[who even AM i wtf help I'm begging u]

I'd made plans to meet up with Pete after school, after his detention sentence specifically, underneath the playground structure at a park in between our homes. Dallon had basically been forced to tag along. I wasn't technically allowed anywhere without him, also known as a chaperone. A goody two shoes jerk chaperone.

"He is cute," Pete pointed up and took a quick sip of his soda, "I didn't believe you, but he's like... a solid eleven. Maybe even a twelve—"

"Hey now, that's my chaperone you're talking about." I shoved at his shoulder only to have him push back with a grin. "Besides, he's like... a dinosaur. He wears his uniform shirt on the weekends sometimes, he goes to sleep at nine, and he's gotten a stupid perfect attendance award every year since kindergarten."

Pete's mouth dropped open in both surprise and disgust. "Is his backpack huge? Like sixth grader size? That's a major turn off if it is."

Pete had the tendency to judge people based upon the size of their backpack. Bags stuffed full was a red flag to him, and nearly flat ones meant good news. He was a strange guy, but I never questioned his methods. "Decent size. It's like... medium. He always brings a lot of good though, so that's why."

He nodded once and tossed an empty soda can into his backpack, surprisingly thin for what he usually carried around. "So, how's Cardine? I've heard it's strict," he popped the top to another can, his third, and gestured to my uniform. I hadn't gotten the chance to head back to Dallon's house and change shirts, "and horribly boring."

He was right. That was Cardine summed up in three simple words: stupid, and horribly boring. "This girl spitballed me the other day. I knocked her front canine tooth out and cut open her lip so badly, it gushed blood for like, half an hour."

He rolled his eyes. I was glad we were on the same page. "She deserved it then, I assume—"

"Hell yeah, she did. Nobody—"

"Spitballs Brendon Urie and gets away with it." He smirked and shot a wink my way. "Don't forget who coined that whole... phrase... thing."

In middle school, this kid Pete and I exclusively called Booger would always shoot paper airplanes made from old rigid napkins he'd picked up from the cafeteria. He shot the wrong person, and ended up in a trash can in the gymnasium rafters. The school had to call the fire department to get him down, and he never threw another airplane ever again. Thus, Pete began saying, "nobody paper airplanes Brendon Urie and gets away with it", which was stupid looking back on it. His grammar sucked then. But the grammatical error trend always stuck.

Unfortunately and very fortunately, they found out it was me after rough interrogation. That was the zillionth offense listed on my permanent record, and the thing that got everyone to stare at the tile whenever I walked past.

"Anyways, did you ever meet the kid Cardine sent over to replace me? Who is it?" I asked, and immediately a bright red settled over Pete's face.

He shrugged and toed at the wood chips beneath us. "Yeah, he's in a few of my classes. He's nice."

The blush. Fidgeting. "...Do you like him?"

"...Maybe."

I had to take moment. I took a breath and bottled up all my excitement at the bottom of my lungs. I'd have to save it for later, even though I probably wouldn't be able to. "That's good. You should probably, like, date him. Maybe."

Pete pursed his lips. The blush had begun to subside. "Yeah. Probably. I'll do that later this week, if I get around to it."

"I think you should set aside some extra time."

"Yeah, me too."

🖍🖍🖍

Dallon's parents didn't really like to interact with me, I realized. Maybe it was because I was a felon, or that I'd recently punched a girl so hard I knocked out a tooth. They'd heard about the countless times I'd done so much wrong, I'd definitely go to hell no matter how many times I repented. It always made me laugh, though, because they were so friendly around Dallon, but whenever I walked in the room, all conversations either ceased or continued without looking away from me.

They gave Dallon a twenty, the keys to one of their three cars, and gave him a five minute talk about how I should never ever be let out of his sight, and that I should never be in possession of any dangerous objects at any time. Then they gave him a hug, and waved goodbye to me without a word, and shut the front door behind us.

I could see them watching me through the blinds. "Do they not like me, or are they scared I'm gonna beat you up and stick you at the top of a flagpole?"

He shrugged and hovered around the front of the car before he went to the driver's side, where he'd usually talk too quietly to be heard. "They've always been like that. And for the record, I'd beat you up, not the other way around."

"Hey, I took karate when I was little. I'm a martial arts master."

"And I'm taller than you." He wiggled his tongue at me and hopped in the driver's seat, and stuck the keys in the ignition while waiting for me to yank open the passenger door.

