Preps and Green Day Don't Mix

I sat in the back of the room with a puckered frown and narrowed eyes homing in on one Mr. Armstrong. My polished fingernails drummed on the table in front of me as I analyzed him.

I knew I wasn't the smartest girl on the planet but he plain just didn't make sense to me. He had tattoos, he wore black, and he couldn't be over the age of twenty. What was he doing here?

"Am I upsetting the royal highness?" His lighthearted voice reached me in the back of the room, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"What gives you that idea?" I asked simply, not making any effort to relax my face.

"Well you've been sending me a death glare since the beginning of class," he explained in a know it all voice which only made me angrier. "Either you've got to take a shit or I'm upsetting you, both of which I don't really care about."

My jaw dropped in appall as everyone laughed, not even attempting to cover it up. Jessica looked distraught right there next to me, but her allegiance couldn't help.

"I could get you fired for that!" I objected, clenching my fists. I'd never been spoken to like that before and I wasn't going to let him just get away with it. Nobody treated Taylor Marshal that way, including teachers.

"Well believe it or not, I'm actually trying to do stuff with music and stuff." He shrugged vaguely then continued, "So I'm just going to have to argue with you after class."

"On the second day?" I objected, my eyes wide to which he only shrugged again, unaffected by my harsh tone.

"Hey let's be honest, neither of us have anywhere better to be."

"You can't-"

"Relax yourself," the teacher shooshed, batting a hand in my direction. "We'll talk after class."

"You can't talk to Taylor like that!" Jess spoke up, a pout on her face.

"Who are you again?" Mr. Armstrong asked with a raised eyebrow, looking actually confused. My interest peaked as I narrowed my eyes, examining him as Jessica opened her mouth in outrage.

"No," I said slowly, cutting her off to which she obeyed, although looking baffled. With a smirk I added, "I'll play your game, Armstrong."

He narrowed his eyes as well, making me feel like I was in one of those stupid western movies. No one spoke as they glanced back and forth between us, some looking actually amused. The temporary tension left the room as Mr. Armstrong shrugged his shoulders with a scoff, silently complying with me. He continued with a lesson that I so courteously ignored, beginning to buff my nails as I leaned back comfortably in my chair. He didn't show me any respect so I didn't see why I should give him any.

"Are you actually going to stay?" Jessica wondered in a whisper, leaning closer to me with her curious large, brown eyes.

"I'll see what he wants," I said, uncaring as to whether he heard me or not.

"I wonder what his deal is," she continued, crossing her arms with a frown. "He shouldn't talk to you like that, especially since he's a teacher and all."

"He's not a teacher," I concluded, shaking my head definitely. I was skeptical of his motives here; the more I heard out of his mouth gave me more reason to believe my claim. I needed answers or whatever from him.

"But he said he was," Jess argued blindly, her eyes now on Mr. Armstrong then bite her lip in thought.

"People lie like all the time," I replied. "What makes him so special?"

She jumped in surprise at my question, probably not sure if she was supposed to come up with an actual answer or just agree with everything I said. I smiled snidely at her reaction- Having nothing to say.

"Exactly."

--

As the end of class was arriving, I gathered up my stuff accordingly, waiting for the bell. A smirk made its way on my face as I watched the clock's face as if daring the bell to ring. I wasn't exactly excited to be staying after on the second day of school but I needed to teach this "teacher" what was what. If we were going to be in the same room, he needed an education of his own about what to do and what not to do which, from what I could tell, was everything he usually did.

"So I'll wait for you outside the room?" Jess ventured, standing next to her seat as the bell finally rang.

"No, you can go on ahead," I declined, combing my fingers through my straightened hair. "We'll like, hit the mall later or whatever."

She nodded enthusiastically with a smile before heading to the door with a small wave which I returned. After the rest of the kids filed out, I stayed seated where I was, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, testing to see what Mr. Armstrong would do.

"Are you really going to sit all the way back there?" he asked from his still empty desk across the room, not making any effort to get up either.

"Yeah."

"Then I guess we're at a stalemate," he mused with a shrug since neither of us were going anywhere. I wasn't going to give in to his implied demands- I ran the show, despite what delusion he was under. He shifted in his seat with a sigh then asked, "So do you know why you're here?"

"Because you made me stay after?" I guessed innocently with a smile to which he sneered.

