

“I said, have a nice day, dear,” she replies. She gives me a false smile and drives away without another word.

As I stand on the curb in front of the godforsaken building that is slowly crumbling to an inevitable oblivion, I think about all of the kids that walk through those halls, the ones who have walked them before, the ones who will walk them in the future. My mind preys on the problems of ridiculous stereotypes, of reckless words that send some down the path that ultimately leads to a terrible fate, and of the children who think that this place doesn’t hold the key to their future. It does. It’s not a very big key, but it unlocks the door that could lead to a bright life. The only problem is some people don’t even see the key to begin with.

My music shifts from a jazz piece to a classic rock tune. You could say I’m notorious for the wide variety of music that is contained on the tiny piece of technology that sits in my pocket, my headphones the passageway from my playlist to my ears. Most people in that deteriorating building haven’t seen me without my mind filled with the enchanting harmonies and hypnotic melodies before.

A hand lands on my shoulder. I turn although I already know who it is.

“Hey, Grant,” I say. My voice sounds quiet to me. I’ve mastered the art of talking so you aren’t shouting over the music.

“Hey, Colin, what’s playing?” he asks with that classic sideways smirk that always emerges on his face when he’s in a good mood.

“Number twenty-three,” I say. Grant made a point of memorizing my ever-expanding playlist. I’ve got to hand it to him – his memory is as vast as my music library, which is extraordinarily convenient.

“Ah, nice way to start the day,” he sighs, throwing his arm over my shoulder as we begin the treacherous journey through the hallways, dodging paper airplanes and the people who abruptly stop in the middle of the hallway for no determinable reason.

I don’t bother going to my locker. I’m the only one in my grade who is able to carry a huge black backpack to every class without a teacher noticing. I have a talent for blending into the background, of growing completely invisible to authority’s eye. I don’t know if this is a blessing or a curse, but for now, I see no reason to complain.

I crank up the volume as I settle into the hard plastic chair. I listen to music as long as I’m still breathing and Ms. Crawson’s lecture isn’t going to stop that. Besides, it’s her fault I’m sitting in the very back of the room anyways, my white headphones dangling by the side of my head. The art of quietly evaporating into an unnoticeable presence happens to be my specialty.

But of course, it’s just my luck that today Ms. Crawson finally notices the silent kid in the back, my head slightly nodding, synchronized with the beat. It’s a real pity she’s discovered my presence too because I was trying to go the whole year without her realizing that a Colin Fields even exists.

“Colin!” she hollers.

“Yeah?” I ask casually. I’ve put up with people like Ms. Crawson my whole life. She is merely just another voice that manages to get past the barrier of music that I’ve set up.

“Are you listening to music?” she inquires.

“Nope.” It was a stupid question. So I gave a stupid answer.

“Oh really?” she says skeptically as she crosses her arms. “What’d I just finish saying then?”

“Sam Houston led the troops in one of the battles,” I say. She falters for a second, almost impressed, but quickly regains her former condition. I was just reading the board, after all.

“Turn your music off,” she demands.

“But would your lectures be like without music?” My brain is telling me to shut up, don’t argue, keep quiet, but my music begins to fuel my mouth.

“What would the world be like if everyone sat in the back and listened to music?” she retorts.

“Better.” I shrug. “Stupid, but better.”

“See me after class, Colin,” she says.

“Imagine what the world would be like if I didn’t. Utter chaos, I’m sure.”

“After class.”

But I just turn the volume up and block it all out.