We're In Love Because We're Punk
So Not Punk
The next day at school I sat in that boring class next to Billie Joe, who looked so punk-emo with his head in his hands, not smiling with his smudged eyeliner from the night before. It was hott. As the boring teacher droned on about things not punk, Billie Joe threw a note onto my desk.
What did you do last night after the show?
I stopped chipping my black nail polish to pick up my black ink pen and respond that I talked to Tre’ on Yahoo! for a while after fighting with my abusive father (who insisted on giving me twenty dollars for lunch money, as if punks ate lunch in the lame high school cafeteria).
Billie eyed the teacher who had been looking towards our desks before going back to the board to talk about more things not punk before he threw the note back onto my desk. What was his deal? Punks don’t care if they’re caught. Maybe his preppie, hip-hop, so un-punk girlfriend Tanisha was brainwashing him, the king of the punks.
So you like Tre?
I just looked over at Billie Joe and shrugged. Billie Joe was a punk and I like punks, but Tre’s punkier, like me. I should date a real punk because I am punk, right?
Billie Joe looked away and began writing in his notebook. I knew he wasn’t writing notes from the teacher because he was more of a punk than that, like me. I hadn’t written a single note down and I didn’t care when the teacher said I was going to fail. Punks didn’t make the Honors Roll. Good grades were for preps like Nora.
After school I went home to face my terrible home life.
“Carly, dear, how was your day?” My mother hissed at me as she slammed a plate with a piece of cake with pink icing on it on the table. “I made a cake today. This is the first piece.”
I rolled my eyes at the pink cake. Punks didn’t eat pink iced cake. Pink iced cake was for preps like Tanisha, who was brainwashing Billie Joe, king of the punks.
My mother brazed my skin with her lips as she walked into the living room to watch her show of evil, Oprah. So not punk. As I threw my pen tattooed book bag down ungracefully in the middle of the floor, since I didn’t care since I was a punk, I scarfed the pretty pink cake down my throat because I was a punk and didn’t care what anyone thought. I then went to Billie Joe’s house where he was practicing with his band.
They were in the middle of the song and when Billie Joe saw me, he instantly stopped playing and watched me. His punky green eyes met mine and I felt our two punk hearts connect. Then I saw the punkier blue eyes of Tre’ and went to kiss him just as a vision in lilac came into the room.
“Hey babyboy! How’s it goin’ down?” Tanisha smacked Billie Joe in the lips with hers with a very loud, un-punk smack. “Oooh, I got some of my cherry lip gloss on you.” With her long yellow painted nails Tanisha wiped away the glittery goop from Billie Joe’s lips. That was so un-punk.
I cringed as I saw them kiss again, the punk Billie Joe's punk lips crashing against the poser mouth of Tanisha. Tre saw me shudder, and as the perfect punk boyfriend, was immediately concerned.
"Babe, what's wrong?" he asked with a hawt punk look of worry in his deep punk blue eyes.
"Nothing," I said causally. And I didn't lie. Punks like me don't have to lie. I didn't care if Billie Joe got Tanisha pregnant, because I'm a punk.
Tre took my fingers into his punk hands and squeezed them lightly. "I love you," he said with punk sincerity.
"I love you, too Tre." I said back and kissed him punkly on the lips. Billie Joe broke away from Tanisha to glare at us with punk jealousy. Not that I cared, because I am a punk and I have a punk boyfriend. Just then, Tanisha got up and squeezed Billie's arm.
"Ya'll," she said in that horrible prep voice, "My man and I got some great news." Billie Joe diverted his delicious punk green eyes at the floor as she continued to squawk, "I'ma be havin' Billie Joe's baby! I'm pregnant, ya'll!" Tre congratulated them because he was a true punk friend. I did too. But my punk heart sank to the floor, even though I was deeply in love with Tre after dating him for so long (a few hours). Tanisha...was having Billie's baby? My Billie?
This was so not punk.
What did you do last night after the show?
I stopped chipping my black nail polish to pick up my black ink pen and respond that I talked to Tre’ on Yahoo! for a while after fighting with my abusive father (who insisted on giving me twenty dollars for lunch money, as if punks ate lunch in the lame high school cafeteria).
Billie eyed the teacher who had been looking towards our desks before going back to the board to talk about more things not punk before he threw the note back onto my desk. What was his deal? Punks don’t care if they’re caught. Maybe his preppie, hip-hop, so un-punk girlfriend Tanisha was brainwashing him, the king of the punks.
So you like Tre?
I just looked over at Billie Joe and shrugged. Billie Joe was a punk and I like punks, but Tre’s punkier, like me. I should date a real punk because I am punk, right?
Billie Joe looked away and began writing in his notebook. I knew he wasn’t writing notes from the teacher because he was more of a punk than that, like me. I hadn’t written a single note down and I didn’t care when the teacher said I was going to fail. Punks didn’t make the Honors Roll. Good grades were for preps like Nora.
After school I went home to face my terrible home life.
“Carly, dear, how was your day?” My mother hissed at me as she slammed a plate with a piece of cake with pink icing on it on the table. “I made a cake today. This is the first piece.”
I rolled my eyes at the pink cake. Punks didn’t eat pink iced cake. Pink iced cake was for preps like Tanisha, who was brainwashing Billie Joe, king of the punks.
My mother brazed my skin with her lips as she walked into the living room to watch her show of evil, Oprah. So not punk. As I threw my pen tattooed book bag down ungracefully in the middle of the floor, since I didn’t care since I was a punk, I scarfed the pretty pink cake down my throat because I was a punk and didn’t care what anyone thought. I then went to Billie Joe’s house where he was practicing with his band.
They were in the middle of the song and when Billie Joe saw me, he instantly stopped playing and watched me. His punky green eyes met mine and I felt our two punk hearts connect. Then I saw the punkier blue eyes of Tre’ and went to kiss him just as a vision in lilac came into the room.
“Hey babyboy! How’s it goin’ down?” Tanisha smacked Billie Joe in the lips with hers with a very loud, un-punk smack. “Oooh, I got some of my cherry lip gloss on you.” With her long yellow painted nails Tanisha wiped away the glittery goop from Billie Joe’s lips. That was so un-punk.
I cringed as I saw them kiss again, the punk Billie Joe's punk lips crashing against the poser mouth of Tanisha. Tre saw me shudder, and as the perfect punk boyfriend, was immediately concerned.
"Babe, what's wrong?" he asked with a hawt punk look of worry in his deep punk blue eyes.
"Nothing," I said causally. And I didn't lie. Punks like me don't have to lie. I didn't care if Billie Joe got Tanisha pregnant, because I'm a punk.
Tre took my fingers into his punk hands and squeezed them lightly. "I love you," he said with punk sincerity.
"I love you, too Tre." I said back and kissed him punkly on the lips. Billie Joe broke away from Tanisha to glare at us with punk jealousy. Not that I cared, because I am a punk and I have a punk boyfriend. Just then, Tanisha got up and squeezed Billie's arm.
"Ya'll," she said in that horrible prep voice, "My man and I got some great news." Billie Joe diverted his delicious punk green eyes at the floor as she continued to squawk, "I'ma be havin' Billie Joe's baby! I'm pregnant, ya'll!" Tre congratulated them because he was a true punk friend. I did too. But my punk heart sank to the floor, even though I was deeply in love with Tre after dating him for so long (a few hours). Tanisha...was having Billie's baby? My Billie?
This was so not punk.