Long Live The Weird Kids || A Bandfic

chapter 1 - are there windows in heaven?

Hey everyone! I haven't written in a while so hopefully I can keep this story updated & such, I am busy in school a lot now but I missed writing a lot & I'm hoping this will satisfy me & anyone kind enough to read my work.

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{ Tay's POV }

I zipped my book bag up, biting my lip as I struggled to close it over the three thick textbooks shoved inside. I'd never once been to my locker, and I didn't want to go there, anyways. It was right in between Alex Gaskarth and Lisa Ruocco's lockers. Every morning was a total snog fest. Gross. Besides, there wasn't much point. If I could carry my books, I would. Less of a risk of being late to class.

My mom was sleeping, as usual, but there was a note left on the kitchen table and two bucks. Picking up the note, I struggled to read the messy cursive.

Tay -

haven't been shopping

stop at wawa for breakfast

have a good day

- Mom

That was no surprise. She hardly ever went shopping anymore. And I really needed a new pair of shoes. Every morning, I stuffed the money into one of the pockets in my book bag and waited until lunch time. She never noticed, or cared. It was a win-win situation for me: finally a new pair of vans, and I was losing weight.

The day was a cool and crisp, a gorgeous fall morning. As I closed the gate, I caught a bright red leaf in my hand. This was my favorite season. I wish I could just sit outside all day on my roof and catch leaves and write songs. That would be ideal. So of course, it couldn't happen.

Up until I was twelve years old, I lived with my mom, my sisters Lindsey and Sam, and my brother, Devin. Our parents were divorced, and my dad lived in Florida with his new girlfriend. One day, my mom got a call. My dad had had a heart attack and he didn't make it. He hadn't taken the best care of himself, but he was my dad, my hero. In my young mind, he was my strong protector, he was immortal. I could never talk to my mom the way I talked to my dad. Every night we talked on the phone. After the divorce, my mom never admitted it, but I could tell she missed him. But my dad was happy, even miles and miles away. His death destroyed all of us. But it had the worst impact on my mom, and on me.

After he died, my sisters and my brother moved to Florida to stay with my dad's girlfriend. She was a sweet, caring woman, and I never was spiteful towards her like some kids were in my situation. The reason they all left was because of my mom- she wasn't mentally stable after everything that happened and we were all scared she would hurt us. But she held on to me, claiming she needed at least one of her kids to stay with her. I was that lucky kid. And she never got better. Every night she drinks and cries and breaks plates and once she even tried to hang herself, but I stopped her. Deep down, I think she still cares about me, but every day I'm less and less hopeful that she'll ever come back.

I crumpled up the leaf in my hands and discarded it over my shoulder, sniffling and pulling the drawstrings tighter on my "long live pop punk" hoodie. It was a birthday present from my dad. I was lucky he'd bought it a size too big, because I could still wear it now.

Suddenly, two hands clamped onto my shoulders and I seized up, a little gasp escaping my mouth as I stopped walking. Then, I felt arms wrap around my waist. A voice moved right next to my ear and whispered, "I got her, Mike."

Instantly, I sighed and laughed, rolling my eyes and trying to pry the arms off me. "What's your deal, Fuentes?"

The voice chuckled, releasing me. I turned around with my arms crossed to see the two idiots that lived four houses up from me. Vic and Mike Fuentes, brothers who I'd known since my mom and I moved here and I started eighth grade at Pinefront Middle School. Vic was a senior, and Mike was a junior, and they were the only upperclassmen who'd ever actually talked to me much.