I Have A Problem Trusting Men, But Can I Trust You, Billie?, chapter 8
Two Weeks Later.
Last Day Of School.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Snooze.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Snooze.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I finally rose from bed, both depressed and excited. For today is the last day I will ever have to endure as a Junior at Berkeley High.
After my usual yawns, stretches, back, neck and knuckle cracks, I got up and stumbled into my en suite bathroom. One quickie shower, twenty minutes of slaving under a hot hair straightened and fifteen minutes of closet raiding for the prefect, 'last day; ensemble, I made my way downstairs and onto my perch that is the stool in front of the bar on which I eat breakfast everyday.
Dad was kicking back on his leather chair, watching CNN. Do you see how predictable he is? Mom was in the kitchen, making breakfast for us: Omelet's and OJ, yum. Rave was ready before me and had already fallen back asleep on the counter. A bit of drool had formed at the corner of her mouth as she snored, dead to the world.
As the twelve agonizing minutes of waiting for Mom's deli-icious breakfast passed, Dad rose from his La-Z-Boy and sat beside me, he was in his 'Idiot' suit attire (probably some photo shoot or something was planned.), Mom sat down across from us, next to the now fully awake and fully cranky Raven.
Breakfast was eaten, goodbye's were said and Rave and I were off in Mom's BMW (gag sound.). My stop is always first because school systems are totally homosexual and I have to be the earliest, seven-twenty starts the day. Remember, only one year left to go. Joy.
"Have a great day, baby."
"Mom, I'd rather die."
"You got one day left 'till summer, Ash."
"Someone smite me now."
"Only eight hours."
"Queue the death music, this school is a prison."
"You want me or Billie to pick you up?"
"I dunno, surprise me."
"Will do."
"Peace and love with a rubber glove."
"Bye and toodles with a rubber noodle."
Yes, I know it's a gay saying, but it's our saying. I kissed Mom on the cheek and she drove off. As I previously stated, this school is not a school. If I thought it was rough before when most people didn't know my name I was sadly mistaken. Some tabloid pictures got out and now everyone in the fucking Bay knows I'm Billie's kid. If they're not dissing me and calling me 'punk princess', then they're sucking up so they can meet 'OMFG Billie (with a y) Joe Armstrong from that band with that heart grenade thing.'
I lifted the hood of my jacket up, average protocol to avoid detection, and ran to my meeting spot under the tree on the left wing of the school where Pike, Spud, Bobbye and lil Michael are waiting for me. Sorry I haven't mentioned him 'till now, he's been out sick. Lil Michael is one of my best guy friends. I've known him since ninth grade and he's always been there for me. He's not a musician, but a definite music connoisseur. My Dad's his idol, that and The Cure. Who doesn't love eighties New Wave?
"Sup, Ashtray?" asked Bobbye.
"Nothing much. Our final day as Juniors."
"Yup, one more year of this hell and then sweet, sweet freedom," said Spud.
"How's the fam?" asked little Michael.
"Good. Dad's all suited up for some photo shoot thing. Mom's probably at Adie's and Rave's at school."
"Yeah, that's good. Did'ya hear what's happening with my bro?" asked Spike.
"Nah, what's wrong with Mitch? Besides everything else," I asked genuinely concerned.
Mitch is a rare breed, he's Spike's older brother. I've known him for years, he's actually not too bad of a guy once you get past his anger problems and drug use. We get along well, but he can get on your nerves after a while.
"He got caught stealing some cash from my step mom and Dad and him got into a fistfight in the backyard."
"Who won?" asked Spud sarcastically.
It's pretty damn obvious who won. Don't get me wrong, Mitch is a big guy and he can take care of himself, but he's no match for Mr. Dwayne, ex-military and six foot five.
"Dad, duh. And then Dad told him that he has to go into the military, he's leaving in mid-June."
"Damn, that sucks big monkey balls," retorted Michael.
"Ditto, man, but he does deserve it," replied Spike simply.
