"IIIITS TIME TO GOOOOO!!!" I am dragged out the door by y/f/n. We get into my car, a blue jeep wrangler. I smile. My car is my life. It's my freedom. I can go where I want. My car is kind to me, as long as I'm kind to it. I put my key into the start-up, the My Chemical Romance keychain dangling off of it. I put the car into drive, and start towards the concert. I plug my phone in and play 21 Guns.
"Do you know what's worth fighting for
When it's not worth dying for?
Does it take your breath away
And you feel yourself suffocating?
Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide?
Did someone break your heart inside?
You're in ruins one, twenty one guns
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One, twenty one guns
Throw up your arms into the sky,
You and I"
Y/f/n and I sing along, and the song ends as we pull into the parking lot. Fortunately, the parking spots are assigned according to the tickets you buy. So we get really good parking. Unfortunately, a red Ferrari is already parked. In. My. Precious. Spot. And there, sitting on the hood, are the culprits. Two preppy bitches and their boyfriends. I slam on my horn and roll my window down. "HEY!" I yell, causing the girls to look at me. "That's my spot! Look at your tickets, they say what parking spot you get!" They roll their eyes at me, and the blonde one sashays up to my car and drags her slimy hands on my precious jeep. She says, "Oh, and what're ya gonna do bout' it, honey?" She drags out the word honey, annoying the crap out of me. I remember the fake police badge in my glove compartment, left over from pranking my cheating ex. I pull it out, and flash it, slow enough so she can see what it is, but fast enough that she can't read the words, 'not a real badge' in fine print on the bottom. I smirk, and say, "Ya might wanna get out of our spot, hoooneeey." I smirk, dragging the honey out way, waay to long. Her eyes widen, and she runs back to her car and pulls out, her friend still on the hood of the car, and ditches the boys. I grin, shoving the badge back in the glove compartment. Y/f/n is laughing her/his ass off, and rolling around in the back seat. "I can't believe that worked!"
We settle down in our seats, which are front row. We passed the girls from earlier, and they smirked at us, thinking they had better seats than us. They did actually have really good seats and were two seats away from us, buuuuut, my dad knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew the owner of the concert hall, who gave one guy some tickets, agh! I don't even know. But we got great seats. When Green Day comes out, y/f/n screams so loud, she/he catches Billie's attention. He laughs, and says into the microphone, "You all scream like twelve-year-old fangirls." Y/f/n's face turns red with embarrassment, and I pat her/his back. The audience screams, at this, totally proving his point. They start playing, and I sing along since I know all the lyrics of most of their songs. Throughout the concert, Billie keeps on glancing at me and y/f/n. Before he starts singing American Idiot, he locks eye contact with me and smiles. He raises the microphone to his lips, and says, "Hey, you, the girl in the front row! Get up here and sing!" I pointed to myself, mouthing, 'me?' "Yes, you! Get up here!" I smile, but get pushed by the same blonde girl! She hoists herself up on stage and hugs Billie. Oh. He was talking to her, not me. Of course. My smile slid off my face. But something wasn't right. Billie wasn't smiling. "Uh, nope, not you. I wasn't asking you. I was asking her," Billie says, pointing directly at me. The blonde glares at me, and whips around, and shoves her lips into Billie's face. Security grabs her and kicks her out. I look up, and Billie is holding his hand out to me. I take it and get pulled up on stage. "Can ya sing, lady girl?" He asks me. I nod, immediately starting to get stage fright. "Can ya sing American Idiot?" I nod again, looking to y/f/n for help. He/She signals me to just breath. I take a deep breath and take a microphone.
"Don't wanna be an American idiot
Don't want a nation under the new media
And can you hear the sound of hysteria?
The subliminal mind-fuck AmericaWelcome to a new kind of tension
All across the alien nation
Where everything isn't meant to be okay
Television dreams of tomorrow
We're not the ones who're meant to follow
For that's enough to argueWell maybe I'm the faggot America
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda
Now everybody do the propaganda
And sing along to the age of paranoiaWelcome to a new kind of tension
All across the alien nation
Where everything isn't meant to be okay
Television dreams of tomorrow
We're not the ones who're meant to follow
For that's enough to argueDon't wanna be an American idiot
One nation controlled by the media
Information Age of hysteria
It's calling out to idiot America
Welcome to a new kind of tension
All across the alien nation
Where everything isn't meant to be okay
Television dreams of tomorrow
We're not the ones who're meant to follow For that's enough to argue"
We finish the song, and the audience erupts, y/f/n screaming the loudest. I hop off stage, and the show is done.
A/N: There will be a part three, don't worry! I just wanted to get this out today. See you next update!
P.S. I really wanna have a cool nickname for you guys, so plz comment ideas! Ok Bye!
