*Brendon’s POV*
“...And this essay will have to be 5 pages typed, 10 pages written,” Mr. French-something said in his usual monotone voice. “Extra points if written. Now, to—” the bell interrupted him and we all rushed to the lunch room as usual. But today I was taking a detour to the music room.
“Hey man,” I greeted Dallon as I entered the music room. “The pizza here yet?”
“Hey,” Dallon replied. “Yeah, you just missed the pizza guy.”
“Aw, man!” I snapped my fingers. “Was he cute?”
“Mmeeeh,” Dallon made a ‘seems legit’ face. “So-so.”
I chuckled, pulling a chair in front of Dallon’s desk. “So, what kind of pizza did you get?”
“I figured pepperoni would be fine,” he said, placing a paper plate in front of me and pushing the pizza box towards me.
“You figured correctly,” I opened the pizza box and got two pieces out. “So, Mr. Weekes, what will you be tutoring me on today?” I took a bite of pizza.
“Well, I was thinking I’d walk you through the song I’ll be teaching the rest of the class today,” he took a bite of pizza. “But we’ll do that after pizza.”
“Sounds good to me,” I finished my second piece.
“Wow,” Dallon gestured to my plate. “You were hungry?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t think one pizza’s gonna be enough.”
“Good thing I--” he reached underneath his desk and pulled out a second pizza. “--always order two.”
“Wow, it’s like the Ellen Show,” I grabbed another piece of pizza from the first box. “Is that one pepperoni, too?”
“You know it, bitch,” he put the pizza box on his desk. “So did you remember to bring your ukulele today?”
“Dammit!” I exclaimed. “I knew there was something I was forgetting this morning.”
He sighed. “I guess that means we’re going to have to share one.”
“Speaking of which,” I said. “What song will we be learning?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Dallon opened the second pizza box. “We’re just going to eat pizza for now.”
I nodded in agreement, going for another slice.
“Dude, how much pizza can you eat?” Dallon chuckled.
“An infinite amount!” I yelled, stuffing my mouth with pizza. He laughed at me, taking a bite of his pizza.
After a few pizza slices later, we were finally ready for the tutoring session.
“So,” Dallon picked up his ukulele. “Are we—” Dallon was interrupted by yelling coming from the hallway.
We looked at each other and I walked towards the door. I walked out of the classroom to see what all the ruckus was. I looked around the corner to see three kids huddled around another much smaller kid.
“Guys,” the smaller kid pleaded. “Guys, please think about this.”
“Oh, we have,” one of the—what I assumed were—bullies said.
“Well, have you thought about how he’s going to feel after you hit him?” I butted in. “Or even how he feels now?” I looked at the poor short, curly haired kid.
“Well, no,” The bully said. “But right now I’m thinking about you’re going to feel when I punch you in the face!” He swung his fist towards me, but I caught it before it could hit me. He stood there in shock, staring at his fist and I felt pretty good until I saw his other two bully friends coming up behind him. I slowly lowered my fist and took a step back.
“Okay, guys. I don’t want to get into anything,” I took another step back and put my hands up defensively. “Let’s just sort this out rationally with our words; not our fists.”
“Alright,” the bully to my left said. “Uh, you got a little something on your face."
“Really?” I lifted my hands to my face. “What is it?”
“Pain!” the bully yelled and punched my face. I backed away and covered my face.
The kid that was being bullied earlier yelled “FOR NARNIA!” and jumped on the first bully’s back. I just started flailing my arms around in an attempt to scare them off. Needless to say, it didn’t work. They picked me up and threw me against the wall, but before they could do anything else, a couple of teachers came rushing down the hall, including Dallon.
“Alright, alright,” Mr. Winterton said, placing one hand on my shoulder and the other on the bully that had punched me’s. “Break it up.”
“But they were the ones throwing punches!” I exclaimed, stepping away from his grasp.
“Everyone is innocent until proven guilty,” Mr. French-something said. Seriously? They called him for backup?
They took us to the principal’s office and, as you can imagine, there was an extremely awkward silence waiting to be called in. The bullies were called into the office and dismissed one by one. When the last bully was called into the principal’s office, the kid that was being bullied earlier decided to make conversation.
“Thanks for saving my butt earlier,” he said. “I’m Ian, by the way.” He stuck his hand out.
“No problem and I’m Brendon,” I shook his hand. “So what were they bullying you about?”
“I’m a freshman,” Ian said. “New kids are the easiest to pick on, I guess.”
“Freshman? You look like you could be a senior,” I chuckled, acknowledging his light facial hair.
“Yeah...” he rubbed his face with an audible scratch-y noise.
The bully walked out of the office with a smug smile on his face and the secretary called for me.
“Brendon Urie?”
“Well, that’s me,” I said, standing up. I walked into the principal’s office and sat in the chair in front of his desk.
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Welp, that’s this chapter o: next chapter will most likely be up on Friday this time d:
Just a reminder that everyone NEEEDS to go and re-read ‘The Big Secret’ and ‘Spaghetti For Dinner’ cos a few things were changed
Picture to the right is Ian