Oh how wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying

Franks p.o.v
"Mister iero" my head shot up as soon as I heard Mr. Bernard say my name, he mispronounced it as well. But I won't bother correcting him, he won't be ever actually get it right. "Would you please read the next passage aloud to the class?" I felt my palms get increasingly sweaty, I also felt heat rise to my face as I started to turn pink.
"N-no" was all I could stutter out. My throat was getting tight, it sort of felt like someone had punched me in the chest. I concentrated on my breathing and tried to regulate it, to no avail.
"Well then, you can leave my class and go to the office." As soon as the words left the old mans mouth, I got my things and left the room. But I didn't go to the office, I left the school. Despite it only being second period, I don't think I could take it in there any more. All the teachers that didn't understand.
Most of the time I wonder why I can't speak in class, all the other students can. Most of the time I am pretty sure it the voices in my head that tell me I can't. They saw awful things, most of the time I feel really quite awful about myself because of them. It makes me nervous, because the voices aren't wrong. All the things they say seem pretty true. One man, he says his name is Martin, tells me that people want to hurt me. That kids at school want to hurt me, and that scares me. Because I think Martin is right. Sometimes he visits me. He's is the only one who ever told me his name or visited me. I only hear the others, and they never tell me there name. But they are all I've got, I don't have anyone else in my life really. I've got my mom, but she is sick and usually very tired. Anyways, Martin told me that he only is trying to help me, that he's protecting me from all the other people, the ones that want to hurt me. Maybe he is right, but he isn't very nice. Especially when he gets angry.
He is intimidating, sort of tall and pretty built. His voice was quite distinctive. But really, I'm sure I am the only person who would think that. Maybe because he only ever talks to me. Don't ask me why, because, honestly, I have no idea. I'm not even very interesting. So why Martin decides to bother me, of all people, is beyond me. Maybe he picks on me because I'm easy to pick on. Maybe, because I can't defend myself. Who knows, maybe it's because everyone else does it.
It hit me that I'd been walking for quite a while now, and I'd made it to my destination. A cemetery. I know, it seems a little morbid maybe, but I like it here. It's quite, usually. Unless Martin comes (but usually he leaves me alone when I'm here, I don't know why. Maybe he thinks it's creepy here). I decided to sit under a tree because I like the shade. I don't like getting tanned or sunburned, it's bad for your skin and makes you look old prematurely. I don't want to look old prematurely. I got out my book, Looking For Alaska by John Green. It's a good book, I've read it a few times. I think maybe it gives me hope that one day I will find my own little 'Great Perhaps', like Pudge. But maybe I won't. I can't concentrate on my book, I feel like someone is watching me. It's a feeling I have most of the time, but know it's worse than usual. I looked up from my book across the cemetery. I saw someone, he had black hair that fell just above his shoulders, he was far away so I can't see him very well, but he looks very pale. I think he was reading too, he has a book in his lap. He looked up and saw me too. I didn't really know what I should do, should I look away? Yes. I am getting increasingly uncomfortable already. I looked back down at my book, and despite every attempt to actually read, I couldn't concentrate. I kept glancing at him, and he kept glancing at me.
"He'll never like you, you know." Martins voice scared me, I jumped a little and blushed. He was right. "He's a very beautiful boy, and you are not." Still right.
"I know." I looked up at him as the words spilled from my mouth. "But that doesn't mean I can't look at him." I had my head tilted upward, looking at Martin. As I glanced back at the boy I saw him giving me a look of pure and utter confusion. I don't know why. Maybe, he was curious as to what we were talking about, I'm not sure. That was probably it. It was almost noon, and i am getting hungry. So, I guess I'll pack my things and go home. As I stood up and put my book in my bag I glanced back at the boy. He was staring at me, I could feel myself blushing already. I really wish I didn't blush so much, because I blush all the time. And then when I blush I get more embarrassed, so I blush more. It's always a complete catastrophe. I started my short walk home with the mental image of the boy in my head. I couldn't see him very well, because he was kind of far away, but From what I could tell, he was beautiful. His skin was very very white, and his hair was very black. He was wearing black clothes as well. I walked into my house to find my mother in the kitchen. I threw my stuff in my room, which was a wreck. I am very disorganized, I suppose. My room was very messy, but I knew exactly where everything was. Does that make it okay? I think it does.
As I walked into the kitchen I saw the back of my mothers hairless head, I also saw her hands shaking, but I try to not pay much attention to that. Mom has been sick for a long time, since I was young. She is on a new medication and it makes her shake a lot and she is always tired. But, if it keeps her alive then it's worth it. She was in remission for two years, until about six months ago when her cancer came back. She tries to stay positive most of the time. Martin never comes around when I'm with my mom. I think he knows the time I have with her is, sadly, quite limited. I never told mom about him. After all, he is older than I am and she would probably disapprove. And I don't want to upset her, so I just don't tell. (A/n: if you couldn't already tell, Frank doesn't know Martin isn't real). "Frank, you should be at school." I smiled at her and gave her a hug.
"I know, but mr. Bernard was being a mega-cock-"
"Frank! Language!" My mother was the only person I ever felt completely comfortable around. I never felt bad about myself when she was around, because she was always making me feel better. I love her, and I hope her cancer goes away soon.
"I'm sorry Ma, but he made me leave class and I didn't want to sit in the office."
"Frank, what am I going to do with you?" She set a veggie wrap down in front of me.
"Thank you, Ma."
"I love you, Frank. But, I am really tired. This new medication is not kind to me, would you mind if I laid down?" I felt guilty. I felt awful, because she was the sick one. Why did she have to get sick? Why couldn't I have gotten sick? I don't want her to feel like this anymore. She is my person, my only person. And I don't think I can deal with loosing her.
"Of course not, mom." I leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You go get some rest." I put on a fake smile and put my dish in the sink. It hurt me to see my mom hurting. I decided to write her a note telling her I went for a walk. I stuck it on the fridge with a magnet I made in the third grade. Mom never got rid of those things. Kid things. I grabbed my book and walked back to the cemetery, the boy was still there. In his same spot. With, what I now determined was, a sketch book. He glanced at me and I sat down under my tree and cracked open my book.
"She's going to die, you know." Martin. His voice was like ice. It was hard and cold, it made me feel uncomfortable. I usually feel pretty uncomfortable though, so I don't really know how much that says.
"Who?"
"Your mother, of course."
"Don't say that! She isn't! She's not going to die!" I could handle him saying a lot of shit, but not this. He couldn't say this about mom. Because I love mom. And if she died I wouldn't have anyone left, not anyone I like. "Please, go away!" He have an exasperated sigh as he left. At least now it was quiet. I looked up to see that the boy was gone, he must have left while I was arguing with Martin. I wonder if he could hear us, I bet he couldn't. We were pretty far away from each other. I decided I'd better put my quiet time to good use and finish my book. Again.
I really hope I see him again. That's not something I say very often, because I don't much like anyone. But, I want to see him again. Because maybe we could be friends, maybe we could talk. I'd like that quite a lot
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