Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 28, 2005 14:30:08 GMT -5
Well...*sigh* Awful month so far. But things are steadily getting better. Thanks to all of you for the reviews. They really make me happy. ^_^
And Brokenwings, I luv the enthusiasm!
***********************
PT.6
“Grounded?” Mike asked, raising his eyebrows. “How long?”
Billie Joe sighed and shook his head. “I have no idea.” He kicked a lone pebble on the street, falling into silence. Mike did the same, and the two continued their walk to school. As they were making their way past a low-hanging branch, Billie absentmindedly raised and arm and plucked several dead leaves from the twigs. As he did so, his sleeve slipped down his arm.
Mike gave a cry of surprise, darted forward, and grabbed his friend’s forearm. “Oh my fucking God, did he do this to you?” Mike asked, pointing to the slashes in Billie Joe’s skin. The other boy glanced down, almost with an air of indifference, and shook his head.
The cuts, Mike could see, were clearly from some kind of knife or razor. He was hoping against logic that Steve had done them to simply torture his stepson, but Billie had shaken his head. Mike’s heart clenched.
“Then who did make them?” he whispered, although he thought he knew the answer, he wanted a true confession.
“I did,” Billie Joe replied. He yanked his arm from Mike’s grip and pulled the sleeve down, hiding the self-mutilating marks. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued walking, leaving Mike to scurry to catch up.
“Billie, why did you do that?” Mike asked, and it would take a fool not to hear the deep concern in his voice.
“I did it right after my Mom said I was grounded,” came the response, Billie Joe’s head still tucked between his shoulders.
“I didn’t ask ‘when’, I asked ‘why’,” Mike corrected him, still trying to get Billie Joe to raise his head and look at him.
“Does it matter?” Billie’s voice was muffled and restrained.
“Of course it matters! Billie, you’re cutting yourself! Don’t you see how stupid that is? It won’t help you in any way!”
“It helps, Mike, I know it does!” Billie snapped, and he stopped walking and returned to his full height. Which was less than Mike’s, but Billie Joe had a way that could make even his small size look intimidating. Like now. Mike took a step back when he saw the feral glint in Billie’s eyes. “It helps with the pain. When I see my own blood…I feel better.”
“Oh, so since Steve’s already beating the shit out of you, you decide to start maiming yourself? Like that’s going to make anything better,” Mike replied heatedly, his voice beginning to waver. “It’s retarded, Billie, and you know that. It won’t make the pain go away, and it won’t make you feel better. Possibly for now, but then you’re going to regret it.”
“What do you know about it?” Billie said, and his glare was heated nearly three times more than before. “You don’t know anything, Mike. Nothing at all! You’ve never had to deal with this kind of shit! So don’t tell me what or won’t take the pain away when you haven’t even experienced the pain!”
With that, the smaller boy spun on his heel and strode briskly away, leaving Mike standing by the curb. Mike watched Billie Joe walking away until he disappeared.
Mike began to tremble, tears rising in his eyes. Billie was dying on the inside. He knew it. They both did. Mike was afraid that his friend was pulling himself away from everyone around him, refusing offered help. Mike was afraid Billie Joe would take it too far. He’d had fantasies and dreams of Billie comitting suicide before, and had always woken up crying or screaming, cold sweat all over his body. In his dreams, he was the only one to blame, for though Billie was so near, he couldn’t reach out to him. He felt the guilt for not trying hard enough.
Mike struggled with himself for a few moments, but then he raced after Billie, to see if he could try again to talk some sense into his friend. Unfortunately, Billie Joe had already reached the school and was lost in the large crowd of people heading to their classes before Mike could reach him.
How ironic, Mike thought, and he went to his own class.
~*~*~
Billie stuffed his bag into his locker when lunch period came. He was glancing back and forth along the hallway, making sure Mike wasn’t coming. He really didn’t want to face his friend at the moment. He didn’t feel like arguing about the cutting, and he was also ashamed that Mike had found out like that. He knew the bassist was right. It wasn’t healthy to cut.
