The Loser's Girlfriend [A Billie Joe Armstrong Fan Fiction]

Chapter Twenty-One: "Are You Done With Me Yet?"

Another sucky chapter made by yours truly! (Hopefully the next chapter won't suck too much or it might just suck up the entire universe, y'know). I just absolutely HATE writing bullying shizz so...pardon me if this chapter sucks.

Ugh, I can't get over how suckish this chapter is...I'm sorry :(

But, yeah, it's up to you if you wanna read it :)) (To whoever who does, though, I love you so effing much and I wanna kiss you all).

Chapter Twenty-One: “Are You Done With Me Yet?”

- Chelsea -

Turns out, Gerard wasn’t the only one who saw Billie and I’s little meet-up at the park. Other people who passed by or who hung out at the restaurants nearby noticed us as well and it spread like a wildfire across campus.

Usually, I wouldn’t mind, knowing that whatever they were trying to get around was a rumour but this is different.

This is the truth.

And whoever spread it must be cackling in glee by now, hoping that my social life will sink even lower.

Billie took every living moment he could to walk by me and stick to my side, obviously worried that what happened with the cheerleaders might just happen again.

But, of course, he couldn’t stay with me 24/7.

I stayed late in school, doing my Psychology homework and, looking for my gym shoes (which, apparently, was stolen as I was taking a shower). The homework didn’t take me ten minutes to finish but it took me nearly an hour and a half searching the entire campus for my shoes until I found it behind a door in the auditorium, with the help of a janitor, of course.

“Oh, there it is! Thank you very much,” I smiled brightly at the janitor, who nodded his head once.

I took my shoes, placed them in my backpack in the most organized way I can and hurried outside, back onto the school grounds and, finally, to the road outside of school.

I then began my usual walk back to my apartment, passing by an expensive-looking red Camaro parked near the school’s entrance.

I was halfway to my apartment when my hand fell to the pocket where my phone should be, hoping to text Mrs. Stueby about my whereabouts and to reply to any text sent by Billie.

Shit.

Where is it?

I frantically felt my other pockets, hoping that I just forgot which pocket I placed my cellular phone in.

Nothing.

“Oh my God,” I mumbled to myself, removing my bag from my shoulder and began going through everything inside. My wallet’s here, and so is everything except for my phone.