“Hey, Roman, I got something for you.” Roman smiled as he heard that phrase. He’d been waiting for almost a week.

“It’s about time, Joe,” Roman replied as he met up with his friend. Joe smiled as he pulled something out his pocket. It was a bottle of pills. Vicodin. Roman stuffed the bottle in his book sack.

“I’ll tell you, Roman. I don’t see why a smart guy like yourself needs this stuff.”

“I just do, Joe,” Roman replied. He wasn’t about to explain himself. Joe wouldn’t get him, just like his dad didn’t get him. Just like his ‘friends’ didn’t get him. Joe shrugged and walked off.

Just before walking into the building, Roman checked his watch and sighed. The bell would ring in less than a minute.

“Oh well,” he told himself. “I waited a week, and I can wait another hour.” Almost on cue, the first hour bell rang.

“Today, we’re going to finish our poetry unit. Everyone will have to write a sonnet and turn it in by tomorrow,” Ms. Lang said as the tardy bell rang. Roman could care less. He wasn’t thinking about the words coming from Ms. Lang’s mouth. He was thinking about everything else.

“Okay, so someone give me a metaphor,” Ms. Lang said. Not a hand raised. “No one? How about you, Roman?”

“What?” Roman asked. He hadn’t heard a word.

“I must be doing something wrong when I can’t even interest my best student. Now, I believe I asked for a metaphor, and I’m sure you can be the one to provide it for me.” Roman rolled his eyes.

“My thoughts are a colony of angry bees, swarming around my mind, longing to get out..” Ms. Lang smiled.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Roman snorted. She had no idea of his troubles. He watched her walk to the front of the classroom and sit at the desk.

“Come here, Mr. Colar,” she said. All eyes swiveled to him as he reluctantly walked to the front of the room.

“Yes, Ms. Lang?” he asked in a voice of mock compassion.

“Roman, I’m getting worried here. You’ve been doing well all year. This past week hasn’t been good, though. You haven’t turned in any of your work, and you’re not participating in class discussions. I don’t want to have to fail you because of senioritis.”

“I’ll do better,” Roman replied.

“You’d better.” Sighing, Roman returned to his desk.

“Today, we’ll be writing sonnets…” Roman tuned out the teacher after that. His thoughts wandered to other things. His mom had died only a year ago, and already his father was remarried. On top of that, his little sister was severely bipolar, and his father expected him to do everything around the house. In addition, everyone expected him to be the first in the class, the first on the soccer field, the first in everything. How could he live up to those expectations?

Sighing, he put his pen to the paper and began to write.

When he was done, he turned his paper in and asked to go to the restroom.

“Sure, Roman,” Ms. Lang said. Sighing, he slowly walked to the bathroom. Once there, he locked himself in the stall. He thought of his mother and his little sister and smiled.

Just as Ms. Lang began to read the classes' sonnets, the principal burst into the classroom.

“Alicia, you’ve got to come quickly,” he shouted. “The rest of you, go home. School’s dismissed for the day.” Ms. Lang followed, puzzled as the principal led her to the boy’s bathroom.

“This is rather unsettling, Alicia,” he said as he opened the door. Ms. Lang could hardly believe her eyes.

Roman Colar was dead. Beside his body was a medicine bottle, half full of Vicodin. A tear fell from Ms. Lang’s eyes.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“His parents have been notified and are on their way.”

“I don’t…I don’t want to be here,” Ms. Lang muttered. The principal nodded.

Crying, Ms. Lang returned to her classroom. The students were all gone. All she had were the sonnets. Sniffing, she sat at her desk and found Roman’s sonnet.

My life’s too cruel to all the people here

My thoughts, like shards of flame, are just too hot

My life is just a ball of pain and fear

I try to sort it out, but I can not

The things I go through every single day

My life’s a wound I just can’t seem to mend

Supposedly, I’m perfect; so they say

The pain I feel I have to end right now

I just can’t bear to keep this lie alive

I’m sorry, but I’ve got to keep my vow

To end my life; I can’t bear to survive

Although you will cry for the loss you feel

At last you’ll all know that my pain was real