just petekey

CHAPTER 1

"No Gerard, I will not try out for the play with you. I can't even sing!" I called back to my brother, who seriously needed to cool it with the nerves. "Just ask Frank to do it."

"But Frank's trying out for band, he can't," Gerard replied. He trotted up so he would be at the same pace as me and stopped at my locker with me. "Pleeaaasssseee Mikey, you know I can't do this on my own." Gerard tugged my arm as I grabbed a folder of sheet music and an algebra textbook, then finally slammed my locker shut. "Gerard, seriously, calm down," I called back to him as I kept walking down the hallway backwards so I could face him.

He was standing in the middle of the hallway, looking like a lost puppy. Typical Gerard. "You're full of shit, Gerard! You would get that part in a heart beat, and anyway, I have orchestra to worry about. Everything will be fi-" I fell to the ground, my books and glasses lying in a heap next to me and my beanie askew on my now messy hair. Some boy ran up to me, a grin on his face and ebony hair falling in his eyes. "Hey, man, sorry about that. Didn't even see you there! Are you okay?" he asked me, trying to help lift me up. I shooed his hands away and fussed with my jacket.

"What the hell, man? Did you hit me with a soccer ball? We're in the hallway, why do you even have that?" I replied, annoyance tinging the edges of my voice. He grabbed my glasses and books from the floor and tried to position my glasses back on my nose for me. I slapped my glasses out of his hand and set them on the bridge of my nose myself. I tried to walk away with the little dignity I had left but tripped on the boy's soccer ball that was still lying on the floor by my feet. Before I hit the ground, the boy caught my arm and pulled me back to standing. "That was a close one. Hey, is your head okay? I kicked the ball pretty hard," he looked at the growing bruise on my forehead with concern, flicking my hair out of the way to get a better look.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I repositioned my hair so it fell over the bruise and shoved my beanie back on my head, "I gotta get to class." I turned away from the boy and started walking to the orchestra practice room when the boy appeared at my side. "Great, I'll walk you," he said, still holding my books.

"Umm, no."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means," I replied, tugging my books out from under his arm, "You don't have to walk me. Go to your own class."

"Nah, I'd rather walk you. It doesn't even matter if I'm late. The orchestra teacher never gets pissed at me when I'm late, and I'm late everyday."

"Wait," I stopped walking and faced him, "You're going to the sixth period orchestra class?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?" He looked confused, and so was I. How could he be in the same class as me and I never noticed? 

"No, it's just, I'm in that class. How have I never noticed you?" I felt awkward asking that question, but with those dark hazel eyes and raven black hair, I definitely would've noticed him. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for his answer. He looked at his shoes and grinned before answering, "I just transferred to the sixth period class. I used to be in the fourth period one, but my classes got messed up. Guess you'll be seeing a lot more of me." The boy winked at me with the small grin still on his face and started walking away. Oh, great. I was already annoyed with this stupid guy and now I have to see him everyday? Just my luck. "Wait," I called, jogging after him, "You still have my books." 

I stuck my hand out impatiently, waiting for him to give them back. This guy already kicked a soccer ball at my head, there wasn't much else he could do that would annoy me, yet he proved me wrong. Instead of putting my books in my hand, he grabbed my hand and shook it. "Pete Wentz, nice to meet you," he said while looking at me with a glint of mischief in his eyes, "And you are?" I pulled my hand back and kept walking, Pete following behind. "I'm gonna be late for class if you keep messing around."

"C'mon, I don't even get a name? I'm not that annoying," he looked at me, still with that damn smirk glued on his face. I just rolled my eyes and pushed my shoulder against the door to the orchestra practice room and sauntered in, relieved that I could finally ignore Pete, but maybe stare at the back of his head if I'm lucky. Pete came in behind me, walking up the teacher in the front of the room with his arms spread wide. They talked while I grabbed one of the multiple basses from a stand and tuned it. I stood there playing for a while, warming up. When Pete started walking back and setting up a music stand and stool next to mine, I asked him, "Um, what are you doing?" 

There was annoyance in my tone, I knew, but that's how I felt. The only reason I truly liked orchestra other than bass was that I got to sit around in the back of the class alone for a whole hour. The teacher  really just lectured the violins most of the time, so that left me off the hook and unnoticeable. "I'm setting up, what do you think I'm doing?" Pete replied. Oh, no. I knew what was coming. "You don't play bass, do you?" I asked, watching him as he grabbed a bow and some music. 

"Yeah, I do," he said, his eyes squeezed shut as he listened to the strings and tuned the bass he picked up, "Now we get to spend so much time together. Does that mean I get to know your name now?" Pete leaned over to be closer to me, my eyes stuck watching his. "Mikey!" the teacher yelled at me, startling me out of whatever the hell was happening between me and Pete. 

"Uh, yeah?" I answered, blinking a few times to get the sight of Pete's eyes out of my vision. I felt his body shift away from me, a cold spot where he used to be. "That's Pete, he transferred from the fourth period class, so hang out with him, alright?" the teacher ordered me. I really didn't have a choice, I mean, we'll be sitting next to each other everyday. "You got it, sir," I replied. 

"Good." With that, the teacher started class. Today was another violin lecture class, so I hopped on the stool and rested my Irvine Welsh book behind the bass so the teacher couldn't see it. About halfway through class, I looked over at Pete, who was sitting in the stool, leaning against the bass and sleeping. His mouth hung open and a puddle of drool sat on his hand. He looked peaceful when he slept, almost not annoying. I rolled my eyes at him and went back to my book. Class finally ended, and Pete hopped up from his seat, being rudely awoken by the end of the school day bell.  "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said as we placed the basses back in the stands. 

I didn't answer and just grabbed my books and pushed through the door. Pete walked along side me as teenagers bustled around us. "Well, I'll see you around, Mikey. And sorry again about the soccer ball. That probably won't happen again," he told me with a wink as he raced down the hallway to reach a group of friends waiting by the doors. I watched him as he slapped hands with a short guy in a fedora, one guy with mega curly hair, and another with almost a full beard and lots of muscles. I walked back to my locker, all I could think of is how unlucky I am to be stuck with Pete, the most annoying yet strangely attractive boy I've ever met.