//PETES POV\\

I hate new schools. A lot. People always give you weird stares and you feel like an outcast. And it does not help when you're disabled. For the few people that have acknowledges me, I'm not Pete Wentz. Im 'That Kid In A Wheelchair'.

It's not my fault I'm like this. It was that drunk idiot on the highway on the night of August 9, 2000. His fault that he slammed into us, sending us spiraling down a hill, killing my dad, injuring my mother, and leaving me paralyzed from the waist down.

So here I am. Wheelchair Kid.

I glance at Patrick as he doodles on his history notes. Why is he so shy? He's only said a word since the beginning of class. He just sat there writing. He's intriguing; quite the enigma. Talking, he isn't too hot, but every time I glance at his notes, he's writing more than just notes. He's writing deep, dark, inspirational words anywhere he can. Its beautiful, really. Everything that comes off the tip of that Dixon No. 2 pencil was pure beauty.

"Alright, guys. You are my fastest class ever, considering we're done with everything and we still have 20 minutes," Ms. Griffs smiles. She can't be much older than 22. "So, I guess you can have free time."

"Score!" I hear a kid from behind me yell. I roll my eyes and sit there. I pull out my phone and stuffed the attached earbuds into my ears. I press shuffle, not caring what song comes on. The intro to 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' By Green Day pours through my earbuds, enveloping my brain in the soft, familiar sound. I close my eyes, wishing to just be home. Wishing that all my problems would disappear. I learned the hard way that that isn't going to happen.

Patrick is still scribbling, but a different notebook. I don't know how his hand isn't cramping, because he hasn't put that pencil down all period. It's amazing, really. His words are beautiful. I'm reading over his shoulder, now. Watching that pencil jot down more and more.

Wish that I was as invisible as you make me feel
Wish that I was as invisible as you make me feel

Woah, I want to hate you half as musch as I hate my-
Woah, I want to hate you half as much as I hate my-
Woah, I want to hate you half as much as I hate my-
Self. You know that I can crush you with my voice.

"Those are great lyrics." I whisper to Patrick, making him jump. He looks at me with a confused expression, then glances to his notebook. He seems to be debating with himself before he hands me his notebook.

At this point, I'm shocked. I stare at him with wide-ish eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Um.. yeah.. read it... If you want." His voice was very audible. He nodded as he rolled up the sleeves on his black Blink-182 hoodie. Kid's got good music taste, I'll give him that.

My mind is directed to the notebook as Patrick eyes me, curiosity gleaming in the blue-ish Hazel windows. Windows into the mind that he had so much trouble expressing. A mind that I wanted to get into and get lost in. Just to find out what lurks behind his shy eyes.

Stop it, Pete. The notebook.

My eyes glanced around the page. It scared me how dark some of these lyrics are.

So wear me like a locket around your throat
I'll weigh you down, I'll watch you choke
You look so good in blue.
You look so good in blue

I kept reading. These lyrics kind if scared me. How could such an innocent looking kid like himself write such dark lyrics.

Let's play this game, called When You Catch Fire,
I wouldn't piss to put you out.
Stop burning bridges and drive off of them
So I can forget about you.

"Woah, Patrick. These are dark," I comment. My mind is racing. These lyrics are dark, but true. Many people deal with the stuff he wrote about. Loss, confusion, anger, revenge. All of it. I Hand him his notebook, and smile. "But good. Amazing, actually."

"G-glad you like 'em." he stutters. Its actually kind of cute. The way his lips purse when he's focused, The way his dirty-blonde fringe covers his forehead.

PETER! KNOCK IT OFF!

Before I know it, the bell rings and all these kids are running out the door, Ms. Griffs screaming at them to slow down. Delinquents.

I'm the last out, like always. The halls are filled with screaming high schoolers. They make me sick; girls talking about makeup, people laughing at my disability. Ew.

"Pete!" I hear a familiar voice calls. I turn my head to see the other friend I made today, Brendon. I give him a smile as he approaches me. "I don't get it." He grumbles while eyeing me, head to toe.

"What?" I ask. Did I do something wrong? Is he one of those defensive kids that wants me to stay away from his friends? Does he just want to talk? What if I messed up and didn't notice?

"He talked to you. He actually talked to you." Brendon's eyes are as confused as mine. He drew in his bottom lip and let out a breath. "It took weeks to get him to budge with me, but he actually had a conversation with you on the first day!" At this point, I'm confused as hell. Who is he talking about?

"Who are you talking about?" I think I know who, but just to clarify, I had to ask that. I don't know what's so weird with talking, though. If you don't want to, you don't have to.

"Patrick! You actually got him to talk to you. You have no idea how much of an accomplishment that is! Stick with him, Pete. You're good for him." Brendon gives me a little snicker and walks off.

Why is it such an accomplishment? Patrick is a normal kid. Nothing stopping him, but shyness.

I hope

--a/n--

Pete's cute tbh. He makes me happy.

That backstory THO :/

I'm proud of my friend because she got noticed by THE senpai!!

I love you my Carcrashovercastyoungbloods

-Emily aka foblvr