<div class="floatright">(http://i241.photobucket.com/albums/ff7/HaruTokushima/Realistic%20Chars/2quj4ld-2-1.jpg)</div>The faces Brad passed as he made his way down the hall were just that: faces. The groups of students around him blurred together, his field of vision narrowed to filter out anything that wasn't directly in front of him. His arms were down at his sides, taking a light dangling motion, the only thing about him right now that didn't seem to be performed mechanically. That, and the one time he heard someone shouting a greeting to him, during which his face lit up long enough to return it before he went back into his trance.<br/><br/>Such was the way of his life in all its current bleakness. However, things had been altered slightly as of late. With the hockey season here, Brad couldn't help but to feel odd. This feeling had been lingering in the back of his mind lately. He understood why: since the very first time he picked up a hockey stick, this would be his first year of not playing the sport. Gone was his role as a defender for Dunbarton's team. After having such a busy schedule last year, his performance in the sport had suffered. He didn't want to go through all of that again this year. He could do without the added stress, and he didn't want to risk letting the team down again.<br/><br/>Although the hole that was now in his schedule for this time of the year felt weird to him, Brad welcomed it. He needed the time that he had used for practices and games last year to study and apply to colleges when he wasn't working at his dad's Italian restaurant. He knew his dad was having issues with him not playing this year, as that was made clear by the several subtle comments he had made in the past couple of weeks, and Brad wasn't proud of himself for quitting, but he knew it needed to be done. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself as an attempt to feel better about it.<br/><br/>After walking a few more meters down the hall, Brad reached his locker. He entered the combination before opening it. His locker was kept clean; there were no decorations, no trash, just the books he needed for his classes. He set his red, High Sierra backpack on the floor before reaching up to grab the collar of his solid gray hoodie, about to pull it off, but he thought against it, not wanting to take the chance of freezing his butt off while he sat in his classes. Instead, he reached down to his backpack, unzipping the largest pocket, before beginning to switch out his things to get ready for the school day to officially start.