[Im taking volunteers who wants to push me off a cliff I'll pay u]

Since my entire schedule matched up with Dallon's, I  literally never left his side throughout entire day. That was probably the purpose from the start, as if his respectfulness and painfully optimistic attitude would rub off on me. It definitely wouldn't, but I admired everyone's efforts for trying and for believing so. I'd met his friends, all who looked and acted as if they had government cameras watching their every move, and sat right next to Dallon in all but one class.

His friends were strange. The Josh guy he'd told me about seemed to be the most normal out of them all, and his hair was dyed obnoxious colors. I'd have thought it was against the dress code, but Dallon had specifically pointed out to me in the handbook that students were allowed to color their hair as long as they were extraordinary well behaved in class and had earned the privilege from a staff member. It was a good trick, I had to admit, to convince everyone to maintain a specific grade point average and watch their actions for a sliver of self-expression.

To: Pete
Y'know, I really hate this school with a burning passion

From: Pete
Just leave???? lmao you've done it before just do it again???????

To: Pete
I literally can't

To: Pete
They stuck me with this guy and I'm basically living with him???? It's so weird but that's happening.

To: Pete
And he also thinks that he can like... fix me or something

From: Pete
Honestly good luck to him

To: Pete
Honestly. He's such a goodie goodie, and totally related to the topic I'm considering stabbing myself with a kitchen knife soon.

From: Pete
Is he cute

To: Pete
He is but he's also a major stick in the mud. Hence the google goodie and stabbing myself with a kitchen knife.

From: Pete
Ah I see. You gotta like...

From: Pete
Fix him up. Turn the tables.

To: Pete
He's gonna be like my partner in crime. The staff absolutely adores him.

From: Pete
OH he's your way innnnnn I get it. You're so smart :)

To: Pete
Aw thanks babe :)

To: Pete
But like, nobody trusts me I gotta have him help. I can't even walk down the hall without him right next to me.

From: Pete
Whatta guy... so if I ever meet up with you and he's right there, this rundown is so I won't make fun of you?

To: Pete
Lmao basically

Pete's typing bubble popped up just as a ruler smacked my desk. I didn't even flinch, but the history teacher was shooting daggers at me from his beady eyes. He looked like a sewer rat.

He held out his hand. "What're you doing?"

Well, there was no point in lying. Maybe they'd send me back to Lame Oak. "I'm currently texting my friend, which you so rudely interrupted. He's ditching class right now and I'm not there with him for once, so he's feeling nostalgic."

His fingers curled in frustration, chubby cheeks growing red. I couldn't remember his name, but I'd decided to refer to him as Tomato instead of Sewer Rat. "You aren't allowed to have your phone out at this time."

I caught a glance of Dallon in my peripheral vision. He was biting at his fingernails to calm his nerves, eyes wide. He'd been lecturing me nonstop about appropriate behavior around the Cardine teachers, since they all apparently expected the utmost respect.

Naturally, I was going to fuck it up.

"You don't even wanna read my texts?" I scoffed, and a couple kids shifted in their seats in place of laughter. "They're juicy."

"No, I would like to continue my lesson and-"

"Last week my friend got arrested for loitering," I interrupted, and a few snickered, "and I had to bail him out because his parents never got the call, since my phone number is listed as his emergency contact instead of theirs, so I had to dress in drag and rescue him before-"

Tomato snatched my phone from my hand even though I hadn't even looked at it for about a minute, and it'd turned off automatically. "The amount of unfiltered disrespect coming out of your mouth is absolutely unfathomable. The principal will be hearing about this incident."

Good. Mission accomplished. "What's he gonna do? Send me back to Lame Oak?"

'Lame Oak' conjured up a couple more giggles, and the second the lunch bell rang, they were out of the room, leaving me behind with Dallon and Tomato. Their faces were both bright red. I almost felt bad, but not really.

I tried to send Dallon a smirk, but he stood abruptly and stormed over to my seat to roughly grab my wrist like my mom used to do when I wasn't listening when I was younger. He pulled me to my feet and literally dragged me across the class to Tomato's desk, holding me up and to his side like I really was a little kid all over again. The whole action and attitude combo reminded me of one time when my mom trying to wrangle me in the grocery store while she tried to pay for our food and ended up strapping me into the baby seat of the cart. I was seven when that happened.

"I sincerely apologize for his incredibly inappropriate behavior," he huffed and nudged my side, "we're still expanding and improving on the basics of respect, etiquette, and suitable social interaction with adults. It appears a sudden introduction to a new environment is not aiding the use of the lessons he has learned so far."

Tomato seemed to like the sound of that. His posture straightened out and his hands curled together on his desk, all with a toothless grin and a glare shot my way. "That's quite alright. He's lucky to have a mentor like you around. I look forward to seeing his progress throughout the year."

