but it's better if you do! ||| ryden

1: The Calm Before The Storm

"Hey, so like, Mrs. Ballato totally got knocked up."

I choke on my french fry, coughing harshly before looking at Pete with absolute bewilderment. My eyes are wide, like I'd just seen a ghost or something, but I may as well have, because seriously, what the fuck?

Before we get into the topic of the hour, I feel like introducing myself would be a whole lot better than just jumping to the amount of events that are currently happening. My name is George Ryan Ross III.

Now, look, I know what you're thinking. What kind of faggoty name is that? And, you're right. I don't fucking know either. My parents thought it'd be a good idea to give me the worst name in the entire universe, apparently, to my horrible dismay. It's okay though, because I found a loophole, and decided to just go by my middle name, so for the sake of my dignity, I'd just like to be called Ryan, thanks.

The egotistical douchebag sitting across from me, giving me this information, is my one and only best friend, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. It's kind of ironic how both of our names are some shit you'd hear on Downton Abbey or a bullshit TV show like that. He just goes by Pete, though. Call him anything else and you'll probably earn yourself a load of knuckles to the face.

I'll spare all the unimportant details about my personal life and just let you know that I live in Utah, I'm seventeen years of age, currently working on getting my highschool diploma, blah blah blah.

See? Completely unimportant. So unimportant, in fact, that I can't even talk about it without getting a headache. It's better than nothing, though, so, do what you want with that being said.

"What the fuck?" I voice, shaking my head a bit, "She's.. what.. she's pregnant?" My voice comes out in a whisper, because literally what, I totally thought that she was way past that age, but I guess not, because Pete nods with affirmation, a smirk on his face.

First of all, I don't know how Pete even found that shit out, because Mrs. Ballato was not at all showing any symptoms of pregnancy, much less a baby bump, and for a split second I don't believe him, can't, because it's only fucking November, and here she is, with a bun in the oven.

Who the fuck is gonna teach us english now? Surely not some bullshit substitute. No. I love Mrs. Ballato. She's good at what she does. Now her selfish ass wants to get pregnant? Just when I'm starting to do good in her class?

I narrow my eyes at him. I don't know if he's bullshitting me or not, but from the looks of it, I doubt he is. And, yeah, I guess the aura of the lunchroom can prove it, because apparently, everyone is talking about it. I actually kind of feel bad. Mrs. Ballato must be feeling some kind of shame, because I would, knowing there were hundreds of teenagers talking shit about my personal life. Then again, I don't know what she could have expected. Teenagers will talk about any and everything that has to do with someone else's personal life, so I can't really feel bad.

"How d'you know?" I murmur to him and quirk an eyebrow skeptically, and he just rolls his eyes, I don't know what for, but Pete's always been an asshole, whatever the circumstance, so I just brush it off, waiting for a response.

"How do I know?" Pete answered in a tone that was so clearly meant to mock me, and he scoffed, like what I asked physically hurt him. I'd rather not comment on how fucking stupid and annoying his ego can get sometimes, so I let it be. He cracks open a small can of Pepsi, taking a swig before continuing, "Dude, like, everyone's talking about it. I don't know how you didn't figure this out the first five minutes of the day."

"I came in late, dickhead." Which was true. I had to, because my mom was bitching me all morning about how I didn't let the dog out the night before, and how I didn't wake my sister up for school, and how I didn't make her breakfast, and how I didn't take the trash out, and how I didn't clean my room, the bathroom, as well as the kitchen, and just.. there was a lot of things that she wanted me to do. And like, I would have been okay with it, if she would've told me to do all of that. She just expects me to read her mind and automatically start doing shit around the house for her. And it's like, I'm not a fucking maid, you know? I'm in the 12th grade, I shouldn't have to deal with her bullshit. Anyway, she made me do all of those things, obviously not caring if I had school or not, she just wanted it done, so to spare myself an ass eating, I just did it for her. Hence the reason why I walked into school 2 hours late.