The bell dismissing us rang shortly thereafter and we all split off into our separate ways.
In Mr. Brian's class, we just had a party. He ordered pizza and brought soft drinks for us. We played board games like Yahtzee, Monopoly and Scrabble. Then I moved on to Algebra 2, dull and uneventful. I slept through most of it. Third period Government wasn't half bad. My teacher, Miss DiMartino actually let us listen to our iPod's.
Don't get me wrong, that class wasn't too boring but I was so happy when I got to A lunch. Our table was jammed with the usual crowd: Alan, Pickle, Lance, tall Michael, lil Michael, Spud, Spike, Bobbye, me. It was pretty much fun. I had my usual, black cherry vanilla Coke and mooched off everyone else's rolls and fries.
I got bored towards the end of lunch so I stood on our table and started to sing Basket Case at the top of my lungs. Spud started singing with me halfway through and by the end all the punk's were too. In my opinion, it was a great way to end lunch on the last day and everyone should try it.
Fourth period Physics was bad. See, in that class I have this psychotic, bi-girl stalker named Renae. I really hate her man, she just can't take the hint that I don't like her, and today was no exception.
"Hey, Ashlynn!"
Shoot me now, higher power. Just blow my fucking brains out.
"Yeah?"
"So what're you and the fellow Armstrong's doing for summer?" asked Renae with that creepy smile of hers.
Look, don't get me wrong, I love bi-sexual people. C'mon, my Dad is. They are some of the coolest, most tolerant people on the planet, Renae is just bad. She's loud and annoying and the biggest fucking gossip queen in the Bay, fuck that, the planet!
She's mixed, half white half black. She's got uberly short hair in the unflattering way and she's like two hundred sixty pounds or up. Gross, am I right? And that likes me.
"Um, I dunno. Dad's been busy lately. We're probably just gonna kick back or something."
"That's cool. So ya'll throwing a big, 'End of the Year' blowout?"
"Huh? Fuck that, I hate parties."
"Oh, If I were you I'd so do it though. I mean, your Dad's... "
"Yes, I am aware of my last name. I'd just rather not have the entire fucking school show up and have hundreds of freshmen staring at Dad or Uncle Tre or Mike like they're pieces of meat for sale."
"That's a good point."
"Yeah. Look, I'm really tired right now, so can I go to sleep?"
"Is it Frank Iero?"
"Huh?"
"You and Frank. Is it okay?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Dude, I saw some pictures of you and Frank on the internet. You two seem close."
"Oh God, no we're not. He hasn't been around much."
"Aw, that's sad. Did ya'll break up?"
"We're not even dating! Look, just drop it. I'm going to sleep."
"Okay."
She patted my back, scary, then walked away.
Fifth period, English 3 was good. We had another kickback class since all of our exams were completed yesterday and they were good scores. I talked to a few people in there. Mostly guys who were ogling me. It's funny.
Sixth period computer lab, final class of the day, was dull. I slept yet again and awaited that wonderful ringing sound that signals the start of summer.
As I was silently counting down the thirty remaining minutes or so until that bell, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A bit strange, seeing as I talk to no one in this class. I turned around.
"Yeah?"
"Um, are you Ashlynn Armstrong?" asked the owner of the hand.
A boy I vaguely remember answering a question or two throughout the year. He seemed better then anyone else in this class that's so filled with preps and posers you'd think the air I was breathing was toxic.
He was a pale guy, with blonde hair that hung in two shaggy pieces in front of his face, obscuring his two brown eyes. He put off that skater-punk vibe.
If my assumptions were correct, then this question about my last name was some ploy for him to meet my uber-famous super dad and Uncles, or my mom, (guys at this school think she should get her own Playboy cover.) or what I seriously hope, get to know me for a change.
"Yeah, who wants to know?"
"Oh, sorry. Gant Johnson, friends call me Graffiti."
"Graffiti, huh? Yeah, I'm Ashlynn, call me Ashtray."
