Billie Joe Armstrong is my step-father... and I hate it [EDITING]

Are We Demented, or am I Disturbed?

A/N: Couldn't think of another title to save my life. UGH. Maybe I should pick the title first and base the chapter around it... I dunno.

And sorry if it's "AM I demented" not "ARE WE demented". Ever seen that ad with the egg and "this is your brain on drugs"? Yea, that's my brain right now... WITHOUT the drugs.

Never-the-less, please enjoy this chapter. The rest of Green Day are in it, OOOOOoooooOOOO :D

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Jessica’s word had spread, but not in the way she had wanted to. Considering the dance classes I went to were close to some supermarket store mom was in, I had to walk over there. I saw a few people from school down that road. Their eyes widened as whisperes went up, looking at me as if I were Lady Gaga walking down the street. I slowed down and looked over my shoulder. A few students I recognized stared back at me. I heard Billie’s name being mentioned. Instantly, I felt paranoid. I slowly looked away and proceeded to walk. I saw the band junkies, the ones who liked to prove that punk wasn’t dead, and even they started muttering about me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my new found confidence (which I have gained overthe past few days, amazing, isn’t it?) beginning to take it’s toll. “Do I have something on my head or... something?”

“You’re Billie Joe’s step daughter, right?” one asked. I stood there. No one was supposed to know about that... ever. I have never told anyone with the exception of Aiden and somehow, Jessica found out. When she spread her little rumour, people must have been more focused on who my step father was.

I didn’t want anyone to know – I never wanted anyone to know. I didn’t want to be known as Billie Joe Armstrong’s step-daughter. Because the more people who know, the more people will guess that me and Billie Joe don’t get along, and that will spark more rumours. God knows what.

“Pff... tsh... no,” I lied.

“Yes you are,” another said. “You’re Grace Reict.”

“Yea, but... not that one,” I said, giving a horrible excuse to get out of this situation. “Look, I really need to be somewh-!”

“You don’t suppose you could introduce us?” the first one said, hopefully. I blinked.

“Introduce you?”

“Yea, bring us over and-!”

“NO!” This was exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know. “I need to be-!”

“Then could you at least get something signed for us?”

“Oh, piss off!” I scowled horribly before turning around and walking off.

“JOEY WOULD’VE DONE IT!” one yelled after me as I left the gang of simpering teenagers behind.

“JOEY’S A WUSS!” I yelled back, beginning to run. I ran straight through the automatic doors and skidded across the polished floors of the supermarket, trying to make out my mother.

“Look, that’s her, the girl who has a famous dad!” one kid said to his mom.

“That’s the kind of people you should be walking around with,” some mom told her preppy looking daughter, who looked at me with awe. “Rich and famous.” So this is what being a celebrity felt like. Mom was found near the chocolate section, in which a lot of watching teenage girls gawped at her for being Billie Joe’s fiancé.

“Mom, we need to leave NOW!” I said, pulling her arm.

“Oh... Grace, back already?” mom asked, absent mindedly, still inspecting the rows of chocolate. “Which is better? White or normal chocolate?”