House of Memories

When the Day Met the Night

"I, Sage Malcolm, am always late. Late to get up in the morning, late to finish chores, and late to work (well, at least for the few days I had a job. Being late every day isn't recommended). But today, I'm running late for the first day of Senior year.

I threw on a black jacket to complement my brown hair and green eyes.. I started off the fifteen minute walk by walking from my house and down the block. I got my phone from the back pocket of my jeans to check the time. Five after eight. Too bad school started at 8:20 and there was no chance I'd actually make it in time.

I picked up speed to a healthy jog, and then was stopped by a red light. My dark brown hair was getting stuck in the small amount of lip gloss that I had bothered to apply. I had almost tripped over the untied laces of my black vans a few times as well.

I looked at the shiny, cherry red convertible that was stopped next to me. The guy in it looked over his sunglasses back at me. And winked.

I looked up at the light, wishing it would go faster.

"You're gonna be late," he said and adjusted his sunglasses.

I didn't say anything.

"Want a ride? I understand that it's--" the light changed and I continued jogging.

"Hey." He slowed his car down to match my speed, so I flipped him off and gave him my best bitch face. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows, hitting the gas and going well over the speed limit.

"What the fuck?" I said to myself and watched as his car grew smaller before disappearing into the distance.

I checked my phone. Ten minutes to get through seven blocks, go to my locker, and then class. I should've just taken the ride... But what's worse? The looming possibility of being murdered over a two minute car ride or a tardy?

I continued walking at normal (really fucking slow) speed and got to school at 8:20. If I was gonna be tardy, it had to actually be worth it.

I entered the building and glanced at my schedule again. My first hour was listed as American History, room 207. I stopped at my locker for another 10 minutes, and then went to class for the remaining 30 minutes.

I knew the teacher, Mr. Weekes, from last year. I was mainly quiet in his class because of my lack of friends, but occasionally answered a few questions.

I got to his classroom and opened the door to about 40 or 45 students talking amongst themselves as Mr. Weekes explained something that probably wasn't important, considering he was letting them talk over him. He waved at me, a gesture that I returned as I sat in the closest empty desk to the door.

I got out a piece of paper and started mindlessly doodling until I felt someone looking at me. I looked up and then next to me, where I saw the asshole from the car. I rolled my eyes and looked back to my paper.

"What are you drawing?" he asked and turned in his seat to face me.

I didn't reply, yet he kept staring at me.

"Gonna tell me to fuck off again?"

"Who are you?" I had never seen him around before, but I also didn't recognize most of the kids in this class.

"Who do you want me to be?"

"What's your name?"

"Brendon. Well, I'd prefer Mr. Urie in this setting."

I looked at him and put a hand to my chin, with what I hoped was an intimidating glare, and then back to my paper. I felt his eyes continue to stare, so I just put my head down and tried to nap.