"Oh you just must be our new student!"
Sleep clouded his thoughts like a filmy haze, and it took him a couple minutes of staring blankly at the time for his brain to register the fact that homeroom started at 7:20 am. Trying to make it to school on time, regardless if it was his first day back or not, was a fruitless effort. Brendon stood up slowly, wincing slightly as his stiff body moved from the cold floor. He stripped down leisurely, and languidly picked up whatever pants he could find on the ground. It’s not like the school was going anywhere.
Settling on a pair of gray skinny jeans, black belt, and black v-neck, he tore apart his room looking for his left shoe. Mounds of clothes, magazines, CD’s, and food, as only to be found in a teenage boys room, were haphazardly pushed aside as he looked for the hidden Converse. His attempts to find the shoe were futile, as the tumbling piles of crap covered even more of the floor. After angrily kicking away an empty guitar case, Brendon maneuvered his body to reach the shoe that had been pushed under his bed, along with a buried backpack.
In a half hop, Brendon attempted to put the other shoe on while making his way to the bathroom. Trying to keep his sliding backpack on his shoulders, he tried to hoist it up his back, but the weight of his textbooks offset his and sent him tumbling into the doorframe. With an oomph, he caught himself, chest and palms hitting the door frame. His small body was not meant for the weight and size of his backpack. Brendon reached for his red glasses sitting on the bathroom sink. Glancing in the mirror, he inwardly recoiled from his reflection. The glasses barely concealed the growing circles under his eyes from his insomniatic ways. He briefly ran his hands under some water and half-heartedly attempted to fix his deep brown, almost black, hair, while flipping his lopsided bangs away from his face. AN: think 2007 New Years Eve Panic! performance Bden hair
Grabbing a hoodie and capri sun, Brendon sipped the juice pouch contentedly as he nonchalantly strolled out the door. His mother had left him a ‘cheesy-mommy-note’ on the door. Good morning sweetie, I hope you have a great first day (: Love, mum. He rolled his eyes and ripped it down before continuing on his way. By the time he had reached his new school, Palo Verde Highschool, he was sucking loudly on the straw, a disconcerting pout settling in, like he couldn’t understand where the juice had gone.
Walking into the front doors, he realized he had no idea where he was going. The walls were covered in the same white cement brick as every other school, and to Brendon, the gray carpet seemed to emit a smell of trees and old people. On his left he saw a glass door marked Front Office. Walking in, he found himself in front of a reception desk. The lady behind it had a red face and some blemishes, which she had tried to cover up with foundation, which only resulted in her face looking unnaturally colored to the rest of her body, cakey, and her pores were magnified as the liquid had set in. Whether she had seen Brendon walk in or not, she chose to ignore him, as if the attendance records on the computer screen were the most riveting thing she had ever encountered. Brendon stood, shifting from foot to foot, and fidgeting with his backpack. The nerves had started to set in, and he glanced around the unfamiliar building. The only thing in the bland office was an uncomfortable looking bench, and a small hallway which lead to more closed doors. He turned his attention back to the receptionist when he heard her cough. Brendon winced; the lady had the large, fakest, most beauty pageant style-esque smile he had seen.
“You must be the new junior, Brendon Urie”, she said, though a toothy clamped jaw. Brendon just nodded, disgusted by her fakeness. “Here is your schedule; I trust you can find yourself around. Seeing as you missed attendance in homeroom,” which she accompanied by a glare, “you’re first period class is Trigonometry, upstairs in room 206”.
“Thank you,” he replied, his voice dripping with the same sickly sweet tone she had used on him. He took the schedule from her manicured hands and just kind of meandered out the door. Looking around half-heartedly, and 16 minutes late, he managed to stumble across room 206. The boy took a deep breath, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and stepped inside.
The class, which had previously been filled with a quiet murmur of early morning conversations, fell silent. Brendon found every pair of eyes upon him. The teacher, noticing the silence, turned around and exclaimed with an annoying amount of enthusiasm, “Oh you just must be our new student!”
