Controversy Loves Company [Chapter 2/?]
Title: Controversy Loves Company [Chapter 2/?]
Authors:
xlatestxplaguex and
fauxfashionista
Pairing: Ryan Ross/OFC, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie eventually
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Detention.
Disclaimer: Fake as plastic surgery. The title belongs to The Audtion.
Author's Note: We're sorry the update took so long, I wasn't really in the mood to work on this one. Also, Brendon's last POV is one week later, so don't get confused.
1
-Ryan's POV-
After my first class is over, I walk Madison to her next class. Well, attempt to anyway. She's doing a good job of pretending like I'm not trying to get her attention, keeping her pace quick. Everything is going according to her plan until she gets to the door of the classroom where several other students are blocking the entrance.
"Would you stop for a second?" I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the group that has gathered at the door.
"Please leave me alone, Ryan," she says harshly. "When you can stop acting like a selfish prick, then you can come talk to me."
"Listen, I'm really sorry," I tell her. "I didn't mean what I said before, I was just really fucking turned on and frustrated, and I just snapped, okay?"
"I have to go to class now," she states, completely ignoring what I've said.
I decide that it's no use to stand here in the hallway, hoping that she'll come back out and forgive me. I start walking in the other direction so I won't be late to my own class, and unfortunately, I only get halfway down the hall before the tardy bell rings. I'm definitely screwed now because the government teacher hates my guts.
Her back is to the rest of the class when I walk into the room, and I think for just a second that maybe she won't notice. I don't know why I thought that would ever happen. She quickly acknowledges me, and the fact that I'm late as I sit down in a desk toward the back of the room.
"I hope you're free this afternoon because you'll be spending it in detention," she says, moving on to address the class.
"What?" I ask a bit louder than I meant to. "That is not even fair."
"And how is that not fair, Mr. Ross?"
"Uh, hello? It's only the second day of class."
"You act like you haven't been attending this high school for the last three years," she retorts. "And I suggest you stop talking now before you get to spend the rest of the week in detention."
I mentally roll my eyes, and try to keep quiet for the rest of class. It's enough that my girlfriend hates me and I really don't want to spend any more time in detention than I have to.
The rest of the day passes by pretty uneventfully, most likely because at lunch, Madison disappeared to somewhere with her girlfriends and she didn't speak to me. It's probably a good thing she left though because one of us probably would have made a scene in front of the entire cafeteria.
After lunch, I walk to my art class with Jon, hoping that we don't have to watch another boring, outdated movie about some guy trying to show us how to paint clouds. Jeez, It can't be that hard.
We both sit down at the table at the back of the room, mainly because Jon's a troublemaker and the instructor is really old, meaning that he can't actually see that it's Jon chunking paper and other random shit across the room. Jon, of course, just blames it on the freshmen and goes about-well, whatever it is that he does.
We only have fifteen minutes left in the class when I realize that this is my last class, but school isn't going to be out for another hour-and-a-half, which means I have nothing to do for that long. Do they actually think I'm gonna hang around? Fuck that, I'm going home and taking a nap.
-Brendon's POV-
It's 3:45 PM, and I'm sitting in my empty room, waiting on Ryan to come to detention. The principal came up to me and asked if I would do detention today, since none of the other teachers would. Basically, I'm new meat and he wanted to torture me. I, obviously, accepted.
Ryan's fifteen minutes late, school having ended at 3:30, and I tap my foot impatiently. I stare at my watch, imagining it might do something interesting, and I'm about to leave when Ryan stumbles through the door, rubbing at his eyes roughly.
"You have a problem with being late, huh?" I ask as he sits down, blinking his eyes and widening them.
"Sorry, I get out of school at like, 1, and I went home to take a nap before detention...I didn't wake up on time," he says, and I just nod. "Who fucking gives detention on the second day of school anyway?" he asks, probably more to himself than me. He looks up at me almost pleadingly and mutters "Sorry," just like his girlfriend had done earlier that day.
"It's okay, it's okay. You can say whatever you want around me. I don't care," I say. "I'm not that stuck up. I won't turn you in or something." He smiles and rubs his eyes again.
"Thanks."
"No problem. So what did you do to get in here anyway?"
