He's Not Dead He Only Looks That Way

Frank drags himself through the halls after fifth period, already exhausted. His sleeping schedule is still out of whack; he took a few days off school while they were registering him here, and each night turned into morning as Frank played Xbox until 4:00 a.m.
Each of Frank’s classes are quite uneventful, and he’s tired of being caught up by each teacher on a project or chapter the rest of the kids have an unmitigated head start on.
It’s sixth period art class that he figures he’s the most screwed; his work ethic is pathetic enough as it is, and even the kids who work hard have troubles finishing up art projects. Imagine what’ll happen when they’ve already started it.
Frank mopes in, tossing his backpack up on a random table and sitting. He rests his chin on his book bag and gazes around the room, not really focusing in on anyone or anything, but just staring off into space.
“Are…. You’re Frank, aren’t you?” a boy asks.
Frank whips his head over to where the voice had come from, failing to see anyone. He shrugs, figuring he imagined it. Wow, how sad is that? He turns his attention back to the general direction of nowhere, when he hears,
“Frank!”
He snaps his head over to the source of the noise, but again, no one is there. Frank groans, annoyed by whoever’s messing with him. But no one here really knows his name…
Mikey pops up from underneath the table, smirking. “You are gullible, kid.”
“Haha, very cute,” Frank murmurs.
Mikey sits down next to Frank, telling, “We’re designing an original character today. Should be fun.”
“Original character?” Frank takes a moment to process this. “You mean… like we could make a superhero?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Mikey answers. “You like superheroes?”
Frank nods, widening his eyes as he admits, “Like, a lot, actually.”
There’s a bit of a silence, and Frank supposes that the social thing to do is to ask Mikey the same thing. “Do you like superheroes?”
Mikey shakes his head. “No, that’s more of a Gerard thing.”
“Gerard? Am I missing something?” Frank questions.
“Oh, sorry. Gerard’s my brother,” Mikey explains. “He’s a junior, kind of weird guy. Hard to miss, to be honest.”
Frank wonders what “hard to miss” could mean by Mikey’s understanding of the phrase, but he doesn’t ask.
Frank is surprisingly focused throughout the class, and he still doesn’t get his drawing, which is due tomorrow, finished. Just more proof of the spectacular expectations of public school art teachers. Sometimes Frank wonders if the crazy due dates are just to punish those only taking it as an “easy course”, since they’ll have to work. But for kids who actually enjoy art, it isn’t really work, now is it?
Frank carries his superhero drawing throughout the halls; he doesn’t want it to get crumpled in his bag. He’s surely going to be given grief over this, but he manages to lay low. That is, until the end of the day when he bumps headfirst into the chest of an honorary junior.
“Hey, watch it!” the boy snarls.
Under normal circumstances, Frank would mutter out an insincere apology and go rushing past. But he’s had a shit day, and he just wants everyone to know that he’s in a shitty mood when he barks back, “You fucking watch it, asshole!”
Frank stops in his tracks after he realizes what he’s just said, and he immediately wishes he could take it back.
“You think you’re tough, half pint?” the kid demands. He makes Frank face him and places a hand in the center of his chest, shoving him. “Come at me.”
“I don’t want to fight,” Frank tells. “I’m sorry, really.”
“Sorry isn’t enough!” the boy scoffs. He snatches Frank’s superhero drawing from his hands and holds it up to where Frank can’t reach it.
Frank tries to jump up and grab it back, but it’s just too high up.
“What would you do if I ripped it?” the boy asks with a malicious smile.
“Please don’t; it’s my art project,” Frank pleads. “Seriously.”
The boy tears the sheet into two pieces, then four, then eight. He lets them fall to the floor over Frank’s head, and Frank fucking loses it. He starts crying as he picks up the scraps of paper, and the boy’s guffawing is far too much for him to bear. He launches himself at the boy, who retaliates by punching Frank in the gut and standing, kicking the smaller and younger boy. Frank coughs harshly, and he’s being pinned on his belly the next thing he knows.
He feels his underwear start to ride up, and suddenly it’s yanked halfway up his back by the junior. The boy’s laughing, and so are most of the other kids in the hallway. Frank buries his head into the ground, a humiliated and sobbing mess.
“Hey!”
Frank hears the laughter come to a concerning halt, and even his attacker pauses.
“Get the fuck off of that kid before I tear you limb from limb, you got it?” the voice threatens.
