Dance, Dance.
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I watch as Patrick spits out a sunflower seed shell before pulling his catching helmet back over his bright eyes. He signs a pitch that I can't see and sets up inside. He lets out a grunt.

Midway through the pitch that Bob Bryar throws to him, Patrick widens his stance to get a better throw. As soon as the pitch hits his glove, he throws it to their shortstop, who tags the runner out. That's it. WCH made it to the playoffs. Two more wins, and they're the state champions. If only it were that easy.

They have to beat us first. Patrick lets out a cry of triumph, a big noise that shouldn't be allowed to come out of a little boy like him, but it does. Joe Trohman lifts him unto his back as they go to hit hands with the team they just beat.

"Draggies tonight?" Andy asks from beside me, already leaving his seat next to me on the cold bleachers. I shudder and nod.

"Maybe we should get cleaned up first?" I suggest because we came straight here after our own practice to scope out the competition. Yeah, that's why. It's not to stare at Patrick Stump in baseball pants.

"Yeah. I'll be at your house around nine, okay?" Andy doesn't wait for an answer before walking to his black mustang, twirling the keys around in his hand.

"Okay," I say to myself, walking the other way to my dark blue Range Rover.

Two hours later, Andy pulls into my driveway, dressed in tight dark red skinny jeans, a black tank top, and blue beat up converse. He looks pretty damn good.

I run out to his car in a pair of ripped skinny jeans that are probably Andy's, a red and black flannel with the top buttons undone to where you can see my thorn necklace, and my favourite white sneakers.

I get in Andy's car, waving a hello to him. He smiles in return and pulls out of my driveway, heading just down the street to Draggies.

"Whiskey on the rocks," I tell the bartender. His eyebrows raise at me, but he makes it anyways. He probably figures that if I was old enough to get in here, then I'm old enough to drink a beer. I take my beer as Andy orders, but I don't bother hanging around to know that he's getting a club soda. He's always designated driver, since he's straightedge.

I see none other than Patrick Stump across the bar, watching Joe Trohman try to pick up a ginger guy that's dressed very similar to.. wait, is that Andy? I try not to laugh as I walk closer to them.

Andy shakes his head at Joe, laughing all the while drinking his soda. Joe has a defeated look on his face, and Patrick's sitting there chewing on his lip ring, trying to hold in a laugh.

"One word, and I'll rip your lip ring out, asshole," Joe threatens Patrick. "Besides, he was so into me,"

"Yeah, no he wasn't," I say, patting Patrick's back. He turns around and frowns at me. "Heard you guys made it to the playoffs," I tell him, taking the empty seat next to Joe.

"You heard right, Wentz," Patrick knocks my hand off of his back.

"I'm surprised they let you in, Stump. You look like a twelve year old," I take off his hat and ruffle his hair. He's literally gorgeous, but that doesn't make what I said any less true.

"Fuck you," He takes his hat back and punches my arm, all the while chewing on his fucking lip ring. That thing will be the death of me.

"Stumpy grew a pair, huh? You're hot when you're mad," I grin, and I'm telling the truth, although he's attractive all the time.

"Shut up," He says, blushing furiously, and I can't help but wonder what it would be like if he didn't wear a hat all the time and just let his so-blonde-almost-white hair fall perfectly. He would definitely be more attractive, if that's even possible.

"Found anyone to fuck tonight?" I ask confidently, a grin that I hope doesn't come off as too cocky plays on my face. It's no secret that he fucks just as many people as I do. Although, he only fucks guys, so my chances are better, I guess.

"Actually, I do have my eyes on someone," He sips at his drink, making me hope he's talking about me. Probably not, though.

"Get a room," Joe groans, hitting his head on the bar, which shouldn't be funny, but I found myself laughing.

"Joseph, you know better than to assume. Me and Wentz? That's like putting fire and gasoline together, man. We just don't work," Joe laughs, and I nod, even though that kind of hurt my feelings.

"Watch this," Patrick says to no one in particular, downing the rest of his beer before walking towards a muscular brunette. We watch Patrick lean over and whisper something in his ear, the guy laughing afterwards.

"Shit, he's smooth," I say as Patrick and the guy walk out of Draggies, fingers loosely laced. "I wasn't playing earlier. He's fucking sexy,"

"Hell yeah he is, and he knows it. That's the worst part," Joe agrees, taking a long drink of his beer. "Now about that red headed guy,"

I laugh at Joe, still thinking about what Patrick said. Fire and gasoline.

--

"Trohman tried to fuck me twice," Andy tells me the next day when we're on the field. I wait until he grounds the ball that coach hits to him to reply.

"And you didn't let him?" It's my turn to ground a ball, and I toss it to G-Way at second, who then fires it to Andy at first. Sure, we're yelling across the field, but no one seems to mind.

"Alright, boys. I think that's enough of talking about fucking today," Coach calls, tossing Andy his bat. Andy catches it with ease, dropping his glove.

"Urie, throw me a bullpen, would ya?" Andy calls out to Brendon, who just nods because he's never really been a talker.

"Andy, coming over tonight?" I ask him, just as he swings and hits a ball to left field.

"Be over in an hour probably. Gonna hit the rest of this then hop in the shower, and I'll be over. Order a pizza?" He swings again, firing one back at Urie, who falls to the ground to avoid being hit with the ball.

"Definitely," I walk off to my car and get in, turning on the radio. I wince as a One Direction song comes on. Damn, this is the world today. I change the station until I find one playing a Blink 182 song, humming along to it.

