Wanna Be Somebodies

FRANK’S P.O.V.
Gerard obviously isn’t like himself, and almost every one of our friends have caught on by the end of breakfast. Coulter, being the most direct out of any of us (to a fault), addresses this almost immediately, “Gerard, you seem awfully down in the dumps. What’s bothering you?”
Gerard glares up from his plate of food, which he has not touched at all. This is worrying in itself. It’s pancakes; he loves pancakes. “Fuck off.”
Everyone at our table, including myself, about choke on whatever food we were eating. I shoot Gerard a look, but his eyes are already cast down once more.
“Incredibly hostile there,” Coulter notices. “Pair that with your lack of appetite and downright disheveled appearance, and I’d say you’re suffering from a rather tangible mood disorder.”
Gerard is seething. Coulter rambles on, “But these symptoms appeared rather suddenly, almost by an outside stressor.”
“Coulter, shut up,” I hiss, kicking his shin underneath the table. God, this kid being an encyclopedia is not helpful at the moment.
“Outside stressors include but are not limited to: natural disasters, financial problems, struggles in school, relationship problems, physical, emotional, or sexual abuse-”
Gerard storms off, cursing under his breath, “Fuck this.” He’s gone before I can reach him, so I hurry to gather my things before chasing after him.
“Gerard!” I call, jogging to try to keep up. He takes a sharp corner into a sea of bodies and I lose him. Pulling out my phone, I text him, “Coulter didn’t mean it; it’s okay.” It’s not as good as talking to him, but it’s all I can do at the moment, and that in itself drives me crazy.
All I know is at that moment, I am dreading wrestling practice.
Later that day, I sit at lunch alone, again. No one has the sheer nerve to join me; especially not after I’ve been rumored to be some sort of whiny prick that ratted on Matt and his friends. The vast majority of the wrestling team hates me, which makes practice the only thing I dread more than lunch.
I’m sitting through what is an unbearable hour when Luke approaches me. Shit, I didn’t even know he shared a lunch hour with me. “Hey, Frank.”
“Hi,” I respond cautiously. I haven’t seen a whole lot of Luke in the past day or so, with the exception of wrestling, of course. Even then, he sort of hangs back in the crowd, a perfect fly on the wall. A guy like him knows all sorts of things, I figure.
“So, don’t mind me asking but…” Luke sighs, continuing, “What’s up with Gerard?”
I tense up. “Gerard?”
Luke nods, explaining, “I’m worried about him. One of my best friends told me…” Luke’s eyes dart from side to side before he whispers, “He told me about Gerard being raped and-”
“He told you?!” I hiss.
“Calm down!” Luke insits. “He and I are the only ones that know; he only knows because he was the one who found him.”
“You don’t know who did it, right?” I check.
Luke shakes his head. “I wish; I’d like to bash the fucker’s skull in.” He’s quiet for a moment, then asking softly, “How’s Gerard?”
I shrug, confessing, “Really weird. Like super irritable and mopey and unhappy.”
“Can you blame him?”
I frown, agreeing, “I know, I know.”
“Do you know who did it?” Luke asks.
“I talked to Gerard about it, yeah,” I reply. “I’m not letting anyone know, though; the report was anonymous for a reason.”
Luke nods, informing, “Well, if you were ever to tell me and I would encounter said perpetrator, I will have you know I would destroy him.”
“Can I let you in on a secret?” He bobs his head, so I inform, “He’s right under our noses.”
Wrestling practice is hell, as usual. While changing into my workout clothes with the other boys, I keep overhearing vague conversations about the rape report; it seems to be all that anyone’s on about. And Matt Ellis keeps smirking at me like that idiot knows something I don’t and I want to wipe the grin off of his fucking face.
But I can’t. He could absolutely destroy me; I would be no match for him. He knows it too; this only makes him cockier. Matt Ellis is an idiot, which is no problem, but he is an idiot who has convinced himself he’s a genius, which is a tremendous risk to everyone.
I’m bending over to tie my shoes, and he must feel extra confident about himself lately, either that or my blue underwear was sticking out an awful lot, because he comes up behind me and grabs a hold of it, nearly lifting me off of the ground by my waistband.
Jesus Christ almighty, I can’t believe I ever put Gerard through anything like this, previous bully or not. My face grows hot with humiliation as I regain my footing, pulling down the raised tail of my shirt and grasping for the back of my own underpants. “Fuck you!”
He just pulls harder, reasoning, “Never insult someone with a hand on your panties, Iero.”
I can hear laughter of surrounding boys swelling around me, and I duck my head as I’m positive multiple cameras are going. It’s bad enough that my ass and wedgie are going to be on their story; they don’t need a face to attach to it. “You are an asshole; I fucking hate you!”
“Matt, leave him alone!”
Shit, Luke. He’s storming up all angry, and Matt gives a final tug on my briefs before shoving me away. “What is it to you?”
I desperately work to stuff my stretched underwear back into my shorts, face still red. I watch as Luke approaches Matt, cursing, “You can’t treat people like that, you asshole!”
“Iero’s not a person; he’s a faggot,” Matt retorts. The other boys are watching, some still recording, and most making their round of aggravating “oooooohs.”
“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Luke spits.
Matt shoves him, hard, sending him sprawled back over a bench. Luke bangs his head pretty good on a locker, and a hand of his flies up to coax the throbbing. “You’re as bad as him, Luke.” With that, Matt’s gone, and so are his goons. I walk over, slowly so as to not further irritate my already aching ass, and help him to his feet, telling, “Thanks.”
Luke solemnly asks, “It was him, wasn’t it?”
I bite my lip, nodding. “Yeah.” I head off to practice with him, praying for Gerard again more than anything else.

Notes

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