Ryden Oneshots

Just A Teenage Douchebag, Baby

Ryan had decided it was going to be a good day. He had lain in bed, struggling to wake up for the last ten minutes he could spare before he really had to get up, he’d listened to his dad snoring in the next room, he’d seethed a little more about the dumb fight he and Spencer had had yesterday – pointless existential angst, Ryan’s ass; Spencer’s stupid philosophy class was going to his head – and he had decided. It was definite and no-nonsense. When he finally pulled himself out of bed and into the shower, it was with a grim and determined sense of cheerfulness.

“Hey,” Jon said fifteen minutes later, when Ryan slid into the backseat clutching a poptart. “S’up?”

Jon couldn’t get away with saying that unironically, but Ryan decided not to tell him. Instead, he said, “I am good.” And smiled.

Spencer twisted around and peered suspiciously at Ryan (Spencer always got the front seat, it was fucking unfair. Just because Jon picked him up first each morning), and then groaned. “Oh,” he said. “I knew you were going to get all thingy about this—”

“I’m not thingy,” Ryan told him, voice low and dangerous. “I’m in a good mood. See?” He smiled deliberately, baring his teeth.

“Woah,” Jon said, watching the rear view mirror and looking wary. “Spence, what did you do?”

“I told him to stop being so emo all the time,” Spencer said, sounding long-suffering and slumping down in his seat. “And he got all offended and said that he had much better dress sense than that, and I said yeah, but you’ve got more than enough angst to make up for it, plus, you know, that big gloomy sense of inevitable doom. And now he’s wearing colours.”

Jon suddenly looked very preoccupied with driving, the corners of his mouth twitching. Ryan huffed and kicked hard at the back of Spencer’s seat, plucking absent at his yellow shirt. He liked it, and hadn’t bought it especially, anyway, so Spencer could just shut up. Besides, Pete had once told him that he looked good in v-necks.

Jon pulled into the parking lot and sighed. “Fucking school,” he said, and then he and Spencer both looked at Ryan, eyes bright and laughing.

Ryan forced back a scowl. “I’m looking forward to another day of our fine educational establishment,” he said coldly, and got out of the car.

“Hey!” Spencer called across the parking lot to him as he set off, chin firmly tilted up. “Lucky you have Trig first! It’s always good to start your morning off with something you suck at!”

“I’m planning to enjoy the learning experience,” Ryan hollered back, and ignored them both when they collapsed into helpless sniggers.

Ryan had decided it was going to be a good day, but it seemed that the rest of the world had not received the memo. He spent a horrible hour and a half in Trig staring uncomprehendingly at the set of problems, and got to Psychology just in time to remember that he’d left his homework lying on his bed. By study hall he was flagging considerably, and wanted nothing more than to sprawl somewhere (preferably somewhere where he could glance casually over at Pete Wentz and his gang of seniors on occasion) and complain for a while, but Jon and Spencer were waiting with twin evil grins directed at him by his locker, so he pasted a smile on his face and marched over to them.

“Hi!” he said, and they both burst out laughing.

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll meet you at the Tree,” he said, and they strolled off together, looking – Ryan thought viciously – like the pair of giggling teenage girls they so clearly were.

Ryan opened his locker and emptied out his bag, grabbing the stuff he needed for his next lesson. Then he stuck his head inside and said, very quietly, “I hate the world.”