Class of '04

by RobIGuess

Summary:

Imagine this: a school full of musicians of all genres in the year 2004. They get up into all sorts of typical teenage shenanigans, such as forming friendships, getting crushes, fighting, and whatever my little noggin can come up with.

Are you feeling overwhelmed from all the fandoms listed? Girl, me too. That’s why I chose to use minimal other tags for this. Neither did I add characters… but I promise I will not disappoint. All the fandoms WILL get mentioned as much as possible (when I get to it, of course). Oh man, will my profile be FLOODED with fandoms…

(I also wanna say that a couple of these chapters are on the heavier side, but nothing too serious. TWs are in those chapters just in case.)

Notes:

Every student listed is a senior, but honestly, it doesn't matter all that much. All the teachers/other people are the age they are now, if not a little younger. Don’t think about how these people are from completely different era’s of music. Sometimes it's good to just let go and have some harmless fun. Also also, every chapter will have a different narrator, which will be labeled in the chapter name.

If you feel frustrated by ANYTHING that ticks you off in in here, then by all means, you don't need to read this. Or you can leave a critique in the comments. That's not meant to be a 'fuck you', I completely understand if you don't like what you see. Just... maybe come back in a year or so to see if anything's changed. Cheers!

Chapter 1: INTRODUCTIONS

You probably- no, definitely- don't know all of these fucking fandoms, so here are all the characters, organized for your (and my) sake: 

STUDENTS:

Nick Valensi (Guitarist of The Strokes)

Albert Hammond Jr. (Guitarist of The Strokes)

Kele Okereke (Vocalist/Guitarist of Bloc Party)

Olivia Rodrigo

Left: Flea (Bassist of Red Hot Chili Peppers), Right: Anthony Kiedis (Vocalist of RHCP)

Brian Molko (Vocalist/Guitarist of Placebo)

Carlos Dengler (Bassist of Interpol)

Paul Banks (Vocalist/Guitarist of Interpol)

Chris Cornell (Vocalist of Soundgarden/Audioslave)

Tim Commerford (Bassist of Rage Against the Machine)

Zack de la Rocha (Vocalist of RATM)

Damon Albarn (Vocalist of Blur/Gorillaz)

Serj Tankian (Vocalist of System of a Down)

Daron Malakian (Guitarist of SoaD)

Kurt Cobain (Vocalist/Guitarist of Nirvana)

Dave Grohl (Drummer of Nirvana/Vocalist of Foo Fighters)

Elliott Smith

Gerard Way (Vocalist of My Chemical Romance)

Hayley Williams (Vocalist of Paramore)

Janelle Monae

Alex Kapranos (Vocalist/Guitarist of Franz Ferdinand)

Alex Turner (Vocalist/Guitarist of Arctic Monkeys)

Kathleen Hanna (Vocalist of Bikini Kill/Le Tigre)

Kendrick Lamar

Pelle Almqvist (Vocalist of The Hives)

Niklas Almqvist (Guitarist of The Hives)

Nancy Whang (Keyboardist(?) of LCD Soundsystem)

Jimmy Euringer (Vocalist of Mindless Self Indulgence)

Courtney Love (Vocalist of Hole)

TEACHERS:

Isaac Brock (Vocalist/Guitarist of Modest Mouse), History

Left: Antwon Patton (Big Boi, Outkast), Right: Andre Benjamin (Andre 3000, Outkast), Music

James Murphy (Vocalist of LCD Soundsystem), English

Mark Sandman (Vocalist/Bassist of Morphine), Math

Justin Warfield (Vocalist of She Wants Revenge), Science

Stefan Burnett (MC Ride, Vocalist(?) of Death Grips), Art

Corey Taylor (Vocalist of Slipknot), Gym

OTHERS:

Jonathon Davis (Vocalist of Korn), Principal

Fred Durst (Vocalist of Limp Bizkit), Asst. Principal

Joe Hawley (Vocalist/Guitarist of Tally Hall), past Principal

Travis Barker (Drummer of Blink-182), Janitor

Julian Casablancas (Vocalist of The Strokes), Bus Driver

Use this as a reference for everyone in the story. Come back here if you ever get confused who's who. The format's a little janky, but you'll manage.

Notes:

if you can't see the pictures, IM SO SORRY 😭 just search them up if you're curious how they look

Chapter 2: Reluctant First Day pt. 1 (Nick Valensi)

Summary:

Nick gets on the bus. That's really all I'm willing to say.

Notes:

I'll be popping my head in occasionally through these notes. First thing I would like mention is if it's not mentioned explicitly, everyone here is American, even if a good few of these people are actually British.

Surprisingly, I don’t really hate my school. The classes, I mean. I can zone out for a majority of them and still ace the tests, it’s no big deal. The teachers aren’t even that bad, they’re just… meh. No, you see, what I hate about my school is the people that I’m forced to go with. Other than my best buddy, Al, and some randos here and there that I’ve only seen in the hallways before, I detest everyone there with a burning passion, and for good reason. Don’t believe me? Let me list them out for you.

Anthony and ‘Flea’, the drug dealers. Always slightly homophobic to all the kids who don’t buy from them. Of course one of their names is Flea. There’s Kurt and Dave, who also come in a package deal, with how they smell rancid every time I pass them. Really. It’s disgusting. There’s Damon, who always seems to be scheming to ‘take me down’ whenever he has the chance. Not sure if he wants to be me or date me, but either way, I’m not having it.

Then there’s Tim and Zack, the ‘lovable’ himbos of the school. Seriously, they’d be the type of people to call Africa a country. There’s Pelle and Niklas, the super loud foreign exchange brothers from Sweden that were in my English class last year. I mean, congrats for learning a second language I guess? They’re just annoying. There’s Carlos, the classic snob, who always picks on this guy named Paul. I wanna talk to him, but he’s always too occupied with his ‘friend’ to be talked to. He obviously hates that goth just as much as I do. He just tolerates him, somehow.

There’s Courtney, who’s the class whore. She’s tried getting with me countless times, and I’ll be honest, I’ve been tempted, but her whole look screams too much of psycho bitch for me to actually seal the deal. Then there’s her ‘gang’, which consists of Kathleen, Gerard, and Brian, who I don’t know that well, but I hate them by association. There’s Chris, who seems normal on the outside, but he’s really just some kid who’s always high. You can tell by his red eyes and clothes reeking of skunk. He, Serj, and Daron, are all part of Anthony and Flea’s little drug cartel, and that’s why I also hate them .

The two Alex’s, Kapranos and Turner, seem so… high and mighty, and not in a good way. Not in the Carlos way, where it’s just pure narcissism, but more like… too much self confidence, just not mentally ill levels. Yet. I always see them hanging out under the main stairwell whenever the druggies aren’t there, and no, I’ve actually never seen them do anything shocking in there. Yet.

Lastly, there’s this one kid… oh my god , he’s a character, alright. He literally calls himself Jimmy Urine . Who the fuck names themself that?? His real last name is Euringer, but the former is a much better option, considering how much he stinks of it. I swear, he must shower in piss or something with how much he smells. His teeth are yellow, his hair is greasy, and his clothes are always torn in all the wrong places. I’m talking nipple tears on his shirts, and crotch tears on his pants. Not sure how no one’s dress coded him before, but the staff only care about women violating those stupid rules. Total freak, anyway, and not in the hot way.

So, yeah. That’s the whole shebang for you, and I won’t bother explaining it again, because my head’s starting to hurt. Apparently, on the first day of school, we’re only having a half day. Thank god . But that also means sitting in an auditorium that doubles as a microwave for 3 hours. How awesome… Oh yeah, and we have new principals, too. One main one, and one assistant, because the last one, Mr. Hawley, got caught up in some money making scandal that involved… you know what, I won’t even bother caring. Point is, the new principal that we get the ‘privilege’ to meet. How thrilling.

I shoot Al a quick text: “whos the new prcpl?”

“idk” he texts back immediately, and I close my flip phone.

Cool, a little mystery for us to solve. They probably sent us an email about it, but my family computer’s too slow for me to look at it now. I have about 5 minutes before I have to run to the bus, and Al and I (luckily) have the same route. I snatch a granola bar from the pantry and brush my hair at the same time, because I have my priorities in check. I then sling on my backpack and rush out the door before my parents can bother me with saying their goodbyes.

I turn on my walkman, which my dad gave to me. Trust me, if I could get an iPod, I would . Despite my begging, though, my parents are pretty tight on money, so here I am being an oldie. The walk isn’t that far, and I’m already there when I’m halfway into some random Prince song. Again, my dad’s choice, not mine.

The bus driver gives me a dopey grin, his hair clinging to his face and dyed with a weird red blotch. Thank god he’s only a bus driver, because I’m not risking being alone in a room with this guy. I walk past him to the empty rows of the bus. Great, I am alone with this guy. I can tell he wants to ask me a question, probably because (I’m assuming) he’s new here, but I just turn up my music louder, looking out the window, hoping he won’t get up or anything. I’ll leave the answering to someone who actually cares . If we’re late to school, that’s even better.

Al is two stops away, and I can’t wait to talk to him about literally anything. Maybe he’s got some new CD I could listen to, like the Ramones or something. God, that would be awesome . But I won’t get my hopes up.

Two other kids get on the bus, one black guy and some random lady I’ve vaguely seen before. She’s got to be a lot nicer than me, because she actually bothers talking to the driver. I don’t care what they’re talking about, but damn , is she pretty. Long black hair and eyeliner that could kill with how sharp it is. Her outfit’s pretty nice too; purple tank top and black jean shorts ripped at the edges. Her chipped black nail stands out to me as she points to the next stop, which is a couple blocks away from us. I hope we have a class together, at least. I need a new girlfriend, after a full summer without one. I’m still not desperate enough to date Courtney. That would be a new low.

The bus finally starts moving when I notice the other guy staring at me. Shit, do I recognize him too? I don’t think so. I take my earbuds out and shut off my music.

“D’you know where Mr. Murphy’s class is?”

His British accent is thick as hell, and I almost catch myself laughing. Thankfully I didn’t, because this kid actually seems nice. His dreads look well kept, and his teeth are white as fuck. Maybe it’s just because he’s so dark, but my point still stands. He points to the schedule in his hand with his lanky finger, but I already know who he’s talking about.

Mr. Murphy’s a cool teacher, but not really a cool guy . He’s very self-depreciating, sometimes in a charming way, but also in a geeky, cringey sort of way. He always talks about his age, and how he’s fifty-something, and how he’s not so ‘hip with the kids’ anymore or some bullshit. But he teaches decently, so I’ll give him a pass.

“Yeah, did you not go to orientation?”

He awkwardly laughs. “Well, eh, I was kinda embarrassed to go.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ll show you around, then, new kid.”

I gesture for his schedule and he gives it to me. His hands are, like, super jittery. Maybe he should ask Chris for some weed to calm him down. I don’t tell him that, though. Even though I very much want to.

Looking at his schedule, I realize, shoot, we have, like, 3 classes together: english, math, and history. My eyebrows raise up.

“What?” God, he sounds nervous now, too. What an antsy guy.

The bus halts as the creep gets to the next stop, jolting me forward, making me slightly crumple the dude’s paper. I hope he doesn’t freak out about that , too.

“We just have a lotta classes together.”

“Oh, perfect!”

He smiles, and it almost blinds me. Okay, at least I know this guy takes care of himself. Better than half the people here already. Al’s gonna probably wanna talk to him more than me, so I’ll keep this conversation thing going for a couple more minutes.

Two more people stumble in the bus, and it’s none other than Tony ‘n Flea. They actually don’t look zooted out of their minds today, probably so they can gain the new Principal’s trust. That’s what they did with the last principal, or, let’s be honest here, Mr. Hawley was probably in on it, too.

“So what’s your name?” The guy regains my focus.

“Nick.”

“Nice… I’m Kelly.” Girl’s name? Cool, I guess… I think he’s asking for his schedule back with the hand he offers in front of me (after the two douches bust their way through), so I give him it back. Another awkward laugh. “Well, I would like a handshake, too.”

“Oh.” I shake his hand, and I can’t tell if it’s wet or dry, but it’s definitely cold.

“And It’s spelled K-e-l-e, if you’re wondering.” I’m keeping the girl spelling just this once, because I think it’s funnier, but whatever.

As our hands are still touching, the bus jumpstarts again, and he accidentally pulls me into the aisle, head-first.

“Shit, apologies.” He mutters, and I readjust myself.

“Sheesh, swearing on your first day? You better watch yourself, Kele…” I mention, voice slathered in sarcasm, hoping he can take a joke. I’m actually surprised a geek like him can cuss.

“Oh mate, you should’ve seen me in London.”

Shit, this kid actually seems pretty cool the longer we talk. I’ve gotten used to his accent, and I even want to know more about him. The hell happened in London, anyway?

Next thing I know, we’re at Al’s stop, and I give him a wave through the window. Of course the guy’s wearing a fancy-smancy suit to the first day of school. He could probably pass as a staff member if he forgot to shave for a few days. His hair is frizzy, since it’s 100 degrees or something outside. That just begs the question of why he’s wearing that suit in the first place.

I scoot further up to the window as Albert sits down next to me, holding something in his hands.

“Look what I found in the dollar bin.” He shows off his Velvet Underground CD, and then hands it to me. “Call it a first day gift.”

Oh fuck yeah. New friend and a new CD. Love the Velvet Underground, even if I would prefer the Ramones.

“Thanks, man!” I look over to Kele, who’s back at awkwardly staring at his schedule. He obviously wants to be in the conversation. “Yo, Kele, this is my buddy, Al.”

“Who’re you ?” Al smiles with his massive dimples, sounding damn near flirtatious.

“Didn’t you hear the bloke? It’s Kele. K-e-l-e.”

I think Al thinks he’s coming off as rude, because his face goes kind of sour. Kele goes in for another handshake, this time when the bus is fully in motion, and Al reciprocates.

“Well, Kele, I can hear your British accent. Where’re you from?” Like I thought, he’s much more of a smooth talker than me.

This sparks a load of joy in the guy, and he then goes off on this rant about his old life in London. I don’t remember much, but he mentioned that his parents were from Nigeria or something, which is kinda cool. I think he even said at one point that Kele wasn’t even his real name, but something like Roland. Al listens to every word, and man , I wish he could listen to me like that sometimes. This goes on until we’re at the front of the school, and I can’t wait to get out. Not because of the two chatters, but because of the random freshmen yelling some indistinguishable slurs at each other in the back of the bus.

Chapter 3: Reluctant First Day pt. 2 (Kele Okereke)

Summary:

Kele gets shown around the school a bit, then they go to the assembly. Gosh, I am NOT good at making these summaries, am I...

Notes:

Since Kele is British, I'm gonna try using British slang/wording (keyword: try). My current dialect consists of a weird garbled mix of southern and midwestern words, so... if you're actually British, sorry if I somehow slandered your country even more.

Is it weird to fancy someone after just a single conversation? Well, less of a conversation and more of a life story on my part. I just feel like I’m driving myself up the wall with how much I’m thinking about him. I wonder what Al is short for… Alexander? Alvin? Albert? The more I rattled off about myself, the more I wanted to know about him .

I was so dedicated to giving my speech that I hadn’t even realised that we were already at school. I walk behind Al and Nick in the line out of the bus, and I feel kind of intimidated by Nick’s height. I’m not that short myself, but he seems too skinny to be so… tall. 

Anywho, we walk into the front of the school, and I’m immediately overwhelmed with all the bits and bobs all over the place. The behavior posters that smother the bricks, the trophies that line the halls, the countless pictures of all the alumni (at least, that’s what I assume with their fancy gowns and caps): all of it is chaotically charming, but more chaos than charm.

I follow behind the two others in silence, hoping they aren’t just going to their lockers and leaving me hanging. In all honesty, I don’t know what we're doing or where we’re going today, so this is my best option for the time being.

“Where’s the auditorium again?” Al asks Nick, turning his head so I can see his side profile. Gosh, I feel so bad falling for him this quickly, but I can’t help myself. His facial structure is just too perfect; he’s just my type.

“Eh, I think we just take a left. There’s probably a bunch of people waiting, though. School hasn’t ‘technically’ started, yet.”

Nick was right; people line the hall from the doors of the auditorium in the distance to the corner in which we turn. I hear the two groan in unison while I stand behind them, patiently. Frankly, I’m not even sure if they realise I’m still there, with them not acknowledging me in the slightest. That is until Nick turns toward me with a crooked smirk on his face.

“Why don’t we show you around, Kel?”

Woof, a nickname to my nickname. If you’re curious, my full name is Rowland Kelechukwu Okereke, deemed a perfect name by my Nigerian parents. Don’t get me wrong, I like my name, but I assure you, about 90% of the kids at this school would probably faint if they had to pronounce it in full. Even more with the chavs back in London. So, Kele it is. I prefer that name better, anyway.

“Sure!” I say all a bit too eagerly.

Nick takes the schedule out of my hands again, terribly warm as his pointer accidentally touches mine. There’s no sparks with him like Al, whose hands were also warm, but not to a sickly degree, but more so a soft blanket kind of warm. That was what really got me, not just his incredible looks and taste in fashion. Apologies, getting into the specifics again.

We walk down the walls packed with bright red lockers, just one of the colors of our mascot, the rockstar. Or, as I looked up a couple days ago, the ‘star’. Here’s a picture of what I’m talking about, just so you can get a better idea of what I’m referring to:

So, red, yellow, and black are the school’s colors, and it’s readily apparent. Yellow tinged walls where the bricks could breathe (seriously, there are posters everywhere ), black doors, and red lockers. Interesting interior design, if I do say so myself.

We eventually get to the end of a random hall and Nick suddenly turns to his right, pointing to the closed door in front of him.

“This is Mr. Murphy’s class. At least, this is what it was last year.”

“His lessons are pretty simple.” Al mentions, nudging me in the arm while he stands next to me, giving me a subtle wink. “You’ll probably ace his class.”

Nick gestures for us to move on, and we go up the nearest flight of stairs, the passageway giving us three enough room to stand side by side, Nick to my left, Al to my right.

“Next up, we have math. Mr. Sandman.”

“That’s a song, innit?”

Al laughs. “He gets at least one comment about it every year. Someone even got him the song on CD. I think it’s still in his room.” He looks over at Nick for reassurance.

“Oh my god, yeah, I remember that. He’s pretty cool.”

Al looks at me again. “Cool by Nick’s standards is, like, super cool. He hates everyone here.”

“Hey, don’t say that!” Nick retaliates as we get to the next closed-off room. “I have my reasons.”

“Like I said, hatred .”

He hisses the last word in my ear and the hairs on my arms spring up. I know I’m probably crushing on just some other friendly straight guy, but I have a feeling that he fancies men. If I were to take a jab at it, he’s probably bi, but I won’t assume too much.

“ Anyway , here’s Mr. Sandman’s class. It’s incredibly small, but it has a lot of charm to it. I had him freshman year.”

The last room we head to is the history room, which I think was Mr. Brock. The only reason I remembered was because I recall it was the name of one of the gym leaders in Pokémon. We walk for a while in silence until we make it to the double-doored room.

“I think Mr. Brock’s got a lot of kids in his classes, so he’s got this big room to fit ‘em all. Not much to say about him, I’ve never had one of his classes.”

“Any other rooms to go to?” Al asks.

Nick takes another gander at the paper. “I mean… there's gym, but that’s pretty easy to get to. From the main doors, you go to your left, go down the massive hallway and go into the gym on your right.” He recalls as if he’s had to do this a thousand times before.

Al takes a look at his watch. “Welp, the doors probably opened. Let’s go now and find some good seats.”

As soon as we walk in, I’m amazed at the scenery. The room is massive and closed off from the outside, showing no windows on any of the walls. Small lights brighten the room to a painful degree, which shows more than enough light to know which seats are occupied (of course, they’re red). There’s actually a lot of open seats, mainly at the edges of the rows, but we don’t find a three seat combo. We walk up and down the seemingly countless rows, looking this way and that, hoping for some luck.

Sure enough, we find a good stretch of seats, enough to fit us and one more person. That person is to be determined, but Al seems to be adamant about who gets to sit there. Someone named ‘Damon’, I think, whom Nick groans about. Now Al is on my left, and Nick on my right. Nick hands us both a piece of gum, and I happily take it. He himself chews on a bar of oats. I appreciate his kindness, even if he seems to be so ‘hateful’.

Just a moment later, a boy settles himself in the empty seat. Al’s face is turned away from me now, but I can tell he has a beaming smile.

“Hey, Damon!”

“What’s up, my bus was late.”

He looks and sounds tired, but he’s still incredibly dashing. His eyelids are weighed down from fatigue and his lashes, and I can see how blue his pupils are, especially in the bright lighting. His jaw could also slice through women’s hearts with how pronounced it is, I’m sure.

He leans over to give a cheesed off look at Nick, who’s trying to ignore him, crossing his arms and sinking into his seat. Well, I suppose Nick does have some hatred in his heart.

Before the two can eye each other any more, we all focus our attention on the stage in front of us as the lights turn off, and the lights on the main attraction turn on. There stands two men; one who looks like an emo Raggedy Ann doll, the other looking like a shameless stereotype I’d see of Americans on my parent’s tele. The former grabs the lonely microphone from its stand at the front of the stage.

“Hello? Testing, testing…” His mic gets turned up as he continues. “Hello, all you little rockstars! I hope you’re enjoying your time so far at school, even though for many of you, this is not your first rodeo. However , for me, your new principal, Principal Davis, this is my first time dealing with a bunch of aggressive teenagers.” He pauses to smile at himself. “ But , with all this pressure, I’m proud to introduce you to your new assistant principal, as well, Principal Durst.”

Small claps erupt throughout the room, said principal waving silently to the crowd. I join in, albeit slightly confused.

“We gathered you all around here today to…”

And that’s when it all became a blur in my mind. Even if I did remember the details, I would probably bore you with how mundane it all was. In fact, I would say that I had to keep myself from snoozing off on Al’s shoulder. Even if I didn’t fancy him, his blazer just looks too soft not to sleep on.

Once the whole ordeal is over, I look on over to Nick, who’s dozed off in his chair, earbuds in, Velvet Underground CD in his walkman. Classy taste, I like it. I wake him up as the rest of us are about to leave, shaking his shoulder.

“Huh- wha?”

This side of him is certainly a hoot. I’m certain his eyes are still closed, since he doesn’t look at me, but rather in front of him, only raising his eyebrows in response. The lights are even starting to turn on, and sure enough, his eyes are still glued shut. He doesn’t take out his earbuds, so I take one out for him so he can hear me.

“The assembly’s over, mate. Wake up.”

One more shake to the shoulder and he’s finally upright in his seat, regaining that somewhat hard exterior. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he stretches his back. “Oh, shit, it’s time already?”

“Yeah man, come on, we’re gonna be late to the bus!” Al yells, rushing him.

“Whatever, dude. Fucking wait a second , at least…”

We all get up, but I have the kicking urge to take a leak. I excuse myself, pushing past the waves of people getting up to leave. I eventually follow the crowd back outside into the hallways, and now it’s my job to find some sort of restroom. I should’ve just asked the others for directions to a loo, but it’s alright. I can walk home… probably.

I turn a couple corners, eventually finding what seems to be a perfect spot for a loo. Just as my suspicions are confirmed, I see two people that catch my eye. One of them is sitting down, sucking on a lolly, her makeup harsh and heavy. The other is leaning against the lockers, decked out in full black. I must’ve been staring for a while, because one of them pipes up.

“Whaddya want?” The one sitting on the floor asks.

Bloody hell, that’s actually a bloke. As far as I know, at least. His voice is deep enough to be like any other lad, and I’m assuming they don’t have many transsexuals in the middle of the USA, but who knows.

“Oh, nothing. You just look… cool.” I totally butcher my wording.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“You want our numbers or something?” The bad boy jokes.

“Well… I might need to carpool home or something, cause I gotta take a leak and… yeah.”

The two look at each other, both with slight smiles, and I reckon these guys are going to bully me or something, but no.

“I mean, if you’re alright with sitting on someone’s lap, then by all means, you can ride with us. Gerard over here probably wouldn’t mind having another boy all over him.”

“Will you shut up ?” He kicks the sitting man on his knee.

I have to admit, people being so open about their queerness is not something I’m used to, but comforting nonetheless. Not when it’s targeted towards me , necessarily, but I’m not… angry or anything. Man, I’m rocking this first day, by the way. I’ve been possibly introduced to two friend groups in one day? Not even a full one, either. This is already better than how it was back in England. Kinda miss Matt, though…

I almost forget that I have to use the toilet, so I wave myself off, and they say something like “We’ll be waiting for you!”. I hope they will, because I don’t think I have another option, and I don’t want to walk home on the first day.

Chapter 4: Reluctant First Day pt. 3 (Brian Molko)

Summary:

Carpool time!!!

“What a hottie!” Can’t tell if G can notice my reddening through my foundation. I tend to pack it in, especially on the cheeks. Gotta stick it to my dad somehow.

“Maybe make him sit on your lap.”

“Fuck off, I’ll poke your eyes out.” I pretend to stab him with the end of my sucker, which is basically done at this point. “Besides, I really don’t wanna make him uncomfy if he’s not gay. Who knows with the newbie’s.”

“Oh, he for sure is giving me gay vibes.”

“Heh, word.”

Hey, I wasn’t the one to say it. The guy looked totally flustered when he saw G-boy. I think he just thought I was a girl, which wouldn’t be the first time.

The reason why we’re standing around in the hall in the first place is cuz we’re waiting for our other friends, Kathleen and Courtney. They’ve been in the bathroom for a while now, but they’re probably just switching out tampons or something.

“Think they’re hooking up?” Or that.

“No, you freakazoid. We’d definitely hear them by now, they’ve been in there for forever . I had to skip the end of the assembly for them cuz they wouldn’t stop complaining about… I don’t even know.”

“Girls stuff probably,” G takes a look to make sure they’re not walking out of the bathroom, “but, I mean, you don’t really mind, do you? They’re both phat as fuck. If they weren’t my friends, then man …”

“You’re so weird…”

I don’t really like Gerard. Sometimes. Sometimes, he’s, like, the coolest person to hang out with. Life of the party, dare I say. Maybe that’s just the alcohol. But sometimes, he can be really… out there, but not in the ‘oh my god, you go girl’ way, but in more of the ‘please shut up, we’re in public’ way. He’s leaning heavily into the second option right now.

“Whatever, man. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“I can tell.”

We sit in silence until the boy comes back. Wait, what even is his name?

“Oh, it’s Kele. K-e-l-e.”

“Nice name.” I say. Say it to almost everyone, but I just like names. “I’m Brian, and this is Gerard. Now we gotta wait for our other friends, Kat and Courtney.”

“Oh. Are you guys…?”

“Dating? No. Queer? Yes.”

“Oh my gosh, thank goodness.” He lets out a breath. “I’m gay, so-”

“Called it.”

“ Shut up , G!”

“C’mon, you really didn’t know we were queer immediately ? Take one look at Brian and tell me he’s straight.”

Think Gerard was expecting a reaction from me, but I can’t really argue with him.

“Well, I didn’t want to assume or anything…”

“Yeah, G .” Putting the blame on him is always fun.

“Are the others?”

“Courtney’s, like, a performative lesbian. Kat’s an actual lesbo.” Gerard says.

“Well, she’s into dudes too… I think. She had a boyfriend, but I think they broke up, cuz she doesn’t talk about him anymore.”

Right as our conversation reaches its end, the two ladies finally come out of their hiding spot. I was getting so worried honestly, I would’ve barged in there myself if they waited any longer. Would’ve fit right in.

“Sorry, loverboys, we were doing each other’s makeup.” Courtney messes with her shaggy bangs, leaving them over her eyebrows. Her eyeliner definitely looks a lot cleaner than normal, and Kat’s a lot messier . She glances over at Kele with a judging look. “Who are you ?”

“Oh, I’m Kele. Spelt K-e-l-e.”

He goes in for a handshake, but Courtney purposely ignores it. Geez, she’s insufferable sometimes. Same issue I have with her as Gerard. Too ‘free-thinking’, if you wanna put it that way.

Kat instead shakes his hand. She’s my main friend, if you couldn’t tell. Me and her have had this unbreakable bond since elementary school, but recently, her friend group is, well… Gerard and Courtney, the morally gray kids.

“I’m Kathleen, just call me Kat. K-a-t.”

“What’s with the spelling?” Courtney leans against the lockers next to Gerard. “No one cares how you spell it, it’s so dumb.”

Gerard and Courtney are the other side of our friend group. Whenever all 4 of us get into a fight, we tend to split off into pairs until we squash the beef. Me and Kat on one side, G and Court on the other. Right now, it looks like we’re about to get into one of those fights, and for possibly the dumbest reason ever. Fucking spelling .

“Oh, it’s just so people don’t think I have a girl’s name…” Kele tries to explain himself with an awkward smile.

“Why are you here, anyways?”

“Carpool.” Gerard says.

“Where’s he gonna sit? We have a full house.”

Gerard looks at me, and I roll my eyes, saying, “I guess he’ll just sit on my lap.”

Courtney laughs. “You fuckin’ serious? A guy like you, a-”

“ Please shut up, Court.” I interrupt, this time dead serious. No joking tone like with Gerard, or like I would with Kat. Just a demand.

“Alright, fine .” She sticks her tongue out at me. “Let’s just go, my car’s probably melting in the sun right now.”

She twirls her car keys, jingling them all the way from the school to the parking lot, her flat heels clacking on the tiled flooring. She’s so loud, even without talking. It’s exhausting to be around her right now.