But Billie Joe had just felt some sort of indescribable urge to slash his own skin, to watch his blood stream from the wound. In a sick, psychotic way, it felt wonderful. It wasn’t pain to him, it was a stimulant. Mike just didn’t understand. No one ever did.
Billie Joe suddenly let out a small cry of surprise as the huge thug that had snatched his money the day before shoved him roughly against the lockers. The bully sneered and pinned his shoulder to the cheap metal of his locker with one large, beefy hand.
“Hey, queer,” he said, his putrid breath washing over Billie’s face. “I need more money. Do you have any I could ‘borrow’?” He snickered cruelly. Billie Joe didn’t reply. He was really not in the mood for this kind of shit. Why couldn’t this guy pick on someone else? Oh yeah, Billie reminded himself. No one else in this school is a Billie Joe Armstrong.
“Well?” the thug asked, beginning to lose his patience when the slighter boy did not respond. He shook Billie forcefully in his grasp, as if he could win the money that way. Billie Joe’s head slammed against the lockers. “C’mon, queer, say something!”
“Hey,” a deep voice suddenly said, and the bully was wrenched away. Billie thought at first that it was Mike, but the dude standing there was much thicker than Billie’s best friend, and, instead of dirty blond hair, the gelled spikes were a sandy brown. Piercing blue eyes glared heatedly at the punk that’d tried to steal the money.
“Go pick on someone your own size,” Billie Joe’s savior growled, throwing the other boy away from him, as if in disgust. “This guy isn’t even half your size. Are you just picking on him ‘cause he’s easy prey?” The thug flashed the finger before melting away into the crowd, his body tense with anger and embrassment.
The guy who’d saved Billie’s skin sniffed in disgust, then turned to the victim with a smile, all tenseness and anger gone. He held out his hand.
“Yo,” he greeted as Billie took his hand tentatively. “The name’s Tré. Well, if you wanna be technical, it’s Frank Edwin Wright III. But please call me Tré. ‘Frank’ is just too serious for me.” Billie nodded, pushing away from the lockers.
“I’m Billie. Uh…thanks, by the way,” he murmured, rubbing the side of his arm. “He’s been giving me trouble these past few days.” Tré raised an eyebrow.
“Why don’t you report him?” he asked, the shook his head before Billie could answer. “Never mind. Forget I said that; dumb idea. But you shouldn’t have to take shit from him. He’s a low-life, obviously, if he has to take money from other people just so he can have lunch. I mean, it isn’t that expensive. A dollar fifty is really no big deal!”
Tré paused for a moment, an almost apologetic look on his face. “I did it again. My dad says I talk too much. I’ll shut up now, you’re probably tired of listening to me, if you have been at all. Most people zone out whenever I talk to them like this.” He gave a small, half-hearted laugh.
“No, it’s fine,” Billie replied. There was an uncomfortable, but thankfully short, silence. “Hey, uh, listen…I was going to the lunchroom…do you wanna come with me?” Tré instantly brightened at the idea.
“Dude! That would be awesome!” he said enthusiastically. “I’m new here. I was just looking for the cafeteria when I came to help you. You really wouldn’t mind putting up with me?” Billie smiled, but only someone who looking close enough could tell it was nearly devoid of all emotion.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said. Tré exaggeratingly raised an eyebrow and squinched one eye tightly.
“Are you sure?” he asked, as if suspiscious the smaller boy was lying. “Normally when everybody says that, they ditch me later. I’m too much to handle for them, apparently. Hell, my parents can’t even stand me!” Billie chuckled softly as he began leading the new kid to the lunchroom.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he replied.
“So you really don’t mind?” Tré asked when he caught up to Billie Joe, who was walking rather fast.
“I’m sure I can cope,” Billie said, then glanced at Tré from the corner of his eye. “And I promise that I’m not as heartless as everyone else. I won’t ditch you.”
“Really?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Well, that’s a relief! Since I’m new and all, suddenly losing a guide is really not good when you’re in an environment you don’t recognize. Besides, it’s just plain mean when people ditch. Makes you feel like shit.”
