[ WP ] Free write . Write the first short story that pops into your head .

A triangle of reflected light wiggles across the surface of the black music stand. The stage lights were suddenly too bright, my flute feels too hot, and my leg wo n't stop jiggling. It's only the rehearsal, not the performance. There are n't any solos, it's just the ensemble, the no-good band I'm in, playing four Christmas songs. Still, my fingers fidget and I glanc around like a murderer is after me. 
 It's my stand partner. That's what's making me go crazy. She's always been nice to me, as we've swam together for two seasons on the girl's high school swim team. I played with her last year in the summer concert. She's a senior, I'm a sophomore. We're friends, right? 
 I guess you could say it's complicated. Her long, golden hair often whips around, getting caught in my flute and whipping my face. I wish she tasted her words before she spit them out. Even a joking phrase ('shut up' ) hurt more than I'd like to admit. She played when the band teacher said not to; I'd nudge her in the ribs, feeling... bad. Like maybe she'd scold me for touching her. Her voice carried across the expanse of the stage, the way she grooved in her seat to the music took up far too much of my personal space. 
 While she sometimes she made me shrink back into my seat, there were times in band class where I smiled when she called me over to sit next to her. Like I already mentioned, she was an upperclassman, while I was still trying to burst out of my lowerclassman title. She let me borrow her music, she talked to me, told me about how she had plans for fake snow in the Christmas concert. 
 Today though, as I waved at a passing friend, she joked that she was surprised that I had other companion, someone else I could confide my feelings with or carry a small conversation. For the rest of rehearsal, I held back the urge to smack her for her rude remark, letting the urge simmer in my body like how peppermint tea simmers: if you let the tea bag steep for a while, the taste is strong, poignant. But after too long, it gets bitter. 
 At the end of class, it's like I was n't thinking. I went up to her, a myriad of negative emotions creating an uprising within me, and words just flew out of my mouth before I could consciously piece together what I had wanted to say. 
 `` Katie, we ca n't be friends anymore.'' 
 What the hell? Where did that come from? We stare at each other, her hazel eyes like a butter knife down my spine. 
 `` Fine.'' 
 Katie responds coolly. I ca n't really gauge her true reaction and thoughts from one overused word. 
 `` I... I'm not going to sit next to you anymore.'' It feels good to... isolate myself from her. Separate myself from all of the awful things she makes me feel. 
 To this, she says nothing. Only turns on her heel, shouts something to her friend who plays softball, and walks out swinging her car keys. 
 In that conversation, did I give up sitting with her in the dark, watching the band slideshow while the others had to help with tidying up the stage? Or her bright, affectionate voice calling me over to sit with her? I should really taste my own words before I spit them out. How cold of me to throw everything away. I was so reckless and did n't think about how Katie would feel being on the receiving end. 
 On my way home, as I stare outside the grimy bus windows, regretting my heartlessness and wallowing in my feelings, I see a girl and a guy. The girl has mascara streaks running down her face, holding into the leash that's restricting a poodle. The guy has striking black hair, like an ink blot. His expression is hard, unrelenting. The only thing that's keeping them walking, keeping them together it seems, is that poodle. I immediately resolve to sit next to Katie again tomorrow. 
 
 I do n't really know what I was doing, I just started it and let my emotions take me where I wanted. Then I just wanted to finish it up so sorry if it's sloppy towards the end: / 

