The Kids Aren't Alright-Peterick

18 October, 1954

I woke up to the sound of my mum's irritated voice. "Patrick, are you STILL sick?"

I nodded with a cough. "I honestly can't go back to school today mum. I'll do horribly in class." My mum raised her eyes as I let out another fake cough. "Trust me on this one," I said. Yawning, I shut my eyes and attempted to go back to sleep.

"Patrick, are you lying to me right now?" I pretended not to hear. I couldn't risk going to school. Not today. "It's been an entire week since you've gone to school. You're missing so much material." She walked over to my bed. "Let me take your temperature."

"No!"

"Then you're well enough to go. Get up."

I groaned and slowly sat up, adjusting my eyes to the bright light. I couldn't go back to school. My secret was somehow leaked to the rest of the school. I couldn't risk facing the trauma and abuse by the kids at school. Even the people I considered my friends would probably turn their back on me. I've been faking sick for the past week, and unfortunately, it wasn't working anymore. I need to make up another excuse. In the meantime, I needed to figure out how to escape the abuse I was about to experience at the hell house I call "school" if I didn't think of something.

***

Regardless to say, I didn't think of anything. And I'm in my mum's car on my way to be beaten up by everybody in the school. If I could hide in a spare room in the school before anybody saw me, I could probably get by and think of another excuse. Hopefully I'll catch something down there.

My mum decided to roll up at the main entrance of the school. Kids were filing out of the buses left and right. I cursed under my breath. Special shout-out to my mum for making my entrance as obvious as possible.

"Patrick! You forgot your-" Mum got cut off as I ran into the school, ignoring her completely. I noticed a few faces as I ran past, and the sudden realization that I was actually at school hit me like a truck. Tears began streaming down my face uncontrollably. I couldn't go to school. No way.

***

How have I not been caught yet? I've literally been walking an area of the school that looks as abandoned as the chamber of secrets. Vines and kudzu are inhabiting the walls, and the concrete floor was cracked and damp from the rainwater that came through an obvious hole in the roof. I honestly would never come here willingly if I wasn't in a situation like I am now. Who would? This place looks like Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

With a sigh, I sat down, the damp texture of the floor beneath me making me wince. God, how I wish I was at home. How did I even get in here? I don't even remember where I came from. What time even was it?

The sound of kids running through the hallway and out the door gave me a bit of an indication that it was 3. "I can't be that far back if I can hear that," I muttered, standing up. "Now which way did I come from?"

It turns out that I somehow knew where I was going, because I was out of that mess of a place within minutes. I let out a sigh of relief as I saw the school exit and dusted the pebbles and remnants of concrete off of my jeans. "I made it." I let out a sigh of relief and laughed. "I made it!" And that's when I felt a sharp pain and I fell to the ground.

Shit, I thought. I forgot about football practice. I tried to sit up, but I had a massive headache from where I'd been hit. Then I got hit again. "Faggot!" I heard laughter as I fought back tears. Mike Pence. What a fucking asshole.

"What the actual fuck!" The tears came running down my face as I swung my fists at him. I couldn't see out of my left eye where I had gotten hit, so I, of course, missed.

Mike laughed, and I heard a crunch as he hit me square in the nose. Blood began rushing out of it. "What a fucking loser," he said, running off, blood on his hands.

I laid on the ground helplessly, trying to register what had just happened. I tried to wipe the tears coming from my eyes, but instead just covered my face in my own blood. "Fucking perfect," I choked out, pushing myself off of the ground.

I noticed one of the guys from the football team still standing there, looking at me. Why the hell was he still standing here? Why was he looking at the "faggot"? "Dude, piss off," I told him sharply. Your asshole friends have already fucking done enough.

"You sure you don't need he-"

"Not from you. I told you to fucking piss off."

The boy sighed. "You need help. Like it or not, I' gonna give it to you." He walked over to me, reaching his hand over to mine. I rolled my eyes and took it.

I didn't want to admit it, but I was thankful for the help. I never would've made it to the door without it. There was only one more question; how the hell was I gonna get home?

"Hey; you gotta ride?" I shook my head.

"Want me to drive you home?"

"No, my mum ought to be around here somewhere." I knew I was wrong though. You could hear it in my voice.

"You sure about declining that ride home?" said the boy with a smirk on his face.

"Dude, you have football practice. You can't," I said. I was thankful the excuse, as I was short of them lately.

"Who says I'm going?"

"I sighed and followed him out to his car.

Pete was trying to talk to me the entire right back to my house. I was just saying things like "yeah" and "cool". I wasn't in the mood to talk at the moment.

It seemed like forever, but we finally made it to my house. I hopped out of the car.

"Oh, and my name's Pete. Pete Wentz," said the boy before I went inside.

I smiled for the first time in months. "Thanks, Pete."

***

"What happened to you?" My mum's sympathetic voice startled me as she gave me a paper towel.

"Just a nosebleed."

"Well, that doesn't explain your eye. Tell me what really happened, Patrick."

"I tripped and fell. Nothing happened. No fight broke out." I couldn't tell her the truth. Not yet.

My mum seemed suspicious, but she thankfully didn't push me any further on the subject. She just gave me another paper towel while I discarded the old, blood-clad one. "Thank you," I muttered weakly, as I wiped up the last of the blood.