Part One

Brendon Urie hated everything about high school. He hated the unappealing cafeteria lunches. He hated the prison-like grey walls. He hated the mind-numbing classes. But most of all, he hated the people. Every single carbon copy cheerleader and arrogant athlete. Every brainy kid that started all their sentences with "actually". Even the other 'troubled' kids that he always got lumped with just because he never finished his homework on time and talked back to his teachers. That didn't make him troubled, it made him interesting. Unfortunately for him, the only person who actually found him interesting was their principal, a man three times the size of Brendon who looked more like a professional wrestler than a school official, which made him all the more intimidating.

"Mr. Urie," Principal Smucker said, voice gruff and grainy like he'd just smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. "We're running into this issue more and more. What's going on?"

There it was, the dreaded 'what's going on' question. That was another thing Brendon hated. He found it far more intrusive than it sounded.

"Well," Brendon said, cockily leaning forward to meet Smucker's gaze. "I was in class getting yelled at for not having my worksheet. Then, the teacher called down here to you, you asked for me, and here I am!"

Smucker made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. His gaze was almost piercing and it made Brendon retreat back.

"You like to play tough guy, huh? I know your type," Smucker said lowly. "Doesn't mean I'll let this slide."

He stood from his reclining desk chair, causing it to flip up violently and make Brendon jump. "You're failing three classes, Urie. The end of the year is only a few months away and if you don't pass, you can kiss any hopes of making it to senior year goodbye."

Brendon couldn't see himself, but he was sure his skin turned paler than normal. Not passing his junior year meant not moving onto his senior year. And not moving onto his senior year meant not graduating. Not graduating was not an option. The sooner he could get out of this hellhole, the better for everyone involved.

"So, I'll pass," Brendon said, attempting a dismissive wave. "No worries, Mr. S."

Principal Smucker just scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, "Bringing your grades back from the dead isn't all that plausible his late in the year, Mr. Urie. So I'll be giving you extra credit."

"Great!" Brendon cried, moving to stand. He was ready to get out of this office and return to his miserable class.

"Not so fast," Smucker said. "You're not getting it for free. That's not how this works." He scratched his chin as if deivising some devious plan. "I've never seen you at school events or games. I think you should show some school spirit and join a club."

Brendon's heart sank. Spending more time than necessary at school?  He couldn't be serious.

"In fact, there's one club we have that's in need of some new members. Photography."

Yup, he was serious.

"We encourage students to go to school functions and take pictures for the yearbook," Smucker explained. "It's a great way for you to be more involved and it's not difficult."

Brendon wanted to scream. If he had any doubts he was in hell before, now he was certain.

"So, what? I just aim a camera at people and snap pictures?" Brendon questioned.

"Pretty much. And then you'll turn your photos into the yearbook committee at the end of each week for the rest of the year. I'll have your teachers give you an extra credit point for, let's say, every ten photos you turn in. Good, useable photos," Smucker said, looking all too smug.

Brendon withheld a scoff. He hated everything about this, but he knew it had to be done. As much as the rebel inside him wanted to flip Smucker off and take a week's worth of detention instead, he couldn't.

"Easy," Brendon said instead. "You might as well just give me the points now."

"We'll see, Mr. Urie. I'll just be impressed if you show up to meet the club after school today. Miss Knipe's room at three fifteen," He opened the office door.

Brendon quickly moved to leave, "Got it, I'll be there."

Smucker gave him a nod and closed his door as soon as Brendon was gone.

The warning bell for last period hadn't rung yet, so Brendon angrily slung his backpack over his shoulder and moved off into the crowded hallway. He gave the lockers lining the hall walls a good punch on his way to algebra.

Miss Knipe's classroom smelled like burnt popcorn and Axe body spray. It was overwhelming and uninviting to say the least. Brendon was starting to get why no one wanted to join photography. Sure, Miss Knipe was a nice enough lady. She was probably in her early thirties, no husband, no kids. Brendon deduced she spent most of her time and money reading cheesy romance novels and getting half-assed manicures with those creepy press on nails. She didn't particularly care about much. Brendon figured she most likely got saddled with running photography club. And when he walked through the door, she didn't seem very happy to get saddled with him either.

"Ah, Brendon. Nice of you to come join the club," She said with fake sincerity. But hey, he had better things to be doing, too. Like laying on his bed and staring blankly at the ceiling for hours.

"Yeah, so, uh, can you tell me what I'm supposed to do?" Brendon asked. He had been praying this wouldn't take long.

"Take a seat," She told him. "The other boys should be here soon."

Boys? Brendon was expecting a small group of, like, freshmen girls or something. People who were no good at sports or band and had no other options. But he silently went to his seat. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk, ironically tapping the beat to 'School's Out'. He heard Miss Knipe huff at his tapping after a moment, but that didn't stop him.

"Hey, Miss Knipe!" A new voice suddenly exclaimed as a boy with dark hair that had been streaked with white stripes entered the room. Brendon watched the boy promptly hop up to seat himself on the edge of her desk. "Can I just say how lovely you look today? I even picked you a flower at lunch!" He handed her one of those little yellow weed flowers that grew in everyone's yard after it rained.

She slowly took it, looking very unimpressed, "Yes, thank you, Pete. Go sit at one of the desks, please."

