The amount of kids that asked why I had a camcorder was exhausting. By fourth period, they stopped asking. I don't know if word got around or if I just stopped being interesting.

I met up with Gerard and Mikey at lunch, meeting at our usual back table.

"Yo," Mikey greeted. He was flipping through his phone like usual, his free hand rested on the table.

"How's the filming going, Spielberg?" Gerard joked.

I bit my lip, trying to form a coherent answer. "Interesting."
Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Out of all the words you could've used, you chose interesting?"
"I mean," I hesitated. "I dunno, I guess its going okay. Some kids in gym thought I was trying to film them changing, though."
"Well, did you have the camera turned off?" Mikey asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. But they were all like-" I cleared my throat, then lowering my voice. I quoted with a mock gruffness, "'I'm sure you can turn it on while we're not looking.'"

"What'd you say?" Gerard questioned.

I shrugged, confessing, "I was kinda taken aback, you know? So I just sort of mumbled 'don't flatter yourselves.'"
Mikey started to laugh, and Gerard's jaw dropped. "Did they kick your ass?"
"Surprisingly, no," I replied. "I mean, they did threaten to. And they told me I should watch my fag mouth before it lands me in serious trouble."
"Ouch," Gerard hissed.
"Yeah," I sighed.

Mikey scoffed, comforting, "You know, fuck those guys, Frank. Who do they think they are, right?" He scowled, concluding, "They're no better than anyone else in this dump."
I opened my mouth to say something, but my grade was called up to get food. As a teenage boy, food was more important at that moment than any talk of emotions. I ditched the heartfelt conversation for burnt soy burgers and soggy tater tots, which both tasted bad no matter how much ketchup you used.
The rest of the day practically flew by in comparison to that morning. I met up with Gerard as usual after school, claiming my rightful throne in the passenger seat of his car.
As I stood outside the car door, I filmed Gerard. He was fumbling with his keys, this giant jungle of cheap lanyards and key chains with one single spare key. His original car key got lost, and to this day, he has no idea what ever happened to it. So he used a spare for that point on, and he was lucky not to lose that, too.
Gerard itched his nose, catching me filming him. He stuck his thumb towards the bottom of his nose, lifting it to make a pig snout. "Enjoying the view?"
"The idiot wildebeest. The male weighs anywhere from 380 to 440 pounds, a hefty mass. The fat is stored mainly in the creature's large buttocks and thighs," I narrated.
Gerard squinted. "Hey. Quit that."
"It knows English," I proceed, "But not well. During mating season, it attends social outings but remains reserved, hoping for a mate to come to him."
Gerard started to walk over, and I turned to keep the camera on him, continuing, "He's coming towards me. They're known for being hostile when provoked."
"I'll fucking show you hostile," Gerard smirked. He managed to get behind me, lifting the tail of my shirt to grab my black briefs. He started to pull up, making me lose my footing.
"Stop!" I protested, squirming uselessly.
"Squirming only makes it worse," Gerard informed, yanking harder.
The worst part was that he was totally right. Gerard had been on the receiving end of more than a few wedgies himself, so he had firsthand experience there.
I leaned onto the roof of Gerard's car. "I'm off the ground, Gerard."
"Good," Gerard replied.

I started to writhe around a bit, squeaking, "Seriously, quit it!"
"Take it like a man," Gerard responded.
"No dude, you're going to rip my underwear," I insisted, trying to reach around and grab a hold of my briefs. I couldn't quite reach, so I settled for clutching my sore ass.

"You overestimate my strength," Gerard mumbled.
I turned red as a tomato, pleading, "Gerard, there's girls coming. Please, please stop."
Gerard finally let go, smacking my ass as well. "I wouldn't want to rip your super cool tighty whities."
I frowned, correcting, "They're black."
"Whatever," Gerard muttered with a grin, climbing into the car.
I got in as well, my bunched underwear halfway up my back.
As we drove down the road, Gerard watched me from the corner of his eye. I was struggling to undo his work, but it was actually really challenging. I was wearing skinny jeans, which were less than generous in spaciousness, and I was also sitting down. To top it off, I was in a small car, making stretching nearly impossible. "Gerard this hurts."
"It's supposed to," Gerard laughed.
"My ass, man," I complained. I stuck a hand down the back of my pants, to find it was no help at all in mitigating my problem.

Gerard rolled his eyes. "You know your name is sewed in those, right?"

I ducked my head, playing with a lock of hair by my eyebrow. "Y-yeah. My mom does that."

Gerard laughed even harder. "You're lucky I'm the person finding this shit out, Frankie. Imagine if someone like Ben did."
I shook my head, agreeing, "God, I hate that kid."
Gerard turned up the radio a bit, a signal that for a while, our conversation was over. I peered into the backseat through the mirror, finally noticing, "Hey, where's Mikey?"
"He's hanging out with Peter," Gerard answered.
"Who the fuck is Peter?" I asked. I unbuttoned my pants, shimmying them down my thighs.
Gerard tried to look like he wasn't watching me anymore, that he respected my privacy. But I could tell he was still sneaking glances as I finally fixed the wedgie he'd given me.

"You know," Gerard said. "Peter."
I managed to pull my pants back up in the crammed space. "Last name?"

"Wentz."

"Not ringing a bell," I murmured. I sat there in silence for a bit, until I realized, "Oh, you mean Pete!"
"Yeah, I mean, Pete. Whatever that kid goes by," Gerard corrected.

"So they're just... hanging out?" I asked.
"Yeah," Gerard answered. "Hanging out."
"What kind of guys hang out one on one on a Monday night?" I questioned.
"Gee, I don't know... us?"
I chuckled, admitting, "I never thought of it like that."
Gerard sighed, admitting, "I think they do have a thing, though."
"What makes you think that?"
"Pretty sure they've been sending naughty pictures," Gerard replied. "Like Mikey's phone will buzz and all the sudden he has to run upstairs for fifteen minutes. Not without lotion, though."
"Ew," I mumbled. "He has been glued to his phone lately."
"Ew is right," Gerard agreed, widening his eyes. He peeked over at me, smiling as he asked, "Why are you still filming?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I just thought it'd be a fun thing to look back at when I'm older, you know? When I can't remember what it was like to be sixteen and angry."
"It's awful. Just remember that and you're golden," Gerard assured.

I couldn't help but giggle. I focused my camera out on the landscape ahead of us, just beyond the dashboard. Although being that age and feeling the way I did sucked, I had a strong feeling that someday I'd miss it.

Notes

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