Thirty minutes later, I'm sitting in my living room with Pulp Fiction -- because who doesn't love Uma Thurman? -- on, waiting for our pizza to arrive. I laugh at something Jules says, but I quickly stop. There's something that sounds a hell of a lot like my front door being opened.

I grab Andy's spare bat that sits by the laundry room door as I creep into the kitchen, which is adjacent to the front door. I raise the bat over my head as I get closer, only to almost drop it when Andy comes in with pizza in one hand and keys in the other.

"Fuck you!" I yell, grabbing at my chest to try and get my breathing back to normal. Andy is almost hyperventilating from the laughter, and I snatch the pizza from him. "No pizza for you, asshole,"

"You dick, I paid for it," He opens the box and takes a piece, licking it before I can say anything. My nostrils flare in disgust.

"You're gross," I grumble, taking a bite of my own slice. Pizza is my life. It's the heavenly food made by God himself as a gift to all of us. "Remind me why I hang with you,"

"Because you love me, and I'm also the only one that would hang with you," I gasp, and he laughs, almost choking on his pizza. I smile. Well, sometimes the things you love can hurt you the most.

"That's what you get," I say, making a hmph sound. He rolls his eyes.

"Where's her royal bitchness tonight?" I shudder at the mention of her. The woman that gave birth to me.

"With the douchebag. They hang at his place because I'm not there, I guess," I shrug, not really caring.

"Dude, I'm sorry you have to deal with that shit. I'd trade with you if I could, you know," Andy says seriously. I smile for real this time. Andy is amazing, really. I'm glad to call him my best friend.

"Your mom is awesome, dude. I could never do that to you," He smiles back at me.

"That's exactly why I said that. You deserve someone that loves and cares for you. Since your dad died, you haven't had anyone that really counts as a parent," I nod in agreement. He's telling the truth. Not that I deserve someone that loves me, just that I haven't had a parent since my father died.

"I love you, Andrew," He scoffs, punching my arm.

"I love you too, Peter," I laugh and hug him. I don't know what I'd do without him, really.

--

"Ah, nice of you to join us, Peter Wentz. Care to explain why you're late?" Mr. Matthews asks me when I walk into his fourth period science class five minutes late. Just because I had to pee, he's picking on me? He's never liked me, and he constantly looks for reasons to get me in trouble.

"Well, someone told me to go to hell. I couldn't find it at first, but here I am," The class erupts in laughter as I walk to my seat, high-fiving Andy on my way by.

Matthews frowns, beginning to teach the lesson. I daydream most of class, and that's probably why my grades aren't the best in here. When the bell finally rings, I bolt for the door.

"Mr. Wentz, I'd like to steal a few minutes of your time, if you would," Matthews says, and I stop where I am, making three people run into the back of me -- which really freaking hurts.

"Yes, Mr. Matthews?" I put on my best teacher's pet voice, but by the look on his face, he's not hating me any less.

"Peter, I want to have a chat about your grades," I groan loudly when he says that. My grades in here are terrible. "You see, I'm wondering why this is the only class your grades are bad in," He's not wrong. I have A's in everything except this class (which I'd like to point out that I'm not failing, I just have a very low D). "It seems that you're not comprehending astronomy very well,"

"Yeah, well, who's fault is that?" I don't mean to say that, it just comes out. He doesn't seem phased by it.

"Mr. Wentz, I'm doing all I can do. You are actually the only senior that is anywhere remotely close to failing this class," He brags, and I would really like to leave now. Matthews doesn't realise that he's making Andy late to English too, apparently. Andy and I always walk to all of our classes together.

"Can I leave now?" I wonder, and he visibly snickers.

"Mr. Wentz, what I'm trying to say is that your grades in this class can keep you from playing baseball," He explains finally, and I sigh. I knew this was coming. I hear a gasp, and yep, Andy's waiting for me. "I'd like to see you for tutoring every day after school,"

"I have baseball practice," I say before he can suggest something else. "Now, I need to get to English," I snap.

He sighs, before saying, "I recommend you let me tutor you, Mr. Wentz," I walk out then, meeting Andy's eyes.

He stays put until I turn around and say, "Are you coming?" He shakes out of it and runs to catch up with me.

"What was that about?" He asks, and honestly, I should've known it was coming.

"I'm failing, Andy," I say simply, and he decides to leave the subject alone, I guess.

When we reach English class, we're five minutes late. Great, I'm making a habit out of being late. Mrs. Jackson lets us off, though, and for that I am thankful. She is a really nice person.

"Alright, class, now that Peter and Andrew have joined us, we will begin with the lesson of the day," And I smile because she's the sweetest lady I've ever met. "Today, I would like you to write a line about not being able to have something or someone you like, alright? I don't want a whole poem. Just a line,"

I take out my black notebook, flipping to an empty page in the back of the book. It's nearing the end. I write down the first thing that comes to my mind.

'Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you've been saving for his mattress, love?'

I don't know what to name it, and Andy probably saw that.. that look on my face. The one I get when I'm pissed because I can't think of anything.

He leans over to me, whispering, "Dance, dance, we're falling apart to halftime," I smile and scribble 'Dance, Dance' on the top of my paper in writing I would probably have to rewrite because it was illegible.

--

FINALLY I REWROTE THIS. IT'S NOWHERE NEAR AS GOOD AS THE FIRST ONE, BUT IT'LL DO.

so what does everyone think of pete failing science???