He drove to Sonic, of all places. I'd heard about it, but I'd never been because whenever my parents put me in the back, something broke. I.E. when I was six, we were headed to the grocery store and I tore a hole in the seat cushions because I couldn't find a quarter that I'd supposedly dropped into the crack a few years prior, and after that I poured soda down my window. After that, they usually just cooked at home unless they couldn't help it.

"So, you've never been to Sonic? Like, ever?" To say Dallon was surprised was a drastic understatement.

"I was a rowdy kid. I wasn't allowed to eat a handful of goldfish crackers in the back, let alone have a full meal in my car seat." The frown on his face expressed explicit concern over the validity of my statement, but it only took a few seconds for him to realize who he was sitting next to. Then it clicked, and he seemed less appalled.

"And they willingly enrolled you in karate?"

"Their morals weren't the best."

"Fair enough," he said, and called over a waiter on roller skates to order two slushies, "but anyways, trust me with my decisions. They're good ones for the most part."

"You chose cherry over blue raspberry, how can I trust you, like, ever?"

He laughed; actually, legitimately laughed. Like I was funny and his friend, not a transfer felon. That was an odd feeling. He didn't even make some snarky comment about how I could be funny and not have to punch the lights out of someone to keep a reputation.

His temporary facade gave way as soon as the roller skating waiter brought back a tray of slushees. He passed me one and immediately sucked down half of his drink, so I forced myself to do the same. It tasted like betrayal and regret, but I wasn't gonna admit it. Somehow, that felt wrong.

"So, I bought you a slushee," Dallon turned to me in his seat with the same smirk as a twelve year old gossiping girl, "and I was thinking... it could be like, a tradeoff?"

I'd been tricked. But I couldn't not trade something for the slushee. It was like... expensive by my standards. I usually walked around with a handful of change and hoped everything worked out. "Fine," his face lit up, and I almost slapped him, "you get three questions, and then I get to ask three to make it fair. Because I'm living with you for the rest of the school year, apparently, and it sucks. We can't live in a tyrannical state. We need a democracy."

His smirk split to a smile and he set down his drink in the cup holder. "I'm not sure a democracy is the best way of phrasing equality, but I'll take it. What're your parents like?"

I had a good childhood, if I were to be honest. My response definitely wouldn't be the one he was most likely expecting. "Pretty nice. I still have both my parents, they went to college, all my siblings have too, and I've grown up with the same group of people my whole life. Nobody in my family has a bad history, and everything is still stable. They're just tired of my shit."

I was right. That was far from the answer he was anticipating, which made it even funnier. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I'm not shitting you. And that counted as a question, so now you only have one more."

He shot me a glare and paused for a solid minute, leaving me in terrified silence. He must've been thinking up some juicy question to unlock all my deepest darkest secrets and expose me to the whole school unless I committed murder for him and-

"Why didn't you fight back?"

Never mind. "What do you mean?"

"When you socked the tooth right out of Carmen Green's mouth, and I had to carry you away so you wouldn't rip her head clean off. Why didn't you fight against me? You could've; you were kicking and screaming at her, and when I picked you up, you went from absolutely livid to only slightly perturbed."

Carmen Green? That was the stupidest name I'd ever heard of. "Her name is Carmen Green?" He nodded and pushed the question one more time.

I didn't know why. I didn't have a good explanation. I barely even remembered punching her in the face. "I dunno."

Dallon shrugged. I guessed the answer was good enough for him. "Okay, then, it's your turn. You only get to ask me one question, because you asked me two in the middle of mine."

Curses. "Do you hate me? I'm pretty sure you've heard about everything I've done from principal Bear or whatever his name is. Why haven't you given up on me yet?"

It was a reasonable thing to ask. Usually everyone I met pushed me away within the first week because they were afraid of being swept up into my hurricane of trouble and letdowns. It'd been significantly longer, and Dallon still went out of his way to inquire about what I thought about classes and if I'd heard any good jokes. Honestly, I wasn't used to it. I would've ditched myself if I were in his position.

"First of all, that was two questions, just so you know. And I don't hate you," he said with a frown and concern in his eyes, "my parents tell me I see something different in everyone. Same goes for you, I guess. I'd heard you were off the walls, out of control, staff passed around word that you were heading to a dead end future. But I think there's something about you that you have to find, so you can show everyone they're wrong. You have potential, you just have to release it. I think you're, like, a genius."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that was a load of bullshit. There wasn't an ounce of decency in me, and anybody to ever hear a word that came out of my mouth would agree. The only compassionate bone in my body was the one reserved for tiny animals and people stuck in life threatening situations. Other than that, I couldn't give less of a shit. I was headed nowhere. My life was on track for slamming headfirst into a brick wall with no helmet.

"Fair enough."