"Smartass," he murmured. My eyes grew wide with concern, second guessing myself as to if I actually heard him properly.

"What did you call me?" I asked, leaning forward in my seat uneasily.

"Smartass," he repeated in the same airy voice, not phased by my reaction or feelings at all. "I bet you could hear me better if you came up here."

"Who are you?" I demanded, clinching my jaw. What right did he have to speak to me like that? He didn't act like any of the teachers I knew; he didn't even act like any of the people I knew!

"The name's Billie Joe Armstrong," he introduced, holding his hands up in the air to attempt modesty. "Please, no applause."

"Why would I applaud for you?"

"I don't expect you to know this…" he hunched forward onto his desk as if it were secretive, even though we were still talking to each other from across the room. "But I'm kind of a big deal."

"Says who?" I retaliated, wanting to know where he got his statistics because all I could see was an immature, sharp-tongued jerk.

"Says a lot of people actually," he informed mater o factly. "I'm in a band called Green Day. Ever heard of us?"

I shook my head no, processing the information. I couldn't piece together what a musician would be doing at my high school, teaching of all things if he already had a job. Besides, he looked like the kind of student that tried to be in school as little as possible.

"Well, we're still somewhat new," he elaborated with a roll of his eyes and a tiny shrug as if that would excuse my ignorance. "We're cutting our third record soon."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, scrunching up my face in confusion. I wasn't aware I was going to receive a biography on Billie Joe Armstrong. As if it would matter in 5 years.

"Well I just thought you should know something about your new mentor."

"…Excuse me?" I asked after a couple seconds, blinking at the spontaneous offer. A mentor? Just what game was he playing?

"You're in need of some serious help," he stated bluntly, scratching his head. "I remember girls like you at my school-"

"What was that?" I cut off with a frown. "A year ago?"

"Uh- Two, thank you very much," he corrected in a mocking voice, faking a smile. "But like I said, I went to school with some girls like you. One got herself knocked up, and another's practically too dumb to function, and-"

"What kind of girl do you think I am exactly?" I snapped, jumping out of my seat threateningly.

"Hey don't be getting all defensive." Mr. Armstrong held calming hands up, still not intimidating by me. "I'm just saying the world ain't made of Play Dough and gumdrops. There are some pretty whacked out people out there, and I'm only the tip of the iceberg. I'm just offering to help you out because California does not need any more ignorant whores walking the streets."

"Listen Armstrong, I'm not a little experiment in your plan or whatever," I replied angrily, becoming offended by his words. I wasn't planning on changing on a whim just because some musician said I should.

"I really am only trying to help," he restated. "I mean, you don't have to accept it but you're going to have to grow up from high school one of these days. These people aren't really your friends and popularity will get you nowhere. When you don't have something to back yourself up on, don't come crying to me."

"I won't because I'm prefect the way I am," I said ferociously, grabbing my stuff, ready to leave. I'd had enough of this guy. "You think you can just come in here and like, change my life? Well I don't need to be changed, especially by you of all people. You'd turn me into a freak. There's no way I'd do that."

"Well, I tried," he said to himself, though he really didn't sound disappointed. Instead, he just lifted a bag onto his desk and began digging through it, just letting our conversation end there. It took me by surprise that after all this, he sounded that apathetic, especially after it was me that turned his offer down. If only he knew just how much he was losing; some people would kill to talk to me even this long, let alone try and take me as an understudy.

"Why me?" I asked, taking a few steps to the front of the room. I had been ready to rage out of there but once again, my darn curiosity set in. I couldn't figure this Billie Joe Armstrong out and it was starting to really bug me. A sense of insecurity kind of formed, which actually worried me a little. I'd never show it though.

"Oh, you're still here?" Mr. Armstrong glanced up with raised eyebrows, his eyes finding me.

"Why me?" I repeated, not acknowledging his question. "Why not someone else?"

He stayed quiet a couple seconds as he thought, his lips pursing together. He clicked his tongue while nodding his head, coming across an answer in his mind.

"I don't know," he finally answered dumbly, making me let out an impatient sigh.

"Well it's a stupid idea anyway," I spat, not believing that I felt civil toward him for even a little bit. I swiftly walked the rest of the distance to the door, ignoring his bemused laugh.

"You have a lovely day as well," he called as I left the room, turning down the hallway that led to my car. Whatever, Armstrong.