The Teacher | Brendon Urie

Chapter 3

Mr. Urie looks like a little kid on Christmas morning, standing in my decked out basement. There are guitars and drums and many many other instruments strewn across the room, and his eyes drift from one to another eagerly.

"Can you play all of these?" He asks, in awe.

I shrug, laughing lightly. "I can't get the hang of the violin yet, but I can play guitar, drums, bass, ukulele, saxophone, clarinet, flute and piano."

As I'm listing all the instruments I play, Mr. Urie wanders towards the piano. "This is a beautiful baby grand!" He breathes, running his fingers over the keys. "I have an upright piano and a keyboard, but grand pianos are so authentic . . . May I?"

"Be my guest, Mr. Urie." I reply, sitting on a stool near the piano. His face scrunches up as he places his hands on the keys.

"Call me Brendon when we're not at school. It feels too weird to think of you as my student here." Brendon . . . I never thought about what his name might be, but Brendon is sort of fitting. Brendon Urie.

"Cool, okay." He gives a small nod and starts to play a familiar melody. "Fly me to the moon," I begin.

"Let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars." Brendon's face breaks out into a smile. "In other words, hold my hand, in other words, baby kiss me." His voice is beautiful and it gives me goosebumps.

"I love this song!" I say, cutting off his singing. His hands stop over the keys and he chuckles.

"Me too. Frank Sinatra is my inspiration. Yours too, I would imagine?" He nods towards the framed picture of Sinatra on the wall behind me. I completely forgot that I had that . . .

"Oh yeah," I giggle, looking down at my feet to hide my blush. Why am I even blushing? I hear the basement door creak open and look up to see Anika coming down the stairs.

"I thought I'd find you down here." She laughs, more than slightly drunk. "Oh hi!" She says, noticing Brendon who is still sitting at the piano. Luckily she doesn't have him for any classes, or doesn't recognize him at least.

"Hi," he smiles awkwardly, glancing down at his wrist. "Oh, wow, it's past midnight. I should really be getting home, sorry." He stands up quickly and runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stand straight up.

"Oh yeah, of course. See you later, Brendon." I shrug, waving as he rushes back up the stairs.

"Who was that?" Anika asks as soon as he's out of sight, approval clear on her face. "He's cute," what do I say? I obviously can't tell her that he's my teacher, even though she probably won't remember this in the morning.

"Oh, he came by to tell us the music was really loud, then I invited him in to stop him from calling the cops." It's not really a lie, just an omission of truth. At least, thats what I'm telling myself so as to not feel so guilty.

"Did it work?" Did it? Sure, but there is now a slightly awkward bond between Brendon and I. Generally speaking, teachers don't end up at student's houses.

"I guess so . . ." I sigh, looking over at my wall clock. It's close to 1 am, I guess Brendon and I spent more time together than I thought. "Help me kick everyone out? It's getting late."

*****

Brendon's POV

What the hell is wrong with me? Any sensible teacher would have broken up Cassie's party immediately. Me? Sure, I'll come in, drink a beer, flirt with a fucking student. That's why I had to find an excuse to leave. I couldn't very well stay there all night, especially when her friend came meandering in. I'd be in shit if anyone found out about it.

But thoughts of Castella Reynolds still circle through my mind. Is she seeing anyone? Ugh, I would hate to be that guy. You know, the one that likes some other guy's girlfriend? Just call me Rick Springfield: I wish that I had Jesse's girl. But what am I doing? I can't think like this about a student. She's underage, for one, and probably not as mature as she's leading on . . . But her red-brown hair and bright green eyes are embedded in my mind. And she likes Frank Sinatra!

"B?" Leslie, my girlfriend, nudges me out of my thoughts as I lay down beside her. "Why are you coming to bed so late?" She asks, nuzzling her head onto my chest.

"I was trying to figure out where that music was coming from." I stroke her hair, trying to get my mind off of Cassie. Listen, I know I have a girlfriend and this looks bad, but trust me. This thing isn't going very far; we just don't mesh well with each other.

*****

"Good morning, Brenny-boo!" Leslie coos at 7 am. There are two problems with this: 1. It's too fucking early and 2. I hate being called Brenny-boo. It's so . . . Emasculating. It's something my mother used to call me when I was a kid, and she's the only one I will ever allow it from.

"Fuuuuck," I groan, throwing a pillow over my eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" I can't see her face, but I know she's pouting like a baby.

"But baby—" she tries, stroking my chest. I push her hand away and press the pillow harder onto my face.

"Get out of my house, Leslie." Over night I made the executive decision to break up with her. She's just so annoying, I can't deal with her anymore.

"W-what?" Her small voice sounds broken, and I can't bring myself to look at her. As much as I dislike her, I'm not a heartbreaker.

"I'm sure you saw this one coming, Les." I sigh, sitting up and looking at her nose instead of her eyes. What can I say, I don't like to see people cry.  "We're just not a good match. I'm really sorry, but we're over." Before I even know what's happening, she's slapped me across the face and running out of my bedroom. I follow her, only to make sure that she doesn't hurt herself.

"Fucking DICK!" she shouts from the front door, slamming it shut behind her and screaming profanities as she makes her way down the street. I can hear her from my living room, she's probably waking up the whole neighbourhood. Great. Fucking awesome!