But she’s my only way home, so…

“Where do you live, Brit boy?”

Kele squints his eyes the tiniest bit, looking like he wants to say something, but he keeps it in. “Um, Lake Fayette. It’s just a few kilometers away- or, sorry, a couple miles away.”

Now his sarcasm is coming out a bit.

“Thanks for the translation, but I know where that is already. Brian lives there, too.”

Oh yeah, forgot about that. Wait, we live in the same neighborhood? Fuck, that means my brain will like him even more. Do I have a crush on him now? Since when did this happen?

We reach the car, and I slide into the backseat, realizing that- wait, there’s actually 3 seatbelts! No Kele sitting on my lap! Which, I guess, is bad for my personal feelings, but Courtney and Gerard would never stop with the lap dance jokes until graduation, and I know it. Especially if I revealed that I actually liked him after all. It would make for a killer ‘fuck you’, though.

Court revs up the car before we can even settle into our seats, forcing us to rush a bit. I squeeze myself in the middle, the two guys on either side of me. Not trying to be rude, but I feel like Kele should be in my spot, since he’s our guest, but it doesn’t really matter that much. Bet G would just say I’m the smallest, anyway.

It doesn’t take too long to get to Lake Fayette. Well, it feels long, cuz the car won’t stop rumbling and shaking around when we get on the main road. I think the car’s from the 90’s, so that explains a lot. Probably adds to Courtney’s ‘aesthetic’, though.

“Where do ya live, Kelay?” Courtney asks, knowing damn well she’s saying the guy’s name wrong.

I can see the dude shrink in his seat. “Um, on Tarin Street…”

Of god, now she’s looking at me. Shit, I live there too, don’t I? Wait, now it all makes sense… I remember some time in late July, a moving truck came by to the corner of my street. Guess I just thought that only his parents lived there, but I should’ve known when they complained about the early school year when they were invited to our house. Apparently, the Brits start school somewhere in September, but I honestly couldn’t have cared less, back then. I’ve never seen Kele outside before, though. I don’t even think his parents mentioned him other than that one comment. Honestly, they might’ve, but I wanted to just get out of there and play some Pokemon Gold and Silver on my DS… I wonder if Kele likes Pokemon. That’s a question for later, I go crazy when I’m trapped in my mind.

“I live there, too.” I mumble.

Kele raises his eyebrows. “Ohh…” I think it clicks for him, too, somehow. His parents probably told him about me, thinking I’m a ‘good candidate’ for being his friend.

“So, should I drop you two off at Brian’s house so y’all can fuck there ?” God, Courtney, you can fuck right off.

I hear G snicker to himself next to me, and I shoot him a little death glare through my mascara. “Courtney, if I were that desperate, I would’ve done it in the bathroom.”

Oh fuck, that was probably too far. For Kele, I mean. Courtney isn’t afraid of hearing anything from anybody , cuz I’m sure she’s heard it all .

She knows I’m making a jab at her. “We only made out in the bathroom. Don’t get your hopes up, freak.”

I look over to Kele, and geez , do I feel bad. His face is covered by his hands, all tensed up. Bet he wants to just disappear right now, and I honestly can’t blame him. If I were him, I would just hurl out of the car, by now. I’m sure he can find his way home, anyway.

Kat punches Courtney’s elbow at the comment, and Court does it in return, only twice as rough, almost like a punch straight to her shoulder. Sure she didn’t mean it like that, but it just goes to show how violent she can get. Trust me, I’ve seen it.

We finally make it to Tarin Street, and I can’t wait to get out of this place. My social battery is getting low , and I need to recharge by listening to something that isn’t rap on the shitty radio and something more… heavy. Not before washing all this makeup off. My dad would be pissed if he saw me around the house like this… Thankfully he went off to his office job before I left. Am I getting off track?

Courtney pulls into my driveway and shifts around in her seat. “Both of you, get out. I’m not bothering driving two fuckin’ houses down just to let you -” she points at Kele, “-out.”

Sheesh, at least she’s honest. That’s something I can always count on Court for. And probably the only thing. Maybe not always, actually. She’s pretty toned down when she’s high, and by that I mean not all cold-hearted and brash.

Kele gives an approving nod, looking like he’s about to cry. Something’s on the tip of my tongue; is it that I want him to stay at my house? That’s probably it. I’m obviously too shy to say it, though. When I’m not with my friends, I’m basically nothing. It’s like Stockholm syndrome, or whatever it’s called. Probably using that term wrong, but the point is, I hate my friend group sometimes, but they make me, well, me .

I don’t say anything as we get outside. Instead, Kele looks behind him as I climb out of my seat, softly smiling to himself with his hands on his hips. I wonder what his life was like back in London; should I ask him? Ugh, all these questions have to be for later, cuz I’m a total wreck when it comes to conversations with strangers.

“You can walk back to your house, I don’t need help.” I awkwardly laugh, with G giving me a slap on the ass as his way of saying goodbye. I hate when he does that.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to get my bag. I still need to grab it.”

Oh. Well, that makes sense. I finally get out, and he swoops down to the floor of the car, getting his small black backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. He shuts the door, giving me a small wave and a smile as he walks down my driveway. How can someone be so fucking cute ? I can see his dimples showing, if only for a brief second, and where did my breath go?

I force myself to walk to my porch, taking in the emptiness of it, since both of my parents are away, and my brother’s off to college. That would make for a great excuse to let Kele inside. “Hey, my parents aren’t home yet. Wanna hang out?” I have it all planned out in my mind of how I’m gonna say it, but as I turn around, he’s already across the street, messing around with his hair, looking like he’s totally forgot about my existence. Something about it makes my heart sink.

Chapter 5: Fighting Chemistry pt. 1 (Elliott Smith)

Summary:

Elliott enjoys HIS first day of school by making some new friends... until he accidentally gets involved in starting a fight.

Notes:

From time to time, I doubt my writing, thinking these chapters are boring, but then I remember: I have, like, 30 characters to interact with. Literally overwhelming. But fun!

Also, just so y'all know, things will add up on top of each other, but each story can also be read as episodic. Just wanna put that out there, even if it's really not worth being said.

I didn’t bother showing up to the first day of school, if you could even call it that. 3 hours and 30 minutes of monotonous talking, just to introduce a new face to the school; principal Davis. The only reason I know that is because of the email sent to my laptop on my school account. After Mr. Hawley was fired for stealing money from the band fundraisers, I knew a boring assembly would be the first day, therefore I skipped it. Tomorrow, though, I knew I couldn’t convince my mom not to go.

Tomorrow has come all too quickly.

I stumble out of my bed, digging for something to wear, picking out the nearest t-shirt and shorts from the mess that is my floor. I haven’t been bothered to clean the alternating layers of clothes and papers filled with god-knows-what. I’ve told myself that if I can still see some parts of the carpet poking through, I won’t have to change a thing. Well, or if I get therapy.

My mom has refused time and time again to get me any sort of professional help. Whether it’s for personal grudges from her past or financial issues, I’m not too sure, but it may as well be both. I know my mom has her own trauma to deal with, and I know money’s tight right now. I also know my stepfather has probably influenced her decision making. I can’t even feel mad, in all honesty. I knew he was going to be a bad influence on my mother the day they started dating. You know what, I’m not even giving him the privilege of calling him a father. He’s no ‘father’ to me, he’s just Charlie, who just so happens to have married my mom.

Despite my apparent knowledge of a lot of things, I don’t even know how to get to school. My mom is probably taking care of my step siblings, and Charlie is always a no-go when I’m alone with him. So, the bus it is, but the only problem is that I don’t know where the hell I should go.

I walk into my mother’s room, hoping she’s at least not hanging out with Charlie, knocking lightly on the open door to alert her. Luckily for me, she is alone, but she doesn’t seem to be in the best mental state. She’s hunched over herself, sitting up in bed, hair frizzed and stringy over her face. She’s much like me, in that regard; takes care of other people, but forgets how to take care of herself.

Her head turns in my direction, but I can’t fish out her eyes through the layer of strands. “What is it, Eli?” Her voice is incredibly hoarse.

“Where’s my bus stop?”

She sighs, twisting herself so her legs dangle on the side of the bed, her body now turned away from mine. She then stands up, sweeping the gray-black mane off her face, adjusting her nightgown so it’s well below her knees.

“Just see where the other kids are at. Supposed to arrive at 6:30.”

She slides past me, through the door frame, and out of my sight into little Darren’s room. Even with our shared illness, we have this unsparked distance between us, like we’re two strangers who can’t stop running into each other. I can’t wait to go to dad’s house for the weekend. It’s not great there, but it’s certainly better than my mom dancing around me like she does with every other problem in her life.

I get packed for school: a notebook, a binder, and some folders. It’s just leftovers from last year, aka the supplies I didn’t use. I sling the small backpack over one of my shoulders, the bag light enough to leave it like that. I use my embarrassingly old toothbrush (I have my better one to ‘spoil’ myself with at my father’s home) to haphazardly scrub the plaque out of my teeth. I also try to rub the bed head out of my hair, making sure it just looks purposely messy. Now, I’m ready.

I walk out of the front door about 5 minutes early, knowing my mom will lock it later, stepping out from the thin sidewalk down to the driveway, then back to the sidewalk near the street. I look to my left, then my right, and I see the bus sitting right there. Wow, I’m lucky, aren’t I?

Then I notice it’s starting to inch away from me, so I sprint as best as I can, as if I were to audition for the olympics. I swear I felt the backpack fly off of me at some point. When I reach the driver’s line of sight and turn around, though, it’s still connected to me, albeit a little shaken up.

The doors open on my arrival, revealing the face of a bright-haired man. His grin is slanted as he watches me struggle to catch my breath.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I saw you.”

I pick up a slight musk from the guy, which reminds me of my father. They seem as though they could be friends, even. His face is so familiar, but I’m sure it’s just the smell of alcohol that’s pushing me towards that assumption.

I sit in the front row, across from this girl named Olivia. I remember her from middle school, and how she stood up for me from these two guys, Anthony and Michael. Their last names have slipped my mind long ago, but I’ve always appreciated her, though we’ve never truly been friends.

Then there’s Nick Valensi(?) and Albert right behind me. I haven’t had many encounters with them, except for them being on my bus since elementary school. Nick, at least I’ve heard from local gossip, has slept around with almost every girl in our grade. I severely doubt it, but with his looks, I won’t leave it off the table. I don’t bother looking at the back of the bus. My eyesight isn’t bad necessarily, but I just think the two bullies are on my bus. I swear I can hear their voices. Their laughs. It’s like nails on a chalkboard.

I have a look at my schedule, taking note that my first class is with Mr. Warfield, room 220, which I believe is in the far right of the school. Even after taking on the role of being a senior, I still don’t know how the hell the rooms are numbered. All I know is that the first digit is the floor number, and after that, I just pray to some non-existent god and hope I won’t be tardy.

Since I forgot to take my earbuds with me today, I drift off into daydreaming the rest of the ride there, imagining… I don’t even remember. I guess you’ll have to imagine my imagination, if you will. Once we do make it (not before a couple more stops, which, I’ll admit, almost snapped me out of my fantasy), I wake myself out of my mind, if only for a second, to stand up and get out of the bus.

Wow, I forgot how intimidating our school can be up close. Maybe it’s just the fact that I know what’s inside, but it looks almost like a prison, the only indication of anything otherwise being the large logo of ‘the stars’. It’s a bright red and yellow logo of our mascot, the rockstar, which I can’t remember his name for the life of me, that I only see there and maybe on some clothing the school makes. It’s not too important, but makes the place look less… robotic, if that makes sense.

I don’t have friends here, really. No one hates me except for some popular kids (which I don’t really care what they think), but I can definitely say it’s a bit empty with no one to talk to. It makes the days blur into each other, the only breaks in the system being something like a sudden 4 day weekend. Yes, even the weekends merge into the weekdays .

I make my way into the cafeteria, sitting at a table in the corner of the room. I forgot where I usually sat before school, last year. It might’ve just been in front of my homeroom, but I honestly can’t recall anything that wasn’t the classes themselves. It’s not like I care about that, either. Wow, I don’t care about anything , do I? Look at how cool I am. Heh.

I take out Catcher in the Rye, my go-to book to read when I’m bored (I usually get my new book fix at the school’s library. Summer was a bit miserable in terms of reading). After what seems like only a few minutes, I see two girls standing at the other end of the table, peering over at me.

“Mind if we sit here?” One of them asks.

“Not at all.”

“Cool. There’s, like, no other tables.”

I look around, and wow , it’s crowded in here. I’m sure a lot of people are just trying to get some breakfast, but I also see a lot of people chattering, taking up multiple tables in the process. It makes me feel even more shitty for taking up a whole table with my singular body. Well, at least I’m not, anymore.

“Catcher in the Rye, huh?” The other girl speaks up. She’s very beautiful, her hair in a loose afro. I can tell she has some makeup on, but nothing too noticeable. Obviously, as a guy, I have no clue what she has on, but does it really matter?

“Yeah, I like reading it when I’m bored.”

“Interesting… How many times have you read it?”

“I honestly don’t know.” I do know the vague number. About 5 times over the 4 years I’ve had it. I remember having a schedule for it the first time I read it. Two chapters every week. In theory, I would’ve finished it in 13 weeks, but it took me nearly 20, since personal and academic stuff that I don’t want to get into, nor do I remember the specifics.

“We’re big fans of nerds.” The girl that originally talked to me jokes. If it weren’t for future context, I would’ve thought she was flirting with me. She’s also wearing minimal makeup, if that matters (It probably doesn’t).

“We should probably introduce ourselves. I’m Janelle, and this is my girlfriend, Nancy.”

Ohh , I know these two. I’m glad they’re still together, even after what happened last year. Long story short, they got harassed by some random seniors sometime in May (they graduated, thank goodness), which resulted in the last handful of morning announcements (and the last announcements from Mr. Hawley, too, for the record) talking about ‘including diversity in a school environment’. It was obvious what he was alluding to. I’m surprised they didn’t make an assembly for that , too, like they do with everything else that could be used as a ‘teaching lesson’. I’m also pretty sure both of them stayed home a few days after the bullying got too bad. Not sure what exactly was said, but I can definitely imagine what two non-white lesbians can be called by a bunch of straight guys in the midwest.

We talk for a little bit about our classes, and it turns out that Janelle and I have the same first class. What a coincidence, right? Nancy, sadly, doesn’t have any classes with me. She seems very nice, yet to herself, like me (except I’m much more irritating). How the heck did these two end up getting harassed? I know the reason, but it’s definitely not because of their personalities.

Once the bell rings, the three of us split up, Nancy going on her own to the first floor to her English class with Mr. Murphy. I have him, too, but he’s the last class of my day. I hope she has nothing but positive things to say about him (but judging from how they hired a criminal for principal in the past, I highly doubt that that will be the case).

“Let me tell you what, Elliott,” Janelle nudges my shoulder, “you give me one of your pens for the day, I’ll give you a piece of gum. It’s spearmint.”

She shows the pack in her pocket as proof. Shoot, I didn’t take any with me. It completely slipped my mind, getting something to actually write with.

“Dangit, I don’t have any.” I check my backpack just to make sure, and yeah. Nothing.

“Wow, so we’re both screwed.” She can sense the slight panic on my face, I’m sure. “But hey, at least we’re going down together. Like true… Can I call you a friend?”

Well that solves my friend problem. It’s weird to think how quickly two people getting to know each other turns into a friendship. When do people become friends, anyway? Is there a time requirement? Apparently not, or Janelle’s just as eager to make friends as I am. That actually makes sense.

“Yeah, of course!”

“Awesome. Where the hell is Mr. Warfield’s class, anyway?”

Phew, I’m not alone on that, either. I’m assuming she’s also a senior. We have a lot in common, huh? Being underprepared, in desperate need of friends, and being utterly confused where the heck we are.

“Well, first we need to make it up the stairs.”

“Oh yeah, duh .” She rolls her eyes at herself, and then we try to find the nearest flight of stairs. Isn’t too hard of a task, but now we have about 3 minutes to get to class, according to my watch, and we’re still confused as ever of where we’re supposed to be.

“241… 239… okay, I think we’re going the right way. What was the room number, again?”

“220.” I recall from memory.

“Awesome… just awesome .”

I laugh to myself at her out-loud thinking, walking behind her like a lost dog. Not a dog, but certainly lost.

“Ah, here it is.” Janelle jogs to the room, since we have about a minute left before the bell rings again. I honestly don’t care if I’m late for my first day, but I suppose it would make a questionable impression to this Mr. Warfield.

The room looks just as boring as I expected, except with some colorful posters on the back of the wall saying how safe it is to use goggles and what jobs you can get in the science field. They’re nothing I haven’t seen before, but my eyes are drawn to them either way, since they’re the only traces of color in the room. All the other posters are mostly black.

“Welcome, you two!” The teacher jump scares me, since from the room’s layout, you can’t see the teacher’s desk from entering the room. Mr. Warfield can apparently see me , though, which is… strange.

His appearance is also strange. He looks like he’s been taken straight from the 19th century, with his dress shirt vest combo. His hair is frizzy, glasses accentuating his dark eyes. With a smile that’s equally comforting and concerning, I have no choice but to smile back.

He hands us both a single paged syllabus, which is to be expected, but still boring. Maybe I should have skipped this day too, but then I wouldn’t have met my ‘new friend’ (still not sure if there's any rules with two people being called friends).

“Sit down anywhere, but don’t get too comfortable. I’ll be arranging you guys randomly into your science groups once class starts.”

Ugh, that’s a bit frustrating. Just as I make a new friend, we have a chance to be separated from each other. There’s six tables that seat four people each, so Janelle and I sit next to each other on one side of the left center table, which only holds one person at the moment, but they seem occupied doing… something. I think he’s playing something on his Nokia, which is pretty dang cool. I don’t have one, I just have a lousy flip phone that’s purely used for texting and calling family.

About a minute after the bell rings, there’s this strange growl that comes on the announcements. It goes on for a few seconds, and at first I think it’s static, but someone clears their throat, and it stops.

“How about that one?”

A faint voice replies with a “fuck yeah, that was awesome ” or something like that.

“I know! I- oh shoot, I think the thing’s on.” He clears his throat again. “Uh, hello everybody! Heheh… it’s principal Davis here. Hope you all liked that little… performance I was doing. Any who, as you all settle into your first class of the year, there are a few announcements to go through before you can officially start your day.”

As Principal Davis makes his announcements (that I don’t bother paying attention to), Mr. Warfield shuffles to the front of the room with a grin, copying something from his clipboard to the whiteboard. He shifts himself after a bit so I can see what he’s writing, and sure enough, it’s a list of all our names, grouped into fours.

Once Principal Davis is done with whatever stuff he’s required to talk about on the first day, Mr. Warfield speaks up. “May I have everyone’s attention?” The room reaches near silence, and he touches his thin finger on the board. “These will be your groups for the time being, which will be about… 2 months, depending on how successful you all will be with these randomized -” he emphasizes this word greatly, “-groups.”

I hear an audible groan behind me, and when I turn around, my blood runs cold. It’s none other than Anthony whats-his-name, and I have no idea how I didn’t realize it before. His attitude makes him seem 10 times bigger than he actually is, but he’s skinnier than me.

“Now, what table you are sitting at is up to you and your group. Just know that once you all are seated, I will make an official seating chart. If you don’t know who’s in your group, just talk to people! Any questions?”

No one says anything, so he just nods and sits at his desk. I take a look at the ‘randomized groups’ and… darnit, I don’t know any of those people. I mean, it isn’t a surprise or anything, considering how much I keep to myself, but still. At least I’m not seated with Anthony, even though he’s not here with his ‘twin’.

Kendrick L, Zack DLR, Carlos D, and me, Elliot S. He forgot the second T in my first name, but I’m sure that’s just a mistake. I’m a bit nervous to talk to people, so I just stand up and awkwardly wait for people to come to me. I feel a hand on my shoulder from behind me and flinch.

“You are Eli, correct?”

Oh, it’s the guy who was playing on his phone. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks and waits for my response.

“Oh, um, yeah…”

I look around, and Janelle’s already off to her own group, talking to an orange-haired girl. It makes me so insecure, how other people can talk to each other so easily, while I almost forget my name when I’m forced to introduce myself.

“Carlos. Carlos D.” He holds out the same hand that touched me on the shoulder, and I return the handshake. He can definitely smell the insecurity coming off of me, and he’s reveling in it. “Do you know the others?” He talks to me like I’m a lost child away from their mother. Again, not a child, but just totally lost. I shake my head, and he snickers, letting go of my hand. “Well, I do.”

I don’t know how to feel about this guy. I like his style; all black except for his blocky silver jewelry on his fingers. His long skirt trails behind him, revealing his heavy combat boots underneath, making him tower over me. The way he speaks , though? It’s almost like, and I feel bad for saying this, a stereotype of emo people. Like he thinks he’s above me (in the figurative sense, because physically, he has me).

He leads me to the others with a firm arm around my shoulders as if we’ve been friends for years. I’m surprised I haven’t seen him before, because, well, he doesn’t exactly ‘blend in’, as one would put it. Maybe this whole look is something he’s been trying out over that summer, but that would mean borrowing his mom’s clothes, which, for a teenager, is totally going to get you bullied to death.

As we see the two others, who are laughing at some sort of previous conversation, I can see their faces slightly contort in Carlos’ presence. I can’t tell if they’re scared or annoyed by him, but either way, I don’t want them to think I’m friends with him, so I pull his arm off of me.

“Greetings, young men.” He slightly bows with his introduction, making me internally wince.

The two men burst out laughing.

“This dude can’t be serious!” One of them says to the other, then points his head to Carlos. “The fuck you want?”

“Are we not companions for the time being?”

“Oh. Yeah.” So, they’re annoyed by him, got it.

They’re already sitting next to each other at the closest table to the teacher, facing the front. Carlos and I sit on the opposing side, and I’m across from the guy in dark brown dreadlocks.

Then, he leans in to me, whispering, “how the fuck d’you deal with that kid?”

I shrug, not saying anything. I’ve ‘dealt’ with him for, what, 2 minutes? He seems a bit annoying, sure, but not that annoying. Not unbearable , at least.

We’re interrupted by Mr. Warfield yet again, this time yelling at a student from his desk, “hey, put that down!”

Of course he’s talking to Anthony, who’s fondling a flask like a… nevermind. He’s snickering with another kid, one who isn’t Michael, like elementary school kids. 

“Do something like that again, and I’m separating you two!” The two guys don’t care in the slightest.

They walk to their table with not a hint of shame, but not before giving the guy who pitied me a death stare. Then, when they pass him, Anthony leans in and whispers something to him. Guessing by the other guy’s snarled expression, he’s far from impressed, maybe even offended.

“Dude, Zack, I heard he’s dating that freshman chick, Sara.”

“For real?” The guy, who I assume ‘Zack’ is, says, dumbfounded.

“I think so.”

“Poor girl.”

Oh yeah, I remember that. Last year, I recall Anthony catching some flack because he was interested in one of the incoming freshmen. It turned out to be true. A lot of things happened last year, didn’t it?

“He was at the very least interested .” I add, wanting to be part of the conversation.

“Oh, of course he was, that fuckin’ loser.” Zack turns around to see the guy from across the room. He has some courage, talking crap that loud, and somehow, the teacher doesn’t hear him (though his typing can easily overpower that of talking). Anthony seems to be chatting with the same guy, though, so he’s not keen on our conversation, or our stares.

Carlos grumbles to himself, obviously ticked off at something. Knowing who he is, now, it’s probably something with us and not who we’re talking about.

“Will you shut up with your ‘rrrr’-ing, or whatever?” Kendrick (I presume) complains. “You sound like a damn zombie.”

“Well, sorry I am not interested in your conversation. I disdain gaining negative attention from our peers.”

“‘Disdain’? Man, miss me with that thesaurus bullshit.”

“Language!” Mr. Warfield shouts from his desk. He must’ve not been paying attention until now. He seems to be making himself a seating chart, from the part of his screen that I can see.

“Sorry, teach.” Kendrick gives Carlos a stink eye before getting back to the previous conversation. “What’d he even say to you, Z?”

“Something like ‘meet me after school’. Probably just wants a fight to make himself feel macho.”

“With hair like his ? That’s hilarious , man. Gonna get pulled so fast…”

“Yeah, I know . I’ll bring Tim around. I know how much he hates being short.”

I know Tim, vaguely. Unsurprisingly, the only thing I do know about him is how tall he is. About 6 and a half feet, I think. Of course, I haven’t measured him myself, but he’s a lot taller than Anthony, that’s for sure.

“Hell yeah, do that. Dude needs to get his shit rocked.”

Kendrick speaks under his breath, which only makes him sound more threatening. This isn’t an insult, or anything, but he’s even shorter than Anthony, so if he of all people is up for it, then I hate to admit, but I would love to see this go down.

“And where exactly will this happen, hm?” Carlos taps the nails on one of his hands on the table, the other hand holding his head up.

“Why, you wanna watch?” Zack does some sort of mockery of flexing. “Or do you just wanna snitch on us like a pussy?”

“I’m not too sure… What about you, Eli?” He whips his head to me, which makes me physically jump.

“I’d watch, but I don’t have a ride.”

“You can always confide in me.”

I’m not a big fan of how he talks, but at least he’s not afraid to speak his… truth? I don’t exactly want to be his friend , actually, but he doesn’t seem like he’d harm anybody, which is usually my main concern with people like him. Typically, the emo kids aren’t even nice enough to offer rides, or so I’ve been told. I don’t trust the people who say that, though, so I shouldn’t really have a grudge against him without tangible proof. I probably fit in most with the emo kids, anyway

Wait, I don’t even know this guy, why does he trust me this quickly? That’s a bit concerning. Or, it should be, if I cared enough about my life. However, I don’t, so I’ll take a risk every now and again.

Notes:

Thank ALLLLL of you guys for the reads and kudos! Obviously, don't feel like you need to give me kudos, THOUGH, it does give me inspiration to write this (and other stories on my profile, wink wink). I knew this would be my most popular story so far because, well, look at the list of fandoms. Either way, I always appreciate the love!! Criticisms and/or ideas are also well encouraged.

Chapter 6: Fighting Chemistry pt. 2 (Carlos Dengler)

Summary:

Carlos offers Elliott a ride home in order to watch the fight going on after school, metaphorical popcorn in their hands.

Notes:

Fun little fact: while writing this chapter, I got this old book that acts as a thesaurus for 4 bucks. It's literally from the 1940's and smells like an old lady (i like the smell of old books, though. sue me. don't. please.), literally tearing at the seams. Anyway, I had a really fun time using it for all the complicated words Carlos uses. Carlos seems like the guy to listen to a book from the 40's like the bible. Sorry in advance for all the looking up you probably have to do for this chapter, but just know it took a helluva lot longer for me.

I find it quite droll, yet certainly entertaining when a group of the most braindead, idiotic classmates of mine want to battle for dominance like lions. I find it even more absurd when someone assumes me to be trustworthy.

The two people in question are figuring out a place to fight after school, with all the hostility one would expect, pushing each other with their effeminate arms.

“2:30 by the football field, bitch.” Zack speaks, articulation soaked with inane venom.

This exact moment is when Mr. Warfield springs himself out of his seat, rushing over to the quickly-festering brawl. He reminds me of myself, in such a sense; the way his eyebrows knit into each other with a wrinkle, his dark clothing shifting stiffly as he marches over to the crowd. I infer he has the same taste in art and literature as I do.

“Stop it, you two!” He yells, shattering some of the tension. “You guys don’t want detention on the first day, now do you?”

He crosses his arms, black eyes peering into their vacillating souls, sardonicism showing with no remorse.

Anthony’s mouth curls up into a vindictive smile, one that can rival my own, anything docile leaving him long ago. Even so, his brewing vehemence subsides, granting the other a ghastly stare. Zack’s wintry expression fades into that of summer; hot and blistering, filled with rage.

“Fucker.” The man curses under his breath.

Even with the physicality of it all having been softened, the mentality of animosity is thick and suffocating.

I shall skip to the end of the day, as a result of nothing of interest occurring. I wait for my new acquaintance to meet with me by the first floor science hall, where I hope he remembered. Eventually, I spot him stumble out of the doors leading to the staircase in front of me.

“Salutations.”

He strangely seems a tad out of breath. “Hey, so where are we going again? I’m just getting so stressed from being back here…”

I scoff. “The football field. I am glad that you are not so forgetful as to leave me unattended.”

“Well, yeah, I need more friends, anyway.” The miniscule wrinkle in his nose indicates to me that he did not want to admit that.

“Let’s get to it, then, hm?”

I hook my entire arm around his deltoids, trapping him within my grasp, leading him with my long strides, exhibiting my height with a sense of pride. While we attempt to walk in unison, he speaks up.

“I was thinking, are you the only emo person in the entire school?”

Of course Elliot would assign me to such a word. “Goth, and no.”

“Oh, is that what it is,” I respond with the rolling of my eyes, “there’s a difference?”

“Obviously,” I consider rolling my eyes again, but I take pity on him, “they are two completely different subcultures. I do not associate myself with ‘emo’.”

“Oh, okay.”

I can further sense his qualms with my presence now from when I was introducing myself in the science classroom. I acknowledge this quality of his character with an unequivocal pat on his shoulder. I then catch him looking behind us quite wearily, hence why I ask him a question.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just-” his mouth quivers the slightest bit, “-looking for someone.”

Is this man afraid of me? Diffident because I would bite him on the neck like some primeval conjuration of a vampire, now that I have specified I am goth? It is illogical for him to conclude that, like I would not want to isolate us before even getting a chance to strike. We are headed somewhere public, more open and crowded, so he does not have to worry about a thing. Yet he is trembling from trepidation.

