Pop Songs For Us Rejects

Notes: Hi everyone :) It's Morgan, and I've adopted Future's fanfic, Pop Songs for Us Rejects! I do not own chapters one through three, that was her work, and from there on is mine. Please do not accuse me of plagiarism because I will laugh. I have been given permission. Just as well, I quickly beta'd each chapter, because I'm a whore about spelling and grammar mistakes.

I do not own the song Pop Songs for Us Rejects by Silverchair, Panic! At the Disco, or Naruto.

Chapter 2: The Morning After.

Sit tight, I'm gonna need you to keep time
C'mon, just snap, snap, snap your fingers for me
Good, good, now we're making some progress
Come on just tap, tap, tap your toes to the beat…

(The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage – Panic! At The Disco)

Gaara's POV:

Hey Sasuke, do you tap, tap, tap your toes to the beat? I wonder sitting almost right behind him in the green school bus we're currently riding. I'm on the other side in the lines of seat, so I got a perfect view of him, if I wanted to stare that is. But then again, who wouldn't? He's a wet dream for the web scene to quote a certain band currently blasting from my too big headphones, the kind that makes you look all alien-like. Sasuke isn't the type to tap anything though. I wonder what he listens to, death metal perhaps? But then again, no. He has short hair, no spiked scary bracelets and he doesn't look like he has intentions to kill, or well the back of his head doesn't look like it any way.

I snort a little too loudly at my own thoughts and some brown-haired kid with interesting red streaks down his cheeks stares at me from the other side of the bus. I stare back at him for a moment, noticing the kid besides him, sitting all slouched down with a big dark green beanie covering most of his head, and with tests of darkbrown-ish hair sticking out around his face. Pretty cute, he is.

I smile and wink a little at the first mentioned kid, earning myself a terrified look from him. Way to go Gaara, just scare the newcomers. See, we're all on our way to the newly build Konoha high blaha…blaha, long ass shit name. Who cares, its just school… God I wonder what's up with my attitude today. Someone must have slipped Prozac into my juice this morning or something; usually I'm not this cherry. Well, I'm not exactly like emo-kid over there, Sasuke with other words, but I got my ups and downs too.

So school, I wonder what this year will be like. There's going to be so much people, I mean two high schools becoming one, it can't turn out any other way than in chaos. At least things will get mixed up now, I guess. Points of view will be changed, but somehow I doubt people will change their thoughts about me; I am weird no matter what. But maybe I won't stick out like a sore thumb this year, maybe I'll find other weirdoes to hang out with, maybe, just maybe this year I'll be okay.

I smile tapping my feat to the beat, god this song is catchy. Sasuke's head is bobbing up and down gently too. So he's probably listening to something, if not, then he has become a retard over the summer. I doubt we're listening to the same band though, any less the same song. But what a cool coincidence that would be, a perfect conversation starter, 'cause yeah, it's hard talking to him normally. Those drownable eyes and that dark hair always falling in his face makes me stutter, and blush, makes awkwardness climb into my clothes and take over. I mumble gibberish and run for my life. It's a fact emo-kids, especially Sasuke suck; they're too cute for their own good.

Ah, to hell with him for now, concentrate on the song instead. Who the hell taps their toes to the beat either way? Dumbly I try and wriggle my own toes inside my black skate shoes in tact with the music, it feels odd and I see my reflection in the bus mirror smiling idiotically and the kid I winked at still looks shocked. Man, he must be sensitive; I wave at him and instantly his eyes dart away.

Shikamaru's POV:

I actually like riding the bus, I can zone out without having to excuse myself for not paying attention for once. Because everyone knows that riding the bus everyday to school is the most boring thing ever, they don't expect you to blabber all the way. And I got Kiba beside me, he'll take care of the talking with random kids were kind of-supposed to know-might have had the same classes with-or simply live next door to that stops on their way down in the bus to chitchat. Kiba likes talking, I don't mind talking but I guess I'm one of those that never say anything unless I really feel I have something to say. Anti-social some might say, but I don't care. I glance over at Kiba to pass some time and he's blushing for some weird reason or another.

There's too much red on one person I muse looking Kiba over, his tribal-streaks, my red t-shirt he's wearing and that blush on his cheeks, it makes him look over heated. Poor thing, I almost feel sorry for him. Wonder what makes him heat up like that? It can't be the kiss he's embarrassed about still, true, it freaked me out madly, and it still does, because he is Kiba, my best friend and nothing else. I'm not supposed to be attracted to him at all; I'm not supposed to think about the way my shirt fits on him, that it's a little too tight, and clings a little too nicely to his chest.

Abruptly I bang my head against the dirty window to the make bad thoughts go away. Kiba jumps beside me at the thud my head makes hitting the window and looks at me bewildered. He really must be nervous, Kiba never ever flinches, he's always ready for new challenges, new tries. I admire him for that, therefore I smile weakly at him from underneath my hat, trying to reassure him everything's okay. I'm not acting strange at all; my body does not, and I repeat, does not tingle because he is sitting so close. Damn hormones, I grit my teeth and Kiba grins amused at me, shaking his shaggy haired head, the blush lowered to a faint pink now, barely noticeable on his tanned skin.

