The Impossible is Possible (Ryden)

Chapter 4

"He, uh, had to get home, his mom rang him," Brendon lies, quickly, internally grimacing as he remembers Ryan again, and the knife currently in his pocket. "What did you think of him?"

Mrs. Urie purses her lips, evidently searching for the right words. "He, ah, was very honest, wasn't he? Especially about people at your school."

"Yeah, he was," Brendon agrees, thinking back on their conversation. "He's not, um. He's not so much a friend as somebody I was partnered with for a project, though. I don't know if he'll be back for dinner again."

"Well, he's welcome if he wants to come over," his mom sighs, though she looks a bit reluctant. "I'm not sure quite what to make of him, though. He seemed nice, in a way, but he also seemed...I'm not sure. Troubled."

"I guess," Brendon shrugs, even though inside he's thinking he's left a bloody knife on my bed, he's way more than troubled, but he can't exactly say that to his mom or she'll freak out. Finally, they reach school, and Brendon clambers out of the car, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "Thanks for the lift."

"No problem," Mrs. Urie smiles, as Brendon shuts the door. "Have a nice day!"

With that, she pulls away from the sidewalk and drives off, heading to work. Brendon stares after her for a moment, going through their conversation in his mind. It sounds like she and Rodney are actually quite serious - and that kind of makes Brendon want to murder. As he thinks this, the blade in his pocket feels suddenly heavy, as he remembers it. Wincing, he turns to the school, heading through the gates, and probably heading to his death at the hands of one Ryan Ross.

*

The changing rooms are full, of steam and people and jeers, and Brendon stands self-consciously in the corner. He's always, always hates P.E., and he can't see why it will be any different at this school. They're supposed to go out onto to the fields and play soccer with each other, and Brendon hasn't got a note to excuse himself, so he knows he'll have to join in.

Spencer is already dressed by his side, and in conversation with an also-dressed Jon. The two seem excited and eager about their music project, and, Brendon can't help but notice, each other. They talk about other things, about meaningless things, but their eyes stray too long on each other's, and Jon keeps brushing his hand against Spencer's, and Spencer has a small, shy smile.

Making sure that everybody else is in conversation or changing clothes, Brendon pulls his t-shirt over his head, and rummages in his bag for his games kit. As he turns, ready to pull it on, he glances across the room and meets the eye of one Timothy Ashfield.

"Oi!" Timothy shouts, eyes narrowing. He pushes his way through the changing room and stands in front of Brendon with scowl. "Are you checking me out?"

Brendon drops his clothes. "What? No, no, of course I wasn't. I just looked across the room and happened to --"

"You were, weren't you?" Timothy growls, voice heavy with disgust. "You fucking fag. We don't like people like you around here. I think it's time I taught you a lesson about what's normal."

"I wasn't checking you out!" Brendon protests, taking a step backwards, and then realising that he's against the wall already. "I didn't even mean to look at you. I'm not a fag, really, I --"

"Shut up," Timothy says, shortly, pushing up his sleeves.

"Tim, come on, leave him," Jon warns, standing up and looking warily between the two of them. "It was probably just a mistake. He didn't mean anything by it."

"Back off, Walker," Timothy orders, with a sharp look at him. "If you get involved, I'll kick your face in, too. Just because everybody likes you it doesn't mean that you're untouchable, you know."