“There are worse things that can make you feel like shit,” Billie Joe whispered. His voice was so soft Tré barely even heard him.
“What’s worse than being ditched?” Tré asked, interested in what the answer would be. But Billie just quickened his pace until they came to the cafeteria. Tré was a bit puzzled at his new companion’s behavior, but by the time Billie was leading him through the lunchroom, the confusion had fled his mind.
Billie Joe passed every other table filled with kids, taking Tré to the very back of the cafeteria, where, at a table, a lone boy sat. He glanced up when Billie came near and leapt instantly from his seat.
“Billie! I’ve been looking all over for you, man! Where’ve you been?” he asked, then noticed Tré standing behind Billie Joe, looking a bit nervous and out of place. “Who’s this?”
“What?” Billie asked, then glanced back over his shoulder to realize that he’d already forgotten all about his companion. “Oh…uh, this is Tré. He’s new.”
“Hey, a newbie,” the taller boy said with a smile, reaching over to shake his hand. “I’m Mike Pritcher. ‘Sup?”
“Nothing much,” Tré replied, shrugging his left shoulder. “Getting used to being in a new school and all. Billie kindly decided to be my guide for the time being, until I can actually find my way around here without getting yelled at by a teacher for being lost.” Mike laughed, then sat down, and the two other boys followed his lead.
“So where’re you from?” Mike asked, at the same time pushing a half-eaten bag of chips In Billie’s direction. Billie Joe didn’t touch the food, Tré noticed.
“Mendocino,” he answered to Mike’s question. The blond-haired boy raised his eyebrows.
“That’s more than a little while away,” he observed. “What made you move down here to Crockett?”
“My dad was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. I was really born in Germany, but then he moved us all out here to California, and then he got a job in Crockett. So we moved.” Tré shrugged. “It was a little weird at first. I had to leave my home and everything I’d grown up around. Worst of all, I had to leave my band.”
“Band?” Billie suddenly piped up, turning to Tré curiously. “What’d you play?”
“Drums, mostly,” Tré replied. “But I can also play guitar, even though I’m not that good. As well as the accordian.” Tré swore, he got different reactions every time he told somebody he played such an instrument, from shock to interest to plain disbelief.
“You can play an accordian?” Mike asked with a smile. “Dude, that’s awesome! You’re not joking?”
“Nope,” Tré responded. “My dad got me lessons when I was a kid. God, I hated it so much I almost threw my accordian in the fire one night. But my dad forced me to continue. It’s okay now. Not as bad as it was before.” He shrugged again.
“You said you play drums?” Billie asked. “How good are you?” Tré smiled.
“I’m not sure. All I know is, I love doing it, and that’s really all that matters to me.”
Mike and Billie sent each other a meaningful glance that the new kid couldn’t decipher. Tré wasn’t sure what it meant, but it must have to the other two, for then Mike turned to him again.
“How old are you?” the tall boy asked in an abrupt change of subject.
“Fifteen. I was born in December,” Tré answered.
“Cool, same age as us,” Billie said. Tré watched as Mike pushed the neglected bag of chips in the black-haired boy’s direction again. The two locked eyes, and Billie shook his head. Mike raised a questioning eyebrow, and Billie Joe shrugged half-heartedly, looking away.
Tré chose to ignore his own confusion. Obviously these two had known each other for a long time, by the way they could communicate without speaking. They were hiding something, he was sure of it, but he didn’t want to demand to know secrets when they’d only just met.
“Who’s class do you have after this?” Mike asked him, turning away from Billie. Tré chewed on his lip, then dug through his bag for a good minute before withdrawing a small, crumpled sheet of paper. He laid it flat on the table.
“Uh…Mrs. Cochrane,” he read aloud. The ink on his schedual was faded and dim from abuse. “Algebra. Ugh. Math has to be my biggest enemy in school.” Mike chuckled darkly.
“Mrs. Cochrane will soon become the biggest enemy,” he said. “She’s a bitch and expects you to know how to do everything right after she tells you to.”