Almost everyone calls high school hell, Kiba included there, but I don't know. Sure deal its school and school's never fun. Homework and all that, but is there really a real reason to hate it? I used to say I hated school because of the other kids and their evil words, but I learnt not to care, or maybe I just got thicker skin as years passed by and I got someone to hide behind, Kiba. Seriously, I don't think it's that bad. Maybe because I never get pushed about my grades, I never have anyone pressuring me about doing better, but then again, I don't have any goals either. And somewhere deep down inside of me, I know I can't spend my life like this. Youth doesn't last forever; this right now doesn't last forever. I let my eyes sweep over the sun baked bus, the dust dancing around smiling faces, sulking faces, kids I know, kids I might get to know, the different type of music leaking out from headphones all over the bus, the constant murmur, t-shirts sticking against warm backs, nervousness vibrating all around, the smell of sweat and flowery perfume in the air, anticipation, stress, eagerness, wanting, needing, so much things, so little time. It sounds retarded, but these are our years, our chance to be somebody before turning into adults and god forbid mini version of our parents.

That's one of the biggest things I'm scared of, living in the past like my parents do. They refuse to let go of those days that used to be. I don't mind remembering but I believe in change. I think one has to change to learn new things and sometimes I do think too much. Kiba tells me so, and I know it myself. Too many hours spent in that window, letting thoughts drift by the wind and the music tone out the world. But I know nothing else, and sometimes I wonder if I even want something else.

I like walking along concrete sidewalks, chewing gum, not caring if I'm late for dinner, talking about starting a band with Kiba, the sun getting caught in our eyes and laughter never far away. The times when every day is a new melody and we still don't have to get all the notes right, those days we're soon leaving behind us. Old bonds will be broken, scattered like they never meant anything, college awaits by the horizon, girlfriends, boyfriends, houses, cats and dogs, work, getting paid more, buying a new television, all the little things will be wiped out and replaced by other things. And even if I say I believe in change, I'm scared I'll be the only one clinging on to those little things, like now, riding the bus on a too hot Tuesday morning, or hanging upside down from a tree looking at the world from a different angle.

Sasuke's POV:

It's too fucking hot in here, my sweater itches but I can't take it off. It's oh so obvious I got things to hide, so go on stereotype me. God damn it, I know I'm emo, for fucks sake I know I'm screaming emo. But does it look like I care?

Well, I might do, but I don't, really I don't. I can stand by myself; I don't need anyone, not now, not ever again. I sink lower into the seat and stare right ahead, I wish looks could kill, or at least burn holes. Angrily I kick the orange seat in front of me; not giving a damn if there sits someone or not, I might just enjoy getting beat up right now.

Hopefully I'll bleed and it'll hurt a lot, and there will be scabs to pick on later, wounds to get inflamed, something to be miserable about. But, wow, who is surprised, I manage to kick the only empty seat in the entire bus. Luck must be on my side today, or not.

Suddenly I feel sick, my stomach twists and I regret not eating breakfast. I shouldn't be skipping meals, one of the doctors told me so, they told me shitload of things. Not that I paid attention though, I claim to have a short attention span, they can't blame me for not remembering all those rules. Don't cut, don't think negative, don't blame yourself, don't that, and don't that. What are they, retarded? They don't understand I need this. I need the suffering; I need pain to clear away things, to erase the memories. Therapy my ass, I almost got molested there anyway; I've had enough of hands touching me when I don't want to.

It's a wonder they let me start school again, but obviously they consider me stable enough now, obviously I'm okay again. Ready to face the world, summers been wiped away. Yay, here I come, see me smile! I want to make new friends, come on hug me! I won't flinch away a million miles and suppress tears that threatens to burst, no not at all. I'm perfectly, wonderfully, fantastically, beautifully fucking okay, the doctors says so, and mommy dearest says so. She also tells to go to school and make her proud. Hell yeah, she has something to be proud of, daddy dearest. God I hate him, that disgusting son of a bitch.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, not now. My breath hikes up a few steps and I try to calm down, try to listen to the song playing, closing my eyes, and not thinking about the past. I'll make it through the day, it's only a few hours, and then I'm free. I can wander around for a while and then go home and hopefully nick some sleeping pills from mommy dearest and then I'll be off to dreamland. No need to worry about tomorrow yet, just get through the day. Damn it Sasuke, one day, you can do it. Itachi could do it all those years, be brave now, if not for yourself at least for him.

I can't believe mommy dearest pretends nothing ever happened. How she can continue with the illusion shattered. I hate her too, I fucking hate everything and I curse too much. Daddy dearest didn't like my foul mouth; he said it destroyed the prettiness that is me. If he only knew he destroyed that along time ago, asshole. I'm practically boiling, my insides feeling like they're about to explode. Why me of all people in the whole world, I never wanted to be played with. The only thing that's remotely positive in this shitty excuse for a life is that he is gone now, and probably will be forever. It's only me and mommy dearest left and whatever man she decides to bring home for the night.

