Annabel's POV
I didn't see the Three Musketeers of Pot for the rest of that week. I went to my classes and I noticed the school was beginning to become slightly more familiar to me; the broken clock in my math class, the deflated balls in gym practice. I sat with Mona in the cafeteria at lunch, picking at whatever strange, definitely out of date meal the lovely ladies at the counter had prepared (and probably spat in, you'll notice that I think about that a lot), and I began to realise that I could never see them at any of the tables.
It was Friday when curiosity drove me to ask.
"Where does Billie Joe sit?"
Mona looked at me suddenly from under her thick curls. It was a suspicious expression, her eyes studying me as if concerned.
"How do you know him?"
I was slightly taken aback by that; I wasn't expecting such a reaction from her, especially as someone who seemed to be friends with everyone. I fumbled, not sure how to reply without repeating the whole party fiasco.
"I...I just met him is all."
This was obviously not the best answer. She gave me another curious face and then sighed, putting down her fork abruptly as if she was about to begin a long lecture. Which was exactly what I got.
"Billie Joe Armstrong is a complicated guy. He's actually quite nice really, polite when he wants to be, a dickhead when he wants to be as well. He's very smart really, not in a book kinda way I reckon but in a way which tells you he really has a grasp on things and people. He's driven in the things he loves and doesn't care about the things he doesn't."
I raised my eyebrows as if to ask where she was going with all this. She raised her finger and then came the fatal "But..."
"...he's not good for girls. I want to warn you now, if you're getting feelings for him or whatever although it's really none of my business. There has been no more than one-night-stands with Billie. A lot of girls have lost a lot of sleep over him, and he's the most opposed to romance person I've ever met. Except perhaps you..."
I opened my mouth to argue (which wasn't really any use because we all know she was right about me and my lack of interest in a love life) but the bell rang to signal the end of lunch. She asked if I was going to Susie Bellinger's party on Saturday night, to which I said no, and then she left me to go to class with a spinning head.
So he got around? He broke girls hearts? He just wanted sex? Despite the undeniable fact that Mona had known him practically her whole life and I had known him for not even a week I had an unshakeable feeling that she was wrong about him. That didn't seem like the guy who rode me home on his bike, or took me to get burritos to cheer me up, or take me to a gig because he knew I needed it.
And so I was left to ponder the conundrum that was Billie Joe Armstrong.
Mike met me at the gate at the end of the day, excitement playing in his eyes, bouncing with a startling amount of energy for a teenager.
"Should I pick you up around 10am?" He asked, and I became re-aware that I had promised Saturday to him when I had no Saturday to give.
"I"m so sorry Mike. My step-dad actually grounded me for going to the Op. Ivy gig. Maybe another time."
I felt awful at the sight of his deflated face, his grin dropping.
"Oh, no problem. Another time."
"I'm really sorry Mike."
He then seemed to pull himself together, put on a bright, obviously fake smile and shrugging.
"Parents are the worse. See you on Monday then."
And he disappeared with a lanky stride into the carpark.
Saturday was a slow day spent doing chores around the house under the sharp eye of Jeremy. I didn't look at him, even as he spat some apparent life-lesson at me once in a while ("it's for your own good"..."you'll thank me when your older") but I did look at my mom. My mom, who sat in that same corner of the kitchen all day, holding a cup of tea she never drank, stared absently at a vase of violets that had begun to whither in the Californian sun. A dark purple bruise marred one of her eyes, and I felt the deserved stab of guilt with the knowledge that she had it because of my stupid pride. He always went easier on my face than hers; it would draw more attention at school, and since Mom didn't work, nobody would ask.
It was around 9:30 pm. I was lying in my bed reading, a Beatles record (Let it Be I think it was; they were always my comfort) playing softly nearby. It was the most peaceful I had felt all day, and I relished in it. I was in fact beginning to doze when a series of sharp, insistent knocks rattled my bedroom window.
And I knew who it was the moment I saw that wild black hair and gleaming cat eyes.
A/N Thank you for reading! More shenanigans are on the way...
