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

Chapter Twenty-Three: "Can You Tell Me How This Song Goes?"

Hey guys!! So, I promised that this chapter would be the moment of truth and, guess what? IT IS. I've been very hyper lately and I'm guessing it's because of the fact that my mom got home from another country and all that jazz and I finally get to spend one month with her! <3

Okay so, anyway, I know that I can only dedicate this chapter to one person (or...can you dedicate it to more? I'm still not sure :(( God, I'm a noob) but I will dedicate it to every single effing person who have stumbled upon this story.

I love you all so so so much...and the reason behind this [story] are my precious readers. I wanna kiss you all :*

Chapter Twenty-Three: “Can You Tell Me How This Song Goes?”

- Billie -

“Are you sure you want to?” I heard her voice ask quietly as she opened her locker to return the things she wouldn’t need.

“Of course!” I grin, “besides, I kinda need some tutoring in Physics as well…that subject just don’t agree with me.”

She nods, looking back at me and closing her locker door, “let’s go, then,” she beams, taking my hand and pulling me to the main entrance.

It has been a week since that last incident with Amanda Cross. I repeat: ‘last.’ I caught up with her in school during lunch near her cheerleader friends and some jocks, telling her that if she tried anything once more, I’ll personally make sure she --

“Billie, you’re dozing off again,” Chelsea giggled as she slapped my face lightly.

Wow, we’re on the main road already?

“Sorry,” I grin, “just thinking about…stuff.”

“Well, stop thinking about it,” she laughs once again. “Instead, think of the propagation of waves that our teacher discussed a while ago during Physics.”

I roll my eyes, “how am I supposed to remember the things I don’t even understand?”

She grins, poking me in the ribs, “oh, tsk, tsk…well, we’re gonna have to fix that. Let’s walk.”

And we did, in the familiar streets that inevitably lead me to Chelsea’s apartment. We let go of each other’s hands as Chelsea went in her apartment building first, reaching for her apartment keys as we walked up the stairs onto the second floor.

“Well, just…stay there. I’ll change,” she said as she opened the door to her bedroom.

I got a glimpse of her room. It wasn’t much, the walls were plain white and her bed sheets has green and purple shades on it. There were a few pictures above her bed and right beside her bed was a…is that a guitar?

“You can turn on the television, if you want to,” were her last words to me before she closed the door.