Tré groaned and rolled his eyes, placing the tattered slip of paper back in his bag. “Great. Something tells me the next hour will be torture.”
“Don’t worry. I have Mrs. Cochrane next, too,” Mike said, smiling. “I can show you how to get there. Not only that, I’ll endure it with you.” Tré smiled appreciatively.
“Thanks, man,” he said in gratitude. “I’m glad I met you guys. It would have been rather lonely wandering around the school by myself, getting lost.” Mike and Billie Joe smiled as the bell rang outside. The three stood up and made their into the hallway amongst every other student.
“So what do you have next?” Tré asked Billie.
“Uhh…” the other boy’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I think…history. I hope I get my notebook back. He forgot to give it back to me yesterday.” Tré opened his mouth, about to ask about the notebook Billie was speaking of, but there was a shout behind them.
“Armstrong!”
Billie Joe spun around to see a stern figure making its way through the crowd towards him, its marching purposeful.
“Aw, fuck,” Billie grumbled, waiting for Mr. Damn to approach. The vice principal only glanced at Mike and Tré, then glared down his nose at Billie.
“Counselor’s office, Mr. Armstrong,” he barked. “You didn’t forget, did you?” Billie Joe managed an innocent look.
“No,” he lied. “I was just heading that way.” Mr. Damn gave a thin smile, more like a sneer than anything else.
“Good. I’ll walk with you, so you don’t get…sidetracked,” he said casually. Billie resisted the urge to groan. He could have aimed in the direction of the counselor’s office, then ducked back, but with Mr. Damn monitering him he’d never get the chance.
“You two, get to class,” Mr. Damn ordered Mike and Tré, then walked briskly down the hall, Billie in tow. Mike watched his friend’s back until the two of them disappeared.
“C’mon,” he said to Tré, and led their new friend to Mrs. Cochrane’s room.
*******************************
Yay! It was originally going to be Mike that saved Billie Joe from the bully, but I changed my mind at the last second, just as I was writing it. For all you Tre Cool fans out there! Woot woot!
I hope you liked it!
And Brokenwings, I luv the enthusiasm!
***********************
PT.6
“Grounded?” Mike asked, raising his eyebrows. “How long?”
Billie Joe sighed and shook his head. “I have no idea.” He kicked a lone pebble on the street, falling into silence. Mike did the same, and the two continued their walk to school. As they were making their way past a low-hanging branch, Billie absentmindedly raised and arm and plucked several dead leaves from the twigs. As he did so, his sleeve slipped down his arm.
Mike gave a cry of surprise, darted forward, and grabbed his friend’s forearm. “Oh my fucking God, did he do this to you?” Mike asked, pointing to the slashes in Billie Joe’s skin. The other boy glanced down, almost with an air of indifference, and shook his head.
The cuts, Mike could see, were clearly from some kind of knife or razor. He was hoping against logic that Steve had done them to simply torture his stepson, but Billie had shaken his head. Mike’s heart clenched.
“Then who did make them?” he whispered, although he thought he knew the answer, he wanted a true confession.
“I did,” Billie Joe replied. He yanked his arm from Mike’s grip and pulled the sleeve down, hiding the self-mutilating marks. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued walking, leaving Mike to scurry to catch up.
“Billie, why did you do that?” Mike asked, and it would take a fool not to hear the deep concern in his voice.
“I did it right after my Mom said I was grounded,” came the response, Billie Joe’s head still tucked between his shoulders.
“I didn’t ask ‘when’, I asked ‘why’,” Mike corrected him, still trying to get Billie Joe to raise his head and look at him.
“Does it matter?” Billie’s voice was muffled and restrained.
“Of course it matters! Billie, you’re cutting yourself! Don’t you see how stupid that is? It won’t help you in any way!”
“It helps, Mike, I know it does!” Billie snapped, and he stopped walking and returned to his full height. Which was less than Mike’s, but Billie Joe had a way that could make even his small size look intimidating. Like now. Mike took a step back when he saw the feral glint in Billie’s eyes. “It helps with the pain. When I see my own blood…I feel better.”