We arrive outside through the back doors, my nails on his shirt still giving him no emancipation, though it does not appear as if he is enervated. From the distance, we can see the ever-forming crowd, for the football field is near the parking lot, therefore it is nugatory to assume that these fiends would not stop to witness. They have no buses to attend to, they have all the time in the world to stop and stare.

Faint commotion crescendos in as we walk closer.

“Do you have a curfew for you to be home?”

Elliot looks puzzled, presumably by the word ‘curfew’. “Uh, no… my mom doesn’t give a shit about me.”

There is the verisimilitude that he is trying to get a laugh out of me, so I meet him halfway with a falsified small smile.

We push ourselves through the stray people who are full of confusion as to why people are swarming around the bleachers. Little do they know full of pulchritude this spectacle will be. Fights are like car crashes, in which you can’t look away from it once your eyes gaze upon it. It is not as severe, however, since a car crash can be life changing, while a fight can be, well… silly, for lack of a better term.

Within the thick of the people, I catch sight of the main attraction. I have the thought of asking Elliot to sit on my shoulders, since I know his height wouldn’t allow him to see the thing he came for. Though, I’m not sure if he would take it the wrong way… it’s a surprise to most, that I don’t fancy men. Not the slightest bit. Elliot, whom I assume is no different with his conclusions based on those previous, would presumably assign me the role of ‘love interest’ rather than ‘puzzling, mysterious acquaintance’, which I am not a fan of.

“What’s going on?” He asks me, acknowledging our different views of the situation.

“Not much, I will say. Just chicken fighting, as one would expect…”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever been around a school fight before. I always hear about them, but never actually see them.” His timbre is that of which a best friend of years would have; all exultant and pleased to see me even after countless hardships that we have never experienced.

“Well, today is not much different, hm?” I stupefy myself, now knowing that I am willing to joke around with him now. Not many people get this side out of me, and he can see that as an achievement.

“Describe it to me, in heavy detail. I’m guessing you’re good at that.”

“Hm, okay.” I oblige with visible reluctancy. “Well, Anthony doesn’t have a shirt is sight-”

“‘Course he doesn’t.”

“Do not interrupt my watchings. It messes with my orthoepy.”

“Right, okay, sorry .”

“-and Zack… he looks to have been right about bringing his little friend around… who was it, Tim? Gosh, his height is truly impressive… Anyway, that Anthony has Flea with him, what a foolish name. Oh- Zack just now has pulled Anthony by his hair. What a shock. Oh, now he’s punched him in the stomach, and Flea is trying to get him off. Tim is standing there, a horrid expression on his face. I bet he has never been in a fight before, what a shame.”

Then comes the janitor, whom people deem ‘The Barker’, due to his last name and his fiery expression. The face tattoos only add as fuel to the evergrown flame, and his staccato nasalization doesn’t help, either.

“Ay! Stop whipping at each other!” He speaks as he pushes through the crowd, which I was too scared (and, frankly, smart) to conduct myself. He holds up his broomstick as though it were a colossal drumstick, ready to strike down on the kids himself. It is truly quite preposterous.

“Let me guess, Barker’s hitting some kids again?”

His delivery is overt, and I am aware that he is trying to win me over. It almost draws an exclamation out of me. I am not the type to easily be impressed; I have a sense of propriety when looking for companions.

“I suppose, he carries that piece of wood around as if it were a magic wand…”

“Oh yeah, did you just move here? I forgot to ask you that before, but you don’t seem familiar to me…”

I consider lying to him, telling him that yes, I have indeed been here the whole time, but that would be too aloof of me to make this boy even more insecure than he already is.

“No, I moved to this town as of late last school year.”

“ Ah , okay.”

I get slightly fearful as to what he is going to say next, like if he wants us two to hang out, but no. He keeps silent, futilely attempting to look over the other students’ heads. That is, until our Principal moves us aside.

“What in God’s name is going on here?”

He stands in defiance of the guilty brawlers, arms anchored to his hips with a demented glimmer in his eye. He awaits for an answer, but the feeble fighters only stand there, their shoulders tensed up, waiting for some sort of punishment then and there.

“My office tomorrow, 7 o’clock, before school. You four better remember that.” His voice is discordant and seems to be stretched thin from acrimony.

That is all he says before the four kids in question scramble away, and so does the crowd. We both walk away, with me, personally, being displeased with the outcome. I expected more, though what could I wish for from teenage boys?

I let him into my car first, like a true gentleman, and then I get myself comfortable in the driver’s seat.

“This might be weird, but can I stay at your place for a bit?”

As if. “No.”

“Oh- okay.”

He clearly did not expect me to answer that quickly, and he gives me his address, fiddling with the hole in his t-shirt that is there obviously due to old age. I gain a slight annoyance by this fact, although I push through, eventually bringing him to his destination like that of an uber driver, except with no payment system.

Notes:

Alright, I had to push through writer's block with this chapter, I'm not gonna lie... I hope it's still good, it just took me so damn long 😭🙏 (and this is like the shortest chapter yet I think too lol)

Chapter 7: Big Ol' Partay pt. 1 (Gerard Way)

Summary:

A high school party; what in the world could go wrong?

Notes:

(Changing the note here cause I can, lol)

Alright, about these Gerard chapters… I’ve gotten some criticism about the way they’re written, and how it’s hard to read. I get it, I really do. Looking at them now, I can read it, but I totally get how some can’t.

I might eventually change these chapters if I feel motivated enough (keyword: if), but for now, you can skip them. I can’t stop you. Not to sound desperate or anything, but please don’t leave this story because of one or two bad chapters. If there’s a third bad chapter, then you can leave. Call it the rules of baseball: three strikes, you’re out! Literally.

Every year after da 1st week of school, we got dis tradition where one of da seniorz throw a party at their house. Itz usually one of da rich kidz, with their big houses and whatevz. Anyones invited, unless theyz suspended, cuz we dont need drama, and itz alwayz packed. Im talking, liek, a thousand peepz or some crazy shiz, mostly freshmen dat wanna fit in. Dis year, itz dis hot guy named Alex Turner. Im talking sexxxy!! His parents are out of town, so we gonna trash his house like monkeyzzz. Hez a little bit of a stuck-up betch, but hez got alcohol, and Id love to get wassssted!!!

Anywayz, we got four people not going dis year, cuz they started a fight or whatevz. Liek, howd you get suspended dat quickly? Buncha boneheadz. Theyz gonna be jealous!!!

Alsoooo, 1 of my bffz, Brian, wont shut up about dis 1 guy dat we dropped off, liek, 2 dayz ago. Talk about boy crazy! I cant really say much, tho, cuz I just called a guy sexy… ugh, I HATE being a hypocrite (but I kinda luv it)!! I think hez gonna be there 2!!! Im so happy for him ^_^ !!!

Okok, soooo, were driving in Courtneyz car cuz she has dis totally sexy radd convertible datz actually her momz, but likeee, she doesnt gotta kno where wez goin :3. She might, liek, flip out if she knoz we like to partay! But shez a terrible driver, but dont tell her I said dat!! She can be a betch 2, and wouldnt let me liv it down.

So we get there, and itz got dis blasted music vibrating da whole ground we walk on. Dis is when my head started to huuurtt >_<!! And I didnt even drink yet!!! da front doorz wide open and we walk straight in, and oh boy! Itz sooo much wooorse!!

Peoplez are packed in on each other, drinking who knoz wut, dressed all scandluz like theyz from mean girls ;o But it smellz sooo much liek beer and weed that I wana leave alredy :( Not 2 mention da music only getting louderrr…

At every turn of a corner, therez a person either doin drugz or drinkin beer. Sometimez both!! Liek, why ? Wez are, liek, 18 at most !! Y waste away ur life liek dis???

Then, I getz da urge 2 piss… I try 2 find da bathroom, which iz harder than it lookz, cuz, u kno, itz a freakin mansion !!! Tho im sure it haz a bijillion bathrooms.

I push thru da people dancin theyz assez off in the front room, making my way 2 1 of da hallways in dis place on the 1st floor, while losing sight of my friendz… I dont rlly care, tho, cuz im kinda panicking…

Eventually, I thinkz I find 1, and I basically run 2 it. The lightz on, which iz weird, and smoke iz coming from it, so im liek, “what the heck??” but once I get a better view, it all makez sense…

Guess whoz in there? Kurt, Dave, and Chris! SMOKING!!! Theyz makin da room look liek a haunted houseee >_<!! I just wana use da bathroom xd!!! I almost kick them out, but then I hear them talkin about… Courtney!? At least, datz wut I assume, bcuz Courtney dated Kurt for a lil bit, but theyz, liek, enemiez, now, or whatevs. So, I eavezdrop…

“She’s so annoying, dude. She literally won’t leave me alone !” Kurt sayz, taking a hit of da blunt. It smellz liek skunk, brooo!

“Yeah man, she’s been pretty weird to me, too. Prolly cause we hang out so much.” Dave repliez. “What’re da odds she thinks we’re dating?”

Honestly, I thought they were… bcuz of Courtney… shez always complainin, but I dont mind, bcuz I luv 2 complain, 2. But dis ? Cant even lie, shez a lil jealous sumtimez…

“Heard she also tried to start a fight last year with her friends.” Chris sayz, taking da blunt and taking da longest breath ive eva seen! Itz liek he wuz made 4 dis!

“Oh my god, who?”

“Thinking it was… Brian and Gerald, or whatever?”

Ignorin dat Chris just butchered my name soooo bad, I didnt kno Courtney wuz da 1 dat made me h8 Brian junior year :(

Soooo basically wut happened wuz dat sum1 spread dis rumor dat Brian had a crush on me and wuteva, and it ended in da 2 of us accusing each other of stupid thingz. I admit, I wuz a bit dum for just taking peoplez word on it, but I just didnt kno wut 2 do!! He didnt make a good case 4 himself then! He wuz all liek, “ oh , trust me G, I pinky promise I dont” liek hez sum middle skooler… but now knoing it wuz Courtney all along makez me sick xOx!!!

But da hard thing iz dat shez been my friend 4, liek, yearz at dis point… Since elementary sk00l! Soooo itz not fun if I hav 2 drop her :( Shez kinda toxic tho, sooo…

Wait! 2 make myself feel worse about her, y dont I just list out da reasonz why I probably shouldnt liek her?

1. Shez gone 2 a juvenile prison freshman year
2. Only liekz 2 talk about herself in conversationz
3. ‘Friendz’ with Tony and Flea (4 u kno wut)
4. ALWAYZ luvs 2 jump into gossip, but neva wants 2 solve any of it
5. Neva respects my boundriez when it comez 2 telling other ppl stuff (liek how im bi and stuffz)
6. Apparently doesnt want me and Brian to b friendz

I luv having standardz! Well, if I cant b friendz with Court anymore, then I can just try 2 get her out of da group. But who will drive all of us 2 sk00l?? I probz could, but I dont kno if I wana spend time with my bro more than I need 2… Maybe Brian, I kno hez a decent driver. I thinkz :P

“The only thing going for her is that she’s hot.” Dave mentionz, and I almost laff. He just said dat in front of her ex!! How stoopid!!!

The 2 otherz laff instead, and now I reely needz 2 go!

“Excuse me.” I sayz, walking in.

They all look at me liek im an alien or sumthing! Iz weed a hallucinogen?

“The fuck do you want?” Chris askz with a smile on hiz face. I wana smack it straight off him.

I pointz 2 da toilet. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

They all look at da toilet, then 2 me again. “Oh yeah, forgot about that.”

The 3 of dem walk out, and I take a piss in confusion… Y am I still friendz with Courtney? Iz dis wut it feelz liek 2 b manipulated?? Bcuz it doesnt feel nice, liek, at all :(

Notes:

This was a pretty short chapter, I know, I know, but I loved writing like a scene kid 🙏 I'm not scene myself, but god, y'all made up your own language and I am HERE FOR IT. Also, I know Gerard Way is emo and not scene (is there much of a difference between the two genres? genuine question), but, again, I'm not in the scene culture and MCR is probably the most """scene""" band I know. I just wanted an excuse to write like y'all 😁👍 (coming from a punk indie rock nerd). Also, can I just say that y'alls fashion sense is IMMACULATE? I LOVE colorful outfits. SOOOO much better than neutrals. Sorry for the little ramble, but just gotta put that stuff out there.

Chapter 8: Big Ol' Partay pt. 2 (Albert Hammond Jr.)

Summary:

Albert and Co. make conversation, until a 'special someone' comes along and ruins it. Kind of. Oh, and also, something else happens.

Notes:

Any text that's underlined means it's in Spanish. That's it. No rambling this chapter 🤫

What’s better than a highschool party? Well, a lot of things, but one of them is booze. I’m practically 18, and you can drink once you’re 18 in Britain. At least, that’s what Kele told me. Man, why couldn’t my dad just let us stay in Europe? Well, that’s a dumb question, since Nick is like my brother to me but-

Sorry, am I rambling again? Man, I need to work on that. My point is, I don’t like partying that much, despite what Nick likes to think. So, I’m just hanging out with my buddies on the dirty living room couch, watching people getting frisky literally right in front of us. From left to right, it’s Paul, me, Kele, and Nick. Damon would also have been invited, but he’s too busy trying to hook up with the girls here. Love that dude, but man , is it hard to sometimes. Also, there’s no more space here, so he’d probably have to sit on my lap anyway, and I’m sure as hell not letting him do that .

“Look at Courtney’s stupid fucking dress.” Paul whispers to me in Spanish. This is how we talk shit, cause no one actually pays enough attention in Spanish class to understand us. We’re both lucky to have spent years in Spain. I was born there, he moved there for a few years. Either way, we’re both basically fluent.

We burst out laughing, since she looks like a lost Victorian child with her torn up nightgown thing. Her and her friends have the weirdest fashion senses. Her right-hand-man, Gerard, would be pretty fucking cool if he didn’t take advice from her. How do I know he does ? It’s the eyeliner. The super heavy, super cheesy eyeliner.

“How much for you to flirt with her?”

He side-eyes me. “How much do you have ?”

“I got about 40 in my bank account.”

“I need at least 50.”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Deal.”

The dude’s literally sucking me dry, but it’ll be worth it for putting on a little show. He gets up from the couch, which leaves just enough space for a hypothetical Damon to change his mind and sit down with us.

Kele cocks his head. “Where’s he going?” He points to Paul.

I snicker. “I dared him to talk to Courtney.”

Nick, of course, flips out once he hears the name ‘Courtney’. “Why the fuck would you let him do that ?”

I shrug. “50 bucks is 50 bucks, dude.”

“Oh my god , you’re such a dumbass !”

“Who is?” A familiar voice just appears out of nowhere, and I don’t even notice it at first, cause the music’s so fucking loud that it overpowers him. Once I see him in front of me, though, in his all black outfit and ridiculous platformed boots, I know exactly who it is. Fucking Carlos .

None of us like Carlos. I told Kele the basic scoop of it; basically, he’s super stalker-like to Paul, and that’s obviously no good. Me personally, I wouldn’t like anyone stalking me, let alone a weird emo kid. I was surprised to know that he doesn’t like Courtney, either. She probably dumped him or something. He also has someone with him, which is new. Usually, no one likes to be around him, but this kid is just letting Carlos wrap an arm around his shoulders. Shit, is he that guy’s new obsession, now?

“Paul. He’s-” Kele starts, but never finishes his sentence, probably cause of what we told him before. The room is relatively dark, but not dark enough to not recognize his stupid face.

“ Paul , hm?” He looks around for a moment, then back to us. “I see there is an empty seat next to you, Albert. Do you mind if my acquaintance sits with you for just a moment? I have some… business to take care of.”

That could either mean he’s going to the bathroom or he’s gonna hunt down his prey. He makes everything sound like a riddle, and not in a fun way.

“Um, yeah, sure.” I only agree cause the dude looks uncomfortable as hell around him. Nothing new.

“I will be right back, Elliot.” And just like that, he’s gone.

Nick leans forward to look at this ‘Elliot’ guy. “How’d you end up with him ?”

He just shrugs. I see he also has a beer in his hand, which is weird for a dude like him. I thought he was that type of kid where a sip of alcohol touches his skin and he’s dead, but no. The can’s opened, and he takes a sip right in front of me. Cool!

“Science class.”

“Shit, what class do you take? AP Mechanics?”

“No, just regular forensics.”

I dunno why, but he just laughs his ass off. “Oh, that fits him so well.”

“Heheh…” He probably thinks that Nick is a psycho right now, and he wouldn’t be completely wrong. “...Do you guys not like him or something?”

“Not really.” I say to soften the explosion that Nick just made in terms of first impressions. Laughing to his face about his friend. How classy , Nick. “My buddy, Paul, keeps getting bothered by him. Carlos just won’t leave him alone .”

“Oh… well, I can’t say I’m surprised. We literally just became friends about… 2 days ago, I think?”

Kele, who’s just been silent, tapping his lap for the past minute, points to Elliot’s beer can. “Are the bevvies any good? Been debating whether I should get one myself, but-”

“Yeah, they’re alright.”

The dude gets up out of nowhere and starts heading to what I think is where the drinks are. Shit , those two are, like, the least suspecting drinkers I can think of right now! And they’re both drinking? That’s kinda funny, actually. I wanna see if they get wasted or not by the end of the night.

So now it’s just 3 of us again, and we’re not saying anything. Elliot’s staring at his drink, Nicks playing with his jacket buttons, and I’m just staring at Paul, leaving my drink undrunk (Undrunk? Undrank? whatever). Luckily, Carlos isn’t trying to talk to him, but he looks so awkward standing there, tryna talk to Courtney with his half-decent social skills. For the record, I talked to him first.

Then, all of a sudden, she slaps him. Hard . With force and intent of hurting him. He fucking tumbles to the side, almost falling flat on his face to the ground. I jolt up, and before the two others can even think about asking me what I’m doing, I’m off to tell that bitch what’s up.

“Hey!” I yell through the crowd to get her attention. She looks in my direction. “Who the fuck are you to put hands on my friend like that?”

She looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Well, your ‘friend’ was trying to put his hand up my skirt.”

“Not true!” Paul snips back, hand holding to his reddening cheek. I can see the handprint forming.

“Oh, shut up, you.” She glares at him with what I assume is all of the hate in her heart, but who knows at this point. “Couldn’t keep his grubby little hands away from this beauty.”

“Paul, did you touch her?” I ask, just to make Courtney happy.

Paul sure isn’t, though. “ NO ! You dared me to do this, I didn’t want this!”

Oh shit. I’m in trouble.

Courtney whips her head back to me, which is now all the anger that she’s conjured up. Her eyes are so fucking blue. “ Oh , so you’re the one who wanted to grope me, huh?” She doesn’t even give me a chance to respond before she grabs me by my tie (yes, I wore a suit), gritting through her teeth, “If you or your little ‘friends’ ever put your hands on me again , your ass will be sending me to juvy. Again . Got it?”

She loosens her grip and I nod hastily. She smiles as condescendingly as she can and shivers go down my spine. Fuck , am I feeling threatened by a woman ? Yes, the answer is hell. Yes. She is the scariest, most intimidating woman I have ever met, because I know she knows how to fight, and I know she’s been to jail before. She’s not even 18, yet!

She walks off into the crowd, and Paul and I are left speechless . Paul’s still clinging to the side of his face, making sure his jaw is working.

“For the record, Al, I only touched her shoulder .”

“Yeah, I know. I saw it.” I shake my head slowly. I cannot believe that just happened. To me , of all people. Never in a million years would I have thought that Courtney Love, the class whore, would scare me so bad to the point of silence. I guess that opened my eyes in the most unpredictable way possible. Wow . Just wow .

“Oh, and also raise that price to 60. I think I need it for a hospital bill, or something, at this point.”

Chapter 9: Big Ol' Partay pt. 3 (Kele Okereke)

Summary:

Kele gets stopped by a familiar someone while he tries to 'get a drink'.

Notes:

Originally, I wasn't planning to make this chapter, but with how the last chapter was set up, I was like, "why not?" it's just more content for y'all, anyway.

Bevvies keep my mind steady, at least as far as I know. I’ve only had about a dozen nights where I would sneak off to the pub with my mates and have a couple jars of whichever beer was the cheapest. It was fun, but I also never quite liked the feeling of possibly disappointing my parents if they ever found out.

Today is a bit different, I suppose. This time, I actually told my mum that I’d be out past curfew tonight, and with a bit of negotiating, she gave me the cut-off of 10 pm. One of the rules that she gave me was a strict ‘no drinking allowed’ policy, and who am I to break her rules? Well, maybe I should’ve listened to that about 6 months ago, but I digress…

So, despite what I told those blokes, I’m not actually looking for a drink. Rather, I’m looking for an out. Trust me, if it was my choice, I would choose to make out with Albert for the rest of the night, but sadly, it’s not. It’s almost 21:30, and my house is about 10 minutes away via car drive from here, and the music is just getting on my nerves . It’s some daft EDM-rock-disco rubbish that’s played up two notches too loud. It makes me feel like I’m gonna trip over myself just by walking !

I shove myself through the sweaty bodies in the front room, searching for the way I came in from. Unfortunately, I have to get picked up by my dad, and I’m sure he’ll give me a stern look or two when he sees me in front of a clearly… lively house. So, I’ll be having to make a quick phone call when I get outside.

As I open the front door, a familiar someone calls out to me.

“Hey, what’s up, man?” It’s Brian, and the sight of him makes me smile a slight bit. “You goin out to smoke, too?”

“No, I have to make it home by 10 pm.”

He checks his watch while he tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. His mascara looks smudged to no end, and his lipstick is a bit streaky, but his dress steals the show. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be made for a bird, but he suits it pretty well. I’m honestly impressed by how expressive he can be with his gender identity out in public like this. If I wore a dress to school back in London, I would’ve been laughed out of homeroom. That is, if my parents would even let me buy one, in the first place.

“Welp, it’s 9:35 right now. All my quote and quote ‘friends’ ditched me already, and I’m sure as hell not looking for them.” He puts his watch away. “So, you mind if I go outside with you?”

“No, not at all, actually.”

He smiles at me, and I can’t lie, he is strikingly pretty. Dare I say, a modelling career could be very promising for his future. “Cool.”

I continue opening the door, and to my surprise, there’s quite a few people on the massive porch already, smoking and throwing small pebbles to passing cars’ windows. Sure, it’s not ethical , but I honestly couldn’t care less. I’m not going to be the one to tell them off. I’ve done that plenty of times back home, and I’ve given up being the voice of reason long ago…

We go to the other side of the porch- the part without the stoned chavs- and sit on the gorgeous chairs whoever’s house this is has. I sink into the navy cushions, and Brian leans on the fenced edge of the balcony, which is painted a blinding white. He’s faced away from me, taking a fag out of his dress ‘pocket’ (which is just his chest, since the lack of… breasts) and putting it to his mouth, looking for a lighter. He looks behind to me, and I shake my head, knowing what he wants.

“ Dammit , I can’t smoke, then.” He grunts, putting the now lipstick-stained cig back in the box.

I tilt my head. “Isn’t that a good thing? You’re only 18, yeah?”

“Not even…” I feel he’s realising the holes in his logic, “...you’re right, yeah.”

He then sits down next to me in the same type of soft, luxurious chair, rubbing his chin in thought. I can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he looks into the distance, squinting. I don’t even realise how long I’ve been staring at him before he returns the look. I quickly look away, but the damage has been done. He knew I was gandering, and now I can’t take it back.

“So, you’re from England, right?”

My eyebrows raise up at the second to last word, surprised to hear ‘England’ and not ‘UK’ or ‘Britain’. The bloke knows his terms, which I respect.

“Yeah, London.”

“Hm.” He nods, thinking again. “What was it like over there?”

I sigh, because that’s really a loaded question. The longer answer, I don’t know. I have so many friends back there that I would love to go back to, but then again, the states seem to be pretty promising, so far. It’s definitely more accepting of people like me than the neighbourhood I previously lived in. I almost feel as though I’ve grown so used to England that any other location, even if it’s objectively better, would feel worse in comparison, because of the experiences I’ve gone through for the past 17 years. That’s my whole life, which is shocking to even think about.

I give the shorter answer, though. “It’s definitely… different.”

He chuckles under his breath. “I bet. I wouldn’t even know where to start if I had to move to a different country. If I were you, I would’ve been like, ‘ now ? Of all times?’ because it’s your senior year, y’know? Like, why don’t your parents just tough it out and wait for you to go to college?” In all honesty, I’m quite surprised that he’s rambling to me like this. He doesn’t strike me as the type of lad to speak his mind so fluidly this often. Though, I do smell a bit of alcohol on his breath, so that may be the reason why.

“That’s what I thought. Leaving my friends back in Europe was probably the worst realization of my life . No questions asked.”

He inhales sharply, and exhales even sharper. He adjusts his… breast pocket, then placing his hand on the circular table that lays between us. His nails tap on the glass, with freshly painted on black nail polish, or maybe just acrylics. Either way, they look… neat.

“So, how're you gonna get home?” He looks at me through half-open eyelids.

“My dad, probably, but I know how he is with big parties…” Then, I get an idea. “You live near me, yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I do!” He suddenly stands up, and I’m almost anticipating a light bulb to pop out of his head. “I can drive you! My car’s here, since all my friends used… another car to get here.”

His excitement fades away with the last few words. “I don’t want to make you leave this early, though… Are you gonna drive back?”

“Oh, hell no.” There’s no hesitation in his mind. “My ‘friends’ are assholes and left me on my own, and now I can’t even smoke ! What kinda ‘ party’ is that?”

I chuckle to myself at that, but don’t respond with words. Instead, I, too, get up, making sure I have everything with me, which is just my phone and my wallet. Thankfully, I still have both.

While we walk from the massive lawn to the long driveway, we catch a glance of this pink-haired, fumbling, minging plonker trying his hardest to walk up to the front door. Frankly, I’m not sure he’ll make it, but we don’t stay long enough to find out.

“One more reason for us to leave.” Brian comments, giving a hard glare and a point to the lad, though he’s too hammered to even look our way.

He unlocks his car, which is a slightly beat up black sedan (clearly has had a lot of use). I sit in the passenger, since I don’t want this to feel like a taxi ride. Brian’s a peer, and I shall treat him as such . Though, I feel like I’m the one driving, but I still have to get used to the inverted roads.

The beginning of the ride didn’t really have anything of note, apart from the surprising amount of commercials on the music radio station. Bloody hell, there were more ads than songs , I swear! It almost drove me mad as I kept switching from station to station, settling on mediocre tunes just because they weren’t trying to sell me anything. Gosh, maybe America isn’t so great, after all.

I get on a decent song, one that I vaguely know (something by Nelly, I’m pretty sure), and after Brian pulls to a stop light, he turns to look at me.

“Did you make any friends here, yet?”

“Eh, kinda.”

“How?” The question is so vague that it takes me a second to process what he means by that.

“Oh, uh, I guess I- I dunno, actually. I just asked this one bloke a question about my schedule and then we just kinda… talked.”

“Hm.” He takes a deep breath, and the light turns green, which seems to have stopped his train of thought.

Once we arrive at my driveway, I notice Brian fiddling with his seatbelt, even though I know my mum would yell at me for bringing a girl in the house with me. Then, I would explain that Brian is a man, and she’d get even more mad at me, hanging out with ‘those people’. So, I’m ready to explain to him the situation.

“You busy tomorrow?” He asks, letting go of his still fastened seat belt. I exhale a sigh of relief, and I’m surprised he doesn’t look at me funny.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh!” His face brightens up as he straightens up his posture. “You wanna hang out, then?”

I shrug. “Alright, sure.”

Chapter 10: Big Ol' Partay pt. 4 (Alex Turner)

Summary:

Turner never planned to invite Jimmy to the party, or frankly tell him about it in the first place. There's a reason for that.

Notes:

Love giving myself useless deadlines for this stuff, cause then I'll actually fucking finish it 🙂👍
(no, really. I wrote like 2000 words in one day for this. don't worry, I still made edits to it, because otherwise it would be unreadable)

This is exactly how I expected things to turn out. Everyone would be flocking to my party like moths to light, because of the fear of missing out. It makes me anxious, really, knowing that just about anyone can walk in without a proper announcement or even a ‘hello’ to the host. For all I know, they could be messing around and trashing the expensive furniture downstairs.

Kapranos, Janelle, Nancy, and I are in my bedroom, where no one else can see nor hear us. I’ve given up on the ‘no breaking things’ rule by now and just accepted my role as an inevitable kid in trouble. We’re playing truth or dare at the moment, and it comes to me. I, who felt a bit cocky in the moment, opted for a dare.

Then, Alex gives me that look. I’m sure he’s been saving this one in the back of his mind for a while now, waiting for a chance to strike. “I dare you to call up Jimmy and tell him to come over.”

My face must have lost all of its color, because Nancy looks at me, as confused as she is intrigued. “Who the hell is Jimmy?”

Janelle snickers. “Oh, honey, it’s better not to know him.”

Who is Jimmy to me ? It’s quite the long story, really. We were friends some time in elementary school, since my parents didn’t feel the need to send me off to a private school, despite their bank accounts being flooded with usable money. They still made the bold decision all the way through now, my senior year. Anywho, we both had no friends at the time, and Jimmy thought I looked ‘neat’, or something along those lines.

