Greendayluver4ever's Journals

omg i'm hooked

ok....so maybe i'm lame but recently i've been like totally hooked on jackass and viva la bam. plz tell me i'm not the only one :) none of my friends get it. they're too into anime and such. i like anime too but sometimes it gets a little...odd. p.s. if ur ever looking to waste 2 minutes of ur life, go to youtube and search "chinese rap cky" it's fucking HILARIOUS!!!! pps- sorry I haven't been on for like almost a year i swear. I'll try to go on more often :)

So Close...Yet So Far Chapter 2-Ryan, Brendon, and Gerard

Sorry I couldn't come up with a very creative name for this chapter. Now it may seem unrealistic that people like Gerard and Ryan are in the story as they are way younger in reality compared to Billie Joe, Tre and Mike. But that's why it's fan FICTION, not fan FACT. That would be really boring. Well, anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter 2- Ryan, Brendan, and Gerard

Billie Joe's POV

As I walked through the door into the school, I saw the usual scene. Cheerleaders doing each other's hair and makeup. Jocks talking about football and how great they are. Nerds playing chess from a chess board coming out of one of their lockers. Wait, that wasn't normal. How do you get a chess board in your locker? Well, anyway, as I was wondering where to go, a voice came over the intercom. "Will all new students report to Mrs. Wilson's office, room 209. That's all". I really don't know why I was doing what they told me to do, as I usually don't listen to authority, but I kinda need to know where to go and where my locker was. So I looked on a school map that was hanging on the wall and found room 209.

The principalâ�™s office looked like it was stuck in the 70â�™s with itâ�™s mostly brown interior. There was a huge filing cabinet in one of the corners. Some of the cabinet drawers had pad locks on them. Man, I wonder what was in there.

Well, anyway I noticed I wasnâ�™t the only new student in the room. There were 3 nerdy looking kids, a thuggish looking guy, a ghetto-looking chick, and a hippy dude. Then Mrs. Wilson the principal came in. She looked like your average principal, with her hair in a tight bun, her tweed suit, and her glasses perched neatly on the tip of her nose.

She gave a tiny smile and said, â�œWelcome, new students. Iâ�™m Elizabeth Wilson, the principal of Oakland High. I hope you all will feel welcomed in your new school. I have a packet of important information for each of you. It contains a map of the school, a class schedule, your locker number, and some other helpful important information. Letâ�™s see nowâ�¦ummmâ�¦Larissa Jones?â� The ghetto girl looked up, nodded and took the packet thing that the principal gave her. â�œCornelius Harrison IV?â� Mrs. Wilson said as one of the nerdy kids came up and got his. She handed out all the packets until I was the only one left. â�œAhâ�¦ you must be Mr. Armstrong.â� She said while giving me a weird look. I didnâ�™t respond. I just came up, took it, and left.

I was so glad to be out of there, The Cornelius guy kept staring at me. It was kind of creepy actually.

I walked through the halls looking for my locker, #265. After about 5 minutes of searching, I finally found it. As I was putting away my stuff, 3 guys came and talked by the locker next to me.

â�œHey, Iâ�™ve never seen you before. Are you new?â� one of them said to me. I shut my locker and turned towards them. â�œYea,â� I replied. â�œCool. Well, Iâ�™m Gerard,â� said the one who talked to me. He had messy, sort of longish black hair and was wearing a black shirt with a red tie. â�œIâ�™m Billie Joe,â� I said. â�œOh, this is Ryan,â� Gerard said, indicating to the guy on his left. He had dark brown hair that was sort of choppy and was wearing a blue shirt the said The Beatles on it. â�œAnd thatâ�™s Brendan,â� Gerard said, pointing to the smiling, waving, hyper guy on his right. He had hair like Ryan, except it wasnâ�™t choppy, and he was wearing a shirt that said â�œIâ�™m a Pepperâ� on it.