"I was late to government," he says with a kind of snarl on his face. I cringe.
"I hate government. That was my least favorite class in high school, ever," I say, and Ryan nods enthusiastically.
"It's so damn pointless. I mean, what the hell? I'm not gonna be a fucking politician. I don't care about the government. I don't caaare," he whines, and I chuckle a little.
"You don't need government. I think you should be a writer, really. You're fluent with words, from what I've seen. If you have any writing you're willing to share, I'd really love to read it," I say, raising my eyebrows in anticipation.
"I actually have some stuff in here," he says, pulling out a plain red, tattered notebook and flipping to a certain, worn page. "I don't think it's that great but you can read it if you want."
I walk over to where he's sitting and lean down, reading over his shoulder. I scan my eyes over the paragraphs and marvel at the wonderful use of words before me. "Ryan, this is great writing," I breathe, and I turn my head to look at him, only to note that I'm too close for comfort for either of us. I straighten back up and walk back over to the desk I was sitting on, and swing my legs back and forth.
"Thanks," he says, and it's so long after the fact that it takes me a minute to process what he's talking about. I just nod and flick my wrist as if to say 'Forget it,' and he does.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Ryan just staring at his notebook, not really reading anything, and me just swinging my feet, I speak up. "So, I don't mean to be pushy, but what's up with you and Madison? You two were all lovey-dovey yesterday, and today you're shooting daggers at each other. Something happen?"
Ryan looks up from his notebook and shrugs. "It's okay, you're not being pushy. It's just we've been dating for like, almost three years, and I'm a fucking teenage boy, man, and I'm never gonna get fucking laid," he says, exasperated, and I laugh.
"Ryan, you'll get laid soon enough. Even though I'm not really supposed to be talking to you about this, but whatever," I chuckle, shaking my head a bit. "Just give it time."
He whines a little, and groans. "I've given her fucking time! I mean, I love her, but every time we get close, she freaks out about getting pregnant."
I shrug. "It's a reasonable thing to get freaked out about."
"I understand that, but I just...ugh. You were seventeen once, I'm sure you know what I mean," he says, and I have to laugh.
"Yeah, I get you. I still get you." I sigh and cross my arms. It's only 4 PM. I get up from the desk I'm sitting on and raise my arms above my head, exposing my stomach significantly. I lean back and crack my spine, and when I open my eyes again from stretching, I notice Ryan's looking at my pale stomach.
"You know I could sue you for indecent exposure to a student, right?" he jokes, and I put my arms down, causing my shirt to ride down again.
"Like you would. You know I'm already your favorite teacher," I say, smiling, and stick my tongue out at him.
"I'd say so, yeah. It's pretty cool that you're not some 50 year old, balding man that hates me.That would suck."
"Uh, I'm pretty sure that would suck for me, too," I say, cringing at the thought of me in twenty-five years. I obviously make a face that shows visible disgust, and he laughs at me.
"So what am I supposed to do for another half hour?" he asks, and I look around the empty room.
"Well technically I'm supposed to be doing teacher stuff and grading, and you're supposed to be doing student stuff and studying or something. But since I didn't even give homework, we'll throw the rules out the window. I've got my guitar with me; you sing?"
His eyes light up at the mention of a guitar and he grins. "I sing a little, but I've got my guitar too," he says and I walk behind my desk and pull my guitar case out from under it. "I'll be right back," Ryan says, and he sprints outside and comes back thirty seconds later with his guitar. "Left it outside the door," he says, smiling and taking it out of it's case.
I do the same with mine, and sit back on the desk, propping it in my lap. "What can you play?"
"I don't know, what can you play?"
"Anything; if you start something, I'll pick up on it," and he smiles.
He gets himself situated on top of the desk beside mine and starts strumming, and a familiar melody greets me. I smile and start strumming with him and see him grinning beside me, and I start to sing the verse.
Karma police, arrest this man, he talks in maths, he buzzes like a fridge, he's like a detuned radio. Karma police, arrest this girl, her Hitler hairdo is making me feel ill, and we have crashed her party.
Ryan just strums and watches me as I sing, and I turn to him and nod my head for him to join me. He smiles and comes in with a beautiful and unique harmony that I didn't expect, and my eyes widen while I nod again in approval.
