Chapter Four: ¡Viva La Billie Joe!

(2507 words)
(Tré’s POV)

As I pulled the cold metal lever down, white and frosty looking soft serve ice cram poured into my chocolate lined waffle cone. The chill of the delicious vanilla flavored stuff seeped into my tightly gripping fingers. I let go of the handle and watched with fascination as the ice cream curled into an elf hat curly tip.

The seat I’d reserved at the popular old café was also cold as ice, having been unused for a few hours at the very least, and the whole day at the very most. But that, of course, was quite unlikely.

It was three thirty in the afternoon now. He was supposed to show up in fifteen minutes.

Twitching with anticipation, I cautiously picked at my vanilla soft serve, eating it fast enough so that it wouldn’t melt but slow enough so that it would last me a while. The sweet vanilla bean flavor was ignored as I anxiously waited for my first date in a while.

Three. Forty. Five.

I jumped as the little, old timey bell rung, signifying that the colorful glass door had been opened. I turned around slowly and yet impatiently to see who had just entered the ice cream centric café.

Billie Joe Armstrong stood at the door, awkwardly looking around and running the fingers of his left hand through his hair. A simple – although slightly wilted – red rose dangled from his right hand. His usually spiked hair was down and neatly combed back – actually, all of it except for some loose strands that dangled in front of his eyes. He was dressed in a clean dark red shirt and neat blue jeans, which were covered in odd designs and hand drawn band logos.

I smiled a bit. Time to win over my first boyfriend in who knows how long.

“Hey – Billie Joe! Gloria?” I called. He looked up at me, and I noticed then that his clear green eyes were lined in simple black eyeliner.

A grin spread over his pretty pink lips as he walked over to the table that I’d reserved for us. “Mr. Tré Cool,” he said, smirking. Billie sat down and somewhat nervously tapped his fingers on the table. “Fancy meeting you here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’d say it is.”

I smirked back at him, self consciously smoothing my hair back once more. Under his steady cat’s eyes green gaze, I felt nervous and small. My palms began to sweat and I rubbed them on my coarse jeans under the table.

His smirk turned to a smile and I found myself smiling back at my date. I bit my lip, not knowing what to say, and he shook some hair out of his eyes.

“Um, sorry. I’m kinda -- sorta borin’, ya -- y’know?” I commented, just above whisper tone.

“Heh. Don’t worry. I -- I am, too. Sometimes. Heh.”

I’d noticed by then that he tended to ramble when he was nervous, a trait I found extremely cute. Billie Joe swallowed quickly.

“Gah. My mouth’s so dry…”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You want me to get you some water or something?”

“Fuck, did I say that aloud? I have this weird habit of, um, thinking’ out loud -- I live basically alone, you know?” he half said and half asked quickly.

“’Course I know. I live pretty much alone, too.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. D’you still want me to get you some water?” I asked.

“Um… oh. Yeah. Sure. I mean… yes, please.” He laughed a little, nervously. I just smiled at him and all his odd cuteness as I stood up and walked to the bar. As quickly as I could, I got a glass of water and went back to our table.

It was awkwardly silent and the minutes ticked on monotonously once more. Billie Joe sipped his water silently across the table from me, and my fingers absently drummed a tuneless beat on the faux wood plastic in front of me.

“So, um, you’re good with, like, you know -- rhythm stuff. D’you play an instrument?” he asked nervously. Clearing his throat, he added, “Um, I sing, y‘know, just a bit. And play a little guitar, but I’m no good at either, ‘specially not guitar.”

“I, ah, I drum a bit in my spare time. Not that I have much spare time, well, um, I guess I do now, heh. Now that school’s out ‘nd all. I’m kinda sorta decent, in a way. But not really -- ya know what I’m sayin’?”

“You’re probably better than me at, like, anything.”

“You’re saying that to the kid who graduated with a C-.”

“You’re saying that to the only other kid who graduated with a C-.”

“Eh. I missed all of ninth grade and a bit of tenth. Long, long story. So I basically worked my ass off and graduated with a GPA of two.”

“Damn. That sucks.” I laughed a bit, “I got a low grade ‘cause I was damn lazy.”