"Okay, Ashtray. You smoke?"
"Parents do, I get stuck with the scent."
"Oh, ditto. I know you get this a lot so I'm not gonna bug you about your, um, last name."
"Thanks."
"Yeah. I'm kinda bored and all. I've been meaning to introduce myself all year to ya, guess I never got around it."
"Yeah?"
"Yup, you seem like a cool chick. Not too many punks around here."
"Yeah, that's what fucking sucks."
"Yup. So what's your favorite bands?"
"Bands? I'd be here all night."
"Okay, I understand. What's your main genre?"
"Punk, New Wave, Alternative, eighties synth-pop, early nineties, the occasional classic rock."
"Nice collection, kinda like mine. Your favorite out of the original punk trio?"
"The Clash, London Calling is perfection. Followed by The Ramones, then Sex Pistols."
"Huh? I always had you pegged as a Pistol girl."
"Looks can be deceiving."
"How true. I'm a Ramones guy myself. Then Clash, then Pistols."
"Favorite Ramones song?"
"Um... California Sun."
"Really?"
"Yeah, that shimmy bit cracks me up. You?"
"Today Your Love, Tomorrow The World. That or Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment."
"Nice choice. Good to know you aren't a Ramones poser."
"Favorite Clash song?"
"Damn, that's a toughie. Probably London's Burning."
"Good boy. Um, me? Career Opportunities, Lost In The Supermarket, Jimmy Jazz and The Right Profile."
"Indecisive, aren't you? You got a great taste in music. Listen to any Underground bands?"
"Duh."
"Who's some of your favorites?"
"Creature Feature, Wild Youth, Morello and The Tandem Mouses to name a few."
"You actually know who Creature Feature is?"
"Yup, you?"
"I love them. Every time I visit my Aunt in LA I always hear them play."
"Cool. You're favorite underground?"
"Red Memorial, Red Light District, Colon Open Bracket, Antarctica Vs. The World and Voodoo Blue."
"Voodoo Blue? You like A Heartwell Ending too then huh?"
"Yeah, you know'em?"
"Saw them at my cousins in Houston."
"Cool. You and I get along well huh?"
"Yeah, too bad we started talking today, school's almost out."
"You got a cell?"
"Yeah, you?"
Graffiti and I shared numbers and promised to see each other over summer. He's really a cool guy.
The bell rang and it took me a mere fifteen minutes to manoeuvre through the crowd of three thousand or so students to my locker so I could toss out all of the meaningless papers and trash out. Spike, Spud, Bobbye and little Michael were all waiting for me at the school's main entrance.
Now don't get me wrong, I hate this school with a passion, but it's the only high school for me. When Mom and Billie's relationship became common knowledge and especially when we moved in with him, they asked me if I wanted to transfer out of the public school system. I said no. Some may say it was a bad decision on my part but I think my school and I have this love-hate relationship, mostly hate.
My four best friends and I all walked through those doors breathing in the sweet scent of summer air. We shared our quick goodbye's and all walked off into the direction of our respective parental's cars.
I looked around for that familiar black BMW, and to my delight and surprise, none were in sight. Instead, my eyes were treated to the sight of Tre's red monstrosity of an SUV and the startling realization that all proverbial hell was going to break loose if one lock of my father's hair escaped from that vehicle.
I had barely turned to that direction when I was tackled by my smelly, sweaty, faux-hawk sporting Uncle known simply as Mr. Cool.
After being smothered with embarrassing, 'big Momma' reminiscent kisses, I was helped by my bleached blonde, blue-eyed, pleasing-to-my-eyes, attractive Mr. Dirnt. Okay, so maybe my thirteen year old crush on him hasn't yet fully subsided.
I was so swept up in staring into his amazingly bright eyes that I hadn't realized my father had come to greet me, thus drawing the attention of a good few hundred teenies.
One word, run.
As we were sprinting to the car for safety and all throughout the drive home, I knew that this was only the beginning to a fairly interesting summer.