Brendon listlessly nodded, not trusting his own voice. His nerves had taken control, and any sense of calm he had felt earlier was gone. “There’s an empty seat in the back corner next to Pete, “she said, pointing, as the boy Brendon assumed was Pete waved. Brendon made his way to the back of the room, struggling to sling his backpack off his shoulder and on the floor. He kept his eyes focused on the floor; he could already feel his face beginning to turn red with prickly heat. He situated himself in the tiny desk and glanced quickly at Pete through his bangs. He could tell the boy was on the smaller side, but only saw a wall of black hair instead of a face. He turned to the front of the room to see what the teacher had written on the board, though one glance of the complicated equation and the teacher droning on in a monotone voice on how to solve it, and he immediately checked out. Not even bother to take out any sort of notebook or writing utensil out, he slouched in his seat, extended his legs, and once comfortable, began to play with his fingers. Brendon absentmindedly picked at the calluses on his finger tips from his guitar, pulled at the hangnails on his fingernails, bent his fingers back to stretch them, and continued to zone out in his own little world.
His head snapped up and his hands fell to his side.
“Pourquoi est-ce que tu fais la sourde oreille?”
His heart started to pound. He had zoned out…wasn’t this math class? He could feel the eyes of the class all turn to him, but kept his eyes fixed on the teacher, not wanting to catch the eyes of the other students. She glared at him with a challenging look and hands on her hips. The boy heard a tiny chuckle, and turned to see Pete looking at him with a small smirking smile playing on his lips. He could feel the blush begin to rise up on his face again.
“Uh.. je ne sais pas..je suis desole.” He mumbled, glancing at the teacher who now held a softer look on her face, the recognizable feeling of the prickly heat once again flaming up under his cheeks, he ducked his head again to hide his blush.
“Hey, I think you just showed up Mrs. Hall. That’s pretty impressive; whenever she’s pissed she whips out some French to freak kids out.”
Brendon looked up, and saw Pete leaning towards him to whisper with his smirk smile still on his face.
“Uh..yeah..” Brendon replied, not really sure what to say.
“Just watch yourself, this teacher is freaking bipolar. One minute she’s all happy-smiley-here-have-a-cookie, next minute she’s the demon barber of Fleet Street here to slit your throat with her ruler. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”
“Of course.” He said, giving him a small smile back while chuckling to himself about Pete’s movie reference. “Wouldn’t want to end up dead and ground into Mrs. Lovett’s famous meat pies.” He mumbled under his breath. Pete must have heard him because he gave a reticent laugh before quieting and facing forward again, silenced by Hall’s glare of mother fucking death.
Brendon glances desperately at the clock, willing it to go faster after realizing he didn’t know what time the bell would ring. But not wanting Mrs. Hall to call him out again, he turned his attention to the board and scanned his eyes over the mathematics he didn’t understand. His eyelids were starting to droop before the loud ring of the bell signaled the end of the period. He sighed, and slowly recollected his backpack neglectfully kicked behind the desk, before leaving the classroom to face the sea of students.
Ryan’s POV Ryan sighed and grumbled to himself as he took his seat next to the door. Who the fuck can focus on Trigonometry first period before 8 am? It’s not like it was difficult for him, he could easily be in calculus right now, but it pissed him off to have to stare at Mrs. Hall’s face for 45 minutes before he had properly woken up. Reaching to grab his text book out of his backpack, a half filled sheet with number scribbled everywhere fell out. Shit, he had forgotten to finish the homework. He turned and poked Spencer, the boy next to him. Spencer seemed to have fallen asleep; his head was buried under the crook of his elbow and other supporting arm. Ryan poked him right in the closed eyelid, letting out a small giggle when the other boy groggily lifted his head up.
“Whaisit?” Sleep overcoming his ability to form a coherent sentence.
“Dude did you finish the homework last night? I need the last four problems.”
“Isinmmbackpck” he grumbled, before pulling his hood over his head and reclaiming his earlier sleeping position hunched over on his chair.
