The Chronicles of James Pete Smith and Alysia Urie-Ross

"Dance, dance. We're falling apart to halftime."
-- "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy

October 9th, 2020
Times were dark at Valleysky High School.
The dark lord Biebermort reigned with more power than ever. Most everyone at my highschool was firmly under his sway--in fact, I assumed that a few of them were Beliebers, or Beliebers-in-training. And even those not locked under his hypnotically flipped hair were entranced by the Southern shaking hips of Lord Biebermort's most trusted cohort--the dark, insane, and apparently sexy Miley Cyrus. Yes, this was the majority (at least 90%) of the students at Valleysky High School.
The other 10% of the students who weren't followers of this new Dark Lord, or me, that group was the so-called "emo kids." Now, I was much closer to being an emo kid than to being an Belieber (the technical name for those who were in Lord Biebermort's elite inner circle, which just became the name for any of his supporters)--but I sure as hell wasn't emo. In style, people tended to mistake me for emo. I have no clue why that happened. But for music? I wasn't emo, not in the least. If you squinted from far away, I could see why you could count my music taste--at the time--under this fabricated emo category. In those years, I lived off of Nine Inch Nails, AFI, Green Day, David Bowie, and the Smiths. A little sad, some guyliner--but you really had to be squinting.

Despite the fact that I wasn't a part of either of those groups, I wasn't someone totally disconnected from reality. Quite possibly the only good thing about being in neither the Biebermort fans' club or the emo kids support group was that I knew what was happening on both sides. I knew who was who and what was hot--for both the Beliebers and the emo kids. In the best way, I was playing double agent--and with no true allegiance. I was fucking both sides over--even if I was, just a little bit, leaning toward helping the emo kids. But my allegiance wasn't what really mattered, at this time. What mattered was that I knew the whos and whats of the emo scene. Everyone's choices, religious views, mental and physical health, etc. One thing about the emo kids that was identical to the Beliebers was their ability to creep on the very people that entertained them for a fucking living.
So, of course, I knew who Ally Urie-Ross was before she even started attending Valleysky High School.

I remember the day very well. It was a glasses day--one of the first I’d had in some months. The alarm clock rang three times in my ear, like usual. My eyes opened on instinct--and I knew immediately that I needed glasses. All I could see were vague, dark shapes and some light intruding on my vision, from my left--where my half-open window was. I rolled over onto my right, reaching for my glasses, hands floundering over empty table space until they found my specs. There was a small layer of dust over them from months unused. I slid them on, and all of a sudden--the world was in focus, and I could see everything. The first thing I checked, then, was my clock. 6:56 AM.

“Motherfucker,” I hissed under my breath. That left me 15 minutes to get up and get dressed. Not that I was a girl or anything, and it took me that long to get ready--but I doubted my coffee would be done in time. Fuck. That meant messier than usual hair and a morning of skipping brushing my teeth. Not that I minded, really. Coffee was more important to me than my appearance. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. A yawn, then I rubbed my eyes under my glasses. The skin around them was wet--a taste test confirmed that this watery substance was tears. I’d been crying in my sleep again--not that I could remember my dream, of course.

The coffee maker was painfully slow that morning. I ended up just getting dressed while my coffee brewed. Of course, that didn't take too long--Monday's jeans, last Friday's t-shirt, (something like that, anyway) and a worn hoodie for good measure. My Chucks slid on easily, as they always did, every morning. The same thing I wore everyday. I hid my hands in my hoodie pockets before going back to the kitchen and coffee. It was 7:08 when it finally finished--the clock on the default screen on the coffee maker told me so. I grabbed a portable cup and quickly made my coffee and slammed on the lid before grabbing my backpack and running out the door. Knowing the time, Donna was probably yelling at me from the car already.
Knowing Donna, however, she couldn't scream at me due to her yearly throat infection. Thank God for small favors, right?

The first half of the day passed uneventfully. I kept to myself at the back of every classroom, waiting for the notes passed to me by Elaine (my contact from the Belieber side) and Val (my contact from the emo side). The buzz was all over, though I definitely got more notes from Val. Those ones tended to have better spelling and messier handwriting--and, today, they were hopeful. The daughter of esteemed musicians Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie. Someone who could really shift the tide in favor of the emoes (some of those days, I wondered if they really had a name that wasn't just the emo kids or anti-Belibers. I didn't give a shit, either way). The notes from the Belieber side had precise handwriting, worse spelling, and muck more despair. Funny how it was the emo kids being happy for once.

Come to think of it, Val had never mentioned a name for the emo kids. She never took offense when I said something like, "The emo kids are postering Wentz's dick over Biebermort's face again." So, I was forced to assume that they were just the emos and that was that. Well, alright, I had never asked Val directly. But she just called them her comrades. I had no comrades, so I couldn't sympathize. There was something just a little tragic about that situation. But it wasn't something I wanted to linger on. I was plenty good company for myself.

Sure, I looked insane, always talking to myself. But we all do that, sometimes. Don't we?
Oh, lonely little life.

You see, by some accident of computing, Elaine, Val and I had the same exact class schedule. This made keeping up with both sides much easier as I only had two contacts. Surprising accident, but definitely beneficial. I could just sit in the middle of the room and get info from the right (Beliebers) and the left (emo kids). I was the best at this game, I decided that very early on in my "spying" career. Of course, this was probably because I was the only one playing it.

Aside from the frenzy of notes I was receiving from my People, it was a normal day. The second glances from a few kids dressed in black--well, less than usual, but I had been wearing glasses, and apparently I look less like that Wentz fellow with them--the disdainful glares from the Beliebers. Past the Art Honors window, past the framed portrait of Dr. Pirateface (the oh-so-creative name I'd given our principal as a freshman) and down the stairs. I surveyed the room and frowned as I looked at my seating choices. Great. It looked like it was going to be the fangirls who wanted to compare my dick to Wentz's or the other fangirls who thought I should get a Bieber cut--

"Get off me, you asshole!" I heard someone shriek from a good few meters to my left. Great. That meant the emo kids were up to something. I looked to the left, something that was supposed to be a careless glance. However, the girl caught my eye. She was tall--definitely taller than me, maybe by four or so inches--and that was the first thing I noticed. Then I noticed that I'd never seen her before. No wonder.

It was Derek and Jack--hated assholes even among the emo group. I hated them most of all. They were like the jocks of old, but they listened to music that the emo kids listened to, and thus were not Beliebers (most guys of that persuasion were Beliebers). Thing was that they'd end up being dickhead disgraces to whichever side they would be on. That was their type.

"Got some tit inflation with your daddies' money?" Jack sneered. He was just about to go in for something--and Ms. Urie-Ross herself was about to respond somehow--when I let out a Dragonball Z battle cry and went straight at them.

Of course, considering the fact that I'm 5'3" and 130 lbs and those two were 6'5" and 215 lbs each, this didn't go very well. I managed a punch to Jack's ass and I think Ally kicked Derek in the crotch in the confusion. When Derek dropped like a stone, Ally jumped over him and ignored my outstretched arm. But she did a double-take when she met my eyes, suddenly shooting a wicked grin at me.

"C'mon, sweet lil' dude," she shouted as she started to run across the cafeteria. "We gotta get out of here."

I nodded, darting after her. "I know exactly where to go!" I replied in equal tones. "Hit the doors out, I'll take the lead from there."