I'm Brendon Urie's Daughter

Chapter 6

I was headed to the cafeteria to grab something to eat when I heard someone calling my name.

I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying anything rude or harsh and took a deep breath. I was having a really shitty day and I was definitely not in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment.

My History teacher gave me detention for standing up to pick up my pen, I sprained my ankle, and worst of all, I had a fight with my best friend.

"What?" I snapped, my tone harsher than I intended, and turned around. I winced, my ankle screaming in pain.

Ryan.

Goddamnit.

He held up his hands as if in surrender. "Woah, calm down. You okay?"

"I'm not in the mood for this right now, Ryan." I scowled and clenched my jaw. "If you have something to say, go ahead and say it. If you don't, then get the hell away from me."

He fell silent, a surprised look on his face.

I sighed. "Look, I'm having a terrible day and I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. I'm sorry."

I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and said, "Breanna, if you need anyone to... well, anyone to talk to or hang out with, I'm right here, okay?"

I just told you I don't feel like talking not five seconds ago. "Okay," was all I said.

∞

A few hours later, I was in the classroom where students were supposed to stay for detention. I wanted to stomp my foot and just scream in anger. My history teacher could shove her detention slips where the sun doesn't fucking shine.

Taking deep breaths and settling myself, I ran a hand through my hair and grabbed a pen. I fidgeted with it.

Click, click, click.

I was debating whether I should just skip detention and go home, but I was already opening the door to what everyone likes to call "RoCaD,"— which stood for "Room of Crises and Detention"— before I had the chance to make up my mind.

Everyone turned to look at me— even the teacher. It looked so epic, I almost laughed.

"You're two minutes and fifty-three seconds late, Urie," Miss Weber told me.

I sat down and bit my lip. "How very specific of you, Miss Weber. Now, can I have my answer sheet, please?"

Answering back to a teacher was really stupid, reckless, and arrogant of me to do. I didn't want to say it — okay, maybe I did— but it just slipped out of my lips like vomit. Shitty day, shitty me.

Miss Weber glared at me, her lips twitching. I could tell that she was really holding back on saying something she was sure to regret later on, but she thought better of it and handed me my answer sheet.

∞

When detention was finally over, I hastily shoved the scratch papers on my desk into my bag and headed outside.

The next bus was supposed to arrive in an hour, but I didn't have any patience left in me to wait for it. I ran a hand through my hair and tied it up in a high ponytail.