Prom Fever

After my little spat with Gerard, the only thing I can think about is everything that can go wrong. The worst thing that could happen would be something along the lines of a full out fight, which I would probably lose, the fact being that although I’m not weak by any means, Gerard was taller and generally bigger. Other potential outcomes were being cussed out, ignored, and being shot repetitive dirty looks. The best case scenario would probably be Gerard denying any association with me.
At lunch, I am lost. Out of habit, I peek over at my usual table, to see Gerard and Lyn-Z there. Gerard is talking her up real nice, twirling a lock of her dark hair in between his bony fingers. They’re staring at each other so dotingly that my stomach curdles in protest. A fleeting thought that they might actually be in love occurs to me, but I shove that idea far, far away. I stand there, looking all stupid holding my tray and standing amidst the sea of tables. Gerard looks up, his hazels meeting my own brown eyes. Gerard’s eyes narrow and his expression turns cold. My first instinct is to look away, quickly, but I fight that off, too, returning a glare much more intense before hightailing towards the other side of the cafeteria.
“What was that all about?” Lyn-Z asks, peering in the direction that Gerard had been staring.
“Nothing, babe,” Gerard assures. He looks at her, telling, “At least nothing important.”
I sit heavily at the least intimidating looking table of kids. I want nothing more than to have other friends to sit with, but they just don’t exist. That’s the problem with having just one friend in your designated lunch wave; if they’re gone, you’re fucked. On days where Gerard was sick, I would sit all by myself like some kind of loser. Well, I am a loser, I guess, but I certainly don’t need to promote this.
The kids he happened to sit by were nothing but some pimply faced freshmen, fresh on the high school chopping block. Then again, they wouldn’t be in a few short months; the last day of school was coming faster and faster. Yes, a new group of susceptible kids would be thrust into the meat grinder that is their high school. They started off whole, but would slowly be pulled apart to ribbons. They could put themselves back together as best as they could, but they would never be the same again.
The gaggle of teens are all but petrified by me, but then again, I don’t necessarily jump at the chance to talk to them, either. I’m still in a pissy mood, so I don’t really feel like chatting up a bunch of fourteen-year-old kids, who I’m only sitting with because they were so utterly nonthreatening.
I go through the rest of the day on my own, thinking nothing but bitter thoughts. That night, I fucking cave in. I give into temptation and call up Mikey, who answers his phone on the first ring. “Mikes?”
“Frank, what the fuck happened?” Mikey demands.
“What do you mean?” I figure he’s talking about my falling out with Gerard, but it’s been such a stalemate that I doubt that’s what’s raising such concern.
“Gerard isn’t home,” Mikey tells. “He hasn’t come home, man.”
I sit up straight in my bed. “What do you mean he hasn’t come home?”
“Just what you think,” Mikey retorts, his voice quavering. Shit, he’s been crying, and super recently. “I’m worried Frank. It’s fucking eleven at night and for all I know he could be out on Jersey streets, for all I know.”
“Maybe he’s just at a friend’s house,” I suggest, becoming uneasy myself.
“Fucking whose? You’re like his only friend, Frank!” Mikey insists. “Besides, he would’ve called. He always calls.”
“Well, can’t you call the police or something?” I ask. “File a missing person report?”
“You don’t think I’ve tried that?” Mikey replies incredulously. “They won’t do anything; they can’t until he’s been missing for a longer amount of time.”
“Shit, shit!” I cuss. I wring a hand through my hair, asking, “Then what can we do?”
“Nothing,” Mikey answers. “Just pray that he comes home.”
That’s when it hits me. “Mikey, I think I know where Gerard is.”
“Where?” Mikey urges.
“I’ll bring him home, I promise.” I stand, pulling on a hoodie and grabbing my car keys. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this, bud.”
“You guys are having a fight!” Mikey protests. “What makes you think he’ll open up to you?”
I pause, right in the middle of stepping into shoes. “Because I’m his goddamn best friend, that’s why.”
“Wait!”
I hang up, silencing my phone before replacing it in my pocket. I rush out the door, running to my car. I get in as quickly as I can, biffing my head on the door frame. I raise one hand to my throbbing head, using the other to put my keys in the ignition. I turn it, waiting for the purr of the engine.
And all I get are guttural groans. The engine stalls, so I take out the keys, inserting them again and giving another crank.
Nothing. I slam my hands on the steering wheel, cursing, “Fuck!”
I chuck my keys at the closed window, getting out and kicking the door shut harshly. Placing my hands onto the roof and burying my face in them, I take a deep breath and pull out my phone.
It’s a text from Mikey. It reads: please bring him home Frank. I’m counting on you.
That’s when I take off on foot. Not on foot, actually, more on toes, seeing as I’m running the whole way downtown. That’s right, with my breath sharp and the winds sharper and my Vans occasionally resisting against curbside slush. I see my breath fog before me, then pushing through the cloud and further into the night. I’m going to bring Gerard home, and not just for Mikey, not even for my own assurance. I’m doing it for Gerard, because not only is my best friend, but I do believe he’s my one true soulmate.

Notes

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