He keeps staring at me.

I don't know what the hell this is, but about three weeks after I transferred into St. Mary's Catholic School this guy has had his eyes staked to me. Every time, I swear, I look up, he's making porn faces at me and fucking groaning like he's in pain and he loves it every fucking time I give him the stink eye. I don't know who the fuck he is, it's like the teachers don't even see him, I mean, what the actual fuck. I don't know if he's messing with me, if he wants to fuck me, or if he likes me; I mean, who the fuck does that?

So after English I asked Ray what the hell was this weirdo's deal. Ray knows all the shit at this school, as well as most of the people. I theorize it's his fucking clown-ass smile people like. I don't know, It was some scary shit.

"Oh.” He says, like I’m stupid for not knowing, “His family owns a lot of the land around here." His face twists when I make a frustrated expression like that response was an award winning explanation. He annoys me to hell that way. I keep glaring at him, hoping he'll catch on, but he shrugs and rushes into a classroom, leaving me in the dust.

Aw shit, I'm getting eye-fucked by a creepy guy. I shudder as the thought run its slimy fingers over my brain. Who's dad seems to own the money in this town. Shit. I stop for a moment, wondering how I could possibly get this creep off of me, when the bell rung. I was late for class, which was very fortunately placed clear on the other side of the school campus. My life rocks.

I run-walk across the asphalt, inhaling deeply through my nose as that sweetly smoky smell of drizzled rain filled the cool air. I hated the way my checkered backpack weighted me down, by last period it always seemed about seven pounds heavier. I was nearing the lockers, when an icy gust swept through violently, shaking me down into my bones.

Holy shit, it is fucking cold for September. My hands gripped the lapels of my blazer tighter around my small frame. I liked it though. It sharpened things, made everything seem stronger, more distinct, instead of just having the heat and humidity wear things down, rendering them blunt. I liked the biting chill and the rain pelting my face. It hurt, and I liked it.

It hurt, and I liked it. Ain’t that right, Frankie? How bad was it that I was laughing really hard about that? That–however how insane–those thoughts revealed themselves to be bitterly truthful and deeper than I let on, to myself and outside.

I realized I had spent a good part of ten minutes wasting time in between my ears, standing in the now fat raindrops that fell in nearly one giant pour. Pulling at my now uncomfortably sticking uniform, I tumbled into the lockers, receiving a rather evil glare from the nun who kept watch of who went in and out of the lockers. I flipped a quick birdie over my shoulder, and made somewhat of an effort to hurry up and get ready for physical education.

Fortunately, all the boys had already headed out to the gym, so I didn't need to deal with the usual verbal and sometimes physical abuse. I walked as slow as I could, making sure I, being the ultimate klutz, would not fall due to my rubber soles and the wet floors.

I gripped the metal lock that hung from my locker, I twisted in my combination. 5-30-25. Yanking it downward, I groaned when the gear stuck. It was just my luck anyway; these cheap ass things never did their damn job. I pressed my forehead against the cool gray locker, and huffed my frustration out. I dragged my hand over my face, and tried again.

"Fuck my life." Gritting through clenched teeth, I banged my fists against that damned thing a few times before resting my forehead back to the locker. I fucking hated this. I shouldn't have even gone to P.E., seriously, what was I thinking? Peaches and cream, apparently.

"I can help you with that." A voice projected out from the doorway. Turning my head, but not quite lifting it off the surface of the locker, I found my eyes on a ginger haired, blue-eyed, pierced guy.

"Yeah?" I raised one eyebrow at the guy, watching at the few strands of fair hair that flew up when he blew them off his face, nodding his head to further support his words.

"Mhm. I can." He walked himself over to the lock, and fucking pulled at it the right, then the left and the goddamn thing popped open like it was spring-loaded.

"How..." His face was blank as he held up his fingers and wiggled them, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorta magic. I got jazz hands." he shook 'em in a way that caused his weirdish light orange fringe flop over into his eyes. Like he could hear my thoughts (or follow my eyes), he pushed them up and away. I chuckled, and looked at my musk smelling clothes inside the equally musky scented metal containing. Well. Fuck that.

I held out my hand, pushing the other into the pocket of my slacks, and standing up to face him directly, "Wanna ditch with me?"

He looked at my inked fingers and with shook it. He rolled his head around, glancing among the dusty, cold sweat smelling room, and nodded. "Bob Bryar, I'm new."

I narrowed my eyes. "Took your ditchin virginity of this school, little boy. Now you're my bitch." I deepened my voice and faked a husky growl while my lips pulled into a slow smirk. I swung my arm around his broad shoulders, and lowered him closer to my height, dangling off of him in an incredibly awkward way.

He straightened out, shrugged and shuffled to the door, me still attached. I grinned; just like a good bitch. I swung around his bulk a bit, before giving up and hoisting myself up on his back, over his black backpack.

