[Ibby]

Ibram sat in the far back corner of the crowded lecture hall, legs spread wide, feet on the backs of the empty chairs ahead, half-listening to the professor in the front enthusiastically go on about the wonderful merits and finer points of Southeast Asian economics and absently chewing on the eraser of his haggard-looking mechanical pencil, Luigi Boccherini violins beautifully winding out of the earphone in his right ear, an increasingly common departure from his usual classic rock fixations. Idly removing the wet eraser from his mouth he doodled some stars in the margins of the paper where he was pointedly avoiding taking any actual notes. A head of long brown hair to his forward-left caught his attention, and he stared vacantly at the cute lad underneath the hair; it was certainly better than staring at the too-old and too-fat professor rambling in the front of the room.

As Ibby watched him, the skinny boy, tastefully dressed in a tight Queen t-shirt and very fitting 70’s-style (tight) blue jeans slowly turned his head and looked Ibram’s way. Tilting his head in acknowledgement, Ibram scratched his arm, subtly drawing attention to the small rainbow tattooed just above his elbow. With a slight smile, the boy stretched, bringing a small pink triangle pin on his sleeve into view. With a raise of his eyebrows, Ibram turned away and continued his steadfast refusal to care about the class.

As the class filed out the too-small doors some eternities later, Ibram maneuvered behind the as-yet unnamed teen, and started humming Bohemian Rhapsody with a wry smile. With a grin the Queen fan turned around and burst into the first verse. “I’m just a poor boy!” he sang empathically.
“I need no sympathy…” Ibram replied.
“Because I’m…” the boy continued
“Easy come, easy go! Little high, little low!” the two finished together.
Extending a hand, Ibram introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Ibr-... uh, well, Oscar Reynolds, but I go by Ibram. You a freshie here too?”
“Um, yeah, hey, I’m Noah. Uh, Noah Douglass,” He replied, shaking Ibram’s hand.

Ibram nodded, smiled, and turned away, calling a quick “See you tomorrow!” over his shoulder. As he walked off, he had to make a conscious effort to not dance a little jig on the way back to his dorm. It was high time he found himself a nice gentleman; five months at college already and all he had to show for it was one lost phone number and three badly-ending dates.

The next day, after another seemingly endless lecture on… Ibram didn’t even know what, (he hadn’t listened enough to even get that much), he hooked up with Noah on the way out the door. Taking a leap of faith, Ibram asked nonchalantly “Hey Noah, d’you play guitar, by any chance?”
“Well, I uh, I like to think I do, but I’m not that great…” Noah replied, modestly.
“Ah, it’ll have to do. I play bass and my roommate plays drums – you wanna come jam with us this evening?”
Noah smiled widely. “I’d love to!”

The first little bit of a story I've started - much more to come, I hope.
Thoughts?