I'm so tired, my eyes hurt so much, and it feels like the bus never will arrive to the stupid, dumb, crap school. Someone's in a very bad mood I realize, before stopping my intense glaring at the seat before me. Instead look around the bus, I have to think about something else or I might go crazy. There's a lot of new kids, but that's only good, 'cause then they won't know so much about me, or my past, they won't ask so many stupid questions about Itachi. My look around stops at Gaara, the only one I recognize. He seems to be totally lost in his own little world, practically almost dancing in his seat. He looks carefree and for one second I wish I could sit beside him, looking the same. An almost smile tugs at the corners of my lips when I see the red hearts stitched on the knees of his dark blue jeans. I'd lie if I'd say they aren't cute, I'd lie if I say he isn't cute. But attachment isn't my thing; I've given up on that, given up on love. Oh, didn't that sound poetic?

Maybe I should drag my emo-ass over to him and declare my un-dying love, ending it with slitting my wrists (once move I should add there) and fall down dead, blood trickling it's way down my thin arms, scars visible for everyone to see, my dark extremely long eyelashes (or so I have heard) casting dramatic shadows across my pale, oh so pale cheeks. And Gaara would fall down to his knees, gently holding my fragile frame, weeping over lost love. Tears will fall from his dark lined eyes, smudging the eyeliner, but it won't look trashy, it'll look beautiful and perfect. He'll cry silently, wondering why he never saw me before, why he never noticed. Time will stand still and regret will burn in everyone. I'll be gone, I'll be free.

Oh, god, give me a life! Please, I pray slamming my head against the back of my seat, this is fucking absurd, fantasying about my own death in the stupidest way ever. It seems my sudden movement breaks Gaara's trance and he glances briefly at me. When I met his eyes a small twitchy insecure smile crosses his face and then he dives for his bag beside him. Not fast enough though, I saw the blush. I love Gaara's bag I decide after following his rummaging around in it, trying to catch a glimpse of those big green eyes once again. It's flower printed, hear that flower printed in flashy colors! I want one of those; of course mine would be dyed black to hide the colors, more morbid you know. But still, the flowers. I'd admire any guy that dares to walk around with a flower-printed messenger bag. Le sigh, now I'm obsessed with flower print too. I think I took to many anti-depressives this morning. Fuck, fuck, fuck again, the bus is coming to a halt, and the schools yellow. I hate yellow, fuck it, I hate every damn color in the world. They sting in my eyes, yeah, go on, paint it black. Paint the whole fucking world black.

Kiba's POV:

We're here now, and I'm practically chewing my nails down to their roots. I'm so nervous I might die, and Shika's not helping. He's acting über strange, and when he's not doing that he's staring out the window, almost hiding. It's not like him to be nervous, and I know for sure he's a guy so it can't be PMS, but it must be something. Either that, or Shika has been kidnapped by aliens and this is some kind of crappy replacement. Somehow I doubt that, and I'm not so thick I'd really believe in that kind of story. Really, I'm not!

I think I checked the mirror ten times before I went outside to met Shika and wait for the bus this morning. I've done my best. Kiba the lean, mean, sex machine, I hope the girls will think so too. I couldn't ask Shika what he thought, that'd be too gay. Especially after yesterdays, um, happenings. We didn't kiss again, everything just kind of went back to normal and I got the shirt. Thank god, because I checked, we were out of washing powder.

I haven't seen any cute girls on the bus yet, though. Just the scary redheaded guy beside me. I swear the guy winked at me, and he looks all strange. Hearts on his jeans, girly bag and I think he's wearing eyeliner, well I'm pretty sure he is. But that's, that's like obscene, in most quarters you'd get lynched for that. Sure, I bet there were some kids on my old school that wore eyeliner too, but they were like darkly dressed, gothic. For goodness sake they didn't have light blue t-shirts, they didn't have short-longish hair extremely red hair. With short longish I mean it's really messy, and yeah, it's ugh, for lack of better words short longish. Parts of his bangs keeps on falling in his eyes, while other parts are shorter and all spiky, and I don't know why I even bother with his hair, maybe because it looks all silky?

Ah, shit, he just waved at me again. Hide, Kiba, hide, the freak-show is after you!

Slowly we make our way out of the bus, a million or so kids gathering outside the new school. It looks humongous and I wonder if I'll ever find my way around here. Me, Shika, freak-show and some other kid that looks like he'll break apart any minute stands together. Apparently the headmistress is about to hold some kind of speech or something. There's people everywhere, and hell yeah, a lot, and then I really mean a lot of girls. Apparently I'm staring because Shika tugs my arm, telling me to wipe away the drool. He looks mildly annoyed, and again I wonder what's wrong with him. The depressed kid, and yes, he's clad all I black smirks at me noticing Shika's comment. Choosing to ignore him, he looks pathetic either way; I turn my back against him and stare at the goodness that just climbed the speech holding thing. Wow, she looks good!