He was never one for small talk. Instead of asking how my morning was going, or how the weather was for the day, he would be inclined to tell me either a concerning event that happened to him recently or a random fact about animals. I don’t recall any of the animal facts, but I do remember that every time he said something related to his personal life, my perception of him just got lower and lower every time we sat together at lunch. Some of the things he told me included the time that his brother shot him in the foot with a BB gun (mind you, his brother, Markus, was about 4 at the time), he ate a whole piece of notebook paper ( with writing on it), and, the real kicker, that he pissed on his bedroom wall that morning. Really. That’s how he got his ‘nickname’. And he was the one who chose it.

So, I tried not to converse with him in middle school. It was certainly difficult, I’ll tell you that much. We had so many classes together, and if there wasn’t assigned seating in a certain class, he would always opt to sit next to me. Always . It felt as though God himself was testing my patience. I persevered, however, and that’s where I found the friends I have now, who are also the ones currently daring me to re-spark old ‘friendship’.

I groan as I hold my face in my hands. One of my least favorite parts of having Kapranos as my boyfriend is that he’s surprisingly easy to talk to. So easy, in fact, that he’s practically the only one to know about this little secret of mine. Until now , that is. How wonderful .

“So, you up for it?”

“Fine, sure. Just give me my fucking phone, already.”

For some reason- and this is the most embarrassing part of this whole story- I still remember Jimmy’s number. We called every now and then through my home phone, and since I was so gullible back then as to never write down Jimmy’s number, I had to remember it every. Single. Time. And I was usually the one to initiate the calls, so…

Karpranos reaches behind Janelle to the nightstand, retrieving my phone. Do I even dare to open it? Or should I just throw it at his head to demonstrate how Jimmy makes me feel? I scrap the latter, since I’m not of the violent variety, and the thought of going to juvy makes my head spin. I flip my phone open, pressing the numbers I remember all too well furiously into my keyboard. I’m surprised it didn’t break from the pure force I put on the plastic.

I put it up to my ear, but Alex insists that I put it on speaker, so he knows that I’m not breaking his trust by instead calling a friend. That bastard is too smart.

After a couple rings, a brief sound of static starts before a second or so of silence.

“Yello? Urine speaking!” I regret this already.

“Hey… Jimmy. I was wondering if-” I quickly look up from the phone to scowl at my boyfriend. Of course he’s loving this. “-if you wanted to come over to my party, if you haven’t already-”

He laughs, and I imagine him throwing his head back to cackle like a witch. That’s what he always does. And I hate it. And I hate how I remember that , as well.

“You won’t regret this, dude.”

That’s all he says before he hangs up. It seems he’s also remembered a few things about me ; for one, my address, two, my sense of doubt, and three, that I don’t like to beat around the bush. Maybe I would’ve liked a bit more of a warning, however.

I swallow hard, and Nancy notices my fear. She then looks to Alex, who is now barely controlling his laughter. “ Wait , was that-”

“ Yup !” Kapranos finally lets himself go, snorting into his hand. I don’t like to say this, but he kind of reminds me of Jimmy right now. I hate even having to mention that. As it turns out, I hate a lot of things about Jimmy. Who would’ve guessed.

I aggressively close my phone again, throwing it at the laughing man. I think about throwing it at his head again, but then I think about juvy, and I shiver. So, I aim for his chest, and hit it square on, knocking the breath out of him. To my surprise, this only makes him laugh more , and now I’m afraid that I have let myself date a psychopath , but he promptly stops himself.

“Sorry, just- I just wouldn’t think you’d actually do it!”

“Of course I would, you asshole ! I’m not a pussy !” Janelle raises an eyebrow at that. “I’m not a coward !”

Alex places the phone back, and gets up from the bed, stretching dramatically, letting the bottom of his torso show from his bordering-on-crop-top shirt. He knows that I would be the only one who would notice that, since the other two people in here are lesbians. I think. I know Nancy is, I’m just not sure about Janelle.

“Well?” He motions for the rest of us to get up as well. “Let’s meet our new guest with honor !”

“Uh-uh, I am not about to do that.” Janelle crosses her arms. “The last time I talked to him, he tried to- nevermind.”

“Oh…” Nancy pats Janelle on the back.

“It was racism , not sexual assault .”

“ Ohhhhh …” She slowly retracts her hand.

I look to Kapranos again, raising an eyebrow at him. He simply shrugs. “It’s not like we’re here to congratulate him, or anything. I can push him into the pool, if that makes you feel any better, Janelle.” He gives her a wink.

“Oh, I’ll be the one to do that .”

Now, Alex has convinced us all enough to go downstairs, where Mr. Murphy is dealing with the DJ occupation. I presumed that since he was a DJ before swiftly becoming an English teacher, he would have a few tricks up his sleeve. Thankfully, he’s making the people dance, and that’s all I wished for him to do. He truly knows how to make people dance themselves clean .

Anywho, about 15 minutes go by, and the four of us are hanging out on the front staircase, where only a few other people reside. That’s when we hear a familiar sound. A familiar howl , rather.

That’s right. Jimmy came in howling . That’s also something that he does; instead of having the decency of entering a crowd silently, as well as having dignity , he just is obligated to tell everyone that he’s there and ready to ‘ partay’ . Call it a warning, if you will.

The energy in the room slowly stops. It’s like a domino effect; those who hear it stop dancing, then the people next to them stop dancing because they stopped dancing, and the cycle continues until it reaches the front of the crowd, and the music scratches to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy yells. “Turn that shit on again!”

Mr. Murphy reluctantly does, whilst Jimmy turns around and proceeds to perform some sort of trust fall. I assume he’s wanting to crowd surf, but all that he succeeds in is a concussion on my hardwood floor.

I instinctually gasp, and part of the crowd does so too, but the music doesn’t stop. Nor does Jimmy, apparently, since he quickly regains his balance, despite the obvious blow to the back of his head. I’m sure that’s not a first.

He yells something under the blaring music, moving his way to the back of the house, dancing and moving as though he’s being electrocuted out of our sight.

Janelle cracks her knuckles, stretching them in front of her before shaking it off. “Time to murder a bitch.”

Fortunately, people are dancing again, even in the proximity of you know who. Perhaps it’s just to forget that he’s there in the first place. We all eventually make it outside, and are both relieved and terrified to see Jimmy there, just walking on the deck like he’s meant to be here. Which he’s not, technically. He’s also barefoot , something that he always does when he has the ‘freedom’ to do so.

Now he’s talking to two people sitting in the lawn chairs that line the edges of my pool. I believe they’re Janelle’s friends, Serj and Daron, and they’re sipping some cans while tolerating Jimmy’s questionable behavior.

“You had pink hair once, too, didn’t you?” Jimmy points at Daron, and he nods. Very slowly, may I add. “Ha! We’re, like, twins or something, dude! The only difference is that I’m not a trann-”

“Ah-ah-ah, shut it .” Daron stops him before the last word could fully escape his lips, almost like the man was reading his mind. I think Jimmy was trying to be offensive, since just about everyone knows that Daron is transgender, but who knows. A slur may be a form of endearment to him.

Serj makes the mistake of looking at us, since Jimmy notices, and looks in the same direction, finding my eyes. We make direct eye contact for way too long, and now he’s approaching me, arms wide out for a hug. “Hey man! Long time no-”

Before he can fully make it to me, a firm hand presses into the side of his abdomen, and he goes flying into the water. My pool isn’t terribly deep, but it’s also not shallow enough to stand in comfortably, depending on how tall you are. The end in which Janelle pushed him is easily at least 6 feet deep. Don’t ask me why we have so much depth, because I wouldn’t have an answer.

He’s flailing around in the water, and for a moment, I feel a little guilty. Then, I know he’s just being dramatic, because he’s been taking swimming lessons since elementary school. He pops his head out, his once spiky hair now laying flat on his forehead. Janelle stares at him, while Jimmy looks back at her, his smile not fading in the slightest.

“Ah man , you beat me to it!” He shakes his head to get some of the water out of his hair like a dog. “Way to ruin the fun!”

Janelle squints her eyes at him, obviously surprised that he’s enjoying this, but then Serj laughs. This would probably be the worst time to do so, since any laughter that Jimmy hears only amplifies his own. He’s never had the skill of telling when laughter is with him vs. at him.

“See? That guy knows what I’m talking about!”

“No, it’s just- just that you look so fucking stupid , right now, man! Ay Daron, fucking record this shit!”

I don’t think he knows what ‘stupid’ means, necessarily, so he still laughs. Once he starts, he can truly never stop, like a lighthearted form of hysteria.

Daron takes out his phone, trying to record Jimmy moving around the best he can. Once he notices someone filming him, his smile only grows wider. “Well? Are you guys gonna join me or not?”

“Oh, I’ll join you alright.” Janelle takes her purse off, throwing it to Nancy, as well as her slip-ons, jumping in the water. Her acrylic claws are out on display, aiming right for Jimmy’s face.

The next couple of minutes go by, with the two catfighting, pushing each other in and out of the water. I’m surprised as to how they’re managing to float above the surface in the first place.

“This’ll go crazy on MySpace!” Daron comments.

Nancy, who’s previously been a silent witness, suddenly yells, “hit him in the nose, babe! That’s where it really hurts!”

Janelle takes that advice seriously, knuckles making direct impact with the bridge of his nose. By now, the two are on the edge of the pool, not fighting to drown each other anymore, so the impact is huge . More than hitting the back of his head on the floor, which I strangely see no mark of. He holds his face with one of his hands, screaming and flailing around, jumping the fence of my backyard, his clothes still soaked. Janelle’s clothes are also wet, but the difference is that she doesn’t look like a bumbling idiot . Not to mention she just made Jimmy Urine a new nose.

“Fuck yeah!” Daron ends the recording, feeling satisfied with himself, even though he quite literally held no purpose.

I didn’t care about any of that. The only thing I was concerned about the whole time was standing right next to me. My own boyfriend.

“Kapranos, you owe me big next time we do truth or dare.”

“I’m sure I do.” He points finger guns towards me, and I shake my head in parental-like disapproval.

Notes:

Damn, you made it this far? Really? Well then, fellow reader, since you're so loyal, I would like to know from YOU (yes, you) what people you would like to see more in the future. It's not that I'm running out of ideas- quite the opposite, actually- I'm just curious as to which fandoms y'all come from, and I'm a people pleaser, after all (half joking)! Feedback is also (and always) appreciated!

Chapter 11: Sent Through the Wringer (Zack de la Rocha)

Summary:

What happened to the four boys that got suspended?

Notes:

Sort of unrelated, but the person who made class of 09 (the inspiration for the title of this fanfic, obviously) turned out to be a HORRIBLE person with a fucking FOOT FETISH 😷🤒🤢🤮 I mean, I'm not THAT surprised, but still. Fucking gross.

So, uh, yeah. Consider my fanfic a non-toxic version of that game.

Not gonna lie, I'm still a bit mad. At K-Dot, I mean. I’ll always be pissed at Tony, no doubt. If he doesn’t stop getting people high all the time, I’ll seriously consider fighting him again. Nah, I’m mad at Kendrick, cause he didn’t tell me no .

I’m not really a physical guy. I like to mess with people’s minds ; to make people think . I’m fucking scrawny, man. I don’t like to fight. Never did. With my anger issues, however, I’ve sure as hell thought about it before.

I know what Tony was tryna make me do. He was tryna make me vulnerable , have me at my weakest . He’s seen me in spoken word; the only muscle I use as a weapon is my mind , not my fists . Fists are meant for punching the patriarchy, not people . I was in that class to claim my voice, he was in that class for an easy A. Big diff.

So now I’m tucking my tail between my legs as Tim and I walk to the Principal’s office. I’ve never been there before, but Tim sure has. There was that one time last year when we noticed that only the women were getting dress coded, so he boldly decided to wear his mom’s bra and jean shorts to school. Technically, it broke the rules, but everyone knew that there were different dress codes for men and women. It’s bizarre, I know, but everyone knew it, even though no one told us.

Our friend Brad and I took bets for when Tim would get called out. He said first period, I said lunch time. He never got sent home, he was just sent down to Principal Hawley, which threw us all for a loop. If he were born a lady, he would’ve gotten written up as soon as he walked into school. Really just goes to show double standards, man. I miss Brad.

That’s not the point. What matters is that I’m in trouble. Big, big trouble. It’s not like my parents care, but the staff probably do. My parents would actually pat me on the back for fighting for what’s right. Wait, no, they’d only do that if it was a verbal fight, not a physical one. Fuck. Yeah, I might be screwed.

Tim doesn’t seem to care at all about this shit, like he usually does. That’s honestly what I love about him, that he does anything he wants, not afraid of the consequences. Some people may say it’s dumb of him to think that way, but I see it as him being bold and defiant, and who doesn’t love confidence?

We’re just about to get to the door to the principal’s office, when we hear rapid stomping behind us. We whip our heads around and see Tony and Flea, running for their lives. They almost knock into us before they stop, Flea putting his hands on his knees and Tony with a hand to his chest.

With all the air left in him, Tony tells me, “Where do you think you’re going, huh?”

I look at him weird, and then point to the door down the hall. “To the principal’s office…?”

“Oh yeah. Forgot about that.” He looks to Flea. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Yessir!”

Before we can ask them what they’re doing, they speed off to the principal’s office, slamming open the door and busting in like they own the place. We follow behind, cautiously of course, peering through the door frame to see the aftermath.

The receptionist lady’s face just says it all; furrowed eyebrows, her pointer and thumb pinching the bridge of her nose, mouth shaped like she’s going to say something, but doesn’t have the words.

Finally, she asks, “Do you boys always need to do that?”

“Sorry, Deborah.” I don’t think he means it by the way he says it.

“I keep telling you, Tony, it’s Ms. Harry !”

“Jeez, my bad, Mrs. Harry.”

“ It’s not- you know what, nevermind that.” she looks at Tim and I with a softer expression, “what are you two in here for?” She reaches for the yogurt cup on her desk and takes a bite.

Tim says, “We’re here with them.”

Swear to god, she almost chokes on her yogurt. “Oh- now just hold on a minute, why are you two with-” it all clicks in her head like that . I can see it on her face. “- ohh . I see.” She clacks away on her keyboard, mumbling something to herself. Then, she looks at me. “And what’s your name, dearie?”

“Zack.”

“Never seen you come in here, before… I suppose that’s a good thing.” She smiles to herself, and I smile, too. “Now, you four just wait here a moment while I get things situated.”

She gets up from her seat and walks out of sight to the hallway behind her, leaving all of us to just stare at each other in silence. That is, until Tony ruins it.

“I got a cut under my eye because of you.”

With the coldest look I can manage, I go, “Good.”

Tony sticks his tongue out at me, scrunching up his nose. Now that he mentioned it, I do see a little red mark right above his cheekbone. Maybe I scratched his face up somewhere in the fight? I’m not too sure, but it doesn’t look that painful, sadly.

Ms. Harry comes back with a smile on her face, laughing at something. “Principal Davis is ready for you boys.”

I follow Tim as he walks down the long hallway. We stop in front of an already opened door. The sign used to say ‘Principal Hawley’ , but now the second word is scratched out with sharpie and lazily replaced with ‘Davis’ . They couldn’t even give the guy a new sign?

We walk in, and I’m baffled by the two principals in front of us. Principal Davis is a living contradiction; thick rimmed glasses, gnarly grayed dreadlocks, black blazer, and eyebrow piercings. It’s like he wants to piss off the patriarchy while also working a 9 to 5, so I guess he got his wishes. Principal Durst just looks like he’s having an identity crisis, sporting a backwards red cap and handlebar mustache.

Principal Davis blows the steam off his coffee, taking a long sip, which fogs up his glass lenses. He gestures for us to sit on the four cheap foldable chairs in front of us. Just another budget issue this school has.

Once we all sit down, Tony’s face turns sour, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “Hey Princy, why’s it gotta smell like weed in here, man?”

Mr. Davis’ face runs cold. “...How do you know what weed smells like?”

“Yeah, Tony, how do you know?” Tim asks with a dumb smirk on his face.

“Pssht, whatever. I’m just saying it reeks in here.”

“ Anyway ,” Principal Davis places his hands on the table, “we wanted to talk to you boys about how not okay it is to be fighting on school grounds. I’m sure it’s no surprise to know that imposing any acts of violence in or around this school is strictly prohibited , yet you did it anyway. Just- why? ”

“Cause Tony was being a little weasel and wanted a piece of Zack.” Tim tells him.

Principal Davis disregards the obvious bias my friend has against this kid he has quite literally just met, and says, “I’m just glad you peeps aren’t hurt.”

“Well, Zack cut my eye and-”

“ Shut up Tony!” I snap back, having enough of his bullshit for the day already. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Woah woah woah ! Slow your rolls, kiddos! No profanities in this office, you hear?” We both reluctantly nod. “I’m just saying, we’re trying to make ourselves a clean slate, in terms of this school’s reputation. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened to Mr. Hawley. Dude’s a real piece of sh- I mean, crap. Consider us trying our best.”

“So, about the suspension…” I’ve been waiting to get a definitive answer for forever now.

“Pfft, it’s whatevs. I’ve had my fair share of fights in high school.” Principal Davis sits back in his chair and cracks his knuckles. “Yo Durst, look over that paperwork they sent us.” He looks back at us and leans forward in his chair, like he’s about to tell us a secret. “You know, It’s really not that big of a deal. I’ll just send vague e-mails to your guys’ parents and that’ll be that. Sounds good?” We nod. “Awesome sauce.”

Principal Durst looks up from the large packet in his hands with his face scrunched. “What do you want me to look for, exactly?”

“Just give me that e-mail template. I’m sure there’s gotta be something like that in there somewhere . Do adults even read their e-mails, anyway?”

“Mine don’t.” Tony says.

Tim scoffs, replying with, “Of course they don’t, they don’t care about you.”

Principal Davis jolts back up in his chair. “Make any more insults like that and I actually will give you a suspension! Or, probably just a lunch detention…”

“ Technically I didn’t swear.”

Principal Davis squints at his smartass answer, but doesn’t have enough time to respond before his attention is focused on Principal Durst again, showing him what he needs to write for the emails.

“Alright… yeah, okay… Simple enough. I’ll get those sent out in no time.” He snaps his fingers, then clicks around on his computer for a moment, then back to us. “You boys can go, now.” But once we all stand up, he adds, “and it smells like weed because Durst was testing out these new blunts we got last week. That stuff hits . We were high all morning . Don’t tell anybody, though.” That explains the random morning intercom… thing.

Flea bursts out cackling, saying the first thing since he walked in here. “No worries, we gotchu, Princy.”

Principal Davis laughs at his new nickname. Just about everyone called Principal Hawley ‘Princy’, so I guess they’re just passing the torch onto him.

Now I’m leaving that room more confused than when I got here. Tim does, too, I can see it on his face. The bell hasn’t rung yet, so the two of us stand awkwardly outside the office doors, while Tony and co. go elsewhere, wherever they’re needed.

“OG Princy would’ve never let us live this down, dude.” Tim finally says after an eternity of silence.

“Hm.” Is all I say.

“Like, he would’ve been like, ‘your parents are going to hear about this one! Next time, you’re arrested! ’. He actually did that once. Do you remember sophomore year when the cops showed up?”

“Holy shit, I thought that was because of a fire!”

“There were no fire trucks , dumbass.” Fair point. “That was just Princy’s excuse over the intercom. Of course he wouldn’t want a bunch of teenagers knowing about a fight. It was actually really intense, dude. Like, pulling out hair and everything. It was in the boys locker room, I think. I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“How do you even know about this if you haven’t seen it?”

“You remember James Hetfield?”

“Of course I do.” Everybody does. He was practically the class clown for the entire school, if you could believe it. I’d like to talk more about him, but I don’t even know where I would begin .

“He saw it first hand. Even took a photo, but you know what they say about Blackberries and their cameras. He said it would’ve been great blackmail material, if, y’know, the photo wasn’t two pixels.”

“Yeah, Nokias are so much better.”

“Nah man, Samsung is where it’s at.”

“Whatever.” I won't waste my time arguing about something I know nothing about. That’s something I’m sure Tony struggles with.

The bell rings, and I just remembered; I have first period with Tony. Thankfully, it’s only him that’s the issue in that class, but he’s the root cause of my misery. I think about skipping science class, then I think about how ludicrous that would be. It would just go to show that Tony has won this mental battle if I skipped, even if we tied each other on the battlefield. It’s all about the ‘higher ground’ with him. I’m not scared to see him again, just annoyed, possibly frustrated. Maybe I’ll show him how annoyed I truly am .

Notes:

I know this is somewhat short, but I have more ideas in making the making. TRUST!

Chapter 12: Gym Isn’t for the Weak pt. 1 (Nick Valensi)

Summary:

Nick makes one unsuspecting ""friend"" in his gym class.

Notes:

Hey y’all, school’s been really kicking my ass lately (especially physics), so I figured writing over winter break would solve that stress at least a little bit.

Hey, so you remember how I said the teachers are pretty alright here? Yeah, I think what I meant to say was that most of the teachers are alright. Mr. Taylor, though? He makes me want to bash my head into a wall so much, it’s not even funny.

Okay, so he does this… thing . It doesn’t happen too often, but when it does , I die just a little bit more on the inside each time. He likes to scream words at the top of his lungs in this gravelly shriek, like in one of those weird punk songs Al likes. He puts his all into it, too. I can sometimes see the veins popping out of his thick neck when he does it.

The worst part is that he doesn’t always do it. I’d say he only screams one word maybe every other sentence, if that. That just makes the loud parts louder and the quiet parts just anticipation for the hair pulling. I’m not sure if it’s some sick trick Principal Hawley told him to do in order to wake up students in the morning, or something. It’s working, but probably not in the way that he wanted. It’s like my hormones pinpoint on the need to strangle him, and I don’t think Mr. Taylor plans on dying anytime soon.

Things are no different today. I have to mentally prepare myself for what’s to come, because I have no one to be my emotional support in this class. It’s not like I have many friends, except for Al and Kele. I mean, there’s Paul, but he’s more like a friend of a friend, and he has his own clique that I don’t want to be a part of. The two Alex’s really freak me out sometimes. I don’t know why, they just do. I swear I’m not homophobic. Or name-phobic.

I already know Courtney’s posse is a no-go. Even though Courtney herself isn’t here, her rotten spirit still is in the form of her friends. There’s also Daron, I guess, but he’s very unpredictable. Some days, he’s the easiest person ever to talk to, and other days, he's a bug-eyed freak. It depends what drug he takes that day. Or, I guess, whatever Anthony gives him.

So, not many choices in the friends department. It’s no big deal, really. It’s nothing I’m not used to. I only have one more year here, anyway. That actually sounds pretty depressing if I put it like that, I promise it’s not. It’s my own choice to be a lone wolf, even though I hate using that term. It makes me sound like a loser. I’m the cool type of loser. You know what, I’m kind of burying my own grave with this one. I’ll stop there.

I’d like to mention that it’s Monday, the first official day of gym class. Last week was just the same old boring orientation, getting our lockers and whatever. Just going through the motions, I guess. God, now that class is officially starting, I’m paranoid of getting picked on, or something. I’m not really making those loser allegations any better, am I?

I only chose this class because I wanted to ‘try something new’ for once. Probably wasn’t the best idea junior me has made, but it’s definitely not the worst . Al’s taking a PE exemption because of marching band. That fucking loser. Wow, I guess we’re both losers, now.

But yeah, weightlifting it is. Technically, the name of the class is ‘Advanced Fitness and Nutrition’, but who the hell calls it that, anyway? Besides, the ‘nutrition’ part of the class lasts only about a week, I’ve heard. That’ll probably be the best week of my life. I can handle boring presentations better than bench pressing.

So, here I am, dressed in this stupid gym uniform, waiting for something to happen, and in comes Mr. Screamo, stomping his way to my class with his beat-up hiking boots to ruin my morning again. He has a mean look to him, just like he always does, with a clipboard in his veiny hand. I can’t lie, he’s probably the perfect fit for a gym teacher, because man , is he intimidating.

“Listen, folks. Let me tell you guys something.” Oh god, here we go. He puts his clipboard down in front of him on the floor, and waits for us to look at him. “Advanced Fitness isn’t a class for the weak. The fact that you all are here in this class tells me a lot about your character. I really don’t expect a lot from you guys. If you want to get good grades, you just gotta LIFT !” Please make it stop already. “ LIFT those dumbbells, and PUSH YOURSELF !” Why is he doing it so often today? He sounds like a drill sergeant mixed with a coke addict. “That’s all I want, got it?”

And I want him to shut the fuck up. No seriously. Someone help me. I have to deal with this for the whole year. Choosing this class was a mistake

He goes through the attendance list, which of course takes forever , because no one’s in their proper attendance spot. So, I’m about to fall asleep standing up, and then I see Daron staring at me, for some reason. I don’t think it’s in a creepy way, because his eyes aren’t crazy looking, but it still freaks me out. Once I notice him, he looks away, but he’s not sneaky in the slightest.

Mr. Taylor is done with attendance, and while he’s right next to me, he yells, “ALRIGHT BOYS AND GIRLS, IT’S SHOWTIME!!!” I can hear my ears ringing.

We all head to the weight room, which is of course down this dingy hallway, away from all the other classes. I think the school’s budget ran out once they got to building the gyms, because I swear I can see some of the brick wall’s starting to crack. There’s also a bunch of spider webs, but I think that’s Mr. Barker’s fault for not cleaning this up. Why do we only have one janitor, anyway? That’s just setting this school up for disaster.

At the end of the hallway, we walk into this even more sketchy looking weight room, with rusty machines and dumbbells all around us. It smells like a mix of sweat and metal, and I wanna leave already. Once we all file in, Mr. Taylor talks again.

“Alright, folks. Partner up, because today we’re finding out our bench maxes. If you don’t know anyone in this class, then it’s time to MAKE CONVERSATIONNNN! ” Okay, that one was super excessive.

Daron apparently decides that this is the best time to jumpscare me, because he instantly says, “DO YOU WANNA BE MY PARTNER?” Well, he didn’t say it that loud, but he sounded way too enthusiastic when he said it.

I really want to reject him just to see the defeated look on his face, but I’m really just a loser with no friends. Yeah, I’ve accepted it now. So, I say yes, reluctantly. I see his eyes light up like I just said ‘yes’ to his marriage proposal. Oh my god, I don’t want to think about that.

Mr. Taylor gives us this boring monologue, screaming and all, about how to bench properly. It’s stupid, honestly, because as a professional non-weightlifter, even I know how to use a bench press. He, of course, gets way too into it, when he’s literally only lifting the bar. I think the bar is about 50 pounds, if that.

Daron also finds this hilarious , his face going red from trying not to laugh. For the first time ever, we actually agree on something: Mr. Taylor is a fucking nutjob .

Once we finally get to lifting, I let Daron go first, because I don’t feel like moving my body right now.

“Can I tell you something, Nick?”

I don’t really want him to, but curiosity gets to me. “Sure.”

He gets on the bench, planning to lift just the bar to start. “Have you ever done weed before?”

“Excuse me?”

“Y’know, the drug where-”

“I know what weed is, Daron. I’m not an idiot. But why are you asking me that? In the middle of school? ”

He starts his set, and in the middle of a rep, he says, “I feel like drugs make me stronger , y’know?”

“Actually I don’t know, Daron. Please explain.”

“Like- I think weed helps me lift! You should try it too!”

“I don’t think I will.” I pause for dramatic effect. “And I don’t think weed would classify as steroids .”

He huffs. “I swear, they make my voice deeper, too!”

“Placebo effect.”

He huffs again, but this time it’s because he’s putting the bar back on the machine. While he gets some more weight to put on, I decide to interrogate him some more.

“Look, I know you’re like, transgender, or whatever, but do you really think weed of all things makes you more of a man? Or is that just something Anthony told you? I mean, I don’t smoke, and as far as I know, I’m a man.”

He turns around to look at me. “Well, the placebo effect isn’t that bad if it makes me feel better, right?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Did Anthony tell you to think like that? Because then it would be called manipulation, not the placebo effect. In my opinion.”

“So what if he did?” I can feel the anger in his voice as he starts his next set with more gusto than before. Now I’m wondering what Daron would look like if he actually did take steroids. It almost makes me laugh in his face. Thank god I didn’t.

“Like I said, that’s called manipulation, buddy. Do I need to give you a lesson on manipulation?” Why did I call him ‘buddy’?

He gives me a quick side eye, not responding until he’s done with his set. “No, but- I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Let me put it this way. You buy stuff from him, he gets money. You don’t buy stuff from him, he doesn’t have a customer anymore, therefore he doesn’t have side hustle anymore. So, of course he would try to convince a trans guy that drugs make him more of a man, because then he gets another client, which means more money. It’s simple economics, or whatever. That’s why I see it as manipulation.”

“ Ohhh .”

“Yup.” I really have to pop the p to get my point across.

“But-”

“Do I also need to give you a rundown on addiction?”

He sighs. “No…”

“Good. I don’t want to.”

In the end, Daron’s max was about 70 pounds. So much for weed making him ‘stronger’. Wait, did he just confess to using drugs at school? I didn’t even think about that. Where do you even have time to do that? It’s 8 in the morning! I’m no snitch, of course, but man, that’s wild.

I end up maxing at about 100, which isn’t terrible, but not as much as I was expecting. I guess I can’t be too angry, though. Mr. Taylor is making us write them down on this sheet with all our names on it. We’re supposed to compare our max weights at the beginning of the semester to the end of the semester.