â�œSo, what school did you go to before?â� Ryan asked. â�œUmmmâ�¦ St. Agnes Preparatory School,â� I said embarrassed. They all started laughing, really hard. â�œA prep school?!?â� Gerard exclaimed. â�œYa, I know,â� I said, â�œIt was hell.â� â�œYa Iâ�™m sure it was,â� Ryan said, â�œThe people there are stupid, gay snobs.â� â�œWow, sounds even worse than here,â� Gerard said as 3 skanky cheerleaders walked by and one said â�œOmigod, I love your pants!â�

â�œYouâ�™ve been unusually quiet today, Brendan,â� Ryan said. â�œReally?â� Brendan said, â�œMust be because I didnâ�™t have my coffee today.â�

â�œSo, do you know Joe Hahn?â� Brendan asked me. â�œYa, he was part of the band I was in.â� I said. â�œCool.â� said Brendan â�œHeâ�™s my neighbor. I know he went to that snob school because he always complained about it.â� â�œWhat was your band called?â� Ryan asked me. â�œAcid Rain,â� I replied. â�œOh yea! I remember you!â� Brendan said, â�œYou guys were at Battle of the Bands at that one club downtown. I was there too. You see, me and Mr. Ross here,â� he said as he put his arm on Ryanâ�™s shoulders,â� have a band called Panic! at the Disco.â� I thought for a moment as Ryan shrugged off Brendanâ�™s arm and mumbled â�œThatâ�™s weird, dude.â� â�œOh yea, I remember you guys, too. You were pretty good.â� â�œThanks. But that one terrible screamo band won though. The Gay Squirrels or something like that.â� Ryan said. I laughed â�œHaha, yea I definitely remember them.â�

Just then a bell rang. â�œWell, thatâ�™s the homeroom bell,â� said Gerard â�œwhose homeroom are you in?â� â�œUmmmâ�¦â� I said as I looked for the homeroom sheet, â�œMr. Bennes.â� â�œSame here,â� said Ryan. Brendan leaned over and looked at the homeroom sheet. â�œShit, Iâ�™m with Professor Edward, â�œ he said. â�œHaha,â� laughed Gerard. â�œI wouldnâ�™t be laughing if I were you. Youâ�™re in Professor Edwardâ�™s homeroom, too,â� Brendan said. â�œWhat?!?â� Gerard exclaimed as he snatched the sheet out of my hands â�œShit, youâ�™re right! God, this is going to be torture!â� â�œWhoâ�™s Professor Edward?â� I asked. â�œThe crazy science teacher,â� Ryan replied. â�œWell, we better get going,â� Brendan said â�œCatch ya later.â� Gerard and Brendan walked down the hallway (well, Brendan was kind of skipping) while Ryan stayed by the locker next to mine, which I was guessing was his.

As he was putting his stuff in his locker, I noticed he had a picture of him and a pretty, brown-haired girl. â�œIs that your girlfriend?â� I asked â�œSheâ�™s pretty hot.â� Ryan looked at the picture, then looked at me and then back at the picture. Then he suddenly burst out laughing. â�œNo, thatâ�™s my sister!!!!â� Ryan exclaimed. â�œOh,â� I said, extremely embarrassed, â�œwoops, Iâ�™m sorry.â� That wasnâ�™t exactly a question you ask someone you just met anyway. Ryanâ�™s smile slowly faded and was replaced with a sad expression. â�œShe killed herself last year,â� he said in a bitterly sad voice. â�œOh, thatâ�™s terrible. Iâ�™m so sorry.â� I said. â�œYea it was hard. We were pretty close, too. Iâ�™m still trying to get over it.â� he said. â�œWell, we should probably go to homeroom now.â� he said, breaking the moment of awkward silence.

I followed Ryan to a classroom a short distance down the hallway. Inside, there was a scene of absolute chaos. Awesome. Guys were throwing balled-up paper at each other. Girls were, of course, gossiping and putting on makeup. A nerd was getting hung up on a door by his underwear by 3 bully dudes. A guy and a chick were even making out in the back of the room. Ok, yea that was a little weird. All through this, Mr. Bennes was sleeping, his feet on his desk.