"Why are you wearing a grey hoodie, Bob?" I said into his ear, laughing him hardly flinch–this guy was a fucking rock. He spun his head ninety degrees to look me in the eye, before flinging me backwards, landing my ass on the wet concrete.

"They try and put me in a blazer–I will fuck them up." I look up at him in surprise, and a sense of respect towards him just whacks me in the face. I stand up, dust off the water marks on my buttocks, and grin up at him.

"I'm going to have to punish you later for that one, bitch." I smacked a butt cheek, grabbed his backpack which had fallen off with me, and bolted into the freshman corridor, whooping and jumping. I checked at Bob over my shoulder, the corners of my lips turning up to find him standing stoically in the sprinkling precipitation, mouth slightly agape.

"Bobert! I wonder what my bitch has in here..." I sang while my left hand shook the black bag teasingly in his line of sight. I raised my eyebrows suggestively, then brought a zipper to my teeth and slowly undid it, never leaving his eyes while doing so. He rolled his eyes, and came at me, setting a steady pace.

I jumped around, then–putting on a smile sweet enough to make your teeth rot–handed him his backpack. He grunted and wiped it off like I contaminated it. “You–you ass.” He squinted when he realized he didn’t know my name. I grinned wider, and then took another swipe at his backside before scramming toward the exit near the shadowed part of the school; the exit the nuns hardly monitored due to scary crackheads smoking in the alleyway. They’re actually pretty laid-back if you get to know them.

I know what you're thinking. If I'm right, it's somewhere along the lines of, why is Frank Iero suddenly such an asshole dickface? Well, there are three things you should know about me:

1. I am an only child.

It's only natural I have virtually no sense of personal space. Like I give a shit if it freaks you out, I'm not trying to fucking violate you or anything. If there's a piece of food in your hair I'm going to fucking pick it out for you, okay? And if you're hot, I'm going to follow you around. I DO WHAT I WANT. Oh, don't look at me like that. I have needs too, y'know. I am not the first person to follow around the person of their liking before.

2. My parents are divorced.

This reason isn’t meant to sound like it does, but sometimes you can’t help how things are perceived. It might make me sound like a whiny little kid, as if I’m that innocent son who should just be happy to have two parents, and I get it, I do feel lucky for that. I feel lucky I have someone not to look up to. More specifically, my piece of shit dad.

I think it’s more of the thought, the kid inside me that put him on a fucking pedestal, wanted to be someone like him, thought him a hero. The same kid who was so fucking confused when Mom slept in a different room when Dad came home from his business trip and when Dad couldn’t look me in the eye at breakfast.

Although I’m sure this was ongoing long before I realized it, they’ve been split for about two weeks now, officially and on paper. I’m thankful my mom got rid of him.

3. My bastard dad accidentally witnessed a mob hit, which my best friend died in, and we got put in WitSec's custody, changed our names and identities, and moved to LA.

What?

It fucking sucks. We had to fake everything and my fake name is fucking Jack Antonio, my birthday is in February, what the actual hell. This whole fiasco probably was what pushed my folks over the edge and caused their marriage to collapse. I miss New Jersey. I miss the smells, the smog (not like here, the REAL stuff), the shore, the dirtiness, and fuck, the city.

I didn’t really have that many friends, not close ones at least, so that wasn’t a problem. I just hated the idea that I had to be someone I wasn’t. I couldn’t be who I was. Frank Iero no longer existed.

When Bob finally catches up with me, we’re in the neighborhood the alleyway connects to. I take a seat on the heated pavement, patting the ground next to me for him to take one too. He sighs, settles down, and stares at his feet, muttering something that sounds like, “I’m no one’s bitch…” Which I laugh at.

“If that’s correct then I’m No One.” I grin up at him as he scowls, mouth open a bit. I reach up under his chin and close it shut for him.

“Hello No One, when are you actually going to tell me your name?” I sigh resignedly, and give in. I hate this part. I always hate this part. Telling people I know who I am, even though it’s not. It makes feel like I’m a lie, my whole existence now, that’s all it is, a fucking lie. Lies, lies, lies.

“Jack. Jack Antonio.” I punch his shoulder lightly. Meanwhile, the class bell rings in the breeze. Aw, man.

“I got Maths next.” I look back up at, blank faced and lip ring glinting in the downcast sunlight. I nod and touch my lower lip, where my own ring rests, cold and moist in the drizzly weather. I remove my fingers and ruffle up Bob’s orange hair.

“I have Chem.” We both groan, and pick our shit up and head out to our classes. Skipping two classes results in parents all up in your business. Just what we didn’t need.

As I’m walking towards the sophomore corridor I turn around and yell at my new buddy. “Look for the afro man to show you the way through the light!” He makes that weird face with his slightly agape and his brow knitted together. I giggle and continue to walk to the class wear I’m more than likely to blow shit up.

One less prick in the world… I smile just as a fat raindrop lands into my eye.

Fuck.

Little did I know that from then on – with the exception of losing my identity – my life was going to change forever. Starting with that fucking raindrop.