Being the nosy person that I am, I looked at everyone else’s maxes. All of them were in the 60-100 range, some a little bit higher, but there was this one guy that somehow got 350? Like, how ?? No one in this class looks like they can do 5 push-ups (me included), let alone bench twice my bodyweight! Maybe he was bluffing, just putting it on the max sheet because… I don’t know, to fuck with Mr. Taylor? I wonder what his max would be…

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I snuck my phone into the weight room. It was pretty easy, actually. It slipped right in my pocket and Mr. Taylor didn’t know a thing . Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a living metal detector. So, after we deal with our maxes, I sit on the bench to look at my phone.

To my surprise, I got a text from Albert. I usually always text him first, because he’s too busy actually living life to text people. Once in a blue moon, he calls me, but never texts. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s in piano class right now, and I know how much he loves piano. So, this must be pretty important.

“Have u heard? Kathleen told me Gerard broke up w Cort”

First of all, since when was Al friends with Kathleen? Second, since when did Gerard have common sense? Third, were Gerard and Courtney dating ? I honestly thought Gerard was gay, but hey, I don’t judge.

I hide my phone from Daron, because I just know he’s the type of person to snoop on other people’s conversations. I’m also not sure if he’s friends with Gerard or Kathleen. I make sure Mr. Taylor isn’t paying attention, and what would you know, he’s doing deadlifts. So, I text him back.

“No? Wut happened?”

“So I heard that Ger got in a fight w Cort, n she ended up w a broken nose. I think thats why shes not here today”

Holy shit, I didn’t think Gerard had it in him to do that.

“Serves her right”

“Eh, Kat said it was pretty gnarly”

Only Al would have the balls to say ‘gnarly’. But if she says that- Kathleen, the girl who punches walls until her knuckles bleed for fun - then I don’t know what to think.

You know, that makes me wonder: how exactly did he do it? Was it just a quick jab or was it more of an uppercut situation? Okay, I think I wanna go talk to Gerard now. Never thought I would say that, but I’m desperate to know. I’m also still desperate for friends.

Chapter 13: Gym Isn't for the Weak pt. 2 (Gerard Way)

Summary:

Gerard and Nick talk things out.

I rlly wana talk 2 Nick >_>! Hez probz still mad @ me 4 bein friendz with Court, but i swearz im a diff man now!!! O yea, abt dat, me n Court had a rlly bad argument at dat party on saturday. It got 2 da point where both of us were cryinggg n screaminggg @ each other… Should i feel bad?? Bcuz i dont, rlly…

K, so herez wut happened: Court got into a fite w these 2 guyz, i forgot who dey were, n den Brian got rlly mad bcuz of dat n left da party. I herd he left w his crush, oooooo!!!!! Anyway, i walked up 2 Court, even tho Kat told me not 2, n we started yellin @ each other, until i ended up punchin her in da nose. Hard. 2 hard. I didnt mean 2 hurt her, i just wantd 2 let her kno dat wut she wuz doin wasnt good, but… yea, shez not doin da best rite now.

She now haz a brokn noze, n mite even b in da hospital, depending on how bad i punchd her… U kno, da main reason i chose weightlifting wuz bcuz i didnt think i wuz strong enouff, but ig dats not tru. Court, if ur seein dis, im srry :’(((( only a little bit, tho.

So now my mission iz 2 spy on Nick. I like spyin on pplz :3 NOT IN A CREEPY WAY, but bcuz im a drama fiend. I LUV heering abt drama, wich is kinda bad when i putz it dat way… whatevs. I seez Nick n Damon talkin outside da locker room, blocking my way… if he didnt wana b talked 2, then dont block my freakin way!!! >:[

I walk up 2 dem, and dey both stare at me liek, ‘wtf is wrong wit u?’ and den i open my mouth 2 say smth 2 Nick.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Shut up, Damon!” Nick shoutz 2 Damon, and he shutz up. It almost makez me lol >v<!! He den sayz 2 me, “So, I heard you’re done with Courtney, huh?”

He leanz againzt da wall, and i almost blush >///< idk y… but WAIT… HE wuz meanin 2 b talking 2 ME???? WTFFF!?!?

“Oh, um… yeah, I guess so.” I respondz, a little flusterd.

“So, like, what happened? Finally had enough of her shit?”

I place my hand on da back of my neck. “You could say that, yeah.”

“Oh yeah, were you two dating ?”

“Nick, they’re obviously both fags.”

“ You’re one to talk.”

Damon kickz Nick in da shin, and i wana do dat 2 Damon >:[ (i dont liek Damon) “No, we weren’t dating. It’s just that she tried manipulating me last year. She pinned me against one of my friends for who knows why. I’m just a bit fed up with her, that’s all.”

Nick getz back up n tellz me, “Oh, what’s new. She’s been tryna manipulate me since freshman year.” He leenz in closr, and im scareeed!! @~@ “Don’t take this the wrong way, buddy, but she couldn’t care less about you. Take it from her ex.”

Omg… i thinkz im gona puke!! Not bcuz Nick d8ed Court, but bcuz I dont liek bein told dis by sum1 i barely kno, but sum1 had 2 say it i guess…

“He probably thinks you’re crazy , man…” Damon sayz 2 Nick, and da look dat Nick givez him is just PRICLESS XD!! Hez all liek, ‘who da fuq do u think u r??’

“Get outta here, Damon! I didn’t even wanna talk to you!” Nick flipz him off. Once Damon leavz, Nick talkz 2 me again. “So, the other two in that clique? Do they hate her now, too?”

I nodz my head. He grinz @ me, n hez kinda creepy, ngl… >~< NO OFFENSE!!!

“Yeah, they kinda always didn’t like Courtney… at least, that’s the vibe that I got from them.”

“Mhm, not surprised.” Nickz face still haz da weerd smile on it :[ “So, you guys just acted buddy-buddy for the hell of it, or…”

“No, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Well, then what would you call it?”

“I would call it… being the only weird people in this school.”

Nickz smile FINALLY dropz. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“Well… No one really dresses like we do. I mean, your fashion’s cool and all, but it’s not, like… alternative enough, if that makes sense?” I rlly hope im makin sense >_<

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, and no one really wants to talk to us, because I think people are too scared of us, or something?”

Nick sighz, and i get rlly scared again O_o “They’re not scared of you , Gerard. I mean, look at you.” well ok Nick… :[ “They’re scared of Courtney . They don’t talk to you because of association. God , why is everybody so oblivious around here?”

Idk wut he meanz by da last sentence, but whatevs. “I guess… but why did nobody tell me about her weird behavior until now?”

“Oh, they tried, you just wouldn’t listen.”

“Huh?”

I seriusly need Nick 2 stop sighin so much… “Well, if everyone except you hates her, then using your common sense, which you don’t seem to have-” ok, im startingz not 2 liek Nick, either >:[ “-then you would’ve found out a while ago that Courtney fucking sucks .”

“Oh… well, okay then…”

“Sorry if that seemed too harsh, it’s just-” he holdz his face in hiz handz, “Sometimes people just frustrate me, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Im lookin @ u, Court >_>...

Damon popz his head out of da door 2 da locker room. “Guys, you have, like, 2 minutes left, get in here!”

We kinda ignore him 4 a sec, but den we listen, bcuz i dont wana b l8 2 my next class!! i liek art class a lot…

“So, you wanna be, like, friends or something now?” Nick askz me, n i couldnt say yes soonr. “Cool. And no more talking to Courtney, alright?”

“Yeah…” i learnd my lesson :((((

“Oh, by the way, did you actually break her nose?”

O yea… forgot ab dat… “Yeah…”

“Hell yeah, that bitch deserved it.” Nick fistbumpz me, n his hand is freezing!!! @~@ But hey, @ leest i haz a nu friend!!

Chapter 14: A Lesson in History pt. 1 (Isaac Brock)

Summary:

After a conversation with Mr. Murphy, Mr. Brock realizes the one most important thing to do with your students: communicate.

Notes:

Finally a teacher's POV! Who better to do that than with Mr. Modest Mouse himself, Isaac Brock?

This has got to be the weirdest way I’ve ever gotten a job. A teaching job, no less.

Have I gone to college? Hell no. Have I finished high school? Also no. That’s already two strikes, and two big ones. Am I a history nerd, though? Ehh… depends on what type of history. I could list you all the major towns in Idaho, but I couldn’t tell you which war Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in. That’s obviously an exaggeration, I know he was killed in a world war… not sure which one, though.

My useless knowledge of the world’s borders seemed to win over Principal Davis, though. A few months ago, he literally emailed me something like, “Hey, would you mind being a geography teacher for a school? We’re short staffed, and the help would be nice”. That was the gist of it, at least. I guess my online portfolio filled with photos from across America eventually did help me get a job. Also, it turns out that Principal Davis is new to his job as being principal, so he has no experience, either. Go figure.

So, now I’m the only AP geography teacher in this school. I was given free reign in terms of decorating my classroom, and boy, did I deliver. All the trinkets in my garage have been itching to be used, and this was the perfect time to put them on display. All those taxidermied animals, all those metal scraps, and that big, obnoxious portrait of me that stares into my soul whenever I get in my car. Now I can finally put them out for the world to see. Or, more likely, just my students, who will be equally as terrified of my portrait. It’s cool and all, and really well done, but the thing’s, like, 7 feet tall.

My first day was about three weeks ago, when school started. So far, I don’t mind the job. It’s pretty simple, really; the lessons are already there in the geography book, I just have to verbalise it. I’ve also thought about some fun projects the kids could do. One that I’ve come up with (and the only one I’m actually willing to share) is to make up a country and its own currency, laws, and whatnot. I figure that’ll be for the end of the semester, when the students actually know what the hell they’re doing. I’m planning to build up their knowledge and ease them into that project instead of dunking them headfirst into ruling an imaginary country.

Before all that, though, I need to eat breakfast. Usually, I eat something small in the morning, like a granola bar, and, if I’m feeling groggy, a cup of coffee along with it. Today, I’m tired, and I didn’t have the time to make a cup of joe at home. So, I decided that it’s a good time to head down and utilize the teacher's lounge for a good ol’ cup of energy. I’ve never been down here before, but surely they must have drinks there. Otherwise, the room would be practically useless.

I open the door, and the strong smell of coffee beans immediately punches my nostrils, and I see who I think is Mr. Murphy (the only teacher I remember, ever since that one time he told me where my room was) with his back turned to me, facing the coffee machine. Bingo.

After the machine’s done sputtering out it’s precious juice, Mr. Murphy turns around and jumps when he sees me.

“ Ohmygod -” He holds a hand to his chest, like he’s having a heart attack, “Oh- sorry, I’m usually the only one down here in the mornings. How long have you been standing there..?”

“About a minute or so.” I take a couple steps closer, seeing a couple clean mugs on the counter. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have been staring at you like that.”

I get close enough to see that the cups have little sayings on them, like ‘#1 teacher’ and ‘Be kind’. I almost laugh, but then Mr. Murphy elbows my arm.

“You want some?” He holds up the coffee pot in his hand.

“Sure.”

He pours himself some coffee, then he pours me one in the mug that I chose: ‘This smile can kill’. Something about that stood out to me, like it was making fun of itself. Perfect for a man like me.

“Isaac, right? That was your first name?” I nod, and he says, “You can call me James. Or, I guess, Mr. Murphy. I don’t really care.” He then gestures to the coffee machine. “I usually leave this out, just in case any other teachers feel tired throughout the day. Sure, the coffee’s gonna get cold, but true teachers never complain about cold coffee.”

I walk to sit down at one of the small tables scattered around the dingy room. I don’t need any sweetener or creamer. I don’t mind my coffee black. James is definitely right - tired people shouldn’t complain about their coffee, because even if it’s bitter and tastes like shit, it helps me stay awake.

James doesn’t seem to agree on that part. He adds a lot of creamer into his cup, with a couple packets of sugar along with it. As he’s doing this, he mentions, “I remember one time, the history teacher before you, Mr. Thompson had put 6 packets of sugar into his coffee. He took a sip, and then went, ‘hm. Not sweet enough’. Truly an interesting man.”

“Sounds like it.” I say, blowing off the steam of my drink, like that’ll do anything.

“So, who’s your favorite student so far?” James asks while stirring his coffee, leaning on the counter.

“Shouldn’t you not have favorites with this sort of job?”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re not supposed to, but it happens sometimes. You just get attached to certain students, you know? Like, for example, I taught Mr. Benjamin a while back, when I was first starting here. He was just about the best fucking writer I’ve ever seen. And look where he is now!” 

Fuck, I’m not good at remembering names. Mr. Benjamin… Is he the gym teacher? No, that’s Corey, and Corey Benjamin just doesn’t sound right to me. It has to be the art teacher, right? Wait no, that’s Mr. Bennett . Well, it’s obviously not James’ last name, because you can’t teach yourself, unless you do all that wacky time machine bullshit and go back 30 years to see yourself. Too many hypotheticals with that possibility. Yeah… I have no idea who Mr. Benjamin is.

“Who?”

James almost spits out his coffee. “Mr. Benjamin. Andre Benjamin. That doesn’t ring a bell to you?”

“No, not really.” Shit, he’s probably said hi to me before, or something.

“He’s one of the band teachers. The really obnoxious, really fucking cool one. You know, the one with all his colorful outfits and crazy hairdos?” He phrases it as a question, like I’ve ever seen this guy in my life. Though, I surely want to now , after that description.

“We’re on opposite sides of the building then, basically. He seems like a cool guy, though.”

“He sure is. You guys would make a killer team.” He pauses. “Now, your favorite student?”

Oh, right. Let me think… There’s not much to go off of. It’s been three weeks, and no one stands out to me. Positively, at least. “I mean, I definitely know the students that I don’t like, but I kinda feel bad for saying that-”

James laughs, almost like a damn psychopath. “Isaac, that’s totally normal. Every teacher has students that they don’t like. I can tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Deal.”

He takes another long sip from his mug and walks toward my table, setting his cup down as he sits across from me. His mug reads, ‘Proud English nerd’, like it’s made for him.

“I’ll tell you the ones I had a couple years ago, James and Lars. Another James, of course. They were the talk of the school, some would say, a few years back. Classic cases of class clowns. They pulled pranks on the teachers all the time. They started off as little things, like a whoopie cushion, or that one day they kept answering all my questions with ‘42’, whatever that means. For their senior prank, though, they vandalised Mr. Taylors car by keying it. That was the turning point for us teachers. We were already fed up with them, but we didn’t think they had it in them to commit a crime. That prank was less of a prank and more of a vendetta against the guy. I still feel bad for him.”

Damn. If I was Mr. Taylor (who, I think is Corey, but I might be wrong), I would’ve sent those guys to jail.

“What happened to them?”

“Oh, they just paid a fine. Of course, their parents paid for it, but they were not happy. They weren’t happy with Mr. Taylor, of all people. Sure, he can be a bit… aggressive at times, but if your kids key his car, I’m not sure if they’re any better…”

I need a moment to process that. Okay, so seniors, which are most of the kids I teach, pull senior pranks? I’ve never been a senior, since I dropped out junior year (again, it’s a shock that I’m here, right now), so knowing that senior pranks actually happen is one thing, but knowing that a senior prank can involve crimes is another.

Then I realize that I still have to share my part of the deal. “Well… there's this one student of mine, Kurt. Don’t know why, but he keeps picking on this one kid named Elliott. I saw him making fun of Elliott’s appearance, but they both insist that it’s playful banter. But I have a feeling that there’s more that’s going on, y’know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” James leans back in his chair. “My guess is either they actually are playing around, or Kurt’s jealous of something that Elliott’s got. Have you talked to Kurt or Elliott one-on-one?”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about doing that.”

“Well, there you go. Come here tomorrow and tell me what happens, I’m curious.”

I agree, and shortly after, the bell rings. James tells me, “Don’t worry about bringing the mug with you in your room. Jonathan doesn’t really care, as long as you bring it back here by the end of the day.”

“Who’s Jonathan?”

“The Principal…?”

“Oh.”

Fuck, I really need to remember these people’s names.

Notes:

This chapter's pretty short, but I'm pretty proud of it. Expect an occasional teacher POV every now and then from now on ;)

Chapter 15: A Lesson in History pt.2 (Kurt Cobain)

Summary:

Kurt and Elliott talk it out, like reasonable people do. It ends up being so much more.

Notes:

Wow, okay. This chapter started off as an innocent idea, but I ended up listening to too much Elliott Smith and this ended up getting pretty carried away with the heavy subject matter. I guess that makes sense.

 

CW: IMPLICATIONS OF ABUSE. PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER IF NEEDED.

It all started out as a joke, I swear it did. I thought his shoes looked funny, and I pointed it out. He didn’t take it that well, but he said it was ‘fine’. So then on the next day I said his hair was messy. He laughed, and I took that as a sign to keep going. Then I said his clothes were wrinkled. He stopped laughing. We stared at each other, and he smiled at me.

It also started out of jealousy. The fact that this kid, whose mom got remarried, was still so sad just made me angry. Really, really angry. He has it better than me. It got to the point where I had to make fun of him. As a joke, of course.

Then it got strange. He commented on my bangs, and how they covered my eyebrows. I laughed. It was true, they did. Then, I pointed out his shoes again. They were different, and the laces were untied. He looked like he wanted to cry. I looked at him, then his shoelaces, then his face again. We didn’t talk for the rest of class.

For the next couple days, he wasn’t there. I didn’t mention it when he came back. I didn’t talk to him for the rest of the week, and not once did he come up to me. I didn’t want him to, anyway.

The next week, a couple of days ago, I walked up to him again. He looked up at me from his desk as I sat on it. I looked down at him and said, “you’re weird”. I wanted to see how he would react. He didn’t move a muscle. He just stared up at me with empty eyes that told me nothing. I fiddled with his pencil, I tapped it on his desk a few times. Then, I put it back, and I went to my seat. He looked back at me for a second, and turned around again. I’m not sure what that meant.

Yesterday, he came up to me, saying how I got a haircut. I did, and it was noticeable. I wanted people to notice. The hair was now off my eyebrows, and the back was shorter. I told him to fuck off and shoved him away from my desk. Mr. Brock noticed, I could see it in his eyes. I told him that it didn’t mean anything. He didn’t look convinced.

I don’t know what’ll happen today. I don’t know why I talk to him, or why he talks to me. It’s all so confusing.

I walk into Mr. Brock’s class, expecting him to be sitting at his desk, but no. He’s talking to Mr. Brock. They both looked tense. Mr. Brock looked at me for a split second, then back to him. I couldn’t see his face, couldn’t hear his voice, but I knew something was wrong.

I sat at my desk, taking out a pencil and tapping on the wood. I stared at the front of the room, analyzing all the animals perched on different walls, the weird art decor and the portrait of Mr. Brock at the back of the room, staring off into the distance. This didn’t mean anything. Nothing meant anything.

A couple minutes later, after the bell rang, he went back to his desk. His eyes were slightly puffy, he was sniffling, and his head was down. I felt bad. Really, really bad. But I couldn’t say sorry. It was all a joke. That’s what it meant.

I didn’t pay attention to Mr. Brock’s lecture. I never did, and never will. I have better things to worry about, like scribbling down my thoughts on paper.

After his lesson is done, Mr. Brock pulls me aside. I get up, making sure to smile at him as I walk to Mr. Brock’s desk. He doesn’t react, just stares at me from his desk. I don’t get him.

“Elliott told me that you’ve been making fun of him.” He says. “Is this true?”

I tell him I thought he was in on the joke. Mr. Brock asks, “What joke?” and I pause. I don’t know what the joke is. Is it that he has a father? Is the joke that I’m jealous?

I tell Mr. Brock everything. I tell him that I am jealous, and I was being a jerk, and that Elliott doesn’t deserve anything I told him. This is the first time that I’m actually saying his name out loud. It’s when I’m talking to Mr. Brock. I didn’t even say his name before now.

He stares at me and nods. He looks at Elliott, then back to me, and leans forward.

“Tell him what you told me, and tell him that you’re sorry. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Mr. Brock was right; he understands. He understands it all. After school on the bus, he tells me about his childhood. He tells me everything that I need to know, because I want to understand him as much as he wants to understand me. I listen, and I nod, just like Mr. Brock. It feels nice, to let the feelings pour out. To watch him cry, but not because of me, this time.

Elliott holds his head in his hands and cries. I make sure no one is looking at him. He knows it’s okay to cry, because I make him feel safe. I make him feel safe. It feels nice. Really, really nice.

He invites me to his house. We’re on the same bus stop, and I tell him that, really, it’s okay. I just wanted to apologize, and he didn’t need to do anything else but listen. But he insists. So, I go to his house.

My mom won’t be back until 6. I have a few hours to hang out with this kid I barely know, but also know everything about. We end up listening to music in his room, and we bond over his vinyls. He tells me they were his dad’s, his real dad’s. It’s the only thing that he’s kept from his dad over the years. I can’t say the same.

He also tells me about Charlie, and to just call him ‘Charlie’, and nothing more. Technically, he’s Elliott’s step-dad. He says that I could protect him from Charlie, be his guardian angel. That’s what he called me, his ‘guardian angel’. I don’t want that much power.

He hugs me, and all that doubt melts away. I could protect him, show him that death wasn’t the right option, and show Charlie that his step-son is not to be messed with.

I tell him that it feels like I knew him before we even met. He tells me the same. Then, I tell him that I didn’t mean anything that I said in Mr. Brock’s classroom. Anything that I said or did, and that it was only because I was jealous. He tells me that I said that already, and I laugh. I laugh for longer than I want to. And then I cry. We both do.

We hold each other while listening to the Beatles. We sit like this for half an hour, before Charlie comes back. Elliott whispers to me that I need to stay in his room while he talks with Charlie. He gets up and closes the door behind him, and I hear yelling. I hear this older man, whose voice sounds shot, screaming, saying that he wasn’t good enough. Elliott comes back into the room without saying a word. I hear heavy footsteps approaching, and pounding on the door. Elliott tells me that this was normal, that Charlie would go away. But Charlie stays for a while. He says through the door, “I know your boyfriend is in there, Eli.” It sounds like an accusation, an insult.

Elliott isn’t gay, he just needs a friend. He told me that on the bus. He doesn’t want to go to college, and he doesn’t want to end up lonely. He told me that he met friends, but didn’t feel comfortable telling this stuff to them. He didn’t want to be left alone with Charlie, and now I understand why.

Charlie does end up leaving, and Elliott gives me an idea. I could escape through his window. It’s 5:30 at this point, and I need to leave soon. He opens the window, lets the late summer breeze hit his face, then tells me to go. His room is on the second floor, but under the window is a slanted roof and about a 10 foot drop. He tells me that it’s safe, and that he’s tried to escape this way before. I trust him.

I give him my digits, and he says that he’ll call me at 7. I go out the escape path with no injuries, and after a 5 minute walk, I’m back home. I go to my room, and act like nothing happened. I scribble down some more drawings. I wait for his phone call. I need to know that he is alright.

He calls me at 7:05. His voice is hushed, right above a whisper. He insists that he’s fine. I don’t believe him. His mom is home, too. He could trust his mom, he says. I believe that part. He complains about his step-siblings, tells me how his mom cares more about them than her own son. But he still trusts her. He really, really did.

He starts choking out sobs, and then he tells me that we could talk more tomorrow, in Mr. Brock’s class. Where it all began. We say goodbye to each other, and that’s it. I’m left in silence. I hold my phone up to my ear for about 5 minutes before finally putting it away.

I throw away all those drawings I scribbled for the past hour. I can’t stand to look at them now. I need them gone . But at least he was alright.

I haven’t taken a shower in a few days. Things get busy, and I forget. I text him: “u shood shower, thats wut helps me relax”. He replies: “ok, will do”. I really hope that he’s okay. I need him to be okay. I really, really hope he is.

Notes:

Alright, the next chapters will be way more lighthearted, don't worry. You just have to expect anything involving Elliott Smith will have a lot of angst.

Chapter 16: Band Class is Kick-Ass (Pelle Almqvist)

Summary:

Pelle and Niklas have it out for each other, even though they play completely different instruments. No hate like brotherly love, amirite?

Notes:

In real life, Pelle and Niklas are a few years apart (Niklas being a few years older), but in this story, I'm gonna make them twins for simplicity's sake. You probably wouldn't have noticed, nor cared if I didn't point this out, but this is just in case any hardcore Hives fans are confused about that. Cheers!

Also, yes. I am a band kid. Some would call me a band nerd, and I can't say I disagree with them.

Also also, there is a bit of google translated Swedish (literally in the first paragraph). I'm sorry to my ancestors, and I'm double-sorry to any Swedes that decide to read this.

Jag hatar det här. Jag önskar att jag kunde åka tillbaka till Sverige igen. Livet skulle vara så mycket lättare om jag inte behövde lära mig ett annat nonsensspråk. Jag kan åtminstone göra narr av folk med min bror, Niklas. Ingen kommer att förstå oss, och de kommer inte bry sig om att fråga, för alla tycker att vi är konstiga. Jag vet att du inte kan förstå mig, och det är meningen. Kommer du bry dig om att översätta detta? Om det är ett ja, så har jag ett viktigt meddelande till dig: sug min kuk.

Anyway, band class. When my brother and I lived in Sweden, we decided to play a classic game of Rock Paper Scissors to decide which one of us got which instrument. We both wanted to play the clarinet, but obviously we did not want to pick the same instrument. That bastard cheated, I tell you what. I swear, he read my mind. He got the clarinet, if you could not tell.

So I had to search for other instruments. There were so many – frankly too many to remember for a young secondary school kid – but I settled on trumpet, because it was the second easiest instrument to play. That is why Niklas and I wanted to play the clarinet; all you have to do is blow at the right angle, and herregud, you make sound!

I like playing the trumpet. Sure, it can be a pain in the arse at times, but hey, it is better than whatever the flute players have to do. Seriously, if I were them, I would complain about all the high notes. Sometimes it sounds like their instruments are getting strangled if they go too high.

I am pretty good at it, too, if I do say so myself. I’ve been playing in the marching band these past couple years, and Mr. Benjamin has been giving me numerous compliments about my playing ever since. Mirakulös.

Niklas decided to join the school’s jazz band. He is the only clarinet player. He does not even like jazz, as far as I know. 

We are also in the same band class, and I love to creep up behind him and blast a random note in his ear. I do not know why he never learns.

While this is all fun and what not, there is something more important going on this week. Very, very important, especially to our egos. New band placements.

If you are not aware of how band placements work, it is basically when everyone in the band gets the same piece (with some necessary changes, of course; a tuba and a flute have a few differences, if you can imagine) and then they play it in front of the teacher. Simple enough, right?

Wrong! Niklas has been getting in my head about my audition. Whenever I start playing in my room, he always barges in, saying how I sound terrible. Over one dinner, he even told me I would probably be last in the trumpet section (there are about 10 of us). Of course, mum told him to apologize, and he did, but the bare minimum. We squinted our eyes at each other after he mumbled a ‘sorry’, and he kept making fun of me when we were alone. He already won the instrument battle, so why is he still fighting me? It makes no sense.

I know he is just being a brother, and brothers are supposed to fight. At least, that is what my father told me. He has a big family with 4 brothers and 2 sisters, and they fought all the time.

But maybe, just maybe, I do not want to fight my brother. I just like my peace and quiet, especially when I am trying to practice playing my trumpet.

Tomorrow is when I am doing my audition. Of course, Niklas will not shut up about it, since he is planning to go right after me. Part of me wants to whack him with my trumpet, another wants to break his clarinet, and the third is telling me both of those ideas would get me grounded. Maybe I should listen to the last voice, but the others are very tempting.

“I can hear you playing your trumpet.” Niklas says to me as we are all eating dinner together. Well, he says it in Swedish, but I will translate the conversation for you. Du är välkommen.

That sentence puts everyone on edge, even dad. He is usually the most calm out of all of us, but the last time Niklas mentioned anything about my trumpet, we would not stop arguing. So, I wait for him to explain himself with squinted eyes.

“You’re really loud.”

I do not respond right away, mostly because I have a meatball in my mouth, but also because I need to think of the perfect response to get him to shut up.

After I swallow my bite, I respond with, “Thank you.” It is simple, and there is nothing to say after someone says thank you, right?

Again, I am wrong.

“Does your mouth ever get sore after you play? You sound like you’re overblowing your instrument.”

This time, I do not take any time to respond. “Am not. Maybe you just have sensitive hearing.”

“You have always hated loud noises.” Mum points out.

“And besides, being loud isn’t a bad thing, Niklas . That might actually make me a better player.”

Niklas pouts, and I smile at the sight. He pokes at his food, which is almost finished, then takes a final bite before getting up to put his plate in the sink. Before he leaves, though, he says this:

“I’m going to practice for a bit.”

Our parents nod, but I have to force myself not to smile. I know what I am going to do. I am not going to ruin his audition, per se, but I am going to annoy him in the best way I can.

I leave my plate empty (apart from the sauce, but what is sauce without meatballs? I tell you: useless decoration!) and also put it in the sink. I make my way upstairs, not before saying what I will be doing, as well.

“I’m also going to practice.”

I can already hear Niklas shuffling around his room when I walk past it. A smile creeps up my face while I put together my trumpet, waiting for my time to strike.

I lie on my bed for a few minutes, playing around with my trumpet. Once I feel it is a good time to execute my plan, I open my door, silently shutting it behind me as I walk across the hallway to stand in front of Niklas’ door. I try my best not to snicker, and in the middle of him practicing his audition, I blast out a high C.

“Pelle, shut up!” He shouts from the other side. I hold my laughter in, instead playing an even higher D. I am surprised mum did not yell at me for playing out in the hall, but I will not complain.