Ryan headed straight to the back of the room where 2 guys were playing bloody knuckles and one guy watched. â�œHey Pete. Hey Patrick. Hey Ray,â� Ryan said to them. Only the guy watching said â�˜hiâ�™ back. The other two were too concentrated on hitting the otherâ�™s knuckle at just the right moment. â�œOh yea,â� Ryan said â�œThis is Billie Joe. Heâ�™s new.â� â�œHey,â� I said to the guy watching, as he was obviously the only one paying attention. â�œHey, Iâ�™m Ray,â� he said. He had a big, curly, red afro and was wearing a black shirt. One of the guys playing bloody knuckles turned his head toward us. â�œOh, hi Ryan. I didnâ�™t notice you were there.â� While he wasnâ�™t paying attention, the other guy hit his knuckles hard, causing them to bleed. â�œOh my god! What the fuck, Pete?!?â� the guy yelled, rubbing his bleeding knuckles. Pete was too busy laughing to care. â�œSo, youâ�™re Billie Joe, right?â� asked the dude, who I was guessing was Patrick. â�œYepâ� â�œWell, Iâ�™m, Patrick,â� (***duh***) he said. He was short, sort of fat, had really big side burns, and was wearing a hat that said â�˜I Y Bingoâ�™ on top of his messy, brown-blonde hair. â�œIâ�™m Pete,â� said, well, Pete. He had black hair that hung over one eye, was pretty tanned, and had really straight, white teeth.

â�œSo, Iâ�™m guessing you like the Ramones,â� Ray said. I glanced down at my shirt and then replied â�œYeah, theyâ�™re fucking awesome.â� Ray nodded and said â�œCool. I like them, too.â� â�œI was listening to them this morning,â� Ryan added â�œin my car on the way down here.â� â�œLucky!â� Patrick exclaimed â�œAll I listened to this morning was a stupid rap song. You know, the one where they say â�˜YEAH!!!â�™ a lot.â� I started laughing. â�œHaha, yeah I heard that one too. Itâ�™s so retarded itâ�™s funny.â� Patrick had done a perfect impression of the â�œYEAH!!!!â�, making it hard to stop laughing.

Then about 3 or 4 gossipping girls walked over to where we were. A really short one with dark hair, who seemed to be their leader, said angrily â�œHello, Pete.â� Pete repled in the same tone, â�œHello, bitch, whoops, I mean Sarah.â� Sarahâ�™s mouth dropped open in disbelief, as did the mouths of her entourage. Well, one of them, a tall, very thin, gawky-looking one, looked really drunk and already had her mouth open the whole time and never closed it. Sarah closed her mouth, clenched her teeth, and then said, slightly calmer but still angry â�œRemember in 7^th grade when you called us a bunch of slutty dumbasses?â� â�œNo,â� Pete answered â�œWhy would I remember something from 7^th grade? But now that you mention it, if I did say that, I definitely donâ�™t regret it because itâ�™s true.â� â�œWell,â� Sarah said back â�œthen do you remember at junior prom when you called Erin an mfâ�™n retard?â� â�œOh yeah!â� Pete said, laughing â�œThat was hilarious, right Pat?â� Patrick, also laughing, nodded. Once Pete had regained control he continued happily, â�œYep, and Iâ�™m sure happy about it! And I believe the correct term I used was â�˜mother fuckingâ�™ not â�˜mfâ�™n.â� The girls gasped in disbelief and shock, appalled apparently that Pete would swear like that. â�œWell,â� Erin, the drunk girl, said with a slight slur â�œ that was mean.â� â�œSo?â� asked Pete defiantly. â�œWell, maybe youâ�™re just ummmmâ�¦ stupid!â� retaliated Erin, obviously thinking that was an insult. â�œOh, how will I ever recover from such a hurtful insult?â� replied Pete, in a mock hurt voice. â�œYou guys are seriously getting annoying.â� Pete continued â�œAnd if all youâ�™re going to do is bring up stuff that happened years ago, you might as well leave me and my friends alone and get lost.â� â�œFine, maybe we will!â� yelled an angry Sarah. â�œBye retards.â� Pete said as they walked away. â�œDonâ�™t drink too much Erin!â� Patrick added. The girls just looked at each other, made that weird huffy sound girls make when theyâ�™re mad, the drunk girl said â�œOh my god! What the heck?â�, and walked away (finally!). Sarah lingered, giving Pete one last evil glare, and then hurried up to join the rest of her posse.