Ryan leaned over to rifle through his friends backpack, searching through binders and textbooks before finding the damn paper. He frantically copied the last few problems, covering the page in more of his illegible scrawl. Seeing the Mrs. Hall walk in and shut the door behind her, he quickly surreptitiously placed the homework back into Spencer’s backpack and nudged him awake. Spencer, not acting kindly to being woken up, turned to give Ryan his perfected bitch face, before seeing the teacher and nodding thankfully. He slouched, and his head hung. His longer hair covered his eyes and Ryan could hear his breathing slow and even out. He assumed his friend was asleep again, and Mrs. Hall was oblivious. She started the class by copying down some equations and review for the test on the board. Ryan absentmindedly played with his pencil and twirling it between his fingers.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly, as the girl sitting in front of him turned around to scowl at him. The boy had managed to stab himself with his pencil. Of course. Ryan sighed once again, and headed to the opposite back corner of the room to retrieve a tissue to stop the blood falling from his finger. He quietly worked his skinny body through the mazes of desks and pressed the tissue to his stinging finger. His attention absorbed by his wounded finger, he didn’t hear the door open, nor notice a nervous and somewhat flustered looking boy enter the room.
“Oh you just must be our new student!”
Ryan looked up at the sound of his teacher’s voice. He saw a boy standing at the front of the room, tentatively shifting from foot to foot. Ryan had never seen this kid before, he was sure of it. Everyone at Palo Verde high school had been together since at least middle school. He gave him a quick up-down, mentally approving his converse, skinny jeans, and v-neck. The jeans hugged his man curves quite deliciously, and the shirt, his skinny torso. His view from the back of the room obstructed him from getting a good glance at his face, but saw the boy nod and bite his giftedly plump lips.
“There’s an empty seat in the back corner next to Pete.”
Ryan saw Pete, sitting right in front of where he was standing, wave. He watched the new kid make his way to his seat, his walk more along the lines of a saunter. The boy kept his eyes on the ground, and Ryan smiled when he saw a cute little blush working his way up the boy’s cheeks. The new boy’s bangs obstructed Ryan’s view of his face, but he managed to catch a quick glance as he made his way back to his seat near Spencer. The kid never noticed Ryan, as he kept his eyes glued firmly to the floor, but Ryan saw that he had gorgeous eyes, large and brown. Though his demeanor was of a new quiet and shy kid, Ryan could spot a little ostentatious glint at them, hinting at his true personality. He took his seat, wishing the boy would look up from playing with his fingers, meanwhile thinking about how adorable the red glasses made him look. The kid seemed so withdrawn to his own little world that Ryan turned to face the board, feeling like a creep for stating so long. His eyes scanned the board aimlessly. He already understood all of it. He glanced over and stifled a laugh when he noticed Spencer was still asleep, drool starting to pool under his chin on his hoodie.
Ryan glanced at the clock; it seemed to be moving slower than usual. He turned his attention back to the board to see Mrs. Hall turn around.
“Brendon. Pourquoi est-ce que tu fais la sourde oreille?”
Ryan furrowed his eyebrows together..who was Brendon? He looked around the classroom to notice that the majority of the students had their attention focused on the new boy, who was now blushing harder. Ryan felt sympathetic for the kid; no one had warned him beforehand of the teachers bipolar, let’s talk in French when I’m pissed off, ways. He watched the boy, who must have been Brendon, sink lower in his chair before casting a quick glance at the teacher. He heard him mutter something back, it seemed to be impressed. Ryan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Their shitty school didn’t even offer French. Mrs. Hall can suck it! He watched as Brendon turned away from the teacher, seemingly embarrassed, the majority of the eyes in the class focused on him. He was too fucking adorable. Ryan felt a small, unnatural, hint of jealousy as he saw him start talking to Pete. Not wanting to be a creeper, he turned away to focus on the board. His eyes focused blankly on the board, willing the time to pass faster.
At last the bell ring. Ryan collected his homework and binder, shoving it into his already crammed backpack, before flicking Spencer in the head. Kid had managed to sleep throughout the entire class. And without getting caught. Lucky little fuck. They exited the room together, and Ryan looked around before they left. But Brendon had already disappeared