This is what you get, this is what you get, this is what you get when you mess with us.
We both strum out the last few chords of the song, and I take a deep breath. "That was good," I say, and he nods.
"I love guitar. That was fun, too," he says, chuckling a little, and I nod. I stand up off the desk and lean against the wall, holding my guitar.
"So, you like any books?"
"Yeah, I really like any book by Chuck Palahniuk. That man's a genius. He makes me feel kind of crazy, though," Ryan says, trailing off and running a hand through his hair.
"I know what you mean. Like in Lullaby when Oyster wanted to use the culling song for population control, or something," I shrug. "Palahniuk's got some interesting ideas."
"You've read something other than Fight Club?" he asks, eyes glistening.
"Of course I have. It's definitely a great book, but I like some of his others better," I say, shrugging.
Ryan smiles. "You're definitely my favorite teacher."
-Ryan's POV-
Four-thirty finally rolls around, meaning that I can go home now. I get up to put my guitar back in it's case and shove my notebook in my bag. I walk out into the hall, waiting for Mr. Urie to turn off the light and lock the door to the classroom.
"So, do you just take that thing everywhere you go?" he asks, gesturing to my guitar case as we walk down the hall.
"Actually no," I say, grinning. "My sister had to borrow my car after school, and I definitely don't trust her with it."
"Ah, I see. Is she older or younger than you?"
"Younger, she's a sophomore," I tell him. "My car probably won't come back in one piece."
"Do you need a ride home then?" he asks, pushing the door that leads to the parking lot open.
"Yeah, that'd be great," I say, following him to his car, putting my guitar in the back seat when he unlocks the door.
When we get in the car, he turns on the ignition and there's a song playing by a band I don't recognize, but they sound pretty good. He turns the volume down quickly after and I don't bother asking who it was.
"How old are you again?" I ask, curious.
"Twenty-five," he replies. "Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," I say, feeling a little embarrassed for some reason. "You just seem younger, I guess. Like you're closer to my age or something."
He nods. "Well, I think you're pretty mature for your age so that might be it."
"Could be," I say quietly.
We don't say much the rest of the drive to my house, and luckily it's not that far or it would be kind of awkward. At least, I thought it would be, but it's not really all that bad. I tell him which house I live in, and he pulls up in the driveway and puts the car in park.
"Thanks for the ride," I say, getting my stuff out of the car.
"No problem," he says. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I shut the passenger door, and start walking toward the house, noticing that Madison's sitting on my porch with an unreadable expression on her face. I'm halfway to her when she stands up and walks over to me, arms across her chest, and she looks pissed.
"Who was that?" she asks, sounding somewhere between angry and hurt.
"Mr. Urie," I tell her, walking on past her to the door. "Don't worry, I'm not cheating on you. Even if I was it wouldn't be with another guy so settle down."
I walk into the house, greeting my mom who's sitting on the couch watching the news before going up the stairs to my bedroom, closing the door once Madison has come into the room. She sits down on the bed, picking at her nails while she probably thinks of something to yell at me for.
"I overreacted, Ryan," she says, looking up at me. "I'm really sorry, but it just freaks me out to know that what we were about to do the other day could make us parents before we even graduate high school."
"I know," I say, sitting down beside her. "It's fine."
"And?" she says, looking at me expectantly.
"And what?" I ask, not sure what she's getting at.
"Oh, you're not even going to say your sorry?" she asks, looking offended.
"What am I supposed to be sorry for?" I retort. "Oh, I'm sorry that I'm seventeen years old and my goddamn hormones are insane right now. Or I'm sorry that my girlfriend is a fucking tease and stops me every time I'm about to get some," I say, sarcastically.
"I came to apologize, and you want to act like that?" she asks, outraged. "Sometimes, I don't even know why I'm with you."
"Me either," I mutter.
"What did you say?" she asks, raising her voice again. "Ugh, god. I cannot even deal with you right now," she says, slamming my bedroom door for the second time this week.
*ONE WEEK LATER*
-Brendon's POV-
"Come on, hurry up, you're late," I say, ushering a few stray students into my classroom as I finish knotting my tie.
