Categories > Celebrities > Green Day > Judge's Daughter


by FrankensteinsMorgue 1 review

August 1989 It was the beginning of an era: gritty music, endless booze, soon-to-be-dropouts, and a girl who would dip her hand in and change it all. Enter Roselain Nightingale, daughter of t...

Category: Green Day - Rating: R - Genres: Angst,Humor,Romance - Published: 2014-11-15 - Updated: 2015-03-12 - 2293 words

Billie’s POV

The brick wall was cold and gritty against my back, but it felt nice. The whole situation had me feeling a bit hot, so any kind of distraction was welcome. Strewn across the parking lot were small flocks of teenagers, wringing their hands impatiently, eyeballing the road with a certain anxiousness, and it wasn't hard to figure out what they were waiting on. Some were just curious, not really intending to do more than look on from the hoods of their cars. Then there were the malicious groups, practically crowding in her parking place like a goddamn welcoming committee.

Then there were people like me, apathetic and sympathetic.

“So, whatcha’ think of this Roselain chick?” a voice rang from somewhere behind me. I peered over my shoulder to see Tre, slumping against the wall. A dry laugh escaped my lips as I placed an unlit cigarette between them.

“I don’t know, man, haven’t met her yet,” I mumbled, cupping my hand over the cigarette and lighting it. Tre rolled his eyes, looking off at the crowd of gossiping people.

“But really though, what do you think of all this?”

“I think it’s a load of bullshit, she’s just a girl,” I say, pushing a hand back through my hair, an inevitable sigh parting my lips. With the way people were treating this, you’d think she was a fucking celebrity. Everyone gets excited when a new girl joins the school, but this, this is just pathetic. I shook my head, taking a drag off my cigarette as everything fell silent.

A small white Acura came easing into the parking lot and the crowd parted like the red sea. She pulled into her spot and cut off the engine, but a few awkward minutes passed without so much as a movement. A small crowd began forming around her car, staring in on her expectantly.

The car door swung open and she inched out, nervously slouching a green backpack over her shoulder. Her messy blonde hair curled beneath her chin, a baggy green jacket hanging from her skinny torso, nearly covering her fraying shorts. She smiled warmly, lifting a small, dainty hand to the people around her. No one made a move to return the greeting, no made a move to leave, no one even says a word. Her eyes dropped to the ground and she began tip toeing through the crowd of people, her eyes strung to her black ankle boots.

The judging had begun.

Feral packs of girls followed but keep their distance, eyeing her slender body and fashion choices in disgust. It was clear that she didn't meet the approval of the majority of the girls and she certainly wasn't what anyone was expecting. Sadly, that wasn't good news.

“She looks fucking traumatized,” Tre whispered under his breath, eyeing her as she grew closer. She nervously looked up, making awkward and clearly unintended eye contact with me in the process. I smiled sympathetically, offering a small nod, but in return she only half smiled, ducking her head back toward the ground and continuing on.

“Come on, let’s get to class,” I muttered, tugging Tre off the wall. We quickly pushed through the crowd of sneering girls, eventually falling into place only a few steps behind Roselain. Her walk was so awkward, it’s like she was folding in on herself as if she could just disappear. She kept her head down and her shoulders hunched and I began to wonder if she even knew where she was going at all. I felt a nudge at my arm as I watched her.

“She’s got a pretty nice ass,” Tre snickered under his breath. I rolled my eyes, shoving him away from me. Christ, the last thing the poor girl needs to hear is an utter pervert mumbling comments about her ass. The hall felt uncomfortably silent considering the number of people that were filing through it, the only sounds bouncing off the walls were hushed whispers and squeaking sneakers.

A shrill sound pierced the air and the girl let out a small yelp, stumbling sideways into the lockers. I stifled a laugh watching as she held a hand against her heart and whipped her head in my direction. Her eyes were wide with fear and I began to wonder if she even knew the first thing about how a public school worked.

“That’s the bell,” I laughed, walking closer to her. “It basically just means you need to get to class or teachers are going to be pissed.” Her pale blue eyes searched mine skeptically before darting in a random direction.

“Oh… I know that, I just.. wasn't expecting it,” she mumbled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her tiny ear. She eyed her surroundings, desperately searching for some kind of acceptable escape route. I sighed, holding out a hand.

“My name’s Billie, sorry for laughing, I promise I’m not too much of an ass.” She stared at my hand like she’d never seen one before, and I didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. What did her father do, keep her locked in a basement for 18 years? She looked back up at me nervously, before spinning on her heal and trudging down the hall way.

“Looks like someone’s not interested,” Tre cackled from beside me, watching as she tripped in the direction of the office.

“I suppose you’re right,” I muttered, letting my hand drop to my side.


Typically teachers get pretty pissed if you miss the first few minutes of class, but I think today was a general exception. Besides, there’s not much you can do when all of your students come rolling in five minutes late. I took a seat in the back of the room, propping my head on my hand, watching idly as people began trickling in. Mostly familiar faces floated through the door, with the occasional stranger.

“She looks kind of trashy,” a bitchy brunette girl sneered from a couple chairs ahead. Pretty ironic coming from the mouth of someone who is the literal epitome of trash.

“She looks like a dyke, I can’t believe her father let’s her dress like that,” the blonde beside her hissed.

“Maybe because she is one.”

I rolled my eyes, tuning out the conversation, letting my gaze drift back toward the front of the room where Mrs. Reinbeck was clearing off her podium.