Last Day Of School.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Snooze.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Snooze.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I finally rose from bed, both depressed and excited. For today is the last day I will ever have to endure as a Junior at Berkeley High.
After my usual yawns, stretches, back, neck and knuckle cracks, I got up and stumbled into my en suite bathroom. One quickie shower, twenty minutes of slaving under a hot hair straightened and fifteen minutes of closet raiding for the prefect, 'last day; ensemble, I made my way downstairs and onto my perch that is the stool in front of the bar on which I eat breakfast everyday.
Dad was kicking back on his leather chair, watching CNN. Do you see how predictable he is? Mom was in the kitchen, making breakfast for us: Omelet's and OJ, yum. Rave was ready before me and had already fallen back asleep on the counter. A bit of drool had formed at the corner of her mouth as she snored, dead to the world.
As the twelve agonizing minutes of waiting for Mom's deli-icious breakfast passed, Dad rose from his La-Z-Boy and sat beside me, he was in his 'Idiot' suit attire (probably some photo shoot or something was planned.), Mom sat down across from us, next to the now fully awake and fully cranky Raven.
Breakfast was eaten, goodbye's were said and Rave and I were off in Mom's BMW (gag sound.). My stop is always first because school systems are totally homosexual and I have to be the earliest, seven-twenty starts the day. Remember, only one year left to go. Joy.
"Have a great day, baby."
"Mom, I'd rather die."
"You got one day left 'till summer, Ash."
"Someone smite me now."
"Only eight hours."
"Queue the death music, this school is a prison."
"You want me or Billie to pick you up?"
"I dunno, surprise me."
"Will do."
"Peace and love with a rubber glove."
"Bye and toodles with a rubber noodle."
Yes, I know it's a gay saying, but it's our saying. I kissed Mom on the cheek and she drove off. As I previously stated, this school is not a school. If I thought it was rough before when most people didn't know my name I was sadly mistaken. Some tabloid pictures got out and now everyone in the fucking Bay knows I'm Billie's kid. If they're not dissing me and calling me 'punk princess', then they're sucking up so they can meet 'OMFG Billie (with a y) Joe Armstrong from that band with that heart grenade thing.'
I lifted the hood of my jacket up, average protocol to avoid detection, and ran to my meeting spot under the tree on the left wing of the school where Pike, Spud, Bobbye and lil Michael are waiting for me. Sorry I haven't mentioned him 'till now, he's been out sick. Lil Michael is one of my best guy friends. I've known him since ninth grade and he's always been there for me. He's not a musician, but a definite music connoisseur. My Dad's his idol, that and The Cure. Who doesn't love eighties New Wave?
"Sup, Ashtray?" asked Bobbye.
"Nothing much. Our final day as Juniors."
"Yup, one more year of this hell and then sweet, sweet freedom," said Spud.
"How's the fam?" asked little Michael.
"Good. Dad's all suited up for some photo shoot thing. Mom's probably at Adie's and Rave's at school."
"Yeah, that's good. Did'ya hear what's happening with my bro?" asked Spike.
"Nah, what's wrong with Mitch? Besides everything else," I asked genuinely concerned.
Mitch is a rare breed, he's Spike's older brother. I've known him for years, he's actually not too bad of a guy once you get past his anger problems and drug use. We get along well, but he can get on your nerves after a while.
"He got caught stealing some cash from my step mom and Dad and him got into a fistfight in the backyard."
"Who won?" asked Spud sarcastically.
It's pretty damn obvious who won. Don't get me wrong, Mitch is a big guy and he can take care of himself, but he's no match for Mr. Dwayne, ex-military and six foot five.
"Dad, duh. And then Dad told him that he has to go into the military, he's leaving in mid-June."
"Damn, that sucks big monkey balls," retorted Michael.
"Ditto, man, but he does deserve it," replied Spike simply.
The bell dismissing us rang shortly thereafter and we all split off into our separate ways.
