Tutorial | Brendon Urie

Chapter Four

I'm struggling to swallow these sickeningly, sloppy oats as my parents explain their plans for the upcoming weeks. They are going on a business trip to China to meet with some big name investors. My parents are fruit exporters, and they are trying to take their business global, which is apparently working.

"Grace, don't forget, we have left enough money for groceries, and groceries only, in the kitchen, so just get what you can cook, and do not waste anything. Grace, are you listening?"

"Mm, yes," I mumble, still waking myself up from a night of minimal sleep. My parents were going to be leaving me in a house, alone, for two weeks. I don't know why I was more excited, honestly. They gather their suitcases and bring them to the front door. I follow them from the kitchen, peering out of the front window, when I notice there is a light layer of fresh, clean snow on our manicured lawn. Well that's why it's so fucking cold. I pull the corners of the blanket wrapped around my shoulders closer to my chest, preserving my precious body heat.

Once I finally finish up my breakfast, I shuffle upstairs to pack my school bag. Dawn invited me to hang out at hers after she finishes basketball practice, so I shove a big grey t-shirt and a pair of my bike shorts into the bag. I pack my textbooks and my pencil case in and force the zip closed. I only had a few minutes to get dressed, but that's all it takes me before I am following my parents into the car along with their eight hundred suitcases. The car ride to school consists of my parents whining about how they would be missing the snow. You're travelling to China to stay in Beijing, one of the most wonderful cities on earth. Your lives really suck. We get to the school and I hug them both, and say my goodbyes and best wishes before making my way through the main doors.

The school day goes by as slowly as I had anticipated. Life is so much harder when you don't get enough sleep. How do some people do it?

Last period, English. I walk in as usual, seeing Brendon at the front of the class this time, showing Ms. Phillips something on his clipboard. I walk past them, ignored, and sit at my desk. As I am reaching into my bag to pull out my books, Ms. Phillips addresses the class.

"Alright, listening everybody. Today, Mr. Urie is going to be taking the class. He has sat in on quite a few now, but he is still new, so please pay attention. We don't want to have to keep anybody behind afterwards." I look at Brendon as he begins to show his nerves. He runs both hands through his hair, before clapping and rubbing them together signalling the beginning of the lesson. He decides to take us through some pretty basic essay-writing tools, most likely for the half of the class who are yet to produce one practice piece. My attention drifts from the words escaping his mouth to the motions of his hands. They're so delicate, yet strong. His knuckles and bones protrude from his hand, creating an uneven surface over his fist. It's easy to imagine his slender fingers dragging down my back, leaving bright red trails beneath them. I can almost feel his short, blunt nails scrape against my skin, light enough to tickle, and then hard enough to graze.

He's using a lot of hand gestures to be talking about essay writing. "Grace? Hello?" He is waving his hands at me. I snap straight out of my strangely sensual daydream.

"Oh, uh, sorry... What was the question?"

"I said, 'Are you paying attention?', but I guess that answers that," he's joking, but that doesn't save me from the embarrassment. I feel the red rush to my cheeks as I look down at my lap. I'm so glad I am not a guy. He continues his lecture about the importance of analysis in a text response essay, and I continue not wanting to be alive.

Before I know it, the final bell is ringing and the class files out, ready to embrace the weekend. Dawn gets up from her desk, and approaches me. "Grace, about tonight," she pauses briefly, and I already know what's coming.