Billie Joe also laughed, a quiet laugh that reminded me of happy music that would make you want to dance. It certainly made me want to dance -- want to dance with the freaking hot guy sitting only two feet (or less) away from me. I grinned sheepishly, laughed quietly, and watched as he tilted his head to the side.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “It’s just that you’re really, really cute and really hot and… fuck. You’re awesome.”

Billie blushed slightly and looked away. “Um. I could, um, say the same about you.” Hurriedly, he looked up at me. “I meant that as in I really could. I wasn’t bluffing. Holy shit am I awkward.”

“You’re thinking out loud again,” I playfully chided. Billie Joe laughed a bit once more, before shuffling in his seat slightly and pushing some of his black hair out of his face. Just then, I noticed his black nail polish, a bit chipped but still mostly intact.

I sighed, having run out of things to talk about. I decided to pull something out of my ass, actually -- it was something I had been planning to talk about since his little speech slash rant slash yell fest slash argument at the graduation ceremony, two whole days ago at that point in time.

“So you’re -- you’re Gloria, right? Leader of the Class of Thirteen, and all that jazz?” I ventured.

He nodded. “Uh huh. I’m not as special as Gloria is, though. In a way, we’re separate people -- if you get what I mean.”

I nodded as he cleared his throat. Before he could add anything else to his statement, I cut in. “So, I mean, the whole Class of Thirteen thing -- it’s pretty damn amazing. I can’t believe you could pull it all together like that. You’re actually pretty damn amazing.”

“I -- what. Oh my God, I am?” he half exclaimed, biting his lip a bit at the end of his sentence. I just nodded once more, and grinned.

“You’re like… what we’ve been waiting for all along. Y’know? You’re just what we’ve needed since Whatsername ran away and the Underbelly called it quits.”

Billie Joe winced a bit at my mention of Whatsername and the Underbelly. “Well, ya know, they were -- they’re my inspiration. Especially -- ‘specially Whatsername. He was… he was pretty damn cool.”

“Wait -- you knew Whatsername? And Whatsername was a guy?”

He nodded and quickly took a large sip of his water, buying him time to think of an answer.

“Y-yeah. I met him a few times. Y’know, just said hi and stuff. He was really girly, too, ya know. Even more than me -- he had really long black hair and more makeup than I do,” he improvised.

I smiled. This wasn’t the whole truth, and I knew it, but I didn’t press. I wanted to date him, not probe into his life like a school counselor or someone trying to force feed you psych meds. Hah, I have this funny story about sporks and psych meds…

A story for another time, of course.

“That’s really cool. I mean -- Whatsername’s the biggest name in the revolution, probably.” I winked at him. “And Gloria’s probably the second!”

Billie Joe half blushed, half nervously grinned, and half laughed quietly. Wait -- three halves? What the…

“Anyway! As I was saying -- you’re amazing. You know, you’re just what we’ve needed lately. You picked up right where Whatsername --” He flinched again. “-- left off. You’re like the hero for a three years lost cause, man. You’re big. You are making a fuckin’ difference.”

He smirked and temporarily regained his confidence. “Oh, you’d bet I’m big. Just wait till you see me in a bedroom, when we’re alone… together…”

I rolled my eyes. “Wow.”

Billie Joe just laughed as I regathered my thoughts.

“So -- um, anyway -- you’re making the Class of Thirteen -- um, you’ll make ‘em go far. They’re gonna change something With your leadership and -- um, guidance, they might impeach Bush. Y’know? I bet they could.”

“No way in Hell we could do that,” Billie Joe muttered darkly, looking down. I smiled again.

“You can do it. Just look how far you’ve gotten the Class so far! Look how far Gloria’s taken the Revolution!”

“Yeah. That’s Gloria. G - L - O - R - I - A.” He even spelled out the name and all. “Not Billie Joe, the nobody from the middle of nowhere, from the town that don’t exist…”

Once more, I raised my eyebrow. “You. Are. Fucking. Gloria. Well, I don’t mean you’re fucking her, fucking her -- that would be creepy -- what I meant is that you, yourself -- you are Gloria.”

“I guess. I just don’t feel that important.”

“You are. Trust me. Billie --” I reached out across the table and put one of my hands on his warm arm, my pasty white skin standing out starkly from his darker slight tan. “-- you are very, very important. You are, you’ve met Whatsername, you’re Gloria, you’re the leader, the founder of the Class of Thirteen. If that doesn’t make you important, then -- I don’t know what would.”