When he does not respond, I go past my limits and play an E. That is when I hear him stomping to his door, and I scurry into the bathroom and lock it. He opens his door and yells my name again, this time into the hall. When I do not respond (my face is going red from containing myself), I hear him barging into my room and screaming my name once more. Then, he stops. I can tell he stops, because it is silent, and then he mumbles something I cannot discern.

After he slams the door to his room behind him, I come out of the bathroom. This time, I start playing my audition. At least, what I can remember off the top of my head. I make sure to press my bell to the wood of his door, and Niklas groans.

I hide in the bathroom again, purposely leaving my bedroom door open. Niklas comes out of his room once more, this time closing it right after. I suppose he did not want to bug me again, especially since I was not in my room. Otherwise, I would have closed my door. But then where could I possibly be?

Then I start playing in the bathroom, my trumpet aimed toward the wall that connects to his room. It is very echoey, and very loud. That makes it even better.

Niklas stops playing his clarinet for the third time, but I do not stop playing. In a matter of seconds, he is banging on the door and twisting the knob.

“Shut the hell up, Pelle!”

This time, I let laughter pour out of me, almost hitting my head on the toilet from laughing too hard.

“What, was I too loud?”

“Yes, you-” He stops himself, realising mum and dad can hear. I assume he was going to curse me out for the millionth time this week, but now he is scared because our parents are in the way. What a scaredy cat, am I right?

I open the door and play a note in his face, and he almost knocks the thing out of my hands. If he actually did do that, I would have yelled for dad straight away. Okay, maybe I am not much better than him after all…

We mutually decide we will no longer complain about each other’s playing until we are both done with our auditions. It will be hard (mostly for Niklas), but a deal is a deal.

---

It is now the next day and Niklas and I are being dropped off from the bus. The case for my trumpet is much bigger than his, and it almost whacks the bus driver as I pass him. Just another reason to hate the trumpet.

Anyway, I head toward the band room as Niklas gets stopped by one of his friends who I do not remember the name of. He is kind of short and has long curly hair, but otherwise, there is nothing that stands out about him to me.

That is when I hear the unmistakable laugh of my friend, Jimmy. Well, I am not too sure if we are friends or acquaintances. I think Jimmy is very funny, but I would never let him into my home. He is a school friend and nothing more.

Anyway, he rounds the corner and we make eye contact.

“What’s up, Pel?” He has never said my full name before, and I am not sure he ever will. He then nudges me with his elbow, perhaps a bit too rough. “You doing your audition?”

“Yeah.”

“I just did mine,” he says, maybe with a bit more pride than he should have. “I think I did pretty good.”

A lot more pride than he should have. He is in the lowest band (out of four total); not to say that is bad, but he is a senior. He has been in that band for three years and has not moved up once. I believe he is the only senior who is in that band, and is also the oldest tuba player. As far as I know, he is in no other band except for that one. So you should believe me when I say I do not believe him when he says he did ‘pretty good’.

We stare at each other for a moment before I remember that I have to respond. “Oh- um, I’m sure you did.”

He proceeds to wrap an arm around me and tells me about all the things that happened in his band class. It was very strange, and very boring. It must have been exciting for him, though I didn’t know any of the people he was referring to, so his stories got confusing fast.

I eventually have to stop him to remind him that I have an audition to do, and he (reluctantly) lets me do my thing. I am not sure if being acquaintances with Jimmy is a good idea.

I put together my trumpet, and guess who walks in. Niklas.

“You ready, brother?” He asks me in Swedish, and I stick my tongue out at him.

He starts putting together his instrument as well, and I run out of there as soon as I am ready, because Jimmy wasted all my practice time.

Mr. Benjamin is in his office, and my heart suddenly skips 10 beats. He is not threatening, nor is Mr. Patton, but they are very strict when it comes to their grading. Even though I will not be here next year, they will still put me on the level of all the underclassmen. It is fair, I do admit, but sometimes being fair is scary.

I knock on his office door, and Mr. Benjamin waves me inside. We make some small talk before I sit in the chair on the other side of the room from his desk. He averts all of his attention from his computer to my instrument (or rather the paper to grade my instrument), and that is when my fingertips start to sweat. It does not help that the room is incredibly humid.

“Start whenever you want to.” He says, writing down on the piece of paper in front of him.

I take a deep breath, let it out, then take a deeper breath to start playing. I get about halfway through my audition, and my face starts heating up. Knulla, I forgot to breathe, because of course I did. So, I have to stop for about a beat before I continue. That will definitely get rid of some points.

Otherwise, I think I did ‘pretty good’, but actually ‘pretty good’. Niklas and I are in the second highest band, and while being in the highest band can get you bragging rights, it is not very ideal if you have other stuff you want to do, because it takes up so much of your time.

I get out of there, my hands still sticky, and Niklas is right outside. Förbaskat, was he there the whole time?

“Sounded pretty loud.” 

I want to punch him in the face.

Notes:

I keep getting writer's block oh my GOODNESS 😭😭 Good thing is that I have a bunch of unfinished chapters now, so I can wrap those up and get another part out (relatively) quickly.

Chapter 17: Mr. Sandman, Bring me a Drink pt. 1 (Olivia Rodrigo)

Summary:

Olivia hates Nick. Or does she? (she does) And now she has to deal with him in math class. How exciting!

Notes:

Well well well, look who's back. Me, that's who.

Now that I have free time from graduating + ADHD medication, it's safe to say that this story is not abandoned anymore. I mean, I'll end this story EVENTUALLY, but that won't be until well into the future (at least a year).

I was thinking of making a sorta sequel to this, but a college AU, and with less fandoms (seriously, juggling all these people around is a CHALLENGE). In order to do that, though, I need to know what the college experience is like, and... I just don't. But I will next year! And the year after that... and after that... and the final year after that one. 4 years to gain knowledge about college. How exciting? Maybe? I have no clue.

Anyway. Enjoy some harmless fun. Cheers.

I’m so fucking fed up right now. So. Fed. Up!

First, my boyfriend broke up with me because he’s in college now or whatever, and he “needs to move on to bigger and better things”. Like, did our 4 month relationship mean nothing to you? And now I have to deal with this? This is just the cherry on top of this stupid month. Let me tell you why.

I like math class. Mr. Sandman’s kinda freaky, but he’s pretty chill, and his lessons don’t bore me to death nearly as much as last year’s teacher, Mr. Lennon. That guy had no idea what he was talking about most of the time. He would just half-ass his way through class with half-baked metaphors that kinda related to math, but not really. Seriously dude, this is algebra, not slam poetry. Oh, and there were rumors that he cheated on his wife. Awkward!!

That’s not what I’m talking about though, no no no. Mr. Sandman did nothing wrong yet (Mr. Lennon, on the other hand…), but someone just had to ruin that class, just like everything else in my life. Just my luck.

Do you know Nick Valensi? I’m not sure many people do, because he doesn’t want people to talk to him apparently, even though he’s, like, a giant. Maybe it’s best if you don’t know him… but I guess I can tell you what my deal is with him.

So I tried talking to him a couple years ago. We were in art class, and I really liked his jacket, because it looked cool. It had all these patches and pins on it, and I wanted to compliment him. In theory, this would’ve been a great conversation starter, right? Apparently not, because before I could even talk to him, he had the audacity to look at me like I was one of his ex girlfriends.

“What do you want?” He asked me in the most ticked-off voice imaginable.

I told him, “I just wanted to say I like your jacket. It’s really badass.”

Insert awkward pause and very judgy side-eye. “...Okay?”

The conversation ended at that, and I gave him my best stink face, but it didn’t look like he even cared. He just continued finishing whatever stupid project he was doing, acting like I never talked to him. I wanted to stomp on it sooo bad.

Nick’s head is too far up his own ass to realize why no one likes him. He’s just way too much of a jerk. I can hear him saying all the time that he needs more friends, but pushes people away before they can even get close. I mean, he’s handsome and all, he just has a rotten attitude. Like, take a compliment, dude!

Oh, and his two henchmen aren’t off the hook either. I don’t care if Gerard isn’t friends with Courtney anymore, he’s still that weird little freak from elementary school who liked to give the girls bugs he found on the ground to ‘flirt with them’. No idea who the British kid is, but he needs to get out of that friendship ASAP.

If this was it, I wouldn’t have that much of an issue. Sure, I’d prefer not to have Nick in any of my classes, but I can’t really do anything about that. No, it gets so much worse.

Nick is so totally in love with Hayley, one of my besties. It makes me wanna puke . I thought the guy was gay, because of the way he talked to me and how he seemed to hate women, but I was wrong. Am I that petty? Duh, but I’m a feminist, after all. I gotta stay on the lookout for pricks like Nick, so I can warn all the other girls to stay away.

You may be asking: how do I know he has a crush on Hayley? Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that he chose to sit right next to her on the first day of school, and feels the need to explain every single math problem to her like she’s a damn baby. It’s so infuriating! I just wanna punch him in that stupid mouth of his so he can finally shut up for once his- sorry, is that too far?

Janelle, my other friend in that class, knows Nick. Or, I guess, she knows of Nick. She’s Alex T’s friend, who’s friends with Paul B, who’s friends with Albert H, who’s then friends with Nick. It’s confusing, I know. She never talked to him before, just heard about him from friends of friends of friends. Again, it’s complicated.

I’m currently squinting my eyes with my arms crossed, leaning back in my chair as I watch Nick stand by her desk, talking about whatever. I don’t care. I just don’t want him near her. Leave her alone, you freak!

The bell eventually rings and Nick makes his way to his desk. I sit right behind him, and I wanna kick his chair so badly. It would be so easy to just annoy the hell out of him. I have to resist! (only because I don’t want to get suspended…)

Mr. Sandman stands up from his desk, ominously walking to the front of the room with a thick pile of paper in his hands. I tap my fingers on my desk, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. I hate worksheets.

“Hello, class.” He says, obviously trying to deepen his voice. I never understand why men do that. “Today I thought we could do something… different for a review.”

Oh god. I don’t like the sound of that. I have no idea what Mr. Sandman considers to be ‘different’ from the norm, as if his teaching style isn’t wack already. He loves riddles, puzzles, anything that makes you think, sorta like Mr. Lennon without the cheating scandal. But I already think enough while doing math! Please don’t let this make me hate him…

“I would like everyone to get into groups of three. Consider these people to be your teammates. Every group shall compete with each other to finish 7 problems that are scattered across the school. Attached to each question is a riddle that gives a hint as to where the questions are located. The first to complete all 7 questions and come back here will get a special prize.”

See? He’s so obsessed with riddles! And how much do you wanna bet that the ‘prize’ is something stupid like a pencil? Such a waste of time.

I look over to Janelle, who’s already staring at me. We give each other a head nod, and we already know Hayley will wanna be in a group with us.

“I shall first pass out one piece of paper to each group. Take a quick look at it, think about the riddles. They’re quite simple, so don’t overthink it.”

Overthinking is my middle name! That’s probably why I don’t like riddles… whatever, enough introspection.

Hayley gets handed one of the worksheets, with Janelle and I looking over her shoulder. Ugh, why is the font so small? I can barely see it from 3 feet away! I scoot my chair to get closer, and it makes this awful SCREEEEEECH noise. Hate when that happens.

The name makes me snicker: “PARTIES Math Review”. There’s nothing about Mr. Sandman that says he likes parties, and definitely nothing about math that would get me to celebrate. It probably means something, but I’m too tired to find it out. Can I just take a nap instead?

I feel a shoe press against mine, and the smile on my face drops instantly. It’s Nick. I know it is. He probably meant to touch Hayley’s shoe. Why did he have to bother me?

“Psst, Olivia.”

So he did mean to tap my shoe. How great.

I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing this is a losing game. I glare to my left, not fully turning my head to give him a heavy side-eye. He stares back at me, with a stupid smirk on his face.

“I got an idea.”

“What.” I snip through my teeth.

By now, he has Janelle and Hayley’s attention too, and his grin only grows wider.

“What if we tried to race each other? Like just between our teams. Who cares about the rest of these people.”

All of us look a little confused, including Gerard and Brit-kid.

“Why would we do that?” I ask, genuinely confused. I swear it’s not just because it’s Nick who said that.

“I dunno, I just thought it would be fun. Also, we all know we can’t beat those guys.”

Nick gestures his head to the back corner of the room, where Carlos, Elliott, and some other random guy I don’t care about. Elliott gives Nick a weak smile and a wave, and I feel so bad.

“Such smartasses.” He shakes his head, waving back.

I roll my eyes, but before I can say anything, Janelle speaks up.

“Yeah, why not?”

She looks at me and Hayley for confirmation, but all I do is pout and cross my arms. Janelle clearly doesn’t understand body language.

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen.” Mr. Sandman silences the class again. “You have 40 minutes to complete these problems. I’m allowing you to walk the halls without supervision because I trust you all. Don’t be stupid, okay?” He checks his watch and says, “Your time starts… now.”

Everyone starts rushing out the door, and total hell breaks loose. I mean, what did he expect? Us not to be stupid?

But before we can follow the herd and start sprinting down the halls, Nick nudges my shoulder.

“Whoever wins gets bragging rights!”

I roll my eyes again, because whatever, we’re totally gonna beat them anyway. No challenge whatsoever. I can imagine Nick getting stumped on the first riddle, that little marble of a brain rattling around as he tries to rub two brain cells together, if he even has that many.

Thankfully, the riddles actually make sense, not smothered in layers of metaphors and symbolism and whatever pretentious poets like to think of in their free time. Makes me shiver just thinking about it. Mr. Sandman even fit it into an acronym. See? I knew the word “Parties” meant something, because sorry, but Mr. Sandman is way too lame to go to parties for fun. What does a guy like him even do at parties? Stand around with a pen and notepad, watching people and writing down what they’re doing? I can see Jimmy doing that.

The first riddle was this: “I’m the world’s biggest bathtub, but I’ll never make you clean.” Janelle, being the genius she is, figured it out right away. It’s the pool, because I totally forgot we had a pool here. That’s probably for the better. It was super gross anyway.

In the span of about 5 minutes, we figured out the rest. Really, it wasn’t that hard. The most difficult part is going to be walking from place to place, and oh god I forgot this is about math.

As we stare at the first problem – a piece of paper held up with some scotch tape on the wall outside the swimming room – I already want to give up. It doesn’t help that there’s other math students here, looking all smart and whatever. Nick and his gang aren't here, so that’s a relief. They totally got lost.

The list of rooms goes as follows: pool, art, reading (library, I guess), teacher’s lounge, internet lab (this one is the least forgivable, because it’s called a computer lab), english, and science. I think the last two are talking about the English and Science hallways, because if we have to actually talk to teachers, then I’m out. I am not talking to old people right now.

I stand back, letting the others discuss the problem while I check my phone. Pretending to look busy is my specialty. I look over my messages, re-reading ones I got from Damon all the way back to when we had a project together freshman year. How did I end up here? How far did I go back?

Before I can think any longer, we’re moving onto the next problem. This’ll be a breeze. We’re totally winning those bragging rights.

Chapter 18: Mr. Sandman, Bring me a Drink pt. 2 (Kele Okereke)

Summary:

Gerard and Kele have some things to discuss about Brian...

Notes:

Look, there's gonna be a lot of side plots going on, so let me just say this: I'll try to make these subplots as easy to follow as possible, meaning that you don't necessarily need to remember what happened to know what's going on in the present. Cool? Cool. Enjoy.

I don’t think I’ve ever been friends with another gay person before. Sure, in London, there were probably plenty of gays walking about, it’s just they weren’t out of the closet, and neither was I. That might’ve caused a bit of an issue, looking back now.

Gerard is not one of those blokes; he wears his pride like a badge. Well, not a physical badge, I suppose, but he doesn’t keep it a secret. He likes everyone, no matter what they identify as. And that’s not to say that we’re only friends because of our orientations, but… that’s basically what I’m saying (Not that Gerard is a bad person).

Now, about Brian; we hung out a couple weeks ago at his place, and we played Pokemon. Or, more accurately, I played Pokemon on my GameBoy while he watched. He kept pointing out things and asking questions, and at some moments we brushed hands, but I didn’t think anything of it. That is, until I mentioned it to Gerard today.

I’m not sure if Gerard and Brian are still friends, or if Brian still has a grudge against Gerard for ditching him at that party a couple weeks ago. I haven’t delved into it that much with Brian in the sparse conversations we’ve had the past couple weeks. What matters is that they’ve been friends for a while, so that means Gerard knows a lot about Brian (and probably vice versa).

“You think Brian likes me?”

“Oh I know he does,” Gerard grabs my shoulder as we’re walking down the math hall, and it scares the shit out of me. I’m not one for physical contact, and I’ve learned Gerard definitely is. “You said you guys played Pokemon at his house, right?”

“Yeah…?” More like me beating the crap out of the trainers’ cute little companions. Seriously, I have no idea why I like that game so much, because if you put it that way, I sound like a bloody psychopath. But what is he trying to get at? Is he trying to be Cupid or summat?

“He’s never played Pokemon before. He never seemed interested, even when I told him about it. That’s really saying something.”

‘Maybe he just doesn’t like you’ is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say that for obvious reasons. Gerard seems like a fine lad – maybe a bit eccentric, but nothing too egregious. Personally, I don’t think of it that way. Maybe the bloke changed his mind on the game, and I’ll gladly show him the world of Pokemon. Anyone who will listen to me rant about a subject for hours on end is a good friend indeed.

“You really think so?” I furrow my eyebrows as we walk down the stairs.

“Yes!! I’m sure of it!”

I sigh. Might as well air the dirty laundry. “You know… I’ve been having a bit of a liking towards Al.”

“What about Al?” Nick chimes in as he opens the door to the first floor.

Shite, I forgot he’s friends with Al. I don’t think I can crawl out of this one.

“Oh, uhm… I was just saying I found him handsome.”

“He’s got a crush on Albert.”

I look at Gerard, and he has a sly smile on his face as he looks at me, as if to say ‘you’re welcome’. Can’t say he’s being ‘helpful’ right now, but at least now I know what his full name is. Albert.

“Oh.” Nick doesn’t even look phased. “Yeah, he’s straight.”

Goddammit.

“Goddammit.”

Shite, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Though, I suppose if it were to be any intrusive thought, at least that one is the most tame. If Nick were to interrogate me about this, he’d find out way more about my crush on Al. Frankly too much.

Thankfully, Gerard laughs. “Yeah, it’s pretty disgusting how many straight people there are in this place.”

“You should’ve seen my school back in London.”

We turn a corner, and Gerard looks at me funny. “Why? Was it worse there?”

Truthfully, no, not really, but the only reason for that is because of all the underclassmen. A good few of them loved free expression, even when all the kids my grade made fun of them. Personally, I was too scared to do anything bold, so I kept quiet, and even had a girlfriend for a while before we broke up after a couple months to ‘stay as friends’. I think she knew. I bet if I did come out, I would have a much different view on that school, but alas, I’m not there anymore. Perhaps that’s for the best.

“No, just… you could tell with the chavs.”

“What are ‘chavs’?”

“Blokes who like attention from other blokes.”

“Sounds pretty gay to me.” Nick adds.

“You’d be surprised.”

We all go silent, eventually walking down the science hall. Nick had the bright idea to try and solve the problems backwards. Summat about wanting to go a different route than the others, so I’ll go with it. First is the Science hall, since that’s what the “S” in “PARTIES” stands for. I’m still confused why Mr. Sandman chose an acronym for all these riddles. It’s a bit strange, in my opinion, since the riddles are pretty simple without the help.

“Here it is!” Nick points to the problem, but Gerard still doesn’t seem satisfied with our previous conversation.

“Would you hypothetically date Brian?”

I know what he’s getting at, so I laugh. Not in a mean way (at least, not on purpose), but because Gerard’s attempt at being subtle. It’s not working.

“I mean, he’s a nice lad, but I’d need to get to know him better.”

“So yes?”

“Yes.”

His face lights up, as if he has an idea. I’m equal parts excited and scared at what he’s planning.

“Alright gossipers, first problem is done, 6 to go.”

“That was fast.” Gerard says, speaking for both of us.

Nick shrugs. “It’s pretty easy.”

Our next stop is the English hallway. I’m still a bit confused about the layout of this school, since back in London, there was a building for every subject. Here, there’s ‘hallways’, which seem to have no rhyme or reason to them. I suppose this is a good way to make me remember.

Right after we turn another corner, Nick stops in his tracks. Gerard and I look at him, not knowing what happened, but as we follow his wide-eyed gaze, we see it too.

At the end of the hallway stands a janitor, covered from head to toe in tattoos. Well not head to toe, but he’s getting there. My school would’ve never allowed him anywhere near our school, but I think the tattoos suit him. He stares at the ground, wiping his mop at who-knows-what on the floor, paying no attention to the three students currently gawking at him.

To Gerard and I, he’s just the young janitor (who’s frankly quite handsome), but to Nick, he’s the key to winning our daft competition with the ladies. How it’ll work, I have no clue, but I’ll gladly sit back and watch it all unfold.

Chapter 19: Mr. Sandman, Bring me a Drink pt. 3 (Travis Barker + Janelle Monae)

Summary:

Janelle's team vs. Nick's team: who will complete the scavenger hunt first?

Notes:

I wanted to try something different with this chapter: switching between two POVs. Feel free to tell me if it’s too convoluted.

Also, Travis in this universe is in his 20's (think 2000's Blink-182 era Travis, but not when he had dreads. That's right, he had dreads). It makes more sense in the context of this story.

TRAVIS

When people say I look like a criminal, I’m like yeah, whatever, that’s understandable. It’s rude, sure, but I’d rather they say it to my face than behind my back. Just cause I have tattoos shouldn’t make me any less reputable, but it’s the world we gotta live in.

You know what’s worse than getting called a criminal though? Taking care of criminals.

I was a probation educator one summer a while back, maybe about 6 years ago. I got fired at my job as a garbage man (or, more accurately, purposely did a bad job so my boss would fire me. It was as much my choice as it was his), so I was on the search for other jobs, and took that one with no experience whatsoever. It ended up working out, so I can’t really complain.

I was shocked to see how many kids there were. Some of them couldn’t have been older than 12, and I had to wonder how they got there. I myself was a troubled kid, vandalising whatever I could get my hands on as a form of pathetic protesting, but I never ended up in a probation facility. Just had to pay some fines and whatever. And that was when I was 15.

One of the young kids stood out to me. His name was Nicholas, but whenever I would call him that, he would throw a fit, yelling that his name was Nick. I understood the sentiment, but did he really need to be so aggressive about it? I can only imagine what he got accused of. It kinda still haunts me to know that kids like him exist.

Here’s the thing: Nick is hard to forget. Not only cause of his attitude, but cause his face looked like it was sculpted from pure marble by one of those deep-thinking sculpturists back in the middle ages. He was only 11, mind you.

Now that I work at a school (the same one I graduated from), I couldn’t ignore the fact that this one dude looked so similar to Nick. He’s a helluva lot taller, but I swear, that guy’s got those same piercing blue eyes. I didn’t wanna ask him about it, cause I wasn’t completely sure if it was him, and it would be pretty weird if I did. ‘Hey, are you that kid who threw a shoe at me that one time cause I got your name wrong? How’ve you been?’ Dunno about you, but I can’t see that going well.

When he’s right in front of me, however, I have no choice but to say something.

“Hey Barker, you think you could help us with something?”

Okay, now I’m aware about my nickname in this school, but why would this person – who I assume is Nick – ask me of all people for a favor?

Preparing for the worst, I clench onto my mop, responding with a quick, “What?”

“How good are you at math?”

That’s when I notice two other people behind him. I’ve seen them before, but not enough to know by name. I’m an alumni, but that’s it; I’m only here for the paycheck, not to make friends.

“Oh man, don’t ask me that. I can only imagine what you guys are learning these days.” God I feel like such an old schmuck saying that.

“Relaaax, it’s not that bad!” He looks at his paper, expression going from sly to slightly confused. “Also, it’s not really about math. More like… puzzles.”

Now I’m confused, until I put two and two together: “Is this for Mr. Sandman’s class?”

“Yup.”

I remember Mr. Sandman when I had him my senior year. He’s definitely not a creep, but man was he mysterious. I also know how crazy he is with his puzzles. Don’t even get me started on that.

With that question answered, I have something more important on my mind. Now that he’s this close up, it’s totally Nichol- Nick. Just Nick.

“You look familiar.”

Might as well open this up for discussion, since I don’t wanna embarrass myself if it isn’t him (totally is), or if he doesn’t wanna talk to me (clearly does).

His smile only grows wider at my comment.

---

JANELLE

“I just don’t get it!” Olivia starts up again. By now, I can’t count the times she’s brought up Nick today on my two hands.

Look. I love Olivia. She’s my ride or die. No one else can be as loyal as her, no doubt. But her loyalty is a double-edged sword, because she often cares too much on the little details.

I get where she’s coming from. Men can be awful sometimes. Most times, really. I’m sure the dating pool for straight women is… full of piranhas, to say the least. But Nick? He’s a weird guy, sure, but he’s not the devil. He’s probably a catfish in the fish analogy. He’s harmless. She needs to calm down.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a crush on Hayley, seeing how jealous she gets when someone else is giving her all that attention, but she’s, like, the straightest girl I’ve ever met. Always boy-crazy, and always pointing out how hot the guys are. Except Nick, of course.

“He’s so annoying, how can you even talk to him?”

Hayley shrugs, still analyzing the problem on the wall. “He’s handsome, what can I say?”

“But I thought you had a crush on Damon!”

Hayley finally looks Olivia in the eye. “No, you have a crush on Damon. I just agreed with you that he is pretty cute, but he’s not really my type.”

“What makes him ‘not your type’?” Alright, the more she goes on about this, I’m starting to think she does have a crush on Hayley. Just tell her you love her already, Olivia. It’ll be better for all of us.

“I guess I like handsome guys, not cute guys.”

“All the same.” I mumble.

Olivia jolts her head toward me. “You wouldn’t understand!”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“Can we just solve the problem?” Hayley interrupts, clearly flustered.

Yeah, it’s pretty obvious Nick and Hayley have something going on. They’re not officially dating, but they’ll get there. I can only imagine the look on Olivia’s face if (when) Hayley shows up to homecoming with Nick holding her around his arm. I don’t see what Hayley sees in him, but like Olivia said, I “wouldn’t understand”. Hey, at least it’s not Olivia’s ex, who was a drug dealer. Could be way worse.

We get that problem done and go on to the next one. It’s somewhere in the art hallway, so at least I can look at the beautiful paintings while I listen to the other two argue about boys.

---

TRAVIS

“What if you pretended to be a teacher or summat?” One of the other guys pipes up with the thickest British accent I’ve ever heard. I mean, seriously, who is this kid?

“Nah, they probably know who I am.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?” The shortest kid of the bunch asks. “I mean, that means you’re more credible.”

‘Credible’ is one way to put it. On the staff food chain, though, I’m a rabbit. Not that I mind, since rabbits are pretty cool.

“Great idea Gee.” Nick looks at me. “You know where the teacher’s lounge is, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect, because I don’t. Why don’t you lead us there Barker?”

---

JANELLE

We’re breezing through these problems. Who knew math class is easy when you know what you’re doing?

I don’t see as many people in the halls as the beginning of class. Maybe they’ve given up, but not us. Or not me, at least, since the other two are still talking about whatever boys they find cute. We’ve gotta get these bragging rights, and I’ve gotta get out of this conversation ASAP.

The next problem is in the teacher’s lounge. I know where it is, only because of that one time I needed to use the printer in there when the one in the library overheated. That was a strange day, but it came in handy, so I’ll take it.

Outside the door is Barker, for some reason. When he notices us, his posture goes from casual to perfectly straight. Okay, something’s not right.

“You girls can’t go in here. People are testing.”

“...In the teacher’s lounge?”

“Uh- yeah. They tried to use the library, but too many people were in there.”

I don’t believe that for a second. When we went in there, there were about five people total: us three, the librarian, and her assistant. Why she needs an assistant is another thing, but whatever.

“You’re lying.”

“You don’t have proof.”

“My proof is that the library is empty.”

“It is?” He mumbles something under his breath. “Well, that’s not my problem.”

One thing I’ve learned today is that Barker is a terrible liar. I wasn’t expecting him to be this ‘master manipulator’ or whatever, but c’mon, he can make a better excuse than that!

I squint at him, knowing I can’t push him out of the way without getting in trouble, but also knowing that if I stand here long enough, he’ll give up. And guess what? He gave up immediately.

“Fine.” He takes a step aside, letting us in. “Why’s Mr. Sandman letting you guys in here anyway?”

“He was stupid enough to let us.” Olivia snickers.

“Sounds about right.”

On my way inside, I ask him, “How much is Nick paying you?” The look on his face is priceless.

---

TRAVIS

Well that was a total flunk. What did Nick even want me to say? A janitor’s only job should be cleaning the floors and making sure no one gets hurt. Sorta like a security guard, but without all the professionalism, and with a mop.

Nick steps outside of the teacher’s lounge, obviously frustrated. He doesn’t need to tell me why. “You let them in?”

“Look man, I dunno what you expected from me, but-”

“We’re still ahead of them.” The British kid interrupts me. “The T is the halfway point both forwards and backwards.”

Nick snaps his fingers. “You’re right! Thanks Travie!”

It takes me a moment to register: oh yeah, this is the dude from probation. That’s what all the kids used to call me: Travie. It’s a cool nickname, but they used it as an insult, because they were supposed to call me Mr. Barker. I didn’t care, and I don’t care now.

“You’re welcome…?”

“And uh, one more thing.”

I was hoping I proved myself stupid enough to not be in another part of this scheme. Guess I was wrong.

“You know Mr. Murphy, right?”

