The Haunting Of the Way Family

I go to my next class, which I am lucky enough to have it be Algebra 1. Fuck; I suck at math. The whole class I just zone, out, comforted by the fact that I’m not actually trying to pass here, just help Gerard. I suppose some kids would take the oppurtunity to act out and shit, but I’m not that kind of guy. Partially because I’m not a jerk, but mainly because I don’t want to get in trouble. Seriously, if I get yelled at, I cry. That would not be good on my reputation.
At the end of class, the teacher calls me up. He’s this middle aged man who’s relatively handsome, but who’s showing the first signs of balding. He’s pretty dry and sarcastic, and for some reason, everyone in the class really likes him and even go far enough to call him ‘Big Daddy’.
He has me stand in front of the room, introducing, “This is our new student, Frank Violante. I know he’s small…” He rests an elbow on my head, using his fist to prop his head up. The class laughs. “But give him a chance; he seems like an alright kid.”
He turns to me. “Frank? Do you want to share a little about yourself with the class?”
I’m shaking in my sneakers, but I nod, trying to remain calm. I never was good at talking in front of a lot of people. Especially peers. At least adults won’t slam you for stuttering or some shit like that, but kids are fucking brutal when it comes to it.
“I came from…. From around this area….” I begin. Fuck, that sentence was riddled with ambiguity. No one must care about me, because my vagueness doesn’t raise any questions. I consider for a second mentioning that I’m friends with Gerard, but that’s no good, seeing as he is hated or at least looked down upon by over half of the student body. “I…. I like the Beatles and Leave It To Beaver.”
I stand in front of the class, awkwardly. And that’s when it happens. I hear it as clear as a bell, I hear someone cough ‘fag’.
A couple more kids join in; I spot a bitchy looking girl with blond hair, some boy with glasses, and an Asian boy doing it. More and more pitch in until the entire class is coughing ‘Fag!’ at me, so loud that the teacher, in a panic, runs over to the door to shut it. He steps to the front of the room, standing in front of me and protectively placing a hand on my shoulder.
“HEY!” he roars. The class falls silent. I feel tears build up in my eyes, and I try my best to hold them back, but they fall. “Don’t think that I won’t give every single one of you an hour’s detention, because I will, and I am!”
I bolt out of the room, and the teacher must really feel bad for me, because there’s still like six minutes of class left, but he lets me go anyways. I hear him spit, “You should all be ashamed of yourselves” as I hurry down the hallway, finding the closest bathroom I can, entering a stall, locking myself inside, and curling up on the toilet seat to cry.
The next class is the one before lunch, so I decide to pull myself together enough to attend. I go out of the stall reluctantly, splashing some cold water on my face as I take deep breaths. As cheesy as it sounds, I know for a fact that smiling at yourself in the mirror when you feel like crap releases chemicals in your brain that make you feel better. So, I give myself a big smile before heading out to Spanish 1.
It’s around the beginning of the year, so luckily for me, the kids are still learning simple sentences. I don’t really listen, but just follow along in the book, so when the teacher asks me,
“Senor Violante, como te llamas?”
I reply with, “Um… me llamas Frank.” The class snickers, and the teacher himself seems to stifle a laugh.
“No, no Frank. It’s ‘Me llamo Frank.’ Fuck, I pronounced literally everything wrong. ‘Me’ is supposed to be like ‘may’ (I said me), and here’s the biggest what the fuck ever. Llamas is actually said as ‘yamas’. I said it like the furry terrifying animal with a crucial role in a comedy classic we all love, Napoleon Dynamite.
I’m so dying to get out of there when the bell rings. I’m at my locker, and from the corner of my eye, I see a group of kids all huddled up and pointing at me. Those little shits think they’re being inconspicous. I slam my books down, yelling,
“I know you’re talking about me!”
The kids stop, shocked, and watch me as I put the rest of my things away, scraping my books off of the ground as I storm off towards the cafeteria.
I’m so dying to see Gerard when I get there. He’s already eating, but the food looks pretty gross, so he’s mainly just pushing it around with his spoon. He brightens when he sees me approach, but his smile falls when he sees how upset I am.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Fucking, you know what?! Kids… suck!” I declare.
Gerard smiles knowingly, pushing his tray to the side and taking my hands. “So it was that kind of day, huh?”
I nod, sharing, “Everyone in math called me a fag, and then in Spanish I looked like an idiot and….” I slam my head on the table, murmuring, “I have no fucking clue how you manage to do this everyday.”
“Imagine doing it with the initiative to do well,” Gerard retorts, propping his chin up under his fist. He pokes me in the shoulder with his fork, comforting, “Hey, bud. The day’s halfway over. And, we spend the last half hour together.”
He smiles at me as I look up at him. “You can do this, Frankie.”
I really hope he’s right.

Notes

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