Wanna Be Somebodies

FRANK’S P.O.V.
When I wake up in the morning I am starved. I shouldn’t have lied to Gerard about not being hungry the night before; the only reason I said that was because I couldn’t stand to go back there after having made such an idiot out of myself moments before. I’m not sure how many people saw me run out of there, but it was probably too many to count. Call it adolescent egocentrism or whatever you want, but I’ve reached a conclusion that more people are watching than you think; having taken a dance class with wall length mirrors as a child taught me that.
Why was I in dance class, you ask? Agility, of course. That and I liked the tap shoes because they made lots of noise. That’s not the point though; the point is that I’m going to be teased mercilessly today about having cried in the cafeteria earlier, and I am not looking forward to it at all.
Although I stuff my face that morning at breakfast, Gerard again skips out on the meal, opting instead to sit there with tired eyes and drooping limbs. I decide to sit next to him, cuddling up against him a bit as I eat. It’s not a lot, sure, this affection is but a small gesture, but it’s one of the things I do to try and lessen the burden. After all, that’s the least I could do; I am his boyfriend.
His mood does improve slightly during my presence, and for that I’m glad. Gerard’s spent too much of his life being unhappy to revert back into these patterns. I start chatting with him, eventually confessing to him, as well as the table of friends (August, Luke, Coulter, and West), “I’m kinda worried about today; the wrestling kids haven’t been super grateful.”
“It’ll be fine, Frank,” Luke assures. I can’t tell if he’s being honest or if he’s just saying that. “The kid from yesterday? He’s just a soreass; everyone else is over it.”
I look to the others to see if Luke is completely bullshitting me, but they all bob their heads in unanimous agreement, so either he’s telling the truth, or they’re in on this whole scheme as well.
“Keep me updated,” Gerard orders, making texting motions with his fingers. “If anything happens let me know, alright?”
My thoughts flash to Matt that other day, how he’d grabbed me in the gym. Although he hadn’t carried through with his motive, he’d come considerably close. If something like that were to happen to Gerard, I would want to know about it. “Sure thing.”
So why do I keep it from Gerard? I don’t know, maybe I’m trying to block out that entire day from my memory, thus avoiding any rehearsing of events is crucial. Or perhaps it’s just too embarrassing to mention. Or maybe, just maybe, Gerard already has this seemingly unsurmountable scourge, plaguing his air and hanging over his head like a black cloud. He hasn’t been the same ever since Matt took advantage of him, of my Gerard. While he’ll undoubtedly return to his old self in good time, Matt is still to blame for these miserable months of skipping breakfasts and not showering alone and triple checking locks and general shitiness. There’s nothing more I want than to be able to take it back. Since I know I can’t do that, a large part of me is aching for a revenge so divine that Gerard is replenished with the dead pieces of Matt Ellis and each and every accomplice.
But I’m used to settling and that’s what I do with each and every passing moment. Submission is a choice, but in high school, passivity is almost a requirement. You do what you can to keep your nose clean, and when the inevitable shit hits the roaring fan, you give up all of that and just pack it up and move the fuck on, no matter how bad it hurts, no matter how wrong it is, because that’s what high school is all about, right? It’s not prospering, just surviving.
Surviving is exactly what today is; scraping by with the bare minimum not because I chose to, but because this is all I can muster. It seems like a merely surviving day for everyone; no one seems to care enough to bother me. Part of me is thankful that, but another just wishes they’d make up their minds and get it over with. If I’m going to get teased or punched or spit at, it might as well be today. If they aren’t feeling up to it they’ll only delay, and I don’t need these things fucking haunting me to the grave because some lazy assholes took a raincheck.
Gerard texts me before lunch, even. He must be really convinced that I was in for it today. It reads, “Everything going okay?”
I sneak my phone from my pocket, tucking my chin down as I type, “Yeah, everything’s fine. Haven’t had any problems.”
This is the truth; not a single person has given me the slightest hassle, unless you count the vocal teacher inadvertently bumping into me in the restroom and apologizing afterwards. This stays the truth, too; all day I don’t have any air quote “experiences” to share with Gerard because I haven’t been so unfortunately graced with one. I’m glad, Gerard’s glad, everyone is in rejoice. It’s not until the peaking hours of the day that I run into the slightest problem at all, but the problem is not so slight. Almost as if that encounter with the vocal teacher was a precursor, it is not three moments into my next bathroom break after class that I find myself surrounded by Matt Ellis and his goons in a matter of seconds. My eyes go from person to person, face to face, and then to the door, which one of those apes blocks with his fucking broad shoulders alone. Trapped, just like Gerard had been, I try to settle my kicking stomach and wait for one of those jackasses to take the floor.

Notes

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