Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > .waste.of.time.
“Somebody’s happy,” Gerard said as I slipped into my desk in English.
I grinned at him. “I am,” I said. “My mom’s back. She drove me this morning.”
“Hence the call telling me not to pick you up. Thanks a lot. You made me early.”
“I think you’ll live.” I rolled my eyes and opened my notebook. “So have you heard from the theater yet?”
“No. Have you?”
“Nope.”
“What happened after I brought you back? If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”
I shook my head, smiling a little. “Gram went ballistic.”
“After that little scene before we left, I’d be surprised if she was anything less than that.”
“You’re telling me. She screamed her head off for, like, two hours before she decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and sent me to my room. My mom came home later that night, two days early, and when she walked in, Gram went off on this whole long speech about how disrespectful and promiscuous I am.” I rolled my eyes.
“Why did your mom come back early?”
I shrugged. “She finished her business early . . . Then her work called and said they needed her back ASAP. So she dropped me off on her way to work this morning.”
Gerard nodded.
Class felt exceptionally slow that day, since all we really did was read silently, and by the time lunch rolled around, I was so lethargic that I wanted to skip it and go take a nap. As it was, Gerard and I decided to go eat outside because the cafeteria smelled strange.
Probably the mystery meat.
“What did your mom say about you auditioning with me?” I asked as we set up shop at a picnic table under some trees. “Or did you even tell her?”
“She knows.” Gerard popped the top on a can of Coke and took a long drink. “She thinks it’ll be good for me. You know, to be doing something other than hanging out with you all the time or just . . . I don’t know. Drawing.”
“You’ll get in,” I said, opening a small Rubbermaid tub of leftover spaghetti from last night. We’d had takeout.
Gerard rolled his eyes.
I reached over and flicked him, hard, on the neck.
“Ow!”
“If you do that one more time,” I said. “I’ll make it really hurt next time.”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Like that’s possible. It already feels like someone shot a dart at you. Who taught you how to do that, anyway?”
I shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“More like a curse.”
“For you, maybe.” I took a bite of my spaghetti. “What is your speech about?”
“For English?”
“No, for math, genius.”
“The history of rock music.”
I stared at him. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”
I groaned. Leave it to him to pick a cool, intellectual-esque topic like that. “I hate you.”
“For what this time?” He drained the Coke can and crushed it in his hand.
I massaged my temples with my fingertips. “I have the dumbest topic in the world.”
“Don’t complain. You’re the one that picked it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So.” His eyes flickered a little, which generally meant that he was holding in laughter. “What is it?”
“It’s like this . . . I was reading over the requirements for the speech, and you remember that homework we did last week where we had to pick a topic and write an outline for it?”
“Yeah.”
“Honest to God, I have no idea what I was thinking, but . . .” I grimaced.
He smirked, clearly waiting for me to finish so he could go ahead and laugh.
“Okay . . . My topic is . . . About House.”
“Houses?” He raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s not even worth remarking on.”
“No, not houses. House. The show.”
He just stared at me. “That’s what your speech is about?”
“Well, I didn’t know I was going to have to write a whole speech about it when I wrote that outline!”
He started laughing, which only made me more frustrated.
“Why did I pick that?” I said, pinching the space between my eyebrows like I usually do when I’m frustrated. “What was I thinking?”
He just shook his head. “Who knows? Not even you, apparently.”
“It’s the worst topic ever. I mean, I said everything that there is to say in my outline.”
“It’s a big show. You’ll think of something.”
“Uh, no. It’s like the same thing every single week.” I moaned. “Which wouldn’t be so bad, I guess, if I didn’t go and fuck it all up even worse.”
“And how do you go about fucking that up?”
“Let me think,” I said, rubbing the space between my eyebrows so there wouldn’t be little indentations from my fingernails. “By making it about the three main characters, that’s how.”
“Normally, I’d make some kind of snarky comment, but that would be too easy.”
“And normally, I’d tell you what to do with your snarky comments, but I brought this upon myself this time.”
“Which is exactly like every other time.”
“No comment.” I tapped my fingernails on the table and sighed. “Three to five minutes. How am I supposed to talk about that for that long?”
“I can help you there.”
“How?”
“Speak really slowly.” He must have noticed my skeptical expression, because he went on. “I know that’s hard for you, because you’ve never done that before, but try.”
“I most certainly can speak slowly,” I said. “I mean, like, for a role or something.”
“So pretend it’s one of those monologues you love so much.”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “You know she’ll only have, like, half the class read. The rest of us will just have to have the printed copy ready and waiting.”
“So make sure you’re in the half that gets picked.”
“Right,” I said. “Because I’m so good at predicting those sorts of things.”
“Well, I’m out of ideas.”
“Well, good. They all sucked.”
“All I can say is, you’ve finally got an excuse to watch TV.”
That had honestly never occurred to me. “You’re right . . . And my mom can’t say anything about it because it’s research for a project. Wow. I am a genius.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Maybe not, but you’re not the one with an excuse to watch TV.”