“Oh, so since Steve’s already beating the shit out of you, you decide to start maiming yourself? Like that’s going to make anything better,” Mike replied heatedly, his voice beginning to waver. “It’s retarded, Billie, and you know that. It won’t make the pain go away, and it won’t make you feel better. Possibly for now, but then you’re going to regret it.”
“What do you know about it?” Billie said, and his glare was heated nearly three times more than before. “You don’t know anything, Mike. Nothing at all! You’ve never had to deal with this kind of shit! So don’t tell me what or won’t take the pain away when you haven’t even experienced the pain!”
With that, the smaller boy spun on his heel and strode briskly away, leaving Mike standing by the curb. Mike watched Billie Joe walking away until he disappeared.
Mike began to tremble, tears rising in his eyes. Billie was dying on the inside. He knew it. They both did. Mike was afraid that his friend was pulling himself away from everyone around him, refusing offered help. Mike was afraid Billie Joe would take it too far. He’d had fantasies and dreams of Billie comitting suicide before, and had always woken up crying or screaming, cold sweat all over his body. In his dreams, he was the only one to blame, for though Billie was so near, he couldn’t reach out to him. He felt the guilt for not trying hard enough.
Mike struggled with himself for a few moments, but then he raced after Billie, to see if he could try again to talk some sense into his friend. Unfortunately, Billie Joe had already reached the school and was lost in the large crowd of people heading to their classes before Mike could reach him.
How ironic, Mike thought, and he went to his own class.
~*~*~
Billie stuffed his bag into his locker when lunch period came. He was glancing back and forth along the hallway, making sure Mike wasn’t coming. He really didn’t want to face his friend at the moment. He didn’t feel like arguing about the cutting, and he was also ashamed that Mike had found out like that. He knew the bassist was right. It wasn’t healthy to cut.
But Billie Joe had just felt some sort of indescribable urge to slash his own skin, to watch his blood stream from the wound. In a sick, psychotic way, it felt wonderful. It wasn’t pain to him, it was a stimulant. Mike just didn’t understand. No one ever did.
Billie Joe suddenly let out a small cry of surprise as the huge thug that had snatched his money the day before shoved him roughly against the lockers. The bully sneered and pinned his shoulder to the cheap metal of his locker with one large, beefy hand.
“Hey, queer,” he said, his putrid breath washing over Billie’s face. “I need more money. Do you have any I could ‘borrow’?” He snickered cruelly. Billie Joe didn’t reply. He was really not in the mood for this kind of shit. Why couldn’t this guy pick on someone else? Oh yeah, Billie reminded himself. No one else in this school is a Billie Joe Armstrong.
“Well?” the thug asked, beginning to lose his patience when the slighter boy did not respond. He shook Billie forcefully in his grasp, as if he could win the money that way. Billie Joe’s head slammed against the lockers. “C’mon, queer, say something!”
“Hey,” a deep voice suddenly said, and the bully was wrenched away. Billie thought at first that it was Mike, but the dude standing there was much thicker than Billie’s best friend, and, instead of dirty blond hair, the gelled spikes were a sandy brown. Piercing blue eyes glared heatedly at the punk that’d tried to steal the money.
“Go pick on someone your own size,” Billie Joe’s savior growled, throwing the other boy away from him, as if in disgust. “This guy isn’t even half your size. Are you just picking on him ‘cause he’s easy prey?” The thug flashed the finger before melting away into the crowd, his body tense with anger and embrassment.
The guy who’d saved Billie’s skin sniffed in disgust, then turned to the victim with a smile, all tenseness and anger gone. He held out his hand.
“Yo,” he greeted as Billie took his hand tentatively. “The name’s Tré. Well, if you wanna be technical, it’s Frank Edwin Wright III. But please call me Tré. ‘Frank’ is just too serious for me.” Billie nodded, pushing away from the lockers.