“No. I’m just not -- listen. I’m not --”

I cut him off with an impatient sigh. “Shut up. Seriously. Do you want me to have to French you again in front of an audience to shut you up?”

“Well, that would be rather nice,” he admitted, grinning slyly.

“How’s this -- if you let me be your official one hundred percent real boyfriend -- and if I can join the Class of Thirteen -- and if you do admit that you, or Gloria, or whatever, just as long as you admit you’re making a difference. If you do all that, then I’ll kiss you,” I compromised, grinning.

“Um. Gah. Okay. Fine.”

“Say it.”

“You, Tré Cool, or Frank Edwin Wright III, you are my official one hundred percent my boyfriend. And you are now a part of the Class of Thirteen -- I’ll drag you along to the next meeting on Tuesday. And…” He dragged the word out for much longer than necessary. “And… I, Billie Joe Armstrong, or Gloria, the leader of the Class of Thirteen -- I am important and I have and I will make a difference.”

He smirked and stood, leaning against the table, his hips cocked seductively. “Now… kiss me, you fool.”

“Fine. I will.”

I stood up and full speed embrace attacked him, pulling him into me and pressing my mouth to his. He leaned up on his tip toes, wrapping his slender arms around my shoulders. I tightened my grip around his waist and leaned further into him, simultaneously deepening the kiss.

Most would call this going too fast. I called it teenage hormones, rebelliousness, and the Class of Two Thousand and Fucking Thirteen.

He quietly moaned into my mouth, our tongues writhing together in simple and pure and wonderful and delicious unison, exploring each other’s mouths and tasting each other, forever imprinting that flavor in our memory.

Maybe it was going too fast. But still, it was our white hot fury and romance that drove us forward.

Billie’s fingers entangled themselves in the short, gelled together locks of my reddish hair as my hands snaked up his back. We were both breathing at a nearly dangerous rate now, hot breaths escaping into the other’s mouth, onto the other’s face. We didn’t mind. We were one in that moment, and we were perfect.

After an eternity of beauty and passion, we broke apart. Out hands slid down and grasped each other, our fingers intertwined. I half leaned against a table, trying to catch my breath as Billie Joe did the same. Some sweat glittered on his forehead, illuminated in the bright fluorescent glow from the ceiling.

I looked up and smiled at him. He smiled back, warmly.

“Get the hell out of here and never come back.”

I looked up at the angry manager, surrounded by a practical horde of confused teens and angry workers. I laughed a little and pulled Billie Joe closer to me.

“C’mon, Gloria. Let’s head out,” I whispered.

“One more thing, though,” he said back, and I let him do his thing.

He was Gloria, of course.

“Well, you know what? Fuck you all. ‘Cause we are the Class of…”

I joined him: “The Class of Thirteen. Raised in the era of humility. We are the desperate in the decline. Raised by the bastards of nineteen sixty nine!”

We both grinned as we walked out, leaving stunned and angered people behind us. Billie Joe leaned up and kissed me quietly on my cheek.

“That was amazing,” I told him. “You’re a fucking genius.”

“No way in hell. But thank you anyway, Tré.” He grinned a bit, looking like he was walking on a cloud.

“It’s not every day you find a hot guy who is the rebel leader who is also gay,” I commented with a little bit of a smirk.

“Bisexual. But I catch your wave -- willing to kiss another guy, right?”

“Oops. But yeah, exactly.”

Billie Joe smiled further, before checking his watch. “Damn, it’s nearly five. I’ve gotta get home soon.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, same. See you around?”

“Call me tonight, okay?” he called, as he walked away. I ran after him.

“Hey! I will. Of course I will. But don’t I get a goodbye kiss?”

Billie Joe grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He kissed me on the cheek again, before looking straight in the eye and saying words I’d never forget:

“Tré Fucking Cool… you know what? I think I may be falling, head over heels, madly in love. With you.”

And with that statement, he turned around and walked away, heading to his own house.

“Yeah. Billie Joe. Gloria. I love you, too,” I whispered, smiling and glowing with happiness, as I walked back to my house.