Patrick
I'm not a violent person I swear.
This kid has just been getting on my nerves. Peter Wentz—17, a senior, and the biggest dick on the damn planet. The shithead doesn't understand how the world works and fucking hate him.
Okay I'm sorry let me explain.
Pete is the king of half of the school. He's the captain of the football team. He's the hottest guy, all the girls and some dudes too want him. He's so goth, or emo or whatever.
He is the king;
of half of the school.
For the people who aren't into sports, or emo, or just wants someone who's hot and covered in tattoos—that's where I come in.
Hi, I'm the kid who is the king of the other half.
The artsy kids, the musicians, addicts, and the lab rats (or book smart kids) are my loyal subjects.
I'm 16, a Jr., and the weirdest guy around. I actually things unlike someone.
Chicago high is where we go.
In this high school, cliques exist—but all cliques have chooses who they are following, or the subjects of; mine or Pete's.
Pete's "kingdom" is called "The Young Bloods." Some cliques that are Young Bloods are: the jocks, the emos/goths/scene kids, and the cheerleaders. There are more too.
My "kingdom" is called "Soul Punks." Some cliques that are Soul Punks are the starving artists, the musicians, lab rats, and the stoners. Again, there are others but you know—whatever.
I've been having some problems with some Young Bloods, the jocks specifically. Some of them are bullying my lab rats, and being the loyal "King" I am, I need to fix this issue.
So I talk to The Young Blood's king, good ol' Pete Wentz.
It went something like this:
I walk onto the the bleachers. After walking up the steps while taking in the surrounding, I find a seat near the top row of benches.
Football practice is almost over. I look down at my watch. 4:56, it reads. Only four more minutes.
I'll just watch, then I'll pull Pete aside and speak to him privately.
And then I'm watching and holy shit he isn't wearing a shirt.
Why the fuck isn't he wearing a shirt?
He shakes his head, sweat running down his face and his hair is all wet. The black strands are being thrown around. Fuckin' emo. His tan skin is covered with a thin layer of moister, and he's all shiny.
"Alright boys! That's practice for today! Huddle then we're out!" I hear the coach yell and I'm out of my trance.
My trance of wishing him to get hit by a car-
"Yo, Pete!" A kid, Travis, yells at him.
Pete turns to look at his buddy, dumping water over himself. Sigh.