Mentor? He felt more like a prison guard to me. I couldn't do things, I couldn't go to the bathroom by myself, and people had to sift through my phone nightly to make sure I wasn't up to anything shady. "A shitty mentor with a stick so far up his ass he pukes wood chips and-"

Dallon's elbow jabbed against my stomach and his grip tightened, so as I doubled over he nearly ripped my arm from the socket. "We're still working on the ground rules for pertinent speech as well," then he turned to Tomato and smiled, "thank you for your patience and understanding."

🖍🖍🖍

"Even Tyler will tell you," Dallon didn't catch me roll my eyes again, "learning what you're being taught right now changed him into a new person. In fact..."

I zoned out for the rest of his ramble. I'd heard it at least twelve times in the last few hours. His friend Tyler was just like me once, and he'd listened to Josh and changed his delinquent ways to become a respectable person. I didn't know if Dallon was able to tell, but that wasn't and would never be me, no matter how hard he tried. It just wasn't going to happen.

Of course, I'd tried to save him the time and effort he was putting into improving my behavior, but he didn't listen. When he brought it up to me directly the other day, I'd just laughed at him until he slammed on the brakes so hard, my life flashed in front of my eyes and I legitimately felt my heart stop beating.

I kept getting weird glances while we walked. Granted Dallon was a little loud, surprisingly, but they weren't looking at him. They were staring at me. I was wearing the stupid uniform, I had a normal backpack, I seemed like I'd fit in. But they kept looking at me like I was an animal at a zoo.

I mean, that had always happened at Lame Oak. Kids would let their gazes linger when I passed by with Pete, especially when I would be carrying a cage full of u unruly parrots to release in the teachers' lounge, or that one time when I was leading an alpaca through the school to put in the gym. It was always for good reason, though, one I knew about and endorsed.

But I wasn't around an alpaca. And I wasn't holding a cage of birds.

"—Why are they all staring at me?" I tugged on Dallon's sleeve and he stopped talking for a moment to take a glimpse at everyone surrounding us.

He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "They know you, I guess. I don't know the answer to your question, Brendon."

I wasn't sure whether or not it was a bad thing. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe they wouldn't mess with me, and I'd slowly clamber to the top of the Cardine social ladder, and I'd be respected like I was at Lame Oak, and—

Something warm and wet hit my cheek. I recognized it immediately.

Spitball.

I whipped around on the heels of my shoe and stormed down the hall as quickly as my legs would allow to grab the perpetrator by her shirt collar, shoving her up against the wall and ripping the straw from her hand. She was smiling with pride at what she'd done and the reaction she'd coaxed out of me. I knew it was what she wanted, and I aimed to give her more than she'd bargained for.

I felt Dallon's hand pull at my shoulder. He didn't want to really yank me away, because then I'd turn around and deck him instead, but he was trying to lead me away from knocking out her teeth. Understandably, but I wasn't going to do it.

"You wouldn't hit a lady, would you?" She taunted, bottom lip sliding out in an all too familiar pout that was eerily similar to Dallon's, and god did I despise that stupid pout. "I'd hate to see the consequences if you—"

The next thing I knew, there was blood dripping down my hand, Dallon's arms were wrapped around my waist and I was thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour, that girl was strewn across the floor with a hand to her mouth, and everyone in the relative area was sprinting to the scene.

I guessed what I'd done to her had already finished it, but I sure as hell wasn't finished. He refused to let me go, no matter how many times I tried to squirm away. It was a little frustrating, but also strangely calming, in a way.

I had to listen to the commotion I'd kicked off while Dallon got to watch. I considered pulling down his pants, but I couldn't reach, and the little voice in the back of my mind said that it would've been a really bad idea, worse than knocking the socks off that girl.

"Brendon," he hissed over his shoulder into my ear, "I can't believe you! Do you not remember the conversation we had earlier yesterday? Blending in? Laying low? Listening to me? This is how bad things happen, this is how you start fights you can't finish."

Oh, I remembered all of the conversations we had. The next one we'd have would be about my finishing of the fight. "Yeah, but she deserved it—"

"All she did was shoot a spitball at you!"

"Exactly. Nobody spitballs Brendon Urie and gets away with it, y'know? I've got a reputation to keep here, buddy."

"'Spitballs' is not a legitimate word in the context you're using it in! Your grammar is absolutely horrendous!" Dallon marched down the hall as quickly as he could while still carrying me over his shoulder, but he wasn't fast enough to slip around the corner so I couldn't see Spitball Girl drag her finger across her throat.

And he didn't turn nearly as speedy as he could've to avoid me flipping her off.

She was dead.