Paper Lanterns

I'm Elanore Grace Steffens and I go by Grace. I'm seventeen and will turn eighteen on June Fifth, 1990. I'm is five foot five and three quarter inches, and the three-quarter inches are important. I have these bright sea foam green eyes and dark auburn hair that always gets in the way.

I live with my with dad, Mark, and my baby brother, Jeff, who is fifteen, in a small town in the Bay Area in California. My mom, Gloria, passed away five years ago, due to a hit and run car crash.

I play guitar, drums, and piano, and I'm looking to be in a band, but nothing super serious.

On April 4th, I pushed through the crowd to my locker, hoping to escape his view just long enough to
run and hide. But no. I needed something from my stupid locker. On arrival, I fumbled with the lock.

"Elanore!" I heard that annoying voice calling me. I swear to God, if he calls me that..

"Its Grace. I wouldn't be talking if I were you, Billie Joe," I hissed.

"Feisty today. I like it," Billie practically growled, trying to act buddy buddy with me when he was just plain obnoxious.

"Please, just go away," I dug through various things and papers, coming up with my notebook for music, including my lessons and songs I wrote, and held onto it tightly, then slammed my locker door, placing the lock on.

"Why?" he asked stupidly, "Its not like I've ever done anything to you."

'Oh yes you have!' I wanted to shout at him. Instead, I chose to take a different route.

"Just.. Go, please. I have to walk home today, and I can't be late." Actually, I could. nobody was home, but I just wanted to get away.

"Let me give you a ride if you're in a hurry."

"Uh. Let me think about that. Fuck no. I'd rather walk."

"Not like I'm gonna do anything to you. I'm a good kid," he laughed.

"Okay. But this is just because I don't feel like walking." I said after a moment of thinking. It was looking pretty gloomy about and you could never be too sure when it came to Northern California.

Billie escorted me to his beat up, old black car and opened the door for me.

"Thanks. What a gentleman.." I rolled my eyes, getting in.

He pretty much slammed the door, then got in his side in a huff, muttering, "All I did was try to be nice..." to himself.

When the car came on, the Clash blasted from the speakers, and he immediately turned it off, his cheeks tinged with a very soft, barely noticeable, red.

"Its fine, I like the Clash," I turned it on and up. Truth be told, I did like the band, but I'm not some insane fan or anything.

I didn't need to give directions, Billie already knew where I lived, and he pulled up
outside my somewhat clean suburban home.

"Thanks Billie Joe. I must admit, you're almost as fun as walking home."

"Yeah whatever. You're welcome."

"Bye," I got out and went inside, locking the door behind me.

I grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and went upstairs to my room. Putting in my favorite cassette in, which by the way is the Sex Pistols' Nevermind the Bollocks, I blasted it, and pulled out an old photo album.

I began to glance through, all the pictures arranged in chronological order. Around the time I was eight, I noticed that familiar reddish-brown haired, green eyed boy was in most pictures with me, until the ones where I was twelve, and it was almost as if he'd never existed.

Yes; this was Billie Joe Armsrong. We met in first grade, when he beat up the kid who took my
lunch, and then we were inseparable.

I helped, or tried my hardest to help him through his father's death, but Andy had meant the world to Billie. So we drifted.

I remember when my mother died, he came over to play or something, right after I'd gotten the news. So basically I was a wreck. Crying, yelling, throwing pillows, stuffed animals.. anything I could reach.

He said, "It couldn't have been that bad," and that I'd never feel the same pain he felt after his father.

I blew my top, throwing shoes and Lincoln Logs at him, shouting terrible curses, when Jeff came in. The poor boy was only nine I think.. Jeff went over to Billie, tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned around, my brother told him flat out what had happened.

"Billie Joe, our mommy died."

That ended our dying friendship for good, and I've disliked him ever since. He used to spread rumors about me, but our parents had a discussion after I was suspended for beating the shit out of him. That jackass deserved it.

Now he just teases me every chance he gets, or calls me by my first name, Elanore, when he's the one who started calling me Grace, and then it stuck.

That lift home... I don't get it. What could have made him offer me a ride? Did his stupid friends put him up to it? I pushed the thought away, and went to my bag, looking for my books.

Oh God. I left my notebook in Billie's car.

"How am I gonna get it back?" I groaned. I did live within a few blocks of him, but how weird would that be?

'Uhh. Hi Billie. I realized I left my book in your car, which contains all my personal feelings in song form.. Could I have it back? Oh and by the way.. I still dislike you more than anything
on Earth..'

Yeah. like that would work.

Screw it. He knows I'm not shy. With that, I grabbed my car keys, pulled on my shoes, and went out to the garage, where my mother's black Trans AM sat. She left it to me, and I drive it everywhere but school, because its easier to ditch without it. I pulled out of the driveway, and drove to the Armstrong abode.

Halting outside the house, I got out of the car, and locked it.

As I walked up to the door, I began to rethink my plans, but rang the doorbell.

"Just come on in Mike!" I heard Billie yell. I opened the door, and walked in.

"Uh, it's not Mike," I announced, trying to find him, "It's Grace."

"Oh. What do you want?" I heard him from the living room, so I went in there, and saw Billie sitting on the couch, staring lifelessly at the TV.

Suddenly, I felt nervous. Like I couldn't breathe, and my heart was racing pretty quickly, but I still stammered out, "I.. uhm.. I left my notebook in your car.."

"Its in my room. I took it in and looked through it. Pretty good stuff," he said like it was
nothing.

"What?" I shouted at him from my place near the entrance of the room, "What the hell could possibly make you do that, you inconsiderate jerkoff?"

Billie merely winced a little, taking in my rage, then answered.

"I thought it was mine, so I opened it up and there was your stuff! Sorry I read it and thought it was awesome. I even put some music to it, and found a great sound."

"Really?" I asked softly, sitting on the other side of the couch.

"Yeah. I can show you if you want."

I nodded, "Okay."

He got up, and went to his room, bringing down my notebook and Blue. He flipped through, sitting on the couch, and handed it to me once he found the song.