In Mr. Brian's class, we just had a party. He ordered pizza and brought soft drinks for us. We played board games like Yahtzee, Monopoly and Scrabble. Then I moved on to Algebra 2, dull and uneventful. I slept through most of it. Third period Government wasn't half bad. My teacher, Miss DiMartino actually let us listen to our iPod's.
Don't get me wrong, that class wasn't too boring but I was so happy when I got to A lunch. Our table was jammed with the usual crowd: Alan, Pickle, Lance, tall Michael, lil Michael, Spud, Spike, Bobbye, me. It was pretty much fun. I had my usual, black cherry vanilla Coke and mooched off everyone else's rolls and fries.
I got bored towards the end of lunch so I stood on our table and started to sing Basket Case at the top of my lungs. Spud started singing with me halfway through and by the end all the punk's were too. In my opinion, it was a great way to end lunch on the last day and everyone should try it.
Fourth period Physics was bad. See, in that class I have this psychotic, bi-girl stalker named Renae. I really hate her man, she just can't take the hint that I don't like her, and today was no exception.
"Hey, Ashlynn!"
Shoot me now, higher power. Just blow my fucking brains out.
"Yeah?"
"So what're you and the fellow Armstrong's doing for summer?" asked Renae with that creepy smile of hers.
Look, don't get me wrong, I love bi-sexual people. C'mon, my Dad is. They are some of the coolest, most tolerant people on the planet, Renae is just bad. She's loud and annoying and the biggest fucking gossip queen in the Bay, fuck that, the planet!
She's mixed, half white half black. She's got uberly short hair in the unflattering way and she's like two hundred sixty pounds or up. Gross, am I right? And that likes me.
"Um, I dunno. Dad's been busy lately. We're probably just gonna kick back or something."
"That's cool. So ya'll throwing a big, 'End of the Year' blowout?"
"Huh? Fuck that, I hate parties."
"Oh, If I were you I'd so do it though. I mean, your Dad's... "
"Yes, I am aware of my last name. I'd just rather not have the entire fucking school show up and have hundreds of freshmen staring at Dad or Uncle Tre or Mike like they're pieces of meat for sale."
"That's a good point."
"Yeah. Look, I'm really tired right now, so can I go to sleep?"
"Is it Frank Iero?"
"Huh?"
"You and Frank. Is it okay?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Dude, I saw some pictures of you and Frank on the internet. You two seem close."
"Oh God, no we're not. He hasn't been around much."
"Aw, that's sad. Did ya'll break up?"
"We're not even dating! Look, just drop it. I'm going to sleep."
"Okay."
She patted my back, scary, then walked away.
Fifth period, English 3 was good. We had another kickback class since all of our exams were completed yesterday and they were good scores. I talked to a few people in there. Mostly guys who were ogling me. It's funny.
Sixth period computer lab, final class of the day, was dull. I slept yet again and awaited that wonderful ringing sound that signals the start of summer.
As I was silently counting down the thirty remaining minutes or so until that bell, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A bit strange, seeing as I talk to no one in this class. I turned around.
"Yeah?"
"Um, are you Ashlynn Armstrong?" asked the owner of the hand.
A boy I vaguely remember answering a question or two throughout the year. He seemed better then anyone else in this class that's so filled with preps and posers you'd think the air I was breathing was toxic.
He was a pale guy, with blonde hair that hung in two shaggy pieces in front of his face, obscuring his two brown eyes. He put off that skater-punk vibe.
If my assumptions were correct, then this question about my last name was some ploy for him to meet my uber-famous super dad and Uncles, or my mom, (guys at this school think she should get her own Playboy cover.) or what I seriously hope, get to know me for a change.
"Yeah, who wants to know?"
"Oh, sorry. Gant Johnson, friends call me Graffiti."
"Graffiti, huh? Yeah, I'm Ashlynn, call me Ashtray."
"Okay, Ashtray. You smoke?"