"Mr. Urie, you're late," Ryan points out, smiling. I notice Madison's sitting beside him again.
"Oh, hush. I'm thirty seconds late. Besides, I'm the teacher, I'm allowed," I wink, sitting down at my desk and calling attendance, marking a few students absent. "Just for today, the tardies are excused...We'll pretend I was on time, too, okay?" The general reaction I get is a few heads nodding, a few mouths smiling. I decide this is good enough.
I pick up the teacher's edition text book and flip through the pages "What damn page were we on for today?"
Ryan looks up at me from talking to Madison and says "139," and flips his own book there. I nod and turn to the page.
"Okay. So. Hemingway. Anybody have any comments?"
"He likes to...hide things," Sasha says, running a hand through her hair. "He doesn't spell things out for you, it's like, cryptic."
"You're right," I nod, looking straight at her. "Hemingway himself said that good fiction should be like an iceberg. 10% should be the straightforward facts, obvious things. The other 90% should be hidden and the reader has to work for it. That being said, does anybody have anything that you think Hemingway might be implying?"
"Well, I notice that he never really describes anything," Madison says, "The title, In Another Country, is vague in respect to the actual story. He never says the war was bad, and he doesn't talk about what the machines are supposed to do. He just states things."
"Do you think his style's effective?"
"Effective in what?"
"Making you think!" I state animatedly, throwing my free hand up in the air and smiling. "Literature shouldn't always be about bam, bam, bam, action. You need to think every once in a while," I say, strutting across the room and talking with my hands.
"One thing I noticed, too, was that the Major started crying after he said his wife died. I've read Hemingway before," Ryan adds, shaking his head and staring at the page. "And it's a big deal if a Hemingway man cries."
Tyler half raises his hand before speaking anyway from his usual seat in the back. "That could be because of the irony of the whole situation. The major went to war and came back with just a withered hand, he didn't get killed or anything, but his wife was safe at home, and all of a sudden she gets pneumonia and dies? Major tragic irony."
I narrow my eyes and point accusingly at Tyler. "You are good." He smiles and shakes his head slightly, making me grin. "Anything else? Pertaining or not to the major."
Ryan speaks up again. "Hemingway talks about a man that got his nose cut off in his first hour of battle, and I think that's important to his message. The soldier went to war, and he came out, alive. But he lost his nose, it left him physically disfigured for the rest of his life. To me it seems like he's saying that you can go to war and you can come back from war, but you've always got this part of you that's lost."
Staring at Ryan, I give him an approving nod. "That's a great point, Ryan. I didn't ever think about it that way before," I admit, sighing. "My own students are better than me at this." Ryan chuckles and grins.
"It's not my fault I'm amazing and you just suck," he says playfully, and I shake my head at him.
"Shut up, Ross."
--
I can't help but hear Ryan and Madison's conversation as they stand only a few feet from me while I shuffle a few papers.
"Can you give me a ride home, Maddy? My fucking sister took my car again..."
"No sweetie, I can't. I'm sorry, I have practice. Jessica gave us two new cheers to go over while she's in Maryland and I can't miss it today," she says, pecking him on the lips. "You can wait until I'm finished?"
"No, no, it's fine. I'll find someone else to give me a ride," he says, sighing. Madison nods and they hug again before she walks out the door. He turns to me and smiles sweetly. "Mr. Urrrriiiieee..."
"Ryyyaaannn," I mimic, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Can you give me a ride home?"
I sigh and nod, smiling nonetheless. "When do you get off school?"
"Right after lunch, I only have a few classes today," he says, grinning. "Thank you so much."
"It's no problem. You have to go to class, mister. I'm gonna stay here until lunch and work on giving back those papers you did the other day after I grade them. Find me after you're done eating and we'll go," I say, and he nods.
"Thanks again," he says, and I just wave my hand.
"Get out of here before you're late," and I put my left hand on the small of his back, gently pushing him towards the door. Pushing back into my hand, Ryan whines.
"I'd rather stay here with you than go to Government," and he pouts and I just laugh.
"Well it's good to know you value me more than your United States Government. Now, go or you'll get detention again," I say, putting both hands on his hips and pushing him to the door now.
