Young Blood

Chapter One: Steam Punk

 My name is Dewey Hartbringer. I'm sixteen years old. I live in Chicago. And I have four friends.

Patrick is the biggest sweetheart you'll ever meet. He wears these glasses some might call hipster that really fit his questionable fashion sense. Fedoras are his go-to hat, which is weird, considering they're associated with jerks. His singing voice is in-cred-ible-- even though you'll never hear it from him-- and he's great at guitar, too.

Joe is great at guitar, and he's got this mess of curly hair he's grown out from a clean-shaven head. He's a huge dork and a tattoo aficionado, as well as a lover of alcohol. On top of that, he's the biggest Star Wars nerd I've ever met. He has almost as many guitars as he has action figures... and he has a guitar custom built for himself.

Andy's a terrifying dude, but only appearance-wise. He's massively tall and well-built, clean shaven but growing a beard. He's a drummer, and an amazing one at that. But he's shy and sweet, constantly checking on the people he cares about and making sure they're okay. Unlike Joe, he's straightedge-- no alcohol, and he's vegan, too.

Pete's the leader of our group. He went through a pretty bad emo phase a while back, wearing more eyeliner than some of the girls at school and bangs as flat as they could go. Now he's more punk, I'd guess-- a lover of the electric bass, spiked up hair, and tattoos. He's loud and unashamed-- of whatever he might be in trouble with. We all love him.

It also happens that my only friends are almost twenty years older than me.

I met Fall Out Boy the summer of my sophomore year. I'd been a fan ever since I was a little kid. When I was six, I'd sing along to “Sugar, We're Going Down” in the car, and when I was eight, “Thnks fr th Mmrs” would constantly play throughout my house. And when I was nine, they went on hiatus, and the house went silent.

It just so happened that my only friend moved away when I was nine. I'd been friends with Morgan even before I liked Fall Out Boy, and we'd stuck together up until fourth grade. Then his family up and moved from Chicago, and I was left alone to face the daunting prospect of my entire school career alone.

And that's how it remained for years, until the summer before my sophomore year. I was lying on my bed, headphones in, eyes closed-- are we going up, or just going down?

My door slammed open. Hugo, my little brother, jumped on my bed and whispered, “Dewey, Mom says dinner is ready.”

“Thanks, kid. I'll be right down.”

He skipped out, slamming the door behind himself. The doorframe rattled, and one of my many posters fell to the ground. I resolved to pick it up later as I hopped over it. “Hey, he's alive!” my dad laughed. I rolled my eyes, stifling a smile.

“Hey, Dad. How was work?”

“It was fine. How's your summer going?”

“I've been listening to Fall Out Boy all day.”

“Isn't that all you ever do?”

“Well... yeah.”

“About that...” my mom added as she walked outside onto the patio. The smell of freshly trimmed grass wafted over, mingling with the smell of cheeseburgers. The skyline of Chicago watched us from the horizon, gazing down on our little suburb with our literal white picket fence and two kids and dog. Harvey, the massive golden lab-slash-Great Dane mix we'd adopted last year, wagged his tail from under the glass table.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“You heard about their tour?”

“Of course. Monument. It's with Paramore.”