Art is the Weapon Against Highschool as a Symptom

First period English isn't a fun class to have, especially for casual insomniacs like a certain Frank Iero. Staying up until three a.m. watching old horror flicks wasn't exactly healthy, and drinking four cups of coffee didn't do anything to get rid of the awful shadows under his eyes. In his defense, they were pretty good horror flicks and he had caught up on his homework. He had gotten pretty skilled at smudging his eyeliner just right, so that the shadows looked almost intentional. Nonetheless, he was exhausted and his eyes were barely staying open. Ray was flicking bits of paper at the ceiling, and then, interrupting the monotone of the teacher's voice, the door swung open with a loud squeal. All eyes turned to the sound, and the guy who had just entered turned bright red. He handed a note to the teacher, scanning the room for a place to sit. Frank caught his eye and smiled at him, and saw Ray lift an urgent hand to wave the new kid over. Relieved, the guy made his way across the room and sat in the desk next to Frank. He was wearing skinny jeans and a Green Day shirt, his eyeliner carefully applied. He smiled cautiously as he set his books down on his desk, tucking his black hair behind his ear. Suddenly, Frank was a lot less tired.

Notes

I know it's hella short but gimme 30, 45 minutes and i'll post a longer one. Give a second to leave a comment?