“Welcome to class, my name is Mrs. Reinbeck and I hope to see you all through a wonderful year of History. Today, since we are all strangers, we’re going to play an activity in order to get to know each other a little better. Nothing’s worse than a quiet, unresponsive classroom!” Mrs. Reinbeck clapped her hands together, smiling at the apathetic little bastards before her. She opened her mouth to speak again but was interrupted as the new girl came tip toeing through the doorway.

“Ah, Ms. Nightingale, welcome to class. You can take your seat anywhere, I don’t believe in seating charts,” Mrs. Reinbeck chirped, watching as the girl scanned the classroom in fear. Her eyes meet mine momentarily and she shifted in my direction, taking the chair beside me. She slunk into her seat, taking in a deep breath.

“As I was saying, what we are going to do today is a fun little activity. If you’ll get out a piece of paper, I want you to spend the next couple of minutes examining the person behind you and then write down an assumption about them. Be perceptive! Try to put yourself in their shoes and imagine what their life might possibly be like. After you finish, fold the paper and pass it to the person you wrote about. No peaking until I say so! Sound good?” The class squeezed out an unenthusiastic grunt, before pulling out sheets of paper.

I leaned back in my chair, my spine cracking what had to have been a thousand times. The guy in front of me, Matt, didn't even turn around. He already knew me from freshman year as the kid who kicked his ass for trying to pull some punk-ass-bullshit during gym. There was no need for examination or acquainting, nor would it be hard to guess what the paper might say.

The bitch-faced brunette who had earlier been shit-talking spun around in her chair, propping her elbows on the new girl’s desk, chewing the end of a pencil. Roselain awkwardly fumbled with her piece of paper, folding it in several neat little lines, clearly trying to avoid eye contact with the girl.

“Guess she didn't consider the fact the no one is sitting behind us, eh?” I snickered, attempting to ease the awkwardness of the situation for her. She kept her head down, nodding as she continued folding the paper. Culture has never really been my thing, but it wasn't hard to recognize origami. Y’know, not that half-assed shit that some 5th grader tries to give to their mom, but actual, intricate pieces of art.

“Did you teach yourself to do that?” I asked quietly, propping my chin in my hand as I watched her put the finishing touches on what appeared to be a turtle. She simply shrugged, spinning it beneath her finger. She radiated discomfort at levels higher than any nuclear fallout, but I wasn't sure if it was me or the girl in front of her. Perhaps both.

“Is that a paper football,” bitch-face asked.

“What are you, twelve? It’s fucking origami,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

“I’m sorry, was I talking to you? Fuck off, Bill.”

“Yeah, it’s an origami turtle, my mom used to make them a lot. Nervous habit, I guess,” Roselain murmured, pushing it to the side of her desk. Bitch-face picked it up, twirling it in her fingers.

“That’s sweet, is she dead?” I choked on spit, staring at bitch-face incredulously. Despite being a question that no one in their right mind would just fucking drop like that, it was apparent from her dry tone that she sort of hoped it was true. Roselain raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with her.

“Yes, of course. You guessed it. She’s dead. I like to fold origami in her memory in the presence of bitchy, passive-aggressive females,” Roselain chimed, an enormous fake smile playing on her lips. Bitch-face’s mouth dropped open. She cut her eyes, dropping the turtle and spinning around in her chair.

“Alright class, are you ready to begin? When I call on you, please stand and read your note aloud then tell us if the assumption was true. It’s refreshing hearing what things people have to say about you!” Mrs. Reinbeck sang as she climbed in her chair. She adjusted her glasses, scanning over the list of names. “How about we start with Miss Nightingale, you’re new so this should be a clean slate of endless possibilities!”

Mrs. Reinbeck flashed a wide grin awaiting Roselain's answer but only silence ensued. I glanced up to see her staring at her paper in shock, mouth agape.

“I’m not reading this out loud.”

“Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it? Here, you read it,” she spat, shoving the paper across the desk. Mrs. Reinbeck walked over, scooping the paper in her hands, an instant look of disgust and anger sweeping over her.

“It’s okay, Roselain, everyone knows you’re a pussy eating dyke, no need to be shy,” bitch-face hissed, turning to smirk at the new girl.

“Miss Walker, pack your things and see yourself to the office this instant,” Mrs. Reinbeck growled, stabbing a finger in the direction of the door. Bitch-face merely smirked in response, slouching in her seat as her friends burst into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, please.”

“I said go,” she yelled, slamming her hand on the desk. Bitch-face rolled her eyes, scooping her binders off the table and striding away.

Roselain kept her eyes glued to the table, refusing to look up at all the gawking and/or snickering students. Due to pretty clear reasons, our entire “get-to-know-you” activity was put on hold and we moved straight to syllabus review. Roselain didn't look up again for the entire class period.

I have the second chapter already written and plan on posting it in a day or two, I just want to proof read it a few more times. I promise, promise, promise the second chapter is much better and I urge that you stick around for it because there’s lots of interaction between Billie and Roz and that’s when character development takes off.
Stuff is about to start getting really fun.

First chapters are always iffy with me because I’m so excited to get to the good parts that I always struggle and have a hard time with making them as good as the rest of the story. But I promise, this is one of the few stories I’ve written that I actually have a lot of faith in.

If you see any grammar/tense errors, just inbox those to me please! I started writing this a couple years ago and had it in a weird tense, so it’s possible I didn’t correct everything. Also, heads up, don’t correct any dialect I may use because that’s intentional for the sole purpose of character development (i.e. gonna, kinda, etc.).

Feedback is greatly appreciated!
I’m just now getting back into the hang of writing so I’d love to hear what people think!

Thanks everyone,
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