â�œUm, ok then!â� I said. â�œYeah, theyâ�™re weird. They just spend their days gossiping about people, planning their evil, maniacal plans to bring people they donâ�™t like down, and bring up stuff that happened years ago, hoping that it embarrasses you in some way.â� Pete explained. â�œUnfortunately, weâ�™ve been in their same class for a long time.â� Patrick added â�œWe make fun of them a lot and â�œinsultâ� (he put air-quotes around the word) them for no reason, so they really hate us. But, câ�™mon, how can you resist poking fun at weird people like them?â� â�œYeah,â� Pete laughed â�œEspecially Erin.â� He then did a really accurate impression of her, mouth open and with a drunk, vacant expression, saying â�œWhat?â�

â�œDid you have weird people like that at your old school?â� Ray asked. Oh god. Here we go again. â�œYeah, but a lot worse. I sort of ummmmâ�¦â� I tried putting of the rest of the sentence for as long as I could â�œwent to a prep school.â� I finished, embarrassedly. They all looked at me for a moment, like as if they thought they had heard me wrong (well, except for Ryan, he had heard this before). Then they all started laughing really hard, exclaiming the usual â�œReally? Are you kidding me?â� and â�œGod, that would be torture! Worse than here!â�

Once again, another bell rang. Everybody finished their conversations, got their stuff, and grudgingly started heading towards the door. Iâ�™m guessing that meant class was starting. â�œHooray,â� said Ryan sarcastically. â�œWhat class are you in first?â� Ray asked me. â�œUmmmâ�¦ I donâ�™t know,â� I said while fumbling for my schedule. â�œOh, here we go. English.â� Patrick gasped and went â�œBUM, BUM, BUM!!!â� â�œWhat?â� I asked, confused. I looked at all of them. All 4 had mock scared looks on their faces. â�œMrs. Meyer is evil!â� Patrick exclaimed. â�œShe gives you a super-long report to write like every week.â� Ryan said. â�œAnd it has to be perfect.â� Ray added. â�œAnd if you donâ�™t do your homework, you get,â� Pete said in a suspense-filled voice, and then looked at Patrick, who again supplied the â�œBUM, BUM, BUM!!!â� thing again. â�œDETENTION!â� everyone declared at the same time. â�œReally?â� I said. I couldnâ�™t help but be disappointed. If this whole thing was supposed to psych me out and get me scared, they were doing a bad job of it. Detention? Câ�™mon, I spent almost the whole school year in detention last year, mostly because me, Joe, Mike, and Chester â�œvandalizedâ� the school by spray painting it. Detention definitely didnâ�™t scare me. â�œOk, fine,â� Pete admitted in defeat â�œNo, you just have to write a report on why you didnâ�™t do it.â� â�œWhich is actually probably worse,â� Ryan put in.

By now we were close to the door. As I was walking out, Patrick whispered â�œbum, bum, bum!â� again, Ray said â�œbe very afraidâ� and Ryan said â�œgood luckâ� By now, I sort of was afraid.

I got my stuff from my locker, looked at the school map, and found the English room. Thank god, it was on the same floor. I walked down a hallway or two until I came to a door declaring: Room 311- Mrs. Meyer- English. I walked inside, awaiting my doom. Just kidding. I wasnâ�™t that scared. At least I donâ�™t think so.