The boy gets off Frank, and out of the corner of his eye, Frank can see him retreat. Frank lays on the ground, so embarrassed that all he wants to do is stay there.
“Hey, get up,” that same voice orders. Frank looks up, to see the kid who scared the aggressor away offering Frank his hand.
Frank takes it warily, and is pulled to his feet.
“Are you okay?” the boy asks. He has sharp, definite features, and black stringy hair that falls halfway down his neck. But of course, the distinctive feature in the boy is his teal roots.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Frank mumbles, his face still red. He kicks part of his drawing wistfully.
“Oh, geez, I’m sorry about your art,” the kid apologizes. “I can help you make a new one, though. I’m decent at drawing, so if you want-”
“No, that’s fine, thanks,” Frank responds. “I think I’ll just be heading home.”
Frank heads off, but is stopped when he hears the boy call,
“Kid, wait!”
Frank stops, and he hears footsteps behind him. He’s about to turn around when he feels a hand by his waistband. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
He turns around on a dime to glare at the older boy, who is standing in shock. “Y-your, your underwear is still sticking out.”
Frank’s skin manages to grow to an even deeper red as he tries to tuck his briefs back into his pants. “Why… why are you being so nice to me?”
“Someone’s got to,” the boy answers earnestly. “You’re the new kid, right?”
“Yeah,” Frank admits.
“So I bet you don’t have any friends yet?” the kid asks.
“Well, I kind of have one,” Frank confesses.
“Me?” the boy questions.
“No, not you!” Frank snaps.
The boy looks hurt; like Frank had punched him in the face and spat on him rather than just used a harsh tone. He tries to make up for it, stating,
“I’m Frank. And… I guess it wouldn’t hurt if you help me out on my art.”
“I’m called Gerard,” Gerard counters. “We can go to my house, if you want. My parents aren’t home. I really have to drive my little brother there, anyways, so it’d be a lot more convenient.”
“Sounds good. Does your little brother go here?” Frank inquires.
Gerard nods. He walks towards the front doors, and Frank jogs to catch up with him. “Knowing him, he’s already in the car.”
Frank follows Gerard into the junior parking lot. Gerard crosses daringly, casually passing a huddle of kids smoking. Frank coughs, and Gerard can’t hide his grin, asking,
“Can’t handle smoke, Frankie?”
“I actually have some lung troubles,” Frank confides.
“Do you want me to tell them to stop?” Gerard offers, brows knitted.
“No, it’s fine,” Frank insists, stifling another cough.
“I smoke too, but I won’t around you,” Gerard informs.
“Don’t worry about it,” Frank replies, wheezing. “You can smoke wherever you want.”
“Nope, not when you’ll be coughing. I’m not that kind of guy, Frank,” Gerard explains.
They reach his car, and someone’s already in the passenger seat, sure enough. Frank hops into the back, peering forward to get a look at who it is.
“Gerard, what took you?” the passenger demands. “I know you’re slow, but damn!”
“Sorry,” Gerard apologizes, not really answering the other boy’s question. “I ran into Frank here and we got to talking.”
The boy in the front seat looks back, and grins when he sees Frank. “Frank! Short time, no see!”
Frank blinks. “Mikey? You’re Gerard’s brother?”
Mikey puts a hand to his chest, nodding as he answers, “It’s a struggle.”
“Haha, very funny, Mikes,” Gerard replies flatly.
Mikey sticks his tongue out at Gerard, and Frank can’t help but giggle. Gerard shoots a glare back at him, and for a second, he looks really scary with his dark hair hanging in his intense eyes. Frank’s eyes widen, and finally, Gerard breaks into a smile, patting Frank’s knee as he says,
“I’m just busting your balls, Iero.”
“Let’s go already!” Mikey groans, kicking at the glove compartment. It pops open on him, spilling out a few magazines, a tube of nuts, along with a few pairs of sunglasses.
“Pick it up,” Gerard orders as he pulls out of the parking lot.
Mikey pouts as he replaces the glove compartment’s contents, mumbling to himself grouchily.
Gerard takes an abrupt stop, making Frank’s heart lurch in his chest as he is flung forward and then back into the headrest, smacking his head.
“Ouch, watch it!” Mikey barks.
“Maybe if you wore a seatbelt, that wouldn’t happen,” Gerard suggests.
They drive off to the Ways’, Frank texting his mom to tell her where he is. Frank peers over at Gerard, the taller boy with scraggly hair and faint stubble, pale skin and who reeks of cigarettes. The first thing Frank heard Gerard ever utter was a threat, and despite this, Frank can’t get enough of the kid.
Frank leans his head back against the windows, and wonders that if it were anyone else, the circumstances would be different.

Notes

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