Catacomb Kids

It's obvious I wasn't thrilled to meet up with Ray Smith after school. In blatant honesty, I'd rather die in the most excruciating manner possible. Drowning, torture, exposure, you name it. Anything would be better than explaining to that brute how to factor.
Not only was I annoyed, but I was honestly a little frightened. It may have sounded childish, but I was still afraid of him after the whole cafeteria fiasco. Sure, Gerard threatened the kid not to touch me, but that gave no guarantees. Still, I had good reason to be afraid of Ray. Even if he hadn't subjected me to a huge wedgie, he towered over me at six foot three and was probably twice my weight. I wouldn't be surprised if he killed me with his bare hands.
When the time rolled around that I was supposed to meet the buffoon at his locker, I considered pleading with Gerard. I could fluff up how scared I was that Ray would do something to me and get out of the whole thing, easy.
But then I remembered how fearful he had been when the snap being released was a genuine possibility. Gerard hadn't had trouble with regular bullies in how long, but if that photo got into the wrong hands, he surely would.
So I did the whole stupid thing for him. I swallowed my pride and made my way over to locker 201, a firm hand on the waistband of my jeans.
Ray was already there getting all his shit out of his locker. He took a glance at me but said nothing, continuing to stuff everything in his bag.
"Um, hey," I muttered.
"Don't talk to me," Ray grumbled.
I sighed, snapping, "Fine. I'll just use Morse code to explain the Pythagorean theorem."

Ray growled, "If you talk back like that I'm going to have to smack some sense into you."
"Lay a finger on me and Gerard will have your head on a stake," I countered.
He slammed his locker, pulling his bag onto his shoulders. He stormed off, and I stood there, worrying over whether or not that broke our deal.
"Hey, Iero!" Ray shouted. He stopped, facing me. "You got lead in you or what? Hurry your ass up."
I jogged after him, needing to take a couple steps to keep up with each of his strides. Walking next to him was awful, especially when he was in a beeline for the door.
I followed him to his car, a beat up red pickup that looked like it could barely stand on its tires. He tossed his bag into the backseat and got in, unlocking the door for me. I climbed in reluctantly, having to hoist myself up into the seat. Clutching my backpack to my chest, I stared forward, trying to disassociate from the entire situation.
The fucker wouldn't even turn the radio from the country station. That was when I knew that I was in deep shit.
We arrived at his house, where he pulled up in the driveway. Upon walking in, he told me, "Don't think you're welcome here. I would go to the library but I don't want to be seen with you."
"Gee, thanks," I muttered. "Just get the stupid math homework out."

We go to the kitchen table, where he gets his assignment in order. About two questions in, he's stuck. I answer a quick question, and he's off and rolling. Four questions later, he doesn't know what to do. I help him through it, bracing myself for more queries. In an assignment thirty questions long, he asked for help over ten times. For some of the problems he had no idea how to do them and needed complete guidance.
When the dreaded session came to a close, I stood, telling, "I'll see myself out."
I was almost to the door when I heard over my shoulder, "Hey, Frank."
I tunrned, gazing at him expectantly.
"Thanks," he mumbled. "See you at the same time tomorrow?"
I gritted my teeth, not wanting another one of these godawful tutoring dates. But I knew that Gerard's well being was on the line, so I agreed, "Yep." Stepping outside, I realized I had no means of getting home. Letting go of my dignity for what felt like the trillionth time that day, I ventured back inside to ask for a ride home.
Ray rolled his eyes but grabbed his keys nonetheless.
In the short ride to my house, I couldn't help but ask, "Why'd you call me a self-proclaimed bad boy?"
Ray frowned. "What are you talking about?"
I rolled my eyes, reiterating, "A self-proclaimed bad boy? You called me that when you humiliated me in front of my friends, remember?"
Ray shrugged, noting, "I don't know, I just always assumed you thought you were real cool."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Ray retorted. "Ditching class to smoke pot, walking around with earbuds in and your head high like you're something special. It's fucking annoying, you know. You're not hot shit."
"I never said I was," I snarled, becoming angry.
"You can tell by the way you carry yourself, Iero," Ray replied. "You act like you're fucking Charles Manson or some shit." He looked at me briefly, proceeding, "But you're not. You're just this little weed smoking, tighty whitey wearing, dick sucking faggot that thinks he's better than everyone." He added, almost as an afterthought, "You wonder why everyone picks on you. You absolutely have it coming."
I closed my eyes, ordering, "Pull over."
"What?" Ray asked.
"Pull... the fuck.... over," I repeated through clenched teeth. "Let me out of your truck."
He did as he was told, pulling to the side of the road. "Whatever, twink. That snapchat is going viral, you know."
"I don't care anymore," I responded. "I do not give a single shit because I don't care what people think anymore. And not because I know I'm tough or bad or whatever you want to call it, but because opinions like that don't fucking matter." I undid my seat belt, adding, "You think I don't know I'm a loser? I wear briefs, I am obsessed with comics, I have Star Wars bed sheets! I can't swim and I like pot and I suck at every sport there is! I know I'm a freak in your book, but I've just learned that books like yours are poorly written." Getting out, I spat, "I fucking hate people like you." Slamming his door shut and turning in the other direction, I heard his tires squeal as he sped off.

Notes

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