"Fine, fine. I'll find you after lunch," and he trots off down the hallway.
Authors:
xlatestxplaguex and
fauxfashionista
Pairing: Ryan Ross/OFC, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie eventually
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Detention.
Disclaimer: Fake as plastic surgery. The title belongs to The Audtion.
Author's Note: We're sorry the update took so long, I wasn't really in the mood to work on this one. Also, Brendon's last POV is one week later, so don't get confused.
1
-Ryan's POV-
After my first class is over, I walk Madison to her next class. Well, attempt to anyway. She's doing a good job of pretending like I'm not trying to get her attention, keeping her pace quick. Everything is going according to her plan until she gets to the door of the classroom where several other students are blocking the entrance.
"Would you stop for a second?" I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the group that has gathered at the door.
"Please leave me alone, Ryan," she says harshly. "When you can stop acting like a selfish prick, then you can come talk to me."
"Listen, I'm really sorry," I tell her. "I didn't mean what I said before, I was just really fucking turned on and frustrated, and I just snapped, okay?"
"I have to go to class now," she states, completely ignoring what I've said.
I decide that it's no use to stand here in the hallway, hoping that she'll come back out and forgive me. I start walking in the other direction so I won't be late to my own class, and unfortunately, I only get halfway down the hall before the tardy bell rings. I'm definitely screwed now because the government teacher hates my guts.
Her back is to the rest of the class when I walk into the room, and I think for just a second that maybe she won't notice. I don't know why I thought that would ever happen. She quickly acknowledges me, and the fact that I'm late as I sit down in a desk toward the back of the room.
"I hope you're free this afternoon because you'll be spending it in detention," she says, moving on to address the class.
"What?" I ask a bit louder than I meant to. "That is not even fair."
"And how is that not fair, Mr. Ross?"
"Uh, hello? It's only the second day of class."
"You act like you haven't been attending this high school for the last three years," she retorts. "And I suggest you stop talking now before you get to spend the rest of the week in detention."
I mentally roll my eyes, and try to keep quiet for the rest of class. It's enough that my girlfriend hates me and I really don't want to spend any more time in detention than I have to.
The rest of the day passes by pretty uneventfully, most likely because at lunch, Madison disappeared to somewhere with her girlfriends and she didn't speak to me. It's probably a good thing she left though because one of us probably would have made a scene in front of the entire cafeteria.
After lunch, I walk to my art class with Jon, hoping that we don't have to watch another boring, outdated movie about some guy trying to show us how to paint clouds. Jeez, It can't be that hard.
We both sit down at the table at the back of the room, mainly because Jon's a troublemaker and the instructor is really old, meaning that he can't actually see that it's Jon chunking paper and other random shit across the room. Jon, of course, just blames it on the freshmen and goes about-well, whatever it is that he does.
We only have fifteen minutes left in the class when I realize that this is my last class, but school isn't going to be out for another hour-and-a-half, which means I have nothing to do for that long. Do they actually think I'm gonna hang around? Fuck that, I'm going home and taking a nap.
-Brendon's POV-
It's 3:45 PM, and I'm sitting in my empty room, waiting on Ryan to come to detention. The principal came up to me and asked if I would do detention today, since none of the other teachers would. Basically, I'm new meat and he wanted to torture me. I, obviously, accepted.
Ryan's fifteen minutes late, school having ended at 3:30, and I tap my foot impatiently. I stare at my watch, imagining it might do something interesting, and I'm about to leave when Ryan stumbles through the door, rubbing at his eyes roughly.
"You have a problem with being late, huh?" I ask as he sits down, blinking his eyes and widening them.
"Sorry, I get out of school at like, 1, and I went home to take a nap before detention...I didn't wake up on time," he says, and I just nod. "Who fucking gives detention on the second day of school anyway?" he asks, probably more to himself than me. He looks up at me almost pleadingly and mutters "Sorry," just like his girlfriend had done earlier that day.
"It's okay, it's okay. You can say whatever you want around me. I don't care," I say. "I'm not that stuck up. I won't turn you in or something." He smiles and rubs his eyes again.
"Thanks."
"No problem. So what did you do to get in here anyway?"
"I was late to government," he says with a kind of snarl on his face. I cringe.