“Yeah…?”

The real answer is ‘of course’. Mr. Murphy is the only teacher I still talk to after all these years. He usually hangs out in his room, either reading a book or eating his lunch. If he’s not there, chances are he’s in the teacher’s lounge (which he isn’t). He’s a pretty predictable guy, what can I say? I’m just not sure what Nick wants from the guy, and I don’t wanna make him think I’m crazy.

“Why don’t you tell him to distract them as well?”

Oh. That’s actually not a bad idea. If you ask the right questions (or wrong questions, depending on how you look at it), he can go on for hours about certain topics. A couple years ago, I asked him why he’s a DJ, since I saw him playing downtown one time, and he went on this whole rant about how DJs are stupid and that means he’s stupid, and he’s too old to be DJing, but he can’t let it go. Didn’t really answer my question, but it was pretty interesting hearing him talk so passionately about something that wasn’t about English.

“I mean, I could try.”

“Great. You know where his room is, right?”

Do I ever. “Yeah.”

“Tell him to go down to the first floor English hallway. That’s where the math problem is.”

Pretty simple. I’m not busy, so I’ll stop by.

I turn on my heel, rolling the mop and bucket along with me. If only I didn’t have to wheel this thing around 24/7, and if only one of the wheels weren’t so janky. It’s like a grocery store cart, except it’s full of water and tips over way too easily.

The elevator takes forever to open, and even longer to go up a floor. This is my least favorite part about working here: moving around is a pain in the ass. I feel bad for any disabled kids tryna get around in this piece of junk. But hey, at least I get to say hi to Mr. Murphy once I’m done.

His door is open, cause he doesn’t have a class this period, so I get to walk right in. He’s sitting at his desk, holding a container of pasta as he watches something on the computer. I assume it’s some sorta documentary. We watch documentaries together sometimes about the most random shit when we have nothing to do.

One of his eyebrows raise when he sees me, since this isn’t my lunch break. But before he asks me anything, I speak up.

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Depends… I don’t know what you kids nowadays would call a ‘favor’.”

Even when I’m a legal adult, Mr Murphy’s probably gonna always see me as one of his students. I’m old to the students, but young to the teachers. It sucks.

“Could you find some students for us- me?”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best way I could’ve phrased it, but there’s no going back now. Mr Murphy scratches his beard with a strange look on his face, which is understandable.

“Uh… would you kill me if I said no?”

I sigh, trying to explain myself. I tell him about the scavenger hunt, the girls, and how I don’t know what this all means. He laughs, almost choking on his food.

After clearing his throat, he says, “So that’s why I saw all those kids running around…”

“Yeah, Nick’s the one who put me up to this, so I don’t really know-”

“Ohhhh, Nick! Yeah alright, that makes sense.” He gets up from his seat, but stops midway. “Can I take my pasta with me?”

“Of course.”

---

JANELLE

I wonder what other tricks Nick has up his sleeve. I’m not annoyed by him yet, since he’s still pretty harmless, and I’m all for friendly competition. Olivia, of course, takes this as a sign of something worse.

“You two are fucking crazy. How can you just excuse this kinda stuff?”

“Olivia, calm yourself.” I tell her, starting to get genuinely fed up. “All he’s done is mess with us a little bit. It’s not that serious.”

“It totally is! Soon enough you’ll let him, I dunno, murder someone just because-“

“Olivia, seriously, what the fuck?”

“It could happen!”

I look at Hayley, who’s staring at Olivia with the same wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression as me. No way she’s making this comparison.

“How the fuck did you go from pranking to murder?”

“Look, if you don’t believe me, then I guess we’ll just have to-“

She stops herself mid-sentence as we turn the corner, leaving us on a cliffhanger. What the fuck?

“We’ll just have to what, Olivia?”

She doesn’t speak, instead looking ahead of her. I also look ahead, and see Mr. Murphy. What is he doing here? Shouldn’t he be in his classroom? Not that I’m saying teachers aren’t allowed in the hallway, but why is he here, of all places? I already have my suspicions…

“You girls doing alright?”

He leans against the wall, taking a bite of his pasta. Okay, wait, don’t teachers eat in the teacher’s lounge? Am I going insane?

Hayley speaks up for the rest of us, bless her soul. “Yeah, just uh… figuring out a few things, that’s all.”

He swallows his bite and asks, “why are there so many people in the halls today? Seems a bit unsafe if you ask me.”

“Mr. Sandman gave us a scavenger hunt.”

“Ooo, a scavenger hunt…” I can see the cogs turning in his head as he thinks of what to say next. “How exciting!“

Okay, yeah, this is totally a distraction. 

“Where’s the math problem?” I ask.

“What math problem?”

“The one in the English hallway.”

Mr. Murphy shrugs. “How would I know?”

I squint my eyes. “Could you stand up real quick?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see something.”

He takes his sweet time, even taking another bite of his pasta before standing up, and wouldn’t you know it, there’s a piece of paper behind him.

“Knew I couldn’t get it past you.” He laughs. “What does Nick have against you girls anyhow?”

Olivia huffs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, actually.”

“Just stupid high school drama.” I shrug. He probably wouldn’t care about it anyway.

“Ah. Been there before.” He takes a final bite before walking away. “And you better finish that reading assignment, Janelle!”

“I will!” I definitely won’t.

---

TRAVIS

Somehow I’ve found myself watching a hardcore punk documentary with Mr. Murphy beside me. It’s still not my lunch break, but there’s not any things for me to clean up today anyway. Well, there’s always the bathrooms, but I wait until after school to deal with those.

“Nick’s a pretty smart guy.” Mr. Murphy suddenly says. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

“You should’ve seen him while he was on probation.” He pauses the documentary. “Dunno what he got caught for, but he was a- can I swear in here?”

“Always.”

“Great. He was a bitch.”

This is the loudest I’ve ever heard him laugh. “Well, I’m glad he’s changed. But how young was he?”

“Middle school, I think.”

“Wow, you can commit crimes that young?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

I jump when my walkie talkie springs to life.

“Yo yo Barker, you think you could help me organize my office? I got some random junk on my shelves that I think you’ll wanna take home.”

It’s Principal Davis. Could be worse. Could be Principal Hawley, but thank god he got fired. He’d probably ask me to massage his toes or something weird like that.

I can’t pass up the opportunity for free stuff. “Dammit, gotta go. Nice talking to you, Mr. Murphy!”

“Please, just call me James.”

Holy shit, we’re on a first name basis now? I never thought we’d get that far!

---

JANELLE

Last problem done. We have a good 10 minutes to spare until the end of class. Still, we wanna get there as fast as possible, just to prove that Nick’s antics didn’t work.

Y’know, the more this plays out, I can see where Olivia is coming from. Not the pranking-to-murdering arc, but the I-don’t-want-him-dating-precious-Hayley aspect of it. He’s very… is unpredictable the right word? He just doesn’t seem like a good fit for someone like Hayley, who’s already unpredictable herself. We don’t need someone to make it worse. But I’m not the relationship police, and Nick (probably) isn’t a criminal, so I won’t judge.

Olivia still won’t give this up.

“Y’know, I’ve heard from Damon one time that Nick was actually on probation when-”

“Can you shut up, Olivia?” Hayley snips out.

That’s the most angry I’ve heard her since… forever, I think. Seriously, she’s always been the Christian goody-two-shoes of the group (minus the punk edge), never doing drugs or even swearing. Her telling someone to ‘shut up’ is probably the closest I’ll ever get to hearing her cuss someone out.

“Fine. Fine!”

Olivia starts to quicken her pace, and we have to keep up with her, because I think she forgot we have a competition to win. Hey, it works out in our favor, so I’m not complaining. But can she slow down?

We make it up the stairs and back to Mr. Sandman’s classroom in no time. I’m almost out of breath. I may be a singer, but I’m no athlete. The last time I ran for fun was when I was on the elementary school’s track team. I know that sounds like a while ago, and that’s because it is.

When we step inside the classroom, all that we see is Mr. Sandman. We look around, and sure enough-

“Congrats ladies, you’re first.”

I cock my head. “Really?” I knew we were quick, but not that quick. Thanks Olivia.

“Yeah… perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to give all those kids such free will.” I’m surprised Olivia doesn’t say anything. Not even an ‘I told you so’. I bet that takes a lot of self control. “I suppose they’ll have to come back eventually, so it’s fine.”

Mr. Sandman reaches for one of his drawers, skimming through whatever he has in there. After a while of waiting, he takes out a small mason jar full of candies and shakes it around.

“Take two, call it Halloween.”

I can’t lie, the choices are pretty good: some suckers, a few packets of pop rocks, m&ms, and some other miscellaneous stuff. It’s a lot of variety, I’ll definitely give him that.

Just as I pick out my pieces – cherry flavored pop rocks and a pack of skittles – I hear heavy footsteps behind us, followed by a frustrated groan.

“I told you it wouldn’t work.”

Gerard’s voice sounds more exhausted than anything, like they ran up ten flights of stairs. They probably did.

“Maybe we’re just smarter!” Olivia shoots back.

“Second place gets one piece of candy.”

“Second? I’ll take it.” Nick brushes past me, smelling like super strong cologne.

“We still beat you.” Hayley teases, touching Nick’s arm.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He grabs a random piece of candy: a heart-shaped sucker. “Yo Hayley, you want this?”

That went about as well as you can expect. Of course Hayley took it, and of course Olivia was fuming. I’m sure if we weren’t right next to a teacher, she’d be cussing him out for the rest of the class period.

Nick’s totally tryna make Olivia mad on purpose, and I’m kinda here for it. Someone bring me some popcorn. I’m here for the show.

Chapter 20: New Teacher on the Block pt. 1 (Nancy Whang)

Summary:

Mr. Murphy is "sick", which means someone has to take his place for a couple days. It turns out that this sub has a LOT in common with Mr. Murphy.

Notes:

Thank you cyanloversupreme for this idea for adding The Dare in here 🙏 It ended up working out because apparently he used to be a subsitute teacher.

Here's a picture of The Dare (Harrison Patrick Smith):

Yeah, I know. Scary. I don't really like his music, but he seems like a chill dude from the interviews I've seen.

Also, this went VERY different than how I initially wanted this to go. I'm saying this like I wasn't the one who wrote it... whatever, just enjoy.

I’ve managed to have a class with Mr. Murphy every year since 10th grade: first it was English 2, then AP Language, and now AP Literature. For all three of those years, I think he’s only been gone for about 2 of those days, and that was because of a wedding. I swear, that man never gets sick.

So imagine my surprise when I see a completely new guy sitting at his desk.

This sub has some real confidence. His legs are kicked up on the desk, holding a pencil up to his lips like it’s a cigarette. He’s wearing small black headphones too, bopping his head along to what I assume is the beat. I’m a bit put off by his black and white suit, which no one would want to wear in early fall when it’s still humid outside. He’s reading a book: 1984. Pretty fitting.

When the bell rings, he still doesn’t say anything, instead jamming out to his music. After the most quiet minute of my life, he looks up at us, realizing everyone is looking right back. He takes off his headphones, and I can hear some sort of disco music coming from them that he doesn’t care to pause. Yes, it’s that loud.

“Oh hey, I’m gonna be your sub for today. Uh… I’m Mr. Murphy, but you can call me Harrison. Before you ask, yes, I’m Mr. Murphy’s son.” He shuts the book with a loud thud and sets it on the table . “And by the way, I have a DJ set tonight if anyone’s interested.”

Janelle and I look at each other, knowing that we definitely wanna go. We’ve known about Mr. Murphy’s other job ever since that party at Turner’s place. I think everyone was a little surprised to see him there, of all places, but not too surprised, considering how much he likes to rant about music. Has his son already taken his place? We have to know.

We’re given a free day, since Harrison (despite being the literal son of Mr. Murphy) doesn’t know what we’re doing today. It works out, since Janelle can finally catch up on 1984. I think Harrison might be further in that book than she is, at this point.

“Psst, Janelle, Nancy.”

It’s Kapranos. Him and Turner sit across from Janelle and I in our pod, since Mr. Murphy doesn’t care where we sit. Technically, we don’t have assigned seats, but all the students mutually agreed which seats belonged to who after the second day. I like it better this way.

“I think we wanna go to that DJ set. Who knows, I might even be able to mess with the booth for a little bit.”

“Are you insane?” Turner retaliates. “He would never let us near the booth. We’re probably not even able to go on stage with him.”

Kapranos shrugs. “Might as well try.”

“Agreed.” Janelle says.

“So you two are coming?”

“Of course!”

All of us walk up to Harrison, and Janelle has to tap on his shoulder to get his attention, since he’s back to listening to his loud disco music. He flinches at the touch, his head jolting up to see the four of us surrounding him.

“Where’s the DJ set?” She asks.

“Oh, right!” Harrison scrambles to get a pen and post-it note, scribbling down the address before ripping it off and giving it to us. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually be interested.”

Well, we’re interested, but probably not in the way he wants.

“Here’s some fake IDs. The place is 21+, but the bouncers barely check valid IDs. The lighting’s too dark for them to see anything. Just show it with confidence, alright?”

We nod our heads, going through the four IDs he got from out of his pocket. There’s two white guys, one black girl, and one white girl. I’m impressed by the diversity, but sad there’s no Asian ladies. I guess I’ll have to pretend to be white for tonight. At least she has black hair, so if you squint, it theoretically could look like me. Wait, why does he have so many fake IDs anyway? Whatever, as long as it works, I’m not going to question it.

-10 hours later-

Thank god it’s a Friday. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother showing up anywhere at 10 pm. My sleep schedule is already messed up as it is.

I told my mom that I’d be over at Janelle’s, and Janelle told hers she’d be over at mine, since they still think we’re just ‘the best of friends’. Little do they know… but that’s not the point. I hope they don't call each other to check.

Thankfully Alex hooked us all up with his limo. Well, not his limo, it’s his family’s, but close enough. The drive was pretty easy, and I felt like royalty when hopping out. There were probably a lot of eyes on us, but this is one of the rare times where I welcome the attention.

The line is looong, and the place seems so small. How the hell is everyone gonna fit? Oh no, are they gonna tell us it’s full by the time we’re up? Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen.

I can hear the music, even when we’re a good half-block away from the actual venue. It reminds me of Harrison’s headphones, only at a larger scale. But that’s when I remember:

“Fuck. I forgot my earplugs.”

Patting my pockets to double check, and yup, I left them at home. The one thing I reminded myself about before leaving, and I forgot it immediately.

I turn around to look at the other three. “Do you guys have any sort of ear protection I could wear?

When they all shake their heads, that’s when I start freaking out. I hate loud noises. They’re my biggest fear, minus small talk with strangers. Why did my shitty memory have to kick in?

“Is there a convenience store around here or something? I need ear plugs.”

“I’m pretty certain there’s one down that way.” Turner points to my left, and I jolt my head in that direction.

“Cool. You guys stay here, I’m getting a pair for all of us.”

“Oh, you’re the best, Nancy!” Kapranos says.

Janelle doesn’t look as excited. “I think I’m gonna go with you, in case you get lost.”

I’m sure that's just her excuse to hang out with me, but I’d be a terrible girlfriend to refuse her company. So, we say goodbye (for now) to the others, and head where Turner’s hand was pointed, praying that he’s right.

We’ve been walking for a good 10 minutes, and I already wanna go home. Wait, I can’t, since Janelle and I told our moms we’d be at each other’s places, and… yeah, there’s no getting out of this situation. I’ll deal with it later.

Just before I actually start to lose my mind, we see the familiar glow of the bright red W of a Walgreens in the distance. I let out a sigh of relief. No ear damage for me today! Now I’m crossing my fingers to make sure they actually have what we’re looking for. After all, it is a convenience store.

When we step inside, the only people we can see are a cashier and a mother with a baby cuddled in one arm while she’s looking at baby onesies. How cute! But we need to get going, so I speed-walk across the store, scanning all the aisle labels chained to the ceiling. Thankfully, there’s a label that says ‘hearing protection’. It would be stupid for us to not give that one a try.

I look down, giving the aisle itself a look-over, and nothing pops out to me… about the aisles, at least.

“Mr. Murphy?” Janelle says, pointing at him like he’s a zoo animal.

This reminds me of the time I saw my 3rd grade teacher at a grocery store with my parents, and I proceeded to rush toward her like she was my mother and not, y’know, the one that was right next to me. I think I asked her, “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching right now?” It was pretty late at night, maybe about 7 pm, so of course she was off her job at that point, but little me was so confused that teachers didn’t live in the school. They had their own room, they had a cafeteria, and they even had books to read! What more could you want? (The answer: having a social life)

Now that I’m almost an adult, I know that teachers have lives too. Still, it was too coincidental to see Mr. Murphy so late at night, let alone in a Walgreens in the ear protection aisle, and so close to his son’s club event.

“Oh, hello kids!” he awkwardly waves at us, like a deer in headlights who can stand on its hind legs and wave. I’m not good with analogies.

I think I already know the truth, but I still ask, “Wait, why weren’t you at school?”

Suddenly, he holds his head in his hand, obviously exaggerating whatever’s actually going on. “Oh, I have a terrible headache. I was actually here just to buy some ibuprofen.”

“...In the ear care section?”

“I’m a bit lost…?” It doesn’t seem like he believes himself.

Janelle butts in, saying, “You really need to work on your lying, Mr. Murphy.”

He puts up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know… You caught me, I’m not actually sick. But can you blame me? As much as I love teaching you guys, this opportunity was way too hard to miss. I mean, getting the chance to watch my son’s DJ event?”

“Couldn’t you have still gone to school?” I feel a bit bad for questioning him like this, but I’m genuinely confused.

“Technically, but Harrison insisted that he should ‘advertise himself’ to you guys, and I just gave in, I guess. He was actually really thrilled to know you guys were coming.”

Janelle speaks up again. “Wait, so why are you here and not the club?”

“I forgot to bring my trusty pair of ear plugs. Gotta keep these ears of mine healthy. Or, at least, healthier than others my age…” A slight frown forms on his face before snapping out of it. “Anyway, are you guys interested in DJing at all?”

The real answer: hell no. It’s cool to see people jam out and whatever, but to me, DJing just seems like using a bunch of recycled parts to make a new song. Sure, it can work sometimes (like with Daft Punk), but when that’s your whole thing, then it’s a bit derivative. That’s only my opinion, though.

But I don’t wanna disrespect his hobby like that, so I say, “Oh, not really… just not my thing, y’know?”

“That’s good.” Oh? “Y’know, I hate people who say they wanna be DJs. They’re always these young white guys who think they own the fuckin’ world. Don’t tell my son that, though.”

Wow, okay, Mr. Murphy and I have a lot more in common than I thought. “Will do. Or won’t do.” I smirk.

“I mean, I’ve been in this industry for decades, and I still think it’s all bullshit. But hey, at least it makes the people dance, right? I just wish I had the willpower to make my own music…”

Realizing he’s going down a dark line of thinking, Janelle redirects our attention back to why we’re all here in the first place.

“So… what kind of ear plugs would you recommend?”

“Oh, right! Haha… yeah, uh, I’m just buying the cheapest ones I can find. And would you look at that, it says 10 pairs! That’s plenty for all of us!”

“And we can give our other friends pairs too!”

Mr. Murphy’s face drops. “There’s more of you?”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Out of all the teachers in our school (excluding the band teachers), Mr. Murphy seems to be the most extroverted. Usually when I ask him questions during my lunch period, he’s hanging out with that janitor dude (Barker, I think). So why is he afraid of high school students? Isn’t the janitor an alumni anyway?

“Yeah, Alex T and Alex K.”

“Turner’s there? Wow, alright…” Mr. Murphy seems genuinely shocked, as if he wasn’t hired for that one party at his house a couple weeks ago. “Anyway, I gotta check these out. Can’t miss the thing I skipped school for!”

We follow Mr. Murphy like little ducklings to the checkout and head out of the store. On our walk back, he decides to spark up conversation.

“So, how do you two like 1984 so far?”

I think this is a way of testing us to see if we actually read the book. I did, but I know Janelle didn’t, since she kept complaining about being behind. Behind, as in reading the first chapter, when we’re supposed to be near the end of the book by now. On top of that, she told me her reasoning for quitting so early was because ‘the chapters are too long’, as if she didn’t choose to take AP literature. Obviously, she’s not very interested in reading, unlike me.

That’s exactly why I want her to answer instead of me. I can tell she wants to kill me, but Mr. Murphy’s waiting for an answer, and we (Janelle) have to give it to him eventually.

“Uh… I like the world-building. Very… dystopian.”

“Yeah, me too.” We both look slightly surprised that he didn’t catch her obvious lie. “I feel like each year, we keep getting closer and closer to that kind of world. Obviously it’s an exaggeration, but just like humor, it always has a smidge of truth hidden inside it. Who’s your favorite character?”

“Oh, um, Wilson probably.”

“Winston you mean?” He laughs, and Janelle goes from sweating bullets to sweating missiles. “That’s the basic answer, everyone says that. That’s kinda the whole point of his character though, to be the humble hero that the reader roots for. Who’s your second favorite?”

“I think I like the Big Brother. It’s not that I like him, but I think the concept is pretty interesting.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. Usually students tell me that they think Big Brother is their least favorite character, since it’s the oppressor. Though, without Big Brother, there would be no story to tell.”

This is actually going better than I expected. Just for fun, I add, “Yeah, but I think the whole point of Big Brother is to be disliked. I mean, who likes being monitored 24/7?”

Janelle stares daggers at me, knowing that I’m trying to make her look stupid. I give her a smile in return.

“This actually sort of ties into the essay topic. Oh, by the way, the essay’s coming up in a couple weeks, and I think I’m gonna make the deadline some time at the beginning of October. I don’t have exact dates planned, but try and finish the novel by next week.”

“Got it.” Janelle says, awfully high pitched. I bet that information almost gave her a heart attack. She glances at me, wide-eyed, and in return, I flash her another smile.

We make it back at around 10:45, 15 minutes after the show is supposed to start. Mr. Murphy definitely looks disappointed in himself for not attending the DJ set on time, but hey, at least our ears won’t be ringing after. I heard the set doesn’t end until midnight anyway, and 75 minutes is still plenty of time.

Just before we make it to the club again, all of us put our ear plugs in. Mr. Murphy leads us to the back door, which means those IDs were for nothing. Oh well, at least I don’t have to pretend to be a white girl. I don’t even know how I’d pull that off.

The booming music hits us like a shockwave. It shakes my clothes, my hair, and it would’ve definitely destroyed my hearing. Good call, Nancy.

Looking to my side, I notice the confusion on Mr. Murphy’s face. Well, it’s more like a mix between anger and interest.

While he leads the way, Janelle yanks my arm to pull me aside into the small dressing room. Luckily there aren’t any security guards, or anyone, for that matter. At least it’s a lot more quiet here (though the bass is still vibrating the floor).

After the door shuts, Janelle finally says, “You’re such an asshole, Nancy! You made me look like a total idiot.”

I scoff, knowing she’s only exaggerating her anger. “You did fine, don’t worry! At least you didn’t say you thought Big Brother was hot or something.”

“Is he?”

“It’s not even a real person, Janelle.”

“Oh my fucking god…” Janelle facepalms. “I literally got the main character’s name wrong.”

“That’s what you get for not reading like I keep telling you to!” I kiss her on the cheek. “But don’t worry, I’ll catch you up on it.”

Her sigh of relief makes me smile. “You’re the best.”

“But you have to promise me you’ll read the next book he assigns us.”

“Fine.”

I kiss her on the cheek once more before we head back to the stage. The loud, dimly-lit stage and- holy shit, is there a fight going on?

Notes:

Mr. Murphy is easily one of my favorite characters to write. I love slightly out-of-touch middle-aged men. Boy, that's a mouthful.

Chapter 21: New Teacher on the Block pt. 2 (Alex Turner)

Summary:

Turner, Kapranos, and Harrison are the only ones on the stage. Kapranos decides to be a little silly, and things really amp up.

Notes:

Quick disclaimer: I do NOT hate DJs. Just some of them. Wanted to make that clear.

And uh... yeah, this one kinda gets serious. Not too serious, but more serious than I originally planned. I kinda want to change the ending, but I'm too lazy. I also don't know how I'd change it. Cheers.

This is a surprise to few, but I’ve been to my fair share of DJ sets before. My parents are quite lenient when it comes to my curfew, and I often take that to my advantage. Why I choose to spend that time in cheap clubs is still a mystery.

I’m not a big fan of DJs. I find them to be… redundant, for lack of a better word. Either they’re way too loud, or way too serious about the work they do, as if their job is difficult in any way.

So why did I hire Mr. Murphy for my house party? Ask my parents, since it was their idea, not mine. They think I love DJs, when in reality, I merely like the idea of rebelling against them (how they know about my rebelling is another question entirely). The DJs are my second least favorite part of the experience, with the first being the humid environment from the crowded space.

Mr. Harrison is the spitting image of his father when it comes to his personality: awkward with a tinge of charisma that’s just charming enough to be considered loveable. To others, at least.

Personally, I don’t like Mr. Murphy nor Mr. Harrison. Sorry, but it’s my opinion. I feel as though they have something to hide, and I have a couple guesses as to what they could possibly need to keep a secret.

For starters, the two of them look nothing like each other. Perhaps Mr. Harrison gets his appearance from his mother instead, but even then, the differences are far beyond mere coincidence. Their face shapes, their body types, and even their hair texture are very different. Though, the adoption theory is probably less farfetched than the other one that I have, because at least I have physical evidence for it (that being their appearances).

My other theory involves Principal Hawley. I haven’t told this to anyone yet – since whoever I tell will probably think I’m insane, which I can’t blame them for – but I think Mr. Murphy has some sort of connection with Principal Hawley. Last year, I would occasionally catch a glimpse of the two talking outside the teacher’s lounge. I always had my suspicions about Principal Hawley, and now that I know his true intentions, I can’t help but think Mr. Murphy will do the same thing. I’m not sure if they still talk now that one is in prison, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the two shared some ideas before Principal Hawley’s departure.

It doesn’t surprise me that everyone else likes him; he’s self-depreciating, relatable, and puts genuine care into his lessons. Honestly, I’m most likely the one in the wrong, but my grudges with people tend to stick longer than they should. I won’t let them go, even if they’re likely not to be true. It’s a flaw I’m trying to work out.

Anyway, Alex and I are almost at the front of the line now, with no Nancy or Janelle in sight. I hope I led them in the right direction. The smell of weed and cheap beer welcomes itself into my nose, which is an oddly euphoric scent. I’ve gotten used to the pungent smell, and now it’s a reminder that I’m here for a good time, and not a long time, or however that saying goes.

Getting inside the club is the least of our worries. The bouncer does little more than a quick glance at our IDs before letting us in, despite the fact my person has piercing blue eyes, while I’d be lucky to have any color in my eyes with this poor lighting. Although, Alex’s was pretty similar, and that surely counts for something.

The sheer amount of people we have to swim through is unbearable enough, but pair that with the pounding music blaring from the speakers, and it forms an unbearable experience. My ears usually aren’t this sensitive, but knowing I’ll have to deal with this for another hour and a half is a nauseating thought. I’m crossing my fingers in hopes that Nancy and Janelle can save the day with their ear plugs.

Waves of drunken dancers push us back from heading to the front stage, and the sweat from all of them collecting onto my skin makes me gag. This is by far one of the worst clubs I’ve been to, and trust me, I’ve been to my fair share.

The only thing grounding me is Alex’s hand, gripping onto my own with his strong fingers, dragging me behind him as we begrudgingly make it to the steps that lead to the stage.

“I don’t think they’ll let us up there, Al!” I shout. I’ve been telling him this since we made it inside.

That makes Alex chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

I severely doubt that, but since it’s him, I’ll swallow my pride and take his word for it.

As soon as he takes his first step, however, a security guard emerges from the shadowed corner, his figure short, yet intimidating when he stares up at us. It takes all my willpower not to say ‘I told you so’.

“What are you doing?” I hear him say, his bicep muscles bulging from his plain black T, and that alone makes me shudder. His voice is also dark and gravelly, probably smoking one too many cigarettes in his time.

Thankfully, Alex has much more confidence than me. “Oh, we’re with Harrison.”

“We don’t allow any guests on stage.” He replies, almost cutting off Alex’s sentence.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, mumbling “I knew this wouldn’t work…”

But as if he was waiting for us, Mr. Harrison strolls over to the brewing commotion, leaning over and yelling, “It’s fine, John! Let them up here!”

With a reluctant head nod and a low grunt, he allows us to walk up. It’s amusing to see such a strong man act so bratty against two teenagers, as if he can’t beat us up in a 2v1 fist fight. I’ll take small wins where I can get them, I suppose.

I wasn’t expecting Mr. Harrison to be so eager to see us. It’s a bit off-putting, but I’ll assume he’s like his father in that regard: always willing to talk to people, no matter how strange he might seem. In a way, I respect it.

Alex and I slowly approach the DJ booth, cowering behind Mr. Harrison. I’m able to sense a good few pairs of eyes from the audience gawking at us, waiting for the show to begin. They’ll have to wait a little longer, because Harrison doesn’t currently look interested in playing.

Never would I expect a DJ booth to have so many buttons. Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen one this up-close before. It reminds me of the time my family took a trip to Africa in order to observe the wildlife. It wasn’t really my thing, but my parents loved taking close-up photos of the different animals. I’m currently acting as though the booth is its own safari animal, cocking my head at it as if it’s some otherworldly creature.

Right before I reach out to touch it, Harrison creeps into the edge of my vision, his white dress shirt glowing under the stark lighting.

