The Cab (A Brendon Urie FanFiction)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1-

There are worst ways to spend your day then sitting at a desk copying down notes from a chalkboard, silently counting the minutes for the final bell to ring. Oh yes, there are terrible ways to spend your day: like walking the streets barefoot in rags and filth, begging every passerby to spare a dollar or two. Or standing amongst the wreckage and ruin of a building you once knew as home. I should count my stars and consider myself lucky, that I'm sitting at a desk with my number two pencil in hand, copying down notes from the chalkboard, even if they are about the male anatomy. But it's considerably hard to consider yourself lucky when you attend an all girls school in uptown New York, writing down the terms of the male genitalia without even the slightest boy to cross your mind as your eyes scan your handwriting of the word scrotum. You see, Grace Haven's School for Wayward Girls has only two men in its employment: the fidgety, malnourished Princeton graduate Mr. Hanson and the walking cystic acne bump Mr. Tirosimi, both of which are severely unattractive and well into their fifties. And no self-respecting girl of the 21st century would even consider fantasizing, or flirting, with such repulsive 50 year old teachers. Except my two best friends it would seem.

Alexis Owens and Micaela "Mickey" Erickson, were almost the precise definition of wayward. When Mickey was thirteen, she lit the curtains of the guidance counselor's office on fire, trying to surreptitiously smoke a cigarette she had snuck from her older brother's pack. She had been called to the guidance office, because she had been caught in the bathrooms smoking during her lunch hour and the counselor thought it helpful to discuss the possibilities of developing lung cancer and the negative affects that might have on her life. Alexis, ever the talented artist, for some unknown reason had an unusual fixation with portraits of nudity and death, to the horror of her upscale entrepreneur mother. Alexis once drew, and published, an oil canvas of a young woman in the throes of passion with several godlike lovers, whilst simultaneously being carved with ancient Pagan runes across her bare breasts and abdomen. It was one of her more sophisticated creations in my opinion; however, Mrs. Owens took one look at the portrait of the glorified satanic gang bang and shamed both Alexis and her gift for obtaining such lifelike testicle and penetration. The two were something horrifying to their prestigious golden American-bred families that stood for all the glimmer and money of Manhattan, but to me they were perfect. Of all the things their parents would like to change about them, I would only agree to change one: their sudden desire to flaunt themselves in front of a parade of men, none of which were close to their age or worthy of their time. Like for example, Mr. Tirosimi.

"Oh my gosh! I love your tie, Mr. Tirosimi." Mickey says as she leans over his desk, her standardized uniform white button-down shirt fitted to show way more cleavage than acceptable for the voyeur of our middle-aged Health teacher.

"Yeah. That color looks good on you. It brings out your eyes." Alexis adds. The two girls nod at the poor man who just stares at them in horror. Alexis and Mickey were as wayward as they were beautiful, a stunning brunette with the curves of a matured woman and a towering dirty blonde reminiscent of Aphrodite herself. Not only were they beautiful, they were cunning, seductive, sly, and power hungry. Poor Mr. Tirosimi was no match for them.

With finality the bell rings commencing the daily punishment of the poor fifteen girls we share seventh period Health with, and I gather my things along with them, wishing I too could slip out the door and rush for the hallway. Unfortunately I must endure this torture for a moment or two longer, because the three of us often share a cab home together. Stopping to lounge against the doorframe, I turn back to my friends and the suffering fool, Mr. Tirosimi. Mickey has seized his tie in her right hand and is grinning voraciously. With an eye roll, I loudly clear my throat and three heads swivel to look in my direction.

"Can we like go?" I ask my friends, fixing them with a look that leaves little room for them to say no. They reluctantly agree, grabbing their bags and calling goodbyes over their shoulders to our relieved teacher.