"I hate government. That was my least favorite class in high school, ever," I say, and Ryan nods enthusiastically.
"It's so damn pointless. I mean, what the hell? I'm not gonna be a fucking politician. I don't care about the government. I don't caaare," he whines, and I chuckle a little.
"You don't need government. I think you should be a writer, really. You're fluent with words, from what I've seen. If you have any writing you're willing to share, I'd really love to read it," I say, raising my eyebrows in anticipation.
"I actually have some stuff in here," he says, pulling out a plain red, tattered notebook and flipping to a certain, worn page. "I don't think it's that great but you can read it if you want."
I walk over to where he's sitting and lean down, reading over his shoulder. I scan my eyes over the paragraphs and marvel at the wonderful use of words before me. "Ryan, this is great writing," I breathe, and I turn my head to look at him, only to note that I'm too close for comfort for either of us. I straighten back up and walk back over to the desk I was sitting on, and swing my legs back and forth.
"Thanks," he says, and it's so long after the fact that it takes me a minute to process what he's talking about. I just nod and flick my wrist as if to say 'Forget it,' and he does.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Ryan just staring at his notebook, not really reading anything, and me just swinging my feet, I speak up. "So, I don't mean to be pushy, but what's up with you and Madison? You two were all lovey-dovey yesterday, and today you're shooting daggers at each other. Something happen?"
Ryan looks up from his notebook and shrugs. "It's okay, you're not being pushy. It's just we've been dating for like, almost three years, and I'm a fucking teenage boy, man, and I'm never gonna get fucking laid," he says, exasperated, and I laugh.
"Ryan, you'll get laid soon enough. Even though I'm not really supposed to be talking to you about this, but whatever," I chuckle, shaking my head a bit. "Just give it time."
He whines a little, and groans. "I've given her fucking time! I mean, I love her, but every time we get close, she freaks out about getting pregnant."
I shrug. "It's a reasonable thing to get freaked out about."
"I understand that, but I just...ugh. You were seventeen once, I'm sure you know what I mean," he says, and I have to laugh.
"Yeah, I get you. I still get you." I sigh and cross my arms. It's only 4 PM. I get up from the desk I'm sitting on and raise my arms above my head, exposing my stomach significantly. I lean back and crack my spine, and when I open my eyes again from stretching, I notice Ryan's looking at my pale stomach.
"You know I could sue you for indecent exposure to a student, right?" he jokes, and I put my arms down, causing my shirt to ride down again.
"Like you would. You know I'm already your favorite teacher," I say, smiling, and stick my tongue out at him.
"I'd say so, yeah. It's pretty cool that you're not some 50 year old, balding man that hates me.That would suck."
"Uh, I'm pretty sure that would suck for me, too," I say, cringing at the thought of me in twenty-five years. I obviously make a face that shows visible disgust, and he laughs at me.
"So what am I supposed to do for another half hour?" he asks, and I look around the empty room.
"Well technically I'm supposed to be doing teacher stuff and grading, and you're supposed to be doing student stuff and studying or something. But since I didn't even give homework, we'll throw the rules out the window. I've got my guitar with me; you sing?"
His eyes light up at the mention of a guitar and he grins. "I sing a little, but I've got my guitar too," he says and I walk behind my desk and pull my guitar case out from under it. "I'll be right back," Ryan says, and he sprints outside and comes back thirty seconds later with his guitar. "Left it outside the door," he says, smiling and taking it out of it's case.
I do the same with mine, and sit back on the desk, propping it in my lap. "What can you play?"
"I don't know, what can you play?"
"Anything; if you start something, I'll pick up on it," and he smiles.
He gets himself situated on top of the desk beside mine and starts strumming, and a familiar melody greets me. I smile and start strumming with him and see him grinning beside me, and I start to sing the verse.
Karma police, arrest this man, he talks in maths, he buzzes like a fridge, he's like a detuned radio. Karma police, arrest this girl, her Hitler hairdo is making me feel ill, and we have crashed her party.
Ryan just strums and watches me as I sing, and I turn to him and nod my head for him to join me. He smiles and comes in with a beautiful and unique harmony that I didn't expect, and my eyes widen while I nod again in approval.
