The Chronicles of James Pete Smith and Alysia Urie-Ross

For some reason, daddy was really into the idea of the Wentz family reunion and took every chance to have them all over for dinner. Not that anyone really minded. It was just the fifteenth dinner together that month.

Daddy always made something really big, too. If it wasn’t a roast of some sort, it was something you’d eat for a special occasion, like lobster or duck. With, of course, vegetarian options for those so inclined. Daddy might be absent-minded, but he's not an idiot.

He had toned it down a tad tonight, however. We were having a stew, probably just a bunch of leftovers put into a pot. Smelled pretty good, actually.

I sat beside Jimmy, as usual. We always sat on the left side of the table. And the tablecloth was a really fucking disgusting shade of gold, as usual. Nothing was really different from the other dinners.

Then Uncle Pete’s phone started ringing. He kept looking at his phone, contempt obvious in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. The constant ringing of his phone was making my head hurt. Not a normal headache, though…it was one of those headaches. They were a bit worrisome, but I didn’t say anything. Everyone was silent, dad even cleared his throat a couple of times, before Uncle Patrick finally signaled him to answer it. Pete sighed and left the room to take the call, his face somewhat sullen.

Jimmy gave me a look, and we both got up, receiving dirty looks from dad. Pete had gone in the bathroom to take the call. Jimmy bit his lip, looking at the door warily. We pressed our ears to the door and held our breath, or at least I did, anyways. When you were trying to not be heard, every noise sounded three times louder.

Finally, we were able to hear through the walls.

“What the hell do you want?” Uncle Pete’s voice was heated, I knew something was up.

There was a little bit of silence before he continued. “What about him? Why would you even tell me anything about him?”

A longer silence. That felt almost painful just to hear. Jimmy was biting his lip, still, trying to hold back trembling or something.

“Oh. He’s got Bronx, huh?” That silence again, before I heard a beep and a click. “Fucking Biebermort.”

Jimmy gave me a look and I pushed him in the direction of the living room.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up and sit down.” I answered, shoving him onto the couch and sitting beside him.

He gave me a glare but I gave him a look and he looked away. He adjusted his glasses and pushed some of his hair out of his face.

“So Biebermort has your half brother.”

“I’m aware," he muttered, twisting some of his hair around his finger.

“And there’s no one going against Biebermort.” Part of me felt like some sort of an important general, rallying my troops.

“Nope. Not really.” Jimmy let his hands fall into his lap, where he started picking at a small hole in his jeans. He was frowning and his glasses were sliding back down his nose. "But what could we do about it?"

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "Make an opposing army, of course." Jimmy looked up at me for the first time in... a while and gaped. "What?"

"You're fucking insane, Ally," he replied, laying back on the couch.

"Hey! Don't put your shoes on that or Daddy's going to freak on me!" Jimmy let his feet back down and stared at the ceiling.
"Anyway," I said, starting to pace. "You remember in Harry Potter when they made Dumbledore's Army? Because Umbridge wasn't teaching them proper defense?"

He pushed himself up, looking at me over the rims of his glasses. "Yeah, but they had the Order of the Phoenix backing them up when they fought Voldemort." Jimmy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making his bangs stick up. I almost laughed at him. "'Sides, what would we be called, Wentz's Army?"

"No, you idiot!”

He gave me a questioning look and I grinned. "Believers."

"I don't get it." Jimmy rubbed his temples and started to lean back down.

"Believers never die," I answered with a smirk. "Seriously, are you that disconnected to your parents' music?"

"Oh! Duh..." He got up and looked around the room for a minute. "But how will we plan that?"

"Easy. Does your dad have a personal phonebook?"

"Why would I know that?" He smoothed his bangs. "I don't even live there yet."

"I don't know!" I shrugged. "Your dad seems like the type of guy to have that. With all of his friends and such. I mean, I can't even remember how many people I've met through your dad, there's too many." I smirked a little. "That could be just what we need, you know."

He nodded. "But if I ask, he'll know I'm up to something, or that we heard, or...yeah." he pushed his glasses up his nose and cleared his throat. "That might not be good."

"Who said we had to ask?" he gave me an incredulous look. "You can just look around his room." I shrugged.

"What if I find something like a condom?" He shuddered. "I've found them before..."

I burst out laughing. "I could just ask dad or something, jeez, Jimmy. We've also got phonebooks, and people from school. It shouldn't be too hard."

He seemed to relax at that. "Okay."

"And there's that cafe near the school and everything, there's that corner where you can barely hear what anyone says, where people go for dates usually."

"You would know." It was his turn to smirk in triumph.

"Shut up!"

Jimmy snorted a bit. "Are you gonna invite Val? You stare at her for way too long in class most of the time."

My cheeks were tingling and I glared at him. "Fuck you."

He snickered and I pulled him by the arm into the kitchen, an innocent smile on my face.

"Daddy, where are the phonebooks?"

He raised an eyebrow but pointed to the cabinets in the living room, and I nodded, thanking him and pulling Jimmy around again, like he was some puppy on a leash. He grumbled something along the lines of, "fuck you." I stuck my tongue out at him. His eyes read, how mature, Ally, but I ignored it. I picked the phonebook up off of the shelves, placed them on the table, and started looking through the pages. The first thing was to call the people we knew we were gonna want to come, the people who we knew needed to come, and then the emo kids, which was my least favorite part, but whatever. A few text messages after that and we'd pretty much scheduled the whole meeting.

That Saturday, the Watergate Cafe. The first scheduled Believer meeting.