“I’m glad you guys came!” He smiles, showing off his slightly crooked teeth.

Out of curiosity, I ask, “How do you use this?”

To that, Harrison lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh, it’s pretty simple. Press a few buttons, twist a few knobs, mess around with the mixing. It’s really just live improvisation with pre-recorded samples. I try not to overthink it.”

“A very lackluster explanation…” I say to myself. Alex hears me – since he hears everything – and pats me on the back as he laughs in my ear.

“Do you guys wanna test it out?”

I stare up at him in confusion, wondering why he would let us, of all people, run the show. After all, this is for him, isn’t it? Who in their right mind would let strangers — teenage strangers with fake IDs, mind you — control the music?

“Sure!” Alex says, taking the opportunity without hesitation.

If there’s one thing I adore about my boyfriend, it’s definitely his confidence. Of course, there’s more things I love about him, but that attribute takes first place. It surely makes social situations easier for an introvert like me.

When the opportunity arises, I sneak myself backstage, making sure I’m not seen by anyone in the audience. It’s a great view; I can still watch Alex and Harrison in the DJ booth, while also not having to worry about the crowd directing their attention toward me. An introvert’s dream.

I can’t see Alex’s face, but I know his mannerisms well enough to know he’s enjoying himself quite a bit. With Mr. Harrison is bobbing his head along to the pulsating beat, he at least appreciates the attempt of music. I definitely can’t say the same.

The sounds that come out of the speakers are a horrific cacophony of bleeps and bloops, with noises that can only be described as dental equipment drilling away at my eardrums. How is this not a form of musical torture?

For some reason, the crowd is loving it so far. Moments like these make me wonder what goes through drunk people’s heads. There must be a reason why DJs mostly reside in places where there’s alcohol readily available. There’s no way any sober person can enjoy this nonsense.

I can tell Alex is listening to the advice that’s been given: random percussion elements phase in and out of the beat, with random melodies clashing with the rhythm. I suppose you can say it’s ‘avant-garde’, but that’s a lousy excuse. What is this trying to say? That anything with a loud enough beat can make drunk people dance? Actually, that’s not a terrible message… It also seems to be very true.

The new person appearing in my vision doesn’t register at first. The music forced me to zone in on my hearing rather than my other senses, but Mr. Murphy’s silhouette is clear as day, and he’s walking up to the DJ booth.

It would be a lie if I say I’m surprised to see Mr. Murphy here. Everything seemed very coincidental: his son being the substitute teacher, talking about being a DJ, and welcoming us without questions and handing out fake IDs (which I’m still a little baffled about).

There’s an exchange that I can’t hear, since they’re too far away, but it seems to be a bit aggressive. I can sense a heated argument arising, with everyone’s movements getting more and more exaggerated.

My feet move before I’m able to stop them. I approach the situation, seeing Harrison do the same with a terrified look. I’ve never seen Mr. Murphy so angry before.

“You think you can just steal my son’s show?” I can hear him say, the tone in his voice not matching his expression. It’s calm, like a genuine question rather than anything threatening. “Do you realize how important tonight is for him?”

“Dad, it’s okay!” Mr. Harrison tugs on his father’s arm, but Mr. Murphy seems to be more focused on proving a point than using his morals.

When Alex’s mouth starts to move, no words come out. After a few seconds, he finally says, “I was given the permission!”

I take a quick look at the crowd. A good few are still dancing, but everyone else is staring at the fight unfolding on stage. A fight between a middle-aged man and a teenager, no less. I was right, Mr. Murphy does have something to hide: his anger issues. To the crowd, it’s a silent film accompanied by obnoxious DJ music, like a trainwreck with dubstep as background music. Just actions without any explanation, and horrid music to go along with it. I can only imagine their confusion.

My mind eventually catches up, and I pry Alex away, while the same security guard from earlier escorts Mr. Murphy out of the building. He doesn’t have a strong emotion written on his face anymore, just a look of slight defeat. I would be empathetic toward him if I didn’t just watch what led up to him being taken away.

All of us aren’t sure what to do. I notice Nancy and Janelle are here now, as well. I don’t know when they came into the picture, but surely they saw what went down as well. Otherwise, this would be a very difficult situation to explain.

Mr. Harrison makes the first move, turning down the music and somehow obtaining a mic. He taps on it a few taps before speaking into it. At this point, he has just about everyone’s attention.

“Hello? Alright, uh, due to unexpected events, I feel the need to cut this DJ set short for tonight.” A wave of groans flows through the audience. “I know, it’s unfortunate, but I can’t sensibly continue with what happened tonight. I’ll be here next week, same time. Everyone have a good night. The Dare is out.”

He proceeds to walk in the direction of where Mr. Murphy was escorted, a look of panic settling on his face. The four of us follow him, since it would be awkward to stand around on stage any longer than necessary.

Thoughts visibly race through all our minds, probably sharing one question: why the hell did Mr. Murphy act out like that?

It’s hard to keep up with Mr. Harrison, but he halts himself shortly after he starts walking. We eventually catch up to him and also stop, seeing Mr. Murphy pleading with two security guards in the back alley of the club. We’re too far away to make out any words, but observing is all we need as proof that Mr. Murphy has at least some remorse.

The security guards never let their poker faces falter, except for the occasional furrow of their eyebrows or squinting of their eyes. Mr. Murphy’s face is full of regret, and now the empathy is starting to seep in.

Obviously he’s burnt out. I’m sure all teachers would be if they put as much effort into their lessons as he does. I’m of course not trying to insinuate the outburst as justified, but empathy gives me the ability to understand people’s viewpoints, at the very least.

I take the first step, and Mr. Murphy is the first to notice me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, already having a good guess of the answer.

The security guard I recognize looks me up and down, that same judgy attitude he had earlier souring his face.

“We’re still trying to figure that out ourselves.”

That’s at least better than the answer I was expecting (that being an impending arrest).

After a moment, I turn around, watching the rest of them gingerly walk over as well.

“Dad, are you alright?” Mr. Harrison asks.

“Yeah, just…” he puts his head in his hands. “I care a lot about you, alright? I think too much, sometimes… and Kapranos. I’m so, so sorry, I just get overwhelmed sometimes, alright?” He looks back at the security guards. “I think I just need a little break, that’s all. Some time to relax, catch a breath.”

The security guards look at each other, communicating with their eyes and agreeing on a response. The taller, skinnier guard of the two puts it into words.

“We agree, James.”

This may be the first time I’ve heard Mr. Murphy’s first name spoken. It’s a strange feeling, that’s for sure.

“Harrison, why don’t you teach my class for the rest of the month? I’ll give you everything you need, it’s just… Obviously I need a break.”

Mr. Murphy’s lip quivers as he laughs. All Mr. Harrison does is nod.

We leave Mr. Harrison, Mr. Murphy, and the security guards to discuss further matters. Alex, in all honesty, looks the least distressed out of all of us. That’s not a surprise, considering he doesn’t take anything seriously, but right now, I believe it’s a defense mechanism more than anything. It’s his own way of dealing with the absurdity of one of the nicest teachers getting in his face and so close to hitting him. Maybe Mr. Murphy and Principal Hawley have more in common than I ever wanted to be true.

“Hey, uh… Turner?” Nancy asks after a brief moment of silence.

“Yes?”

“Can Janelle and I stay at your place tonight? We told our moms that we’d be at each other’s houses to sleep over, and… yeah, we didn’t think that one through.”

I grin, gladly accepting their company, especially after something so baffling.

“Of course.” I switch my attention to Alex, who’s now staring at the ground ahead of him. “Do you want to sleep over as well?”

“Sure.” His voice sounds as if it’s on the verge of breaking.

I wrap an arm around him, holding him tight as we continue walking to the limo, telling him that it’ll be alright. The best we can do is hope that things turn out alright.

Notes:

Oh yeah, by the way, I got top surgery about a week ago. If I can be real with you, I've been on the verge of a breakdown for the past week, and my mood is all over the place, and I'm constantly feeling any mix between anxious, tired, or depressed. Luckily, today, I'm feeling fine(ish), even though I went to bed at 6am. I can't have a consistent sleep schedule to save my LIFE. Ugh.

But yeah. I'll try to get more chapters on the way.

Chapter 22: Late Night Break-In pt. 1 (Dave Grohl)

Summary:

Dave, Chris, Kurt, and Kathleen break into the school to see what's up with Mr. Murphy, which is crazy enough. Little do they know that someone else is even crazier.

Notes:

Like always, I'm a bit insecure about this chapter, but hey, at least it's more lighthearted. And a lot more absurd, and DEFINITELY more illegal. I've been having this idea for a while now, and I'm glad I can finally post it on here. Cheers.

Gotta love my momma for doing what she does, and I gotta hate myself for doing what I’m about to do.

My mom’s an English teacher, which is fucking awesome , since she’s basically my professional editor for my essays. But at the same time, all my friends make fun of me for it, calling me a teacher’s pet or whatever. Now I’m not denying that, but I’m not a complete goody two shoes! I got my own pair of balls!

So, I’ll prove to my friends that I’m cool, like really cool. And since my mom is a teacher, she has keys to the school, so… we’re gonna be breaking in.

Now you might be wondering why we’re tryna break in to begin with, apart from the me being cool part. That’s a pretty good question, cause I don’t even know myself! The closest thing I got to an answer was Kurt giving me a ring to say he wanted to know what the deal was with Mr. Murphy getting suspended. Word got around that he had this huge freak-out with this kid in our grade named Alex Kapranos at a random club downtown. No idea what led up to it, but apparently his son is his replacement for the time being while he ‘checks in with his mental health’ or something like that.

Look, Kurt was pretty convincing about it. He said there must be another reason for his outburst. My guess is that the dude was just burnt-out, but maybe I’m just too rational. No offense Kurt, but you’re pretty over-analytical sometimes, man. That’s kinda what I love about him though, because when we’re high, those little rants are mindblowing.

We’re not gonna get high tonight though. Hey, we have standards! And by ‘we’, I mean me, Kurt, Chris, and Kathleen, who wanted to tag along since she’s friends with Kurt now, or whatever. Dunno what’s going on between them, but Kurt told me it was ‘complicated’. Again, that’s probably just him being his good ol’ anxious self.

But the reason he called me was cause Chris told him I got the keys to the school, and I said, “hell yeah I do!” Reality is… my mom has the keys, and I’ve never even got to hold them on ‘take your kid to work day’. Yeah, pretty embarrassing if you ask me, but I have a promise to keep, so breaking into the school is a go!

Surprise surprise, the place looks empty on a Saturday night. There’s only a couple cars in the parking lot, but I’m assuming it’s people who live in their cars taking advantage of free parking. Hey, I’m not judging! I’d do the exact same thing!

I park very lazily, half because I know no one else is gonna come driving in, half because I’m bad at parking. We all have flashlights, and a shit ton of snacks, thanks to Chris. A dude like him always has the munchies, even if he’s not high… I think. Who knows with him.

All of us walk up to the front of the school, and just to be sure, I check to see if the door is locked.

What the fuck? It’s not locked? Well I guess I didn’t need to steal my mom’s car/school keys (sorry, mom). But that just begs the question: who the hell else is in here? Or did Principal Davis just… forget to lock it? Seems pretty weird if you ask me…

We try to shrug it off, but that shit gave me the chills. But we’re dumb teenagers, and dumb teenagers never learn their lessons. So, we head on inside.

The halls are super cold, and super duper dark. I’m glad we brought flashlights. I aim mine around the halls, which are really creepy without any people in them. I kinda like this feeling, though. Something about us not supposed to be here makes this whole thing 10 times better. Does that make me a weirdo? Whatever.

We’re sneaking around in the halls, pretending like we’re top-level criminals trying to infiltrate a bank. Tiptoeing, checking around corners, some real cartoonish level shit. It’s not like there’s anyone else in here (hopefully), cause no one would have the balls to do it. They also have nothing to prove, unlike me.

Wait. I hear something. It sounds like… footsteps. Coming from upstairs. So there is someone else in here. I can tell everyone else hears it too, cause we all freeze and just look at each other, making sure none of us are going insane. Yup, we all heard it.

I lead the way to the stairs, and there’s some banging too. No, not that typa banging, thank god. Someone – or some thing – is here, and it has no idea that we’re here too.

We get closer to Mr. Murphy’s classroom, still tiptoeing very sneakily, but this time because we’re actually in danger. The noises get louder and louder, and now we can see a light illuminated in his exact classroom.

“Ah nah man, I wanna go back…” Chris says, a grocery bag full of junk food clenched in his fist.

Kathleen smacks him in his side, and he lets out a small wince in pain, but he shuts up, which is good.

With a few more steps, we realize that someone’s talking, and loud. Like he’s confident that no one else is in here. I mean, I can’t blame him, but his voice booms off the walls like a shotgun getting fired in an art museum.

That voice belongs to none other than Principal – or, ex-principal – Hawley. Ho-ly shit.

“And where exactly is that, hm?”

That’s the last thing he says before noticing us in the doorway, proceeding to scream while pointing a finger at us, like we’re the ones that aren’t supposed to be here. Well, that’s technically true, but he’s, like, double not supposed to be here, since doesn’t work here anymore. And he’s not Mr. Murphy, as far as I know, so that’s super weird.

“Is everything alright, Joe?” A voice says from… the phone? Oh, so he wasn’t talking to himself. That answers that question, but raises so many more. One of them being, who the hell is that?

“What are you guys doing here?” Ex-principal Hawley yells at us, backing himself into the wall. His eyes are wide, and his beard is scraggly. He’s also wearing glasses, which just isn’t like him. Not like I’m best friends with him or anything, but I’ve been to the principal’s office enough to know he prefers contacts.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, crossing my arms. If I act confident enough, maybe I can convince him that we’re not committing a crime. Who am I kidding, he knows more about crime than me.

“Joe? Are you-”

“Shut the hell up!” Ex-principalHawley yells at the phone. “Sorry, just- a few students broke in, and-”

“Broke in!?”

“Mr. Murphy?” Kurt asks, and the other end goes silent. Check off that other question, I guess.

“Uh… Is that Kurt? Hi Kurt! Yes, it’s- it’s me. Mr. Murphy.” He sighs. “Fuck.”

Kathleen steps forward, her hands balled into fists. “What the hell is going on here?” 

He waves his hands in front of him, his eyes all crazy-looking. “Woah, hey, don’t worry! I’m just trying to print out something in the library. Mr. Murphy said his teacher card is in one of these drawers. Isn’t that right James?”

Another sigh. “Yes.”

“We have a band.” Hawley clarifies with a smile. “JoeJames. Our music sorta sounds like if-”

“Did you find the card, Joe?” Mr. Murphy asks, clearly pissed.

“No, let me just…” He rummages around some more, but doesn’t find anything. “Christ, James, how much stuff do you have in here?”

“Sorry…”

“So, should we just leave or-?”

“No.” Hawley says sternly. “I need you to do something.”

“No way! I’m not going to be involved in another one of your crimes!” I say, fully acknowledging how hypocritical I sound.

“Fine. Let me make a deal with you guys, then.” He clasps his hands together. “I won’t tell on you, and you won’t tell on me. But you also have to advertise my new band once I get the posters printed.”

“Deal.” I say before the words even process in my brain. I don’t wanna get told on, cause my parents would never forgive me. Either that, or they’ll make jokes about it until the end of time. I’m not sure which is worse, but I’d prefer neither.

“Oh, so you’re blackmailing us?” Kathleen asks.

Hawley thinks about it for a second. “...Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Un-fucking-believable…”

“Hey, it was your guys’ choice to come in here.” He shrugs. “And why are you in here, anyway? You never really answered that.”

“We wanted to see what Mr. Murphy had to hide.” Chris puts it simply.

“What!? I don’t have anything to hide!”

“Yeah right, Murph. That’s why the ex-principal is going through your drawers in the middle of the night.”

“Touche.”

“Found the card!” Ex-principal Hawley yells. “See you later, James.”

Mr. Murphy gets cut off mid-response, because ex-principal Hawley hangs up. He proceeds to look at us again, showing off the card.

“And by the way, you can just call me Hawley.” He gives us a wink, and I wanna run away. “Let’s go.”

We go to the library, with Hawley opening the doors as loud as humanly possible. Let’s hope there’s no one else in here, or else he’ll have to blackmail them too. We head inside, and it looks as creepy as you can imagine. A dark room filled with bookshelves and chairs, with a slight smell of vanilla, for some reason. Yum.

The printer is already lit up, which makes this whole thing not downright terrifying. I mean, how do we know Hawley isn’t gonna murder us? We still don’t know that… ah shit, I think I just peed a little at the thought of that.

So we’re all huddled around the printer like a campfire in silence as it spits out a bajillion posters from its mouth. There’s not much to say, and not much to look at, apart from, y’know, the posters. They’re surely something to look at, I’ll tell you that much.

The library only permits black and white printing, so I can only imagine what it would’ve looked like in color. I’ll call it a blessing to the eyes.

It has a certain charm to it, though. An LSD charm to it, sure, but it’s better than a simple black and white “please come to our show!!!” typa poster. If I found this on a random lamp post, I would definitely give it a double-take, followed by a third take, blink my eyes a bit, and finally get over the atrocious design to see what I’m actually looking at. An attention grabber for sure.

As these monstrosities are printing out, I notice Chris getting something out of his pocket. Surprise surprise, the weed guy brought some edibles with him. He plops one in his mouth, and Hawley looks at him with wide eyes. In response, Chris takes another one out, and shows it off to him.

“You want one?” He asks, because that’s a totally normal thing to ask a criminal twice your age.

Hawley looks at the gummy that’s in Chris’ palm. He squints at it, then un-squints and shrugs. “You know what, sure.”

The rest of us are taken aback, because Hawley definitely isn’t our friend. Why would Chris offer some of his precious weed for someone like him? And, more importantly, why did Hawley take it? Well, he is a criminal, so he doesn’t have much to lose…

He finishes chewing the edible by the time the posters are done. After swiping them up off the tray, he turns around to look at us, smiling wickedly, like we’re now part of some illegal scheme. Oh god, are these posters secretly for a cockfighting ring or something?

“So there’s 60 in total, which means all of you will get 15 posters each. Sounds good?” He asks, as if we have a choice.

We nod, and he (very slowly) counts the posters and gives them to us. I finally have the time to look at the text on the poster, and- thank god, it’s not a cockfighting ring. It’s a concert for this Saturday. You bet your ass I’ll be going.

Kathleen makes the mistake of audibly laughing at the sight of these… things, and Hawley’s face contorts into a comical frown.

“What’s so funny, Kathleen?”

“Nothing!” She says, giving Kurt a look. The guy’s also smiling too, can you believe it? So proud of him, it brings a tear to my eye.

We get out of there as soon as we’re able to, not wanting to endure Hawley’s wrath (or bad breath) for any longer. All of us have different ideas for how we’re going to do this tomorrow, but I’m just excited for the show.

Chapter 23: Late Night Break-In pt. 2

Summary:

The four put up the posters around town, all with different plans (and there's a little romance sprinkled within!)

Notes:

Another chapter where I messed around with the POVs.

KATHLEEN

I mean this in the best way possible, but Kurt and his friends are fucking losers. Like, who the hell breaks into a school only to get blackmailed by the old principal? It sounds so ridiculous on paper, but these guys somehow managed to do it. Granted, I was there too, but I wasn’t the one who planned it.

So now we’re in Dave’s car again, this time heading downtown to put up these stupid posters. Chris is in the passenger’s seat, passing back and forth a blunt to Dave, while Kurt and I are in the back seats, sitting on either side of the posters. I wanna rip these things up so bad, but I know that won’t end well for any of us. I’ll put my grudges aside for now.

“Should we split up?” Chris asks.

Dave shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

“No way,” I interject, “I wanna go with Kurt. I don’t trust anyone in this town.”

“I’m trustworthy?” Kurt asks with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, you’re not a creep, which is better than half the men around here.”

Dave laughs at that. “Damn right, we’re not creeps! At least… not in that way.”

“Shut up!” Chris says, punching Dave’s arm, which doesn’t help his laughing problem.

“Kathleen and I will go together.” Kurt announces, giving me a warm smile. “Dave, Chris, how about we meet in half an hour?”

“Fine by me!” Dave says, and Chris nods his head.

Once Dave parks his car, I realize that he just… parks really badly. It wasn’t a one-time thing from yesterday. He’s way over the line, but doesn’t care to adjust. Instead, he swirls his keys around his fingers, whistling to the tune of ‘Crazy Train’. God, Dave and his classic metal.

As discussed, we all head our separate ways, with Kurt and I going together. But before that, I can see Dave mumbling something to Chris before they split up. I wonder what that was about…

 

KURT

“So do you have a girlfriend?”

That was the first thing she asked after we were done setting up the posters. It didn’t take long at all: street lamps aren’t hard to find in an area like that. By then, we were heading toward Dave’s car, filled with a few long minutes of silence before she asked… that.

I stopped in my tracks, giving her a suspicious look, but she insisted it was just a question. So, I told her no, I don’t have a girlfriend. Then I asked her why, and she got defensive, doubling down on the fact that it was ‘just a question’.

It wasn’t just a question. It was that sparkle in her eye after I told her I was single that said otherwise. At that moment, I understood why Kathleen wanted to go with me. Not because she was scared – a woman like her is never afraid to fight off creepy men – but because of that question.

The thought of that made me smile, because truly, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her face, her hair, her fashion sense, even the way she carries herself like nothing can stop her. I’m not sure if anything can stop her.

Nothing happened after that – just an exchange of soft smiles to each other – but I could tell something changed. Somehow, she looked even more unstoppable, as if she turned immortal.

Then we saw Chris in the distance, sitting on the curb with a phone held up to his ear, next to a quite… interesting piece of work from him.

 

CHRIS

If there’s two things I know for sure, it’s this: dogs are cute, and Kathleen is into Kurt. Both are basically common sense.

I can’t believe it’s taken this long for Kurt to find out, if he even has found out. Since yesterday, I’ve caught her staring at him with those curious eyes and sly smirk as we were moving around the halls. Also, she just so happens to wanna hang out with Kurt when I said we should split up. If that isn’t a sign of love, then I dunno what is. Or maybe she really is just scared of men. Can’t blame her on that one.

Anyway, I’m sitting on the curb in the downtown area, watching the cars fly by as I wait for the others to come back, when someone starts calling me. I take my phone out of my pocket, expecting it to be Dave wondering where he parked his car, but no. It’s Hawley, and for some reason, I have him listed in my contacts. Dunno what he wants from me, but it can’t be good. I answer it anyway, preparing for some more blackmail material.

“Yello?”

“Hey, uh… I don’t know how else to ask you this, but d- do you have any more of those weed gummies?” He’s asking this like it’s illegal. Wait, I forgot it is.

I’ve never actually sold my weed to anybody, that’s the thing. I’m not that typa guy. You gotta be someone I really trust to get your hands on my gummies. Snitches get stitches, if you catch my drift. Or I pity you enough to give you a free sample. Guess which one Hawley falls into.

Knowing my worth, I ask, “How much?”

“What?”

“How much are you willing to pay, man?”

Has this dude never bought drugs before? A criminal not involved with drugs is like a fish who’s never touched water. Are snakes considered fish? If they are, then that analogy wouldn’t work, so I’ll assume that’s not the case.

“You do realize I can still blackmail you, right?”

As if. “You don’t even know what that word means, do you?”

“Not really… but why not another one on the house? Free of charge?... Please?”

“Nah, sorry man. My stock’s running low. Now, if you excuse me, I need to put up some more of these posters. Buh bye.”

I don’t hear what he says, because I hang up before he can even get angry. If he calls me again, then-

Aaaaaand he calls me again. The hell is this guy’s problem? Is he already getting addicted to weed? From one edible?

“Just listen. Yesterday… I haven’t felt that good in years. It was like I was on a cotton candy cloud, or- or like a really fluffy kitty. It made me sleep like a baby. I didn’t wake up until, like, an hour ago.” -It’s 3 pm, for reference- “So, if you aren’t going to sell me anything, then who can?”

“Sorry man, I’m homegrown. I grow my own weed.” I pause, now having a brilliant idea. “But you can always ask Anthony Kiedis. I’m sure he’s got some stuff.”

“Has he not dropped out of high school yet?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

Kiedis is like an evil version of me. Sophomore year, we had a competition to see who could grow the most marajuana without their parents knowing. Obviously, I knew my parents would smell the plant after a while, so I asked them if it was alright. They didn’t care, and I was like, ‘cool’. I’m dumb, but not that dumb. Kiedis, however, was that dumb. The dude got busted just after a week of growing his plant, and had the thing stolen by his dad.

Instead of taking his loss like a man, he started getting shit from other people, and selling that shit to other people, and I bet you can see where this is going. Yeah, Kiedis is a drug dealer. It’s the only reason why people can stand to be around him, since he 1) smells like weed all the time, 2) is extremely insecure about his sexuality, and 3) can’t take a fucking joke. At one point, we had a friendly rivalry, but ever since he’s been doing that, I’ve kept my distance. Until now, I guess.

“Well um, thanks for the suggestion. You can… do your thing now.”

This time, he’s the one to hang up. Thank god, I don’t need some other asshole trying to talk me into free stuff (looking at you, Mr. Urine).

I know Hawley knows Anthony, and I know he’s at least a little bit scared of the guy. Maybe it’s something about his hair, or maybe his stamina, because it sure isn’t his muscles. I doubt the guy can even lift a pencil. Not like he ever wants to, anyway. Hawley is apparently also scared of me, because I’m taller than him and I have free weed. I should be taking advantage of this, but I won’t. Again, not that typa guy.

And no, I don’t have any more posters to put up. That was a lie. In fact, I was done about 15 minutes ago. I put all the posters on one street lamp, covering it in the god-awful poster design to terrorize any innocent pedestrians. It’ll get their attention, that’s for sure.

 

DAVE

I have a very good plan. I’m gonna stand in front of the Rockstar Lounge, asking people if they want a free poster. Who cares if it’s weird? Weird is my middle name, and I wear it like a badge of honor.

So far I’ve given out 14 posters. Technically, I’ve given out around 50, but most of the time they awkwardly hand it back to me with a shake of their head, probably thinking I’m a solicitor. I’m like, c’mon, I’m not selling you a scam! Sure, the music might suck ass, but at least it’s free! Plus you get a free poster!

It’s been about 20 minutes by now, so I should probably be walking back to my car… nah, I’m not gonna give up on this, especially since I only have one more poster. If Hawley wants people to come to this stupid event, then I’ll try my darndest to make people interested. Otherwise I’ll probably get killed. Hey, I’m just thinking of the worst case scenario!

Wait, I think I see him. That Alex guy, the one that got yelled at by Mr. Murphy. The man, the myth, the legend. He’s hanging out with that other Alex, the snobby rich kid who throws all those cool parties. I actually dunno if he’s snobby, I’ve never talked to him before. They’re walking closer to me, having a nice time. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I slipped into their conversation…

I stop them as they walk past, purposely keeping the poster behind my back. This would be the perfect opportunity to give out my last poster. Going out with a bang, if you will.

“Are you that kid that Mr. Murphy yelled at?”

They whip their heads toward me, like I scared them or something. C’mon, I’m not that scary, right? I hope not.

Turner eyes me suspiciously, and Kapranos looks indifferent.

“Why do you want to know?” The short Alex asks.

“So that’s a yes.” I reveal the posters to them, and Kapranos’ face turns confused, while the other one goes wide-eyed. “I was wondering if you were interested in going to this.”

“See? I was fuckin’ right, Alex!” Turner yells, proceeding to look back at me and yanking the last poster from my hand, almost ripping the thing in half.

“Right about what?”

Kapranos rolls his eyes. “He thought Mr. Murphy was scheming something with Principal Hawley because of ‘talking outside the teacher’s lounge’.”

“I never said it was sensible!” He looks at me again. “Apologies, I’m usually not this sporadic.”

“Bull shit.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “Hey, I don’t mind a bit of craziness. Craziness is my middle name.” Which is a lie of course, because like I said, weird is my middle name. That’s also a lie, but who the fuck cares? It’s a middle name, not a stolen identity. “But are you guys going?”

They look at each other and nod. Kapranos says, “We’ll see what we can do.”

Now my job is done, fucking finally. The heat was starting to get to me. Seriously, it’s mid-September, why is it so hot?

Of course I’m the last one to make it to my car, and I spot a street light covered in familiar looking posters that wasn’t there 30 minutes ago. They all seem to be laughing about… something, but I’m not really interested in that right now.

“Who did this?” I ask, pointing to the street light.

Chris smirks. “That would be me.”

“Fuckin’ genius, dude. I hope Hawley gets to see it.”

“Oh yeah, Hawley just called me about getting some more of my weed gummies.” They all start laughing again. “He sounded desperate, man.”

My jaw is now dropped. No way he made Hawley a fucking drug addict. “Really? What’d you say?”

“I told him that he should get it from Kiedis.”

I join in on the laughing, cause there’s not a chance Hawley’s going anywhere near that guy. Not after Kiedis tried starting a fight with him because the dude couldn’t smoke on the track field after school. Starting a fight in Hawley’s office. What a plan. It didn’t happen obviously, but Kiedis punched a hole into the wall instead, and the dent was apparently pretty big. The guy’s dumb as a rock, but a rock with arms and legs is always entertaining to see.

So now we wait for the show, I guess. I can’t wait to see who Mr. Murphy yells at next! Or maybe Hawley will get arrested again! Oh my god, that would be so fun.

Notes:

One more chapter and this mini arc will be done... kinda. You'll see. I hope I can get it out before I leave for college 😅