Hey, hey, hey! So, there had been a few commenters hangin' 'round, readin' this thing and I just wanna tell you guys that EVEN IF YOU GUYS ARE SO FEW, I JUST WANNA HUG YOU AND KISS YOU AND SAY 'THANKS A LOT' FOR COMMENTING AND FANNING AND VOTING THIS STORY!
Here goes chapter four :D, hope ya like it! <3 Oh, and the POV is Lindsey Way's (but, in this story, her surname's still Ballato, since they're still high school and all).
Chapter Four: “She’s Such A Saint, Ain’t She?”
- Lindsey -
It seems as if I just closed my eyes and dropped on my bed after a long day in school when my mom started shaking me awake.
“Lindsey, Lindsey! There’s a guy named Billie on the telephone,” she said gently, although the way she was shaking me was quite the opposite.
Oh, and, Billie? Why’s Billie calling me right now?
“I wonder…” I mutter to myself before approaching the table holding our telephone on the second floor.
“Billie? What’s up?” I said curtly, tugging at the loose braids of my hair.
His voice sounds urgent, “am I allowed to come over today?”
I raise my eyebrow before replying, “but it’s a Thursday, we have school tomorrow. Besides, my parents are here,” my voice lowered on the last phrase, in caution that they might hear downstairs.
“But I really need your help! And you’re the only girl I can talk to about this,” he pleads. “Pleeaase?” he adds for good measure.
I hear the desperation in his voice and call out to the people below, “Mom, dad, Billie Joe Armstrong might come over!”
I wait for chorus replies of “sure’s” and, “alright’s” before turning back to the telephone on my hand, “alright. You can come over.”
“Well, actually,” he says matter-of-factly, “you can go open your front door now.”
-
Billie sat down on my bed after petty arguments with my dad about a boy staying in my bedroom. I argued back with a well-rehearsed, “But your bedroom is right next to mine! You allowed Gerard to sleep over before…so why can’t Billie and I just stay in my bedroom for the meantime?”
And, it worked. Just like the last time Gerard came by.
“So, Billie,” I begin as I sat down on the floor, “what’s so important that you have to be here on a Thursday evening?”
“Gerard gave me this dare…” he pauses and looks at me expectantly. I motion for him to go ahead. “…that I have to be Chelsea Rhone’s boyfriend under the duration of three months. I want to know how to start doing this since…the girls I’ve dated in the past are…well…nothing like her!”
Hmm…, “I thought you were stalking her for the past three days? What have you found out?”
He gets a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to me, “this.”
He looks damn proud of himself.
Wow. It’s a list. A list of things he found out about Chelsea Rhone. Let’s see…
1. Doesn’t say bad words.
2. Is fond of Nicholas Sparks novels.
3. Actually loves studying.
4. Lives in an apartment.
Wait. What? “How’d you know she lives in an apartment? Did you follow her home?” ‘Cause that’s just fucking creepy of you, Armstrong.
His reply? Shoulders shrugging with a smirk on his face. Whatever.
5. Loves horror movies.
6. Never slept with anyone.
7. Doesn’t drink, smoke or, do drugs.
8. Used to gather donations for the local Help-The-Children Foundation.
9. Takes summer jobs in Barnes and Noble, looks after children in the Day-care Facility and, assists in the front desk of the nearby Home for the Aged.
“Wow, that’s very…good of her,” I can’t even think of words to properly describe her now. Who would have thought that Chelsea Rhone, Stonewall High’s Math Heroine is also --
“She’s such a saint, ain’t she?” he grins. I nod.
She’s a good girl type. Quiet. Conservative. “Well, looks like you’ve got to adapt to changes. She’s a quiet girl, really conservative. The best way to win her over is to take things slowly but surely. You have to --,” I pause abruptly, “…do you want paper and pen?”
He laughs, “nah, I’ve got my phone. I’ll just punch it in.”
I smile, “you have to make a strong first impression…although I think you’ve already done that part. Was your approach good or bad?”
He shrugs again. I’ll take that as a so-so kind of approach. “Well…if that’s the case,” I continue, “the next thing you could do is be close to her. Y’know, sitting next to her in class, short greetings when you see her in the hallways, stuff like that. Oh, and if you are lab partners, that’s fantastic!”
“Done that,” Billie replies, giving me a thumbs-up. “Next?”
“Okay, so for example,” I was really into it now, “you have some sort of pair work or something like that, make sure to make small talk in order to make it less awkward. If there comes a time when you need to be in her house or vice versa, make sure you bring her something…not roses or shit like that, something more subtle like food or brownies or a single cupcake would be fine.”
He nods, his thumbs typing feverishly onto his phone.
“Oh, I just remembered, when you guys see each other, you have to --,” I was cut abruptly when Billie suddenly handed out his phone to me. “What?” I ask, confused.
“Why don’t you just type everything in there? In order to save your voice or something,” he grins.
I laugh. Yeah. Why didn’t I think of that?
To all of those who have been reading, I love you and I'd appreciate it more if you guys comment because it's what keeps me (and every writer, actually) going.
xo,
T.