“I’m Billie. Uh…thanks, by the way,” he murmured, rubbing the side of his arm. “He’s been giving me trouble these past few days.” Tré raised an eyebrow.
“Why don’t you report him?” he asked, the shook his head before Billie could answer. “Never mind. Forget I said that; dumb idea. But you shouldn’t have to take shit from him. He’s a low-life, obviously, if he has to take money from other people just so he can have lunch. I mean, it isn’t that expensive. A dollar fifty is really no big deal!”
Tré paused for a moment, an almost apologetic look on his face. “I did it again. My dad says I talk too much. I’ll shut up now, you’re probably tired of listening to me, if you have been at all. Most people zone out whenever I talk to them like this.” He gave a small, half-hearted laugh.
“No, it’s fine,” Billie replied. There was an uncomfortable, but thankfully short, silence. “Hey, uh, listen…I was going to the lunchroom…do you wanna come with me?” Tré instantly brightened at the idea.
“Dude! That would be awesome!” he said enthusiastically. “I’m new here. I was just looking for the cafeteria when I came to help you. You really wouldn’t mind putting up with me?” Billie smiled, but only someone who looking close enough could tell it was nearly devoid of all emotion.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said. Tré exaggeratingly raised an eyebrow and squinched one eye tightly.
“Are you sure?” he asked, as if suspiscious the smaller boy was lying. “Normally when everybody says that, they ditch me later. I’m too much to handle for them, apparently. Hell, my parents can’t even stand me!” Billie chuckled softly as he began leading the new kid to the lunchroom.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he replied.
“So you really don’t mind?” Tré asked when he caught up to Billie Joe, who was walking rather fast.
“I’m sure I can cope,” Billie said, then glanced at Tré from the corner of his eye. “And I promise that I’m not as heartless as everyone else. I won’t ditch you.”
“Really?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Well, that’s a relief! Since I’m new and all, suddenly losing a guide is really not good when you’re in an environment you don’t recognize. Besides, it’s just plain mean when people ditch. Makes you feel like shit.”
“There are worse things that can make you feel like shit,” Billie Joe whispered. His voice was so soft Tré barely even heard him.
“What’s worse than being ditched?” Tré asked, interested in what the answer would be. But Billie just quickened his pace until they came to the cafeteria. Tré was a bit puzzled at his new companion’s behavior, but by the time Billie was leading him through the lunchroom, the confusion had fled his mind.
Billie Joe passed every other table filled with kids, taking Tré to the very back of the cafeteria, where, at a table, a lone boy sat. He glanced up when Billie came near and leapt instantly from his seat.
“Billie! I’ve been looking all over for you, man! Where’ve you been?” he asked, then noticed Tré standing behind Billie Joe, looking a bit nervous and out of place. “Who’s this?”
“What?” Billie asked, then glanced back over his shoulder to realize that he’d already forgotten all about his companion. “Oh…uh, this is Tré. He’s new.”
“Hey, a newbie,” the taller boy said with a smile, reaching over to shake his hand. “I’m Mike Pritcher. ‘Sup?”
“Nothing much,” Tré replied, shrugging his left shoulder. “Getting used to being in a new school and all. Billie kindly decided to be my guide for the time being, until I can actually find my way around here without getting yelled at by a teacher for being lost.” Mike laughed, then sat down, and the two other boys followed his lead.
“So where’re you from?” Mike asked, at the same time pushing a half-eaten bag of chips In Billie’s direction. Billie Joe didn’t touch the food, Tré noticed.
“Mendocino,” he answered to Mike’s question. The blond-haired boy raised his eyebrows.
“That’s more than a little while away,” he observed. “What made you move down here to Crockett?”
“My dad was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. I was really born in Germany, but then he moved us all out here to California, and then he got a job in Crockett. So we moved.” Tré shrugged. “It was a little weird at first. I had to leave my home and everything I’d grown up around. Worst of all, I had to leave my band.”
“Band?” Billie suddenly piped up, turning to Tré curiously. “What’d you play?”
