Billie Joe Armstrong is my step-father... and I hate it [EDITING]

I Think I'm Cracking Up

A/N: LET'S GET ONE THING STRAIGHT  - I WOULD NEVER HOPE TO PORTRAY MY BELOVED BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG AS THIS... IN FACT, IF YOU READ THE STORY CORRECTLY, YOU'LL FIND OUT I'M NOT IMPOSING ANYTHING ON HIM AT ALL.

Also, NO I DON'T FUCKING HATE BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG! Stop asking me why I hate him so much! I love Billie - it breaks my heart when people accuse me of hating him :(

PICCY WIC (Picture): MATT CARDLE aka Tony Reict. Who is dead, by the way. If you didn't know that... well, you haven't read the story correctly.

(Also - don't think I added in Grace's rib problem in at random. It's significant for the plot, trust me xx)

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A few days more, a few days closer to the wedding.

I was getting more and more clumsy as the days went by, as I was just getting more and more tired. I was catching my sides of the edges of desk, bumping into doors and banged my knees against... well... everything. The stress my mother felt due to the wedding was having it’s effect on me. I even earned myself a particularly bad bruise on the ribs and it hurt just to touch it.

And yet, I was sat in my dance class, lacing up my shoes (which took about a century), thinking about the fact that this wedding was just two days away. Tracy was home, Alfie was home, Dianne was here for two weeks with her brother’s (and my uncles) Fearghal and Declan. Dianne, Fearghal and Declan were all travelling from Ireland just to see their brother’s widow get married again. Fearghal took a lot of persuading, I over heard Dianne say.

I was always close to my uncle Fearghal.

Billie Joe’s siblings were all fawning in and out of the house, who I was forced to meet and greet with a stiff smile and polite nods. Most of them didn’t have a problem with my mom – she had met them all before. Tracy showered them with one thousand questions, Alfie was talking about god-knows-what with them, Dianne and Declan were just making polite small talk. Fearghal didn’t even try. Fearghal didn’t like a lot of Americans – espicially ones who he felt were trying to stamp out the memory of his brother.

Like I said, I was always close to my uncle Fearghal.

“I suppose you’re buzzing with excitment,” Danny, my dance partner, said to me, with a grin. I glanced up at him, grimly. “I take that as a no.”

“Stress,” I lied. “I’m just glad I’m not the maid of honour.”

“Who’s that?”

“My aunt, Dianne Reict. It would have been my other aunt, Tracy, but she can’t organise anything for shit,” I explained. Danny nodded slowly.

“Must be weird, watching your mom get married to some billionaire rockstar,” Danny said, stretching his legs out. I shrugged lamely. “I mean... I know I would find it weird. I can’t picture my mom marying anyone else but my dad.”

“Neither can I – but I’ll bear through it,” I said, my voice cold and snippy. Danny looked over at me, his eyes wide.

“You don’t like him, do you?”

Before I could answer, Ms Robinson burst through the door, “Alright you two – come here.”

Danny and I shared a look before wandering up to Ms Robinson, next to the piano. She read over something on her clipboard, marked a few things down and then set it down, her gaze boring into us. “You two are my two best, private students.”

“Thanks,” Danny said, uncertainly, “But why are you telling us this?”

“Because. I’ve entered you into the All Ireland Championships next month,” she told us. My breath hitched in my throat as I stared at her dumbly, but Danny spoke up.