This is what you get, this is what you get, this is what you get when you mess with us.
We both strum out the last few chords of the song, and I take a deep breath. "That was good," I say, and he nods.
"I love guitar. That was fun, too," he says, chuckling a little, and I nod. I stand up off the desk and lean against the wall, holding my guitar.
"So, you like any books?"
"Yeah, I really like any book by Chuck Palahniuk. That man's a genius. He makes me feel kind of crazy, though," Ryan says, trailing off and running a hand through his hair.
"I know what you mean. Like in Lullaby when Oyster wanted to use the culling song for population control, or something," I shrug. "Palahniuk's got some interesting ideas."
"You've read something other than Fight Club?" he asks, eyes glistening.
"Of course I have. It's definitely a great book, but I like some of his others better," I say, shrugging.
Ryan smiles. "You're definitely my favorite teacher."
-Ryan's POV-
Four-thirty finally rolls around, meaning that I can go home now. I get up to put my guitar back in it's case and shove my notebook in my bag. I walk out into the hall, waiting for Mr. Urie to turn off the light and lock the door to the classroom.
"So, do you just take that thing everywhere you go?" he asks, gesturing to my guitar case as we walk down the hall.
"Actually no," I say, grinning. "My sister had to borrow my car after school, and I definitely don't trust her with it."
"Ah, I see. Is she older or younger than you?"
"Younger, she's a sophomore," I tell him. "My car probably won't come back in one piece."
"Do you need a ride home then?" he asks, pushing the door that leads to the parking lot open.
"Yeah, that'd be great," I say, following him to his car, putting my guitar in the back seat when he unlocks the door.
When we get in the car, he turns on the ignition and there's a song playing by a band I don't recognize, but they sound pretty good. He turns the volume down quickly after and I don't bother asking who it was.
"How old are you again?" I ask, curious.
"Twenty-five," he replies. "Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," I say, feeling a little embarrassed for some reason. "You just seem younger, I guess. Like you're closer to my age or something."
He nods. "Well, I think you're pretty mature for your age so that might be it."
"Could be," I say quietly.
We don't say much the rest of the drive to my house, and luckily it's not that far or it would be kind of awkward. At least, I thought it would be, but it's not really all that bad. I tell him which house I live in, and he pulls up in the driveway and puts the car in park.
"Thanks for the ride," I say, getting my stuff out of the car.
"No problem," he says. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I shut the passenger door, and start walking toward the house, noticing that Madison's sitting on my porch with an unreadable expression on her face. I'm halfway to her when she stands up and walks over to me, arms across her chest, and she looks pissed.
"Who was that?" she asks, sounding somewhere between angry and hurt.
"Mr. Urie," I tell her, walking on past her to the door. "Don't worry, I'm not cheating on you. Even if I was it wouldn't be with another guy so settle down."
I walk into the house, greeting my mom who's sitting on the couch watching the news before going up the stairs to my bedroom, closing the door once Madison has come into the room. She sits down on the bed, picking at her nails while she probably thinks of something to yell at me for.
"I overreacted, Ryan," she says, looking up at me. "I'm really sorry, but it just freaks me out to know that what we were about to do the other day could make us parents before we even graduate high school."
"I know," I say, sitting down beside her. "It's fine."
"And?" she says, looking at me expectantly.
"And what?" I ask, not sure what she's getting at.
"Oh, you're not even going to say your sorry?" she asks, looking offended.
"What am I supposed to be sorry for?" I retort. "Oh, I'm sorry that I'm seventeen years old and my goddamn hormones are insane right now. Or I'm sorry that my girlfriend is a fucking tease and stops me every time I'm about to get some," I say, sarcastically.
"I came to apologize, and you want to act like that?" she asks, outraged. "Sometimes, I don't even know why I'm with you."
"Me either," I mutter.
"What did you say?" she asks, raising her voice again. "Ugh, god. I cannot even deal with you right now," she says, slamming my bedroom door for the second time this week.
*ONE WEEK LATER*
-Brendon's POV-
"Come on, hurry up, you're late," I say, ushering a few stray students into my classroom as I finish knotting my tie.
"Mr. Urie, you're late," Ryan points out, smiling. I notice Madison's sitting beside him again.