“Drums, mostly,” Tré replied. “But I can also play guitar, even though I’m not that good. As well as the accordian.” Tré swore, he got different reactions every time he told somebody he played such an instrument, from shock to interest to plain disbelief.
“You can play an accordian?” Mike asked with a smile. “Dude, that’s awesome! You’re not joking?”
“Nope,” Tré responded. “My dad got me lessons when I was a kid. God, I hated it so much I almost threw my accordian in the fire one night. But my dad forced me to continue. It’s okay now. Not as bad as it was before.” He shrugged again.
“You said you play drums?” Billie asked. “How good are you?” Tré smiled.
“I’m not sure. All I know is, I love doing it, and that’s really all that matters to me.”
Mike and Billie sent each other a meaningful glance that the new kid couldn’t decipher. Tré wasn’t sure what it meant, but it must have to the other two, for then Mike turned to him again.
“How old are you?” the tall boy asked in an abrupt change of subject.
“Fifteen. I was born in December,” Tré answered.
“Cool, same age as us,” Billie said. Tré watched as Mike pushed the neglected bag of chips in the black-haired boy’s direction again. The two locked eyes, and Billie shook his head. Mike raised a questioning eyebrow, and Billie Joe shrugged half-heartedly, looking away.
Tré chose to ignore his own confusion. Obviously these two had known each other for a long time, by the way they could communicate without speaking. They were hiding something, he was sure of it, but he didn’t want to demand to know secrets when they’d only just met.
“Who’s class do you have after this?” Mike asked him, turning away from Billie. Tré chewed on his lip, then dug through his bag for a good minute before withdrawing a small, crumpled sheet of paper. He laid it flat on the table.
“Uh…Mrs. Cochrane,” he read aloud. The ink on his schedual was faded and dim from abuse. “Algebra. Ugh. Math has to be my biggest enemy in school.” Mike chuckled darkly.
“Mrs. Cochrane will soon become the biggest enemy,” he said. “She’s a bitch and expects you to know how to do everything right after she tells you to.”
Tré groaned and rolled his eyes, placing the tattered slip of paper back in his bag. “Great. Something tells me the next hour will be torture.”
“Don’t worry. I have Mrs. Cochrane next, too,” Mike said, smiling. “I can show you how to get there. Not only that, I’ll endure it with you.” Tré smiled appreciatively.
“Thanks, man,” he said in gratitude. “I’m glad I met you guys. It would have been rather lonely wandering around the school by myself, getting lost.” Mike and Billie Joe smiled as the bell rang outside. The three stood up and made their into the hallway amongst every other student.
“So what do you have next?” Tré asked Billie.
“Uhh…” the other boy’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I think…history. I hope I get my notebook back. He forgot to give it back to me yesterday.” Tré opened his mouth, about to ask about the notebook Billie was speaking of, but there was a shout behind them.
“Armstrong!”
Billie Joe spun around to see a stern figure making its way through the crowd towards him, its marching purposeful.
“Aw, fuck,” Billie grumbled, waiting for Mr. Damn to approach. The vice principal only glanced at Mike and Tré, then glared down his nose at Billie.
“Counselor’s office, Mr. Armstrong,” he barked. “You didn’t forget, did you?” Billie Joe managed an innocent look.
“No,” he lied. “I was just heading that way.” Mr. Damn gave a thin smile, more like a sneer than anything else.
“Good. I’ll walk with you, so you don’t get…sidetracked,” he said casually. Billie resisted the urge to groan. He could have aimed in the direction of the counselor’s office, then ducked back, but with Mr. Damn monitering him he’d never get the chance.
“You two, get to class,” Mr. Damn ordered Mike and Tré, then walked briskly down the hall, Billie in tow. Mike watched his friend’s back until the two of them disappeared.
“C’mon,” he said to Tré, and led their new friend to Mrs. Cochrane’s room.
*******************************
Yay! It was originally going to be Mike that saved Billie Joe from the bully, but I changed my mind at the last second, just as I was writing it. For all you Tre Cool fans out there! Woot woot!
I hope you liked it!