Where We Come Alive (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden)

Chapter 1: That Name Again

(Gerard)

I sighed and kicked a stone from the sidewalk as i trudged to school. Christ, I was so nervous, I was almost about to get an anxiety attack from the walk alone. I'd been dreading the first couple days, I had no idea what this place was like, would it be a hellhole like my last place? 

I was still jet lagged from the flight to Alabama to New Jersey, and hadn't gotten much sleep last night, I'd been listening to David Bowie till 2am. He'd know what to do, unlike me, which was stupid because I was 16, too old to be worrying about moving school, and he was in fact dead.

Monroeville High School approached menacingly, and I stood for a while, watching the kids my age filing in and out of the gates, laughing, shoving each other, some were smoking, some were making out with each other in public. Right. 

I decided to get a move on, wanting to hurry and get there quickly as not to be late for my very first day, but I decided not to run, as I didn't want to attract attention to myself, so instead I kept my head down and my hood up.

What if no one liked me? 

The receptionist took down my name, my awful name 'Gina Way' and pointed me in the direction of the classroom I should be in.

I shuffled nervously, palms sweating into the large classroom, filled with light rowdy students. A couple of the other teenagers glanced at me, glanced again and looked away. I tried to blend in and hovered around, not sure where to sit.

"Ah you're the new kid, right?" A voice cut through the morning babble of gossip and arguing.

A few kids looked back round at me. Would y'all stop that?

Fuuuuuck, suck my diiiiick, anxiety bitch.

"yeah... I guess" I mumbled to the teacher, not wanting to give away my Alabama accent yet. I didn't want to get teased by my classmates about that dumb incest stereotype, we ain't all like that for Christ's sake.

I just want to be a regular guy- I mean a regular girl 

The homeroom tutor looked young, he was wearing a black shirt and red tie, he had messy black hair and a little bit of eyeliner. I'd never seen a man in makeup in the south, he would've gotten beat up. I guess he looked cool though. 

"I'm Mr. Armstrong. Why don't you and sit over there with Jamia and Frank, okay guys?" He said, turning to face a short looking dude with a soft, yet angular face and floppy black hair, and a girl who was holding hands with him, on the table, which I thought was a bit obnoxious to be honest, but whatever.

Both of them alternative looking, as in he looked like a punk, with his lip ring, and jacket, and she looked like some kind of goth, she was wearing a short black skirt and fishnets. They looked cool as fuck together, while I looked like a massive dork.

I sat next to them and smiled slightly, suddenly feeling intimidated. Frank looked up at me. "Hi" he mouthed, because Mr. Armstrong was speaking.

I looked around the room, there was an equal number of boys and girls, and they all looked a bit like the kids at my old school. That should've been a comfort to me, but wasn't.

I suddenly got the feeling that the popular girls were gonna be exactly like the ones at my old school. Devoid of brain, full of cash and basically hoes. Ain't no problem with the way they dress, it's just something you buy to wrap your body in, just fabric, no biggie.

I will judge taste in music however, it all costs the same.

You listen to Ed Sheeran? Modern Country music?