"Oh, hush. I'm thirty seconds late. Besides, I'm the teacher, I'm allowed," I wink, sitting down at my desk and calling attendance, marking a few students absent. "Just for today, the tardies are excused...We'll pretend I was on time, too, okay?" The general reaction I get is a few heads nodding, a few mouths smiling. I decide this is good enough.
I pick up the teacher's edition text book and flip through the pages "What damn page were we on for today?"
Ryan looks up at me from talking to Madison and says "139," and flips his own book there. I nod and turn to the page.
"Okay. So. Hemingway. Anybody have any comments?"
"He likes to...hide things," Sasha says, running a hand through her hair. "He doesn't spell things out for you, it's like, cryptic."
"You're right," I nod, looking straight at her. "Hemingway himself said that good fiction should be like an iceberg. 10% should be the straightforward facts, obvious things. The other 90% should be hidden and the reader has to work for it. That being said, does anybody have anything that you think Hemingway might be implying?"
"Well, I notice that he never really describes anything," Madison says, "The title, In Another Country, is vague in respect to the actual story. He never says the war was bad, and he doesn't talk about what the machines are supposed to do. He just states things."
"Do you think his style's effective?"
"Effective in what?"
"Making you think!" I state animatedly, throwing my free hand up in the air and smiling. "Literature shouldn't always be about bam, bam, bam, action. You need to think every once in a while," I say, strutting across the room and talking with my hands.
"One thing I noticed, too, was that the Major started crying after he said his wife died. I've read Hemingway before," Ryan adds, shaking his head and staring at the page. "And it's a big deal if a Hemingway man cries."
Tyler half raises his hand before speaking anyway from his usual seat in the back. "That could be because of the irony of the whole situation. The major went to war and came back with just a withered hand, he didn't get killed or anything, but his wife was safe at home, and all of a sudden she gets pneumonia and dies? Major tragic irony."
I narrow my eyes and point accusingly at Tyler. "You are good." He smiles and shakes his head slightly, making me grin. "Anything else? Pertaining or not to the major."
Ryan speaks up again. "Hemingway talks about a man that got his nose cut off in his first hour of battle, and I think that's important to his message. The soldier went to war, and he came out, alive. But he lost his nose, it left him physically disfigured for the rest of his life. To me it seems like he's saying that you can go to war and you can come back from war, but you've always got this part of you that's lost."
Staring at Ryan, I give him an approving nod. "That's a great point, Ryan. I didn't ever think about it that way before," I admit, sighing. "My own students are better than me at this." Ryan chuckles and grins.
"It's not my fault I'm amazing and you just suck," he says playfully, and I shake my head at him.
"Shut up, Ross."
--
I can't help but hear Ryan and Madison's conversation as they stand only a few feet from me while I shuffle a few papers.
"Can you give me a ride home, Maddy? My fucking sister took my car again..."
"No sweetie, I can't. I'm sorry, I have practice. Jessica gave us two new cheers to go over while she's in Maryland and I can't miss it today," she says, pecking him on the lips. "You can wait until I'm finished?"
"No, no, it's fine. I'll find someone else to give me a ride," he says, sighing. Madison nods and they hug again before she walks out the door. He turns to me and smiles sweetly. "Mr. Urrrriiiieee..."
"Ryyyaaannn," I mimic, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Can you give me a ride home?"
I sigh and nod, smiling nonetheless. "When do you get off school?"
"Right after lunch, I only have a few classes today," he says, grinning. "Thank you so much."
"It's no problem. You have to go to class, mister. I'm gonna stay here until lunch and work on giving back those papers you did the other day after I grade them. Find me after you're done eating and we'll go," I say, and he nods.
"Thanks again," he says, and I just wave my hand.
"Get out of here before you're late," and I put my left hand on the small of his back, gently pushing him towards the door. Pushing back into my hand, Ryan whines.
"I'd rather stay here with you than go to Government," and he pouts and I just laugh.
"Well it's good to know you value me more than your United States Government. Now, go or you'll get detention again," I say, putting both hands on his hips and pushing him to the door now.
"Fine, fine. I'll find you after lunch," and he trots off down the hallway.