Why the fuck would you push him? He had a broken arm, for God's sake. You looked like an asshole.

You are an asshole. Stupid. Shitty person. Why the hell would you ever—

Connor shook his head. As if that would make the bad thoughts go away. All he had to do was push them to the back of his mind, for now.

His feet carried him to the computer lab. Why he was there, who knew. All he wanted was to be far away from the cafeteria. He knew what they called him, their whispered remarks to friends. Connor Murphy. Freak. He threw a printer at his teacher. He pushed a boy with a broken arm.

There he was, thinking about it again. With a heavy sigh, he dropped into a chair and turned on the computer. There was only one other person in the lab, who he didn't recognise. He had spiky hair with one red streak, and even with the added volume of his hair, the top of his head was only just visible over the top of the computer when Connor looked over.

Ignoring the other boy's slightly irritating humming, he unlocked the computer and opened up Google. Turned on incognito mode automatically — it was just as natural as opening the browser, even if he had nothing to hide. This time he didn't, not really, unless you count emails as a particularly private affair.

The door creaked open as he was halfway through mindlessly scrolling through his junk mail. Connor turned. It was the kid with a broken arm. The one he'd shoved over. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

Maybe he should apologise, for once in his life. After briefly considering that, he stood up.

"So, how'd you really break your arm?" he asked.

The kid jumped, turning around. Connor was fairly sure his name was Ethan, or Evan, or something.

"Oh— me?"

"There's no-one else here with a broken arm, is there?"

Evan — that was his name, he was almost certain — looked down awkwardly. "Yeah. Well, it's a funny story actually. I fell out of a tree. And I was lying there on the ground for ages. I kept saying, someone's coming. But they weren't."

Connor couldn't help letting out a short laugh. "That's so fucking sad."

"Yeah..." Evan shrugged.

"Take my advice and make up a better story. Say you were kung fu fighting or something. Anything would be less pathetic than that."

"I don't think I'm cut out for kung fu fighting," Evan muttered. Connor laughed again.

"You're right. Anyway, do you want me to sign your cast or something? I saw you going around with that pen earlier."

Evan held out the pen. Connor bit the cap off, chewing on the lid as he leaned forward. Slowly and deliberately, he scrawled his name just on the palm, underneath the two other signatures.

CONNOR

He forced the cap back onto the sharpie, handing it back over. Evan took it gingerly.

It wasn't an apology, but maybe it half made up for what he'd done.

Suddenly, there was a shout from behind Evan. They both turned. It was the only other person in the computer lab, the one with the blonde and red spiky hair, holding a piece of paper.

"Hey! One of you're Evan, right?" He grinned. "There's a letter here. Uh... Dear Evan Hansen."

His eyes skimmed the paper. Evan's knuckles went white against the pen. "What the hell is this? Some sort of sex letter to yourself? Sincerely, Me? What does that even—"

Without a second thought, Connor pushed past Evan to grab the paper from the spiky-haired kid. He protested, but Connor had at least three inches on him, with the advantage of slightly longer legs. He handed it back to Evan in silence, but couldn't help glancing at it.

Because there's Zoe.

"Hold on," Connor said immediately, taking back the paper. "Is this about my sister?"

Evan tried to grab it, but Connor quickly crumpled it up and stuck it into his back pocket. "Different Zoe," the shorter boy mumbled, his face burning red. He looked absolutely mortified.

"Sure it is. You knew I'd be here. You both did," Connor muttered. "You wanted to show me all the creepy shit you wrote about my little sister so I'd freak out, right?"

"I barely know who you are," the blonde-and-redhead replied smoothly.

"Right. Okay. Sure." Connor's expression had descended into the same expression he'd had in the cafeteria less than an hour before.

He held himself back that time, though, just storming past, knocking one of the plants to the floor with a satisfying crack as the pot broke.

The world was out to get him. That was the only explanation. Everybody hated him.

And who could blame them?

Shaking his head again, he pushed past crowds of people, ignoring the constant drill-like ringing of the bell. Into the boy's bathroom, into a stall. At least a stall had a sense of privacy.

Or so he thought.