I grinned at him. “I am,” I said. “My mom’s back. She drove me this morning.”
“Hence the call telling me not to pick you up. Thanks a lot. You made me early.”
“I think you’ll live.” I rolled my eyes and opened my notebook. “So have you heard from the theater yet?”
“No. Have you?”
“Nope.”
“What happened after I brought you back? If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”
I shook my head, smiling a little. “Gram went ballistic.”
“After that little scene before we left, I’d be surprised if she was anything less than that.”
“You’re telling me. She screamed her head off for, like, two hours before she decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and sent me to my room. My mom came home later that night, two days early, and when she walked in, Gram went off on this whole long speech about how disrespectful and promiscuous I am.” I rolled my eyes.
“Why did your mom come back early?”
I shrugged. “She finished her business early . . . Then her work called and said they needed her back ASAP. So she dropped me off on her way to work this morning.”
Gerard nodded.
Class felt exceptionally slow that day, since all we really did was read silently, and by the time lunch rolled around, I was so lethargic that I wanted to skip it and go take a nap. As it was, Gerard and I decided to go eat outside because the cafeteria smelled strange.
Probably the mystery meat.
“What did your mom say about you auditioning with me?” I asked as we set up shop at a picnic table under some trees. “Or did you even tell her?”
“She knows.” Gerard popped the top on a can of Coke and took a long drink. “She thinks it’ll be good for me. You know, to be doing something other than hanging out with you all the time or just . . . I don’t know. Drawing.”
“You’ll get in,” I said, opening a small Rubbermaid tub of leftover spaghetti from last night. We’d had takeout.
Gerard rolled his eyes.
I reached over and flicked him, hard, on the neck.
“Ow!”
“If you do that one more time,” I said. “I’ll make it really hurt next time.”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Like that’s possible. It already feels like someone shot a dart at you. Who taught you how to do that, anyway?”
I shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“More like a curse.”
“For you, maybe.” I took a bite of my spaghetti. “What is your speech about?”
“For English?”
“No, for math, genius.”
“The history of rock music.”
I stared at him. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”
I groaned. Leave it to him to pick a cool, intellectual-esque topic like that. “I hate you.”
“For what this time?” He drained the Coke can and crushed it in his hand.
I massaged my temples with my fingertips. “I have the dumbest topic in the world.”
“Don’t complain. You’re the one that picked it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So.” His eyes flickered a little, which generally meant that he was holding in laughter. “What is it?”
“It’s like this . . . I was reading over the requirements for the speech, and you remember that homework we did last week where we had to pick a topic and write an outline for it?”
“Yeah.”
“Honest to God, I have no idea what I was thinking, but . . .” I grimaced.
He smirked, clearly waiting for me to finish so he could go ahead and laugh.
“Okay . . . My topic is . . . About House.”
“Houses?” He raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s not even worth remarking on.”
“No, not houses. House. The show.”
He just stared at me. “That’s what your speech is about?”
“Well, I didn’t know I was going to have to write a whole speech about it when I wrote that outline!”
He started laughing, which only made me more frustrated.
“Why did I pick that?” I said, pinching the space between my eyebrows like I usually do when I’m frustrated. “What was I thinking?”
He just shook his head. “Who knows? Not even you, apparently.”
“It’s the worst topic ever. I mean, I said everything that there is to say in my outline.”
“It’s a big show. You’ll think of something.”
“Uh, no. It’s like the same thing every single week.” I moaned. “Which wouldn’t be so bad, I guess, if I didn’t go and fuck it all up even worse.”
“And how do you go about fucking that up?”
“Let me think,” I said, rubbing the space between my eyebrows so there wouldn’t be little indentations from my fingernails. “By making it about the three main characters, that’s how.”
“Normally, I’d make some kind of snarky comment, but that would be too easy.”
“And normally, I’d tell you what to do with your snarky comments, but I brought this upon myself this time.”
“Which is exactly like every other time.”
“No comment.” I tapped my fingernails on the table and sighed. “Three to five minutes. How am I supposed to talk about that for that long?”
“I can help you there.”
“How?”
“Speak really slowly.” He must have noticed my skeptical expression, because he went on. “I know that’s hard for you, because you’ve never done that before, but try.”
“I most certainly can speak slowly,” I said. “I mean, like, for a role or something.”
“So pretend it’s one of those monologues you love so much.”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “You know she’ll only have, like, half the class read. The rest of us will just have to have the printed copy ready and waiting.”
“So make sure you’re in the half that gets picked.”
“Right,” I said. “Because I’m so good at predicting those sorts of things.”
“Well, I’m out of ideas.”
“Well, good. They all sucked.”
“All I can say is, you’ve finally got an excuse to watch TV.”
That had honestly never occurred to me. “You’re right . . . And my mom can’t say anything about it because it’s research for a project. Wow. I am a genius.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Maybe not, but you’re not the one with an excuse to watch TV.”
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