The Jesus of Suburbia

American Edit

The hipster to my right tapped my shoulder repeatedly, annoyingly. I opened my eyes and looked towards him with a glare, tugging out an earbud.

"What the hell do you want?"

With a small gesture he pointed to the aisle, where I noticed that people were leaving. He looked scared.

I nodded and stood up.

Since I had no luggage on the plane I got out quickly. As soon as I was out I put both earbuds in and scanned the people outside the terminal

No Billie.

I'm not shocked.

So, I lean against one of the pillars and watch the people as the exit the plane. A girl with an anarchy shirt catches my eye. She has red hair, pulled into a bun. Her jeans are tight, (how I like them) and her shoes have little heart grenades on them.

I almost laugh, but it comes out as a smile which she notices.

Quickly, I drop the smile.

Her attention quickly moves towards someone walking through the terminal and an excited grin crosses her dark red lips.

"Oh my god, its Billie Joe." The girl whispers, going completely still.

I look that way and find that she's right.

Billie Joe Armstrong was walking over casually, one hand stuck in his pocket and the other holding something from Starbucks. He's wearing a Ramones shirt and black skinny jeans with a spiked belt. I like the look.

Even though I'm trying to ignore the feeling, my chest is tightening and a barricade is forming in my throat. This guy has saved my life on many occasions and suddenly he's going to be my dad?

That didn't even sound right in my mind.

Billie sees me and smiles, walking over. The girl steps towards us as well.

"You must be James." He says.

"It's Red." I reply after a moment of gathering myself together. He's literally three feet away from me and holding out his hand.

I shake it nervously and let go after a couple seconds.

"Red like the color?" He asks confusedly, studying me.

His eyes aren't judging at all, which I can respect.

I nod again. "There's a story behind it."

Suddenly the question comes out.

"Why did you want to adopt me? I can take care of myself."

Apparently he wasn't expecting this to be our first conversation and he looked somewhat annoyed, still calm though.

"There's a story behind that too. Before we discuss it though, where's your luggage?"

As we turn to go to the carousel the girl speaks up quietly. "Can I have an autograph first?" Her teeth pull at her bottom lip in a somewhat pathetic way.

Billy looks over at her with a strained smile. "Sure. What's your name?"

"Randi." She answers as she fishes a piece of paper out of her bag. Her cheeks turn a bright red as Billie signs it.

After some more dull conversation we start to go towards the luggage again.

"So, tell me about yourself. The papers didn't say too much so-"

I cut in, "You mean they didn't say any good things. Just some complaints about some bull that I did years ago?"

Billie looks up the short distance between our eyes and shrugs.

"I was probably the same way. I'm not judging you at all, Red."

I sigh. "You sound just like a social worker."

Maybe this whole 'Getting Adopted by Billie Joe' isn't a good thing.

We get to the carousel without any discussion and grab my bags as they circulate.

Then he speaks, "Sorry. I know how annoying they are, trust me. Just tell me about yourself. I don't want to screw up."

Deciding to play a polite card I go with it. "Okay. First of all, I'm seventeen and I don't need another family. I play guitar, but not as well as you. My voice is shit. I don't drink coffee if you put sugar in it."

I pause and look at him.

He nods slowly.

"Good to know, though I'm sure your voice isn't shit."

"Wanna bet?" I ask with an eyebrow raised.

Surprisingly he shrugs, "Sure. I will. Let's put you on YouTube and see what happens."

We're out of the airport by now and into his car. It's a normal car.

Furrowing my eyebrows I look at him with an expression that clearly shows what an idiotic idea that is.

"I'll get hate. It's that simple."

Billy grins and shakes his head. "I'll give you two hundred if you get anything over a fifty thumbs down in a week."

Again I roll my eyes. "Deal. And if I don't by some demonic force?"

"Then you go on tour with us."

"Sounds pretty simple to me." I shrug and run a hand through my hair.

Some Dean Grey 'American Edit' mix floods through the radio as he starts to drive.