"Parents do, I get stuck with the scent."
"Oh, ditto. I know you get this a lot so I'm not gonna bug you about your, um, last name."
"Thanks."
"Yeah. I'm kinda bored and all. I've been meaning to introduce myself all year to ya, guess I never got around it."
"Yeah?"
"Yup, you seem like a cool chick. Not too many punks around here."
"Yeah, that's what fucking sucks."
"Yup. So what's your favorite bands?"
"Bands? I'd be here all night."
"Okay, I understand. What's your main genre?"
"Punk, New Wave, Alternative, eighties synth-pop, early nineties, the occasional classic rock."
"Nice collection, kinda like mine. Your favorite out of the original punk trio?"
"The Clash, London Calling is perfection. Followed by The Ramones, then Sex Pistols."
"Huh? I always had you pegged as a Pistol girl."
"Looks can be deceiving."
"How true. I'm a Ramones guy myself. Then Clash, then Pistols."
"Favorite Ramones song?"
"Um... California Sun."
"Really?"
"Yeah, that shimmy bit cracks me up. You?"
"Today Your Love, Tomorrow The World. That or Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment."
"Nice choice. Good to know you aren't a Ramones poser."
"Favorite Clash song?"
"Damn, that's a toughie. Probably London's Burning."
"Good boy. Um, me? Career Opportunities, Lost In The Supermarket, Jimmy Jazz and The Right Profile."
"Indecisive, aren't you? You got a great taste in music. Listen to any Underground bands?"
"Duh."
"Who's some of your favorites?"
"Creature Feature, Wild Youth, Morello and The Tandem Mouses to name a few."
"You actually know who Creature Feature is?"
"Yup, you?"
"I love them. Every time I visit my Aunt in LA I always hear them play."
"Cool. You're favorite underground?"
"Red Memorial, Red Light District, Colon Open Bracket, Antarctica Vs. The World and Voodoo Blue."
"Voodoo Blue? You like A Heartwell Ending too then huh?"
"Yeah, you know'em?"
"Saw them at my cousins in Houston."
"Cool. You and I get along well huh?"
"Yeah, too bad we started talking today, school's almost out."
"You got a cell?"
"Yeah, you?"
Graffiti and I shared numbers and promised to see each other over summer. He's really a cool guy.
The bell rang and it took me a mere fifteen minutes to manoeuvre through the crowd of three thousand or so students to my locker so I could toss out all of the meaningless papers and trash out. Spike, Spud, Bobbye and little Michael were all waiting for me at the school's main entrance.
Now don't get me wrong, I hate this school with a passion, but it's the only high school for me. When Mom and Billie's relationship became common knowledge and especially when we moved in with him, they asked me if I wanted to transfer out of the public school system. I said no. Some may say it was a bad decision on my part but I think my school and I have this love-hate relationship, mostly hate.
My four best friends and I all walked through those doors breathing in the sweet scent of summer air. We shared our quick goodbye's and all walked off into the direction of our respective parental's cars.
I looked around for that familiar black BMW, and to my delight and surprise, none were in sight. Instead, my eyes were treated to the sight of Tre's red monstrosity of an SUV and the startling realization that all proverbial hell was going to break loose if one lock of my father's hair escaped from that vehicle.
I had barely turned to that direction when I was tackled by my smelly, sweaty, faux-hawk sporting Uncle known simply as Mr. Cool.
After being smothered with embarrassing, 'big Momma' reminiscent kisses, I was helped by my bleached blonde, blue-eyed, pleasing-to-my-eyes, attractive Mr. Dirnt. Okay, so maybe my thirteen year old crush on him hasn't yet fully subsided.
I was so swept up in staring into his amazingly bright eyes that I hadn't realized my father had come to greet me, thus drawing the attention of a good few hundred teenies.
One word, run.
As we were sprinting to the car for safety and all throughout the drive home, I knew that this was only the beginning to a fairly interesting summer.