"Anything for you!" He told her, smiling brightly. Brendon knew it was just an act for kicks. He recognized Pete now that he could see his face. He was a kid considered to be just as much of an outcast as Brendon was, someone who liked to cause problems. Except Pete was more flamboyant about it. Brendon would go as far to label him the class clown. He figured Pete was in the same boat as he was - forced to endure torture because of misbehavior.

When Pete turned and saw Brendon, his face immediately lit up, "Hey, I know you! Brendon, yeah? Josh, look! We have a new cellmate!"

Brendon glanced over to the door and saw another kid had come into the room. He had entered so quietly, Brendon didn't even realize he was there, but he recognized the pink-haired boy as well. Josh Dun was his name and from what Brendon knew, the kid didn't talk much. Actually, he didn't do much of anything. He just sort of drifted through the halls like a completely harmless zombie. Well, not completely. Brendon did remember hearing about a fight that broke out during one of the earlier lunches. According to rumor, Josh had dislocated some punk's shoulder and gave him a gusher of a bloody nose. He was sure the blood stains were still on the cafeteria floor. As innocent as the kid looked, Brendon made a mental note to tread carefully.

Josh ignored Pete's comment and moved to sit in one of the back row chairs. Pete moved to sit in the seat by him and one row up. He smirked up at Brendon, "Hey, new kid, come sit back here with us! It's like a tenth percent cooler to sit in the back."

He was mocking Josh, who simply looked away. Brendon couldn't tell if they were friends or not, but either way, he hadn't come to be social or whatever. He was there to be told what to do and leave as soon as possible.

"No thanks," Brendon said. "I'm good."

"You're missing out, pal," Pete chimed.

Brendon said nothing else as Miss Knipe walked to the front of the room. She pushed her granny glasses up the bridge of her nose as she read off a printed sheet.

"Okay," She announced. "Looks like this week is the first soccer game, an orchestra concert Thursday night, and a scholastic bowl competition Wednesday."

Pete raised his hand as if him doing so made a difference, "Excuse me, Miss Knipe, but does the scholastic bowl team get to leave school early for their competition?"

"Yes, they do," She answered, clearing already seeing where this was going.

"Does that mean whoever takes pictures for them gets to leave early, also?"

"Yes, Pete, they would."

"I CALL IT!" Pete yelled, his voice practically echoing in the mostly empty room.

Brendon jumped in his seat and then shot Pete a little glare. Josh appeared unphased.

"Fine, Pete has the scholastic bowl," She made a little mark on her sheet of paper. "And the orchestra concert?"

Josh silently raised his hand, not even making eye contact with Miss Knipe. She nodded, though, and marked him down on the paper as well. Brendon could only assume Josh wanted to photograph that event because it required little to no social interaction. Most of the people there would be parents and family of the orchestra kids and no one would be chatting in the dark auditorium during the performance. Brendon wished he'd thought to raise his hand before Josh.

"Okay, Josh has the concert," Miss Knipe said. "That leaves Brendon with the soccer game."

Great. He ended up with the worst pick of the draw. Not only would a soccer game be crowded with rowdy students, but he happened to know the first games were always home games, which normally he avoided those like the plague. But now he had to spend even more time at the shitty high school. Just wonderful.

Brendon mumbled out an unenthusiastic response as Miss Knipe started handing out cameras. For being the smallest club in school, the cameras were actually decent looking. They could've been better, but Brendon was half-expecting them to be cheap and falling apart. Also, luckily for him, they seemed simple enough to use. A basic on-button, a zoom dial, and the button to snap the photos. Seemed like earning those extra credit points would be easier than Brendon thought... as long as he ignored the ever present feeling of misery and death.

"Here are the times and dates for each of your functions," Miss Knipe mumbled, passing out little reminder notes. "And Pete, I'll write you a pass to get you out of last period-"

"Yes!"

"-on Wednesday. You're all free to go."

Josh was already out the door by the time Brendon stood to leave. Pete was bouncing on his heels while Miss Knipe went back to her desk to write his pass. Brendon quickly gathered his bag after shoving the note and camera inside and walked out the door. Josh was hanging out just outside and Brendon guessed he was waiting for Pete.

"Hey, Beebo! Wait up!" Pete called.

Brendon made a face at the nickname, but against his better judgement, stopped to wait. Pete rushed out, barely avoiding running right into Brendon.

"Don't call me that," Brendon told him point blank.

Pete pouted, but moved on, "You want to come get shakes with Josh and I?"

"Uh, no, pass."

"Why not?" Pete questioned, following Brendon as he tried to walk away.

"Because I don't want to," Brendon answered, starting to sound as annoyed as he felt. He quickly headed down the back stairwell and towards the door. Pete continued to follow with Josh in tow.

"But why don't you want to?" Pete pressed.

"Because!" Brendon cried, finally turning to glare at him. "Because I don't need friends, okay?"

Pete looked offended, "Everyone needs friends. That's why I got Josh here." He slung an arm around Josh's shoulders. Josh's stoic expression did not change, but he was looking at Brendon now.

Brendon shook his head, "Nah, I'm good. Later."

This time when he walked away, Pete thankfully didn't follow. He did however call out a, "Later, Beebo!"

Brendon grumbled as he walked out into the late afternoon sun.