So Close...Yet So Far Chapter 1-The First Day

So, I'm finally gonna write it! This is my first fan fic, so it might turn out really crappy. It's basically about Billie Joe, who's 17 or 18 going to high school and all the stuff he does. That's kinda vague, but you have to read the story! Also, if any of you have comments, criticisms (i'm sure there will be many) or suggestions, write them in the comments space. P.S. The beginning's kinda weird, but I couldn't think of a better way to start it.*****************************************************

So Close...Yet So Far

Chapter 1-The First Day

Billie Joe's POV

BEEP!

I sleepily rolled over and turned off my beeping alarm clock. I dreaded getting up, especially today. Just then, my mom, who is actually more annoying than my alarm clock came in. "Billie," she said in her usual annoyingly happy tone of voice,"You don't want to be late for your first day at your new school!" That's exactly why I didn't want to get up. I had switched schools about 4 times and each time sucked more than the last. Last time, it was a prep school. "Ok then, I guess you'll just have to stay home with me than." At that I rushed out of bed and into the bathroom. Going to school with stupid posers and preps is way better than staying home with your mom who's like living in happy land.

I guess I should tell a little about myself. My name's Billie Joe Armstrong. I'm 17 and I live with my mom, Barb, my dad, Mark and my older sister Jennifer. Me and my friends at my old school had a band called Acid Rain. Cool name, huh? I was the guitarist, Chester was the singer, Mike was the drummer and Joe was the bassist. We were about the only kids in school who didn't have million dollar houses and Bentley's. Hey, it was a prep school, what do you expect? I'm 5'6", and I have messy or sometimes spiky black hair and green eyes. I suppose you could call me a punk or an emo or whatever, at least I'm not a stupid poser.

Well, anyway, I took a shower and got dressed in my usual sort of stuff: a Ramones shirt, black skinny pants, black stud belt and converse. Then I went down for breakfast. I saw my dad drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, upside down. My mom was talking and laughing in her usual annoying way to someone on the phone. Just as I was pouring a bowl of Cocoa Puffs (my favorite cereal), my older sister Jennifer came downstairs. She's your stereotypical California girl: dumb and blond. Actually her blond hair is fake. She used to have black hair but then she dyed it because she said everyone thought she was emo. "Mom, I'm like going tanning today, OK?" My mom just nodded and laughed at something the person she was talking to said. "If you tan anymore you'll look like a carrot," I said. It's true: she was already sort of orangeish. "Whatever little bro. At least I don't look sick and pale like you and all those other emo freaks." she said in her annoying Valley Girl voice. I just rolled my eyes and continued reading an article in the paper about some guy in Wisconsin who built a house out of cheese. I looked at the clock and saw it was almost 7:45. I guess I better get going. Going to school is better than listening to my dad talk about the stockmarket going up, my sister complain about how many calories are in a slice of bread or my mom laugh and talk loudly to somebody on the phone. So I grabbed my car keys and left.

My car is a piece of shit. It's an old, rusty, chipped, red (or at least I think it's red) 1975 Ford car. I got in and turned on the radio. It was some gay rap song. All I heard was: All my homies in the back say YEA!/All the girls with the booty say YEA!/ Say YEA! cuz my bling's so pimped out..."What the fuck?" I looked to see what CD's I had in here. I saw Quadrophenia by The Who under the passenger seat and decided to listen to that. Soon I found myself singing along to 5:15. "Why should I care, why should I care?/Why should I care, why should I care?/Girls of fifteen/Girls of fifteen" Funny how The Who can put me in a better mood. I was rocking out to "The Rock" when I suddenly looked up and saw the school, Oakland High School. I sighed, turned off my car and looked up at my prison for the next year. I finally walked up the front steps to the door, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

My idea

Hey people! I got a great idea about 2 days ago. I'm gonna attempt to write a fanfic. I already have ideas, but I'm too tired to write them now. This is a very weird journal entry but
who cares! Of course my story is gonna be about these awesome guys (with a few other great people from other bands) but mostly about Billie Joe. Look back later!

Peace out!