"There's a new teacher this quarter and I honestly can't tell if they're a boy or a girl." That's the very first thing I heard about the replacement art teacher.

"What do you mean?" I ask, pulling the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands. Baldwin High School Faculty Rule No.1: no tattoos. It was obvious that I wasn't going to abide by that rule just by the sheer amount of ink in my skin, so I made do with concealer and long sleeves.

"Well," Ray started. "They've got, like, a really feminine figure and everything, but they're also wearing skinny jeans and..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Oh, wow," I mumbled. "So, it's that obvious, huh?"

"Don't hook up with the visual arts teacher," Ray pleaded. The safety of an empty teacher's lounge gave us the ability to have this conversation, and I was glad that it was empty; I wouldn't be able to deal with anyone overhearing us. "Please, just don't."

"Dude, cut that shit out," I said quickly. "I'm not some depraved pervert. How old do they look, anyway?"

"Maybe late 20's?" Ray said, more of a question than an answer. "I honestly can't tell. They're pretty good looking, though."

"Visual arts teacher, right?" I asked and Ray nodded. "So, I have to take their picture today for the yearbook, right?"

"Oh, yeah, you do," Ray said and let out a small laugh. "Good luck, kiddo."

I gave him a look as the bell rang, signaling the change of classes. It was really only from homeroom to first period, but nonetheless, I had to rush to get to my classroom on the second floor.

I scooted into the class as the bell was ringing and everyone greeted me with a sychronized: "Good morning, Mr. Iero!"

"Well, you guys are cheery this morning," I noted, sitting down at the stool in the front of the class.

"We have good reason," one of my students— Leah, I recall after mentally checking attendance. "We're doing the debate today."

"That's right, you are!" I exclaim. "Alright, so here's the deal: I was going to do the debates today— I really was!— but I have to go get pictures for the club chaperones for the yearbook. So, while talking to the junior English teacher during the weekend... Yes, Jack?" A boy in the back had his hand raised.

"Teachers hang out together outside of school?" He asked and the class laughed.

"Sometimes, but Mr. Toro and I have been friends since we were you guys's age," I told him. "I was going somewhere with this... Oh, yeah. I'm postponing the deadline for your Odyssey debate 'til this time next week. I'm doing this because Mr. Toro recommended that I turn this into a Twitter flame war— his words, not mine. So, take this week to make your debate into a Twitter format, sort of, and we'll read them next Monday. How's that sound?"

The whole class breathed an audible sigh of relief. Two weeks ago, we started reading The Odyssey, and I had them make a debate between any two characters.

Everyone immediately scooted their desks closer to their partner and started to modernize their debates. I overheard a group of girls say something about being a 'man snatcher' as I was gathering my camera. I couldn't help it; I smiled at the man snatcher thing.

"I'll be right back," I told them. "I'm getting Mrs. Cocking to check in on you guys every once in a while, so don't get too rowdy."

With that, I started on my way to room 307, the art room. I stopped by Mrs. Cocking, the freshman geometry teacher, and asked her to keep an eye on my class before heading across the building.

When I finally reached the room, the door was cracked open, and a voice was spilling through the crack. "Anything can be art," the person reminded their students. The gender-ambiguous visual art teacher. Their voice didn't clue me in much— it was a bit high and nasally, with a Jersey/Cali accent. The California part I expected, since we're in Los Angeles, but not the Jersey part. I wonder what part of Jersey he's from. "So just go for it."

The plaque outside the door read 307: WAY; assuming that the plaques are in the same format as the ones on the second floor, mine bearing 202: IERO, Way is the teacher's name. I lightly rapped my knuckles on the door and pushed it open slightly. "Sorry to interrupt," I apologized, then stopped dead in my tracks at the man in the front of the room.

The first thing I noticed was his hair: fiery red and hanging in layers at his chin. His eyes, a bright hazel, stood out among the hair, and his skin was nicely tanned. He wore tight black jeans, just like Ray told me, along with a crisp white dress shirt and a black and white striped tie. He had on Converse, like me, and he ink all over his arms as well. His, however, was much less permanent than mine; it was obvious that it was paint or marker ink. What is it with visual artists and their mediums always being on their body?

I snapped out of my observation and found myself speaking. "... Head of each club has to have a picture taken for the yearbook," I was saying. "So, just step out into the hall with me, and this'll take maybe five minutes."

"Of course," Way said and followed me out. He closed the door behind me and said: "Hi." He gave me a crooked smile and I felt compelled to smile back.

"Hey," I said. "So, I just need a headshot."

"Oh, okay," he said and shuffled awkwardly in his place. He chuckled and said: "Sorry, I'm really awkward."

"And I'm not?" I scoffed. I brought the camera up to my eye and, damn, does this man look good. He gave me the same crooked smile and I snapped the picture. I pulled the camera away and looked at the small screen, quickly coming to the realization that this man possessed the curse (or was it the blessing?) of Barney Stinson: he could never take a bad picture. "Perfect," I told him.

"Can I see?" He asked and came closer to me, looking at the small screen. Suddenly, the smell of acrylic paint, cigarettes, and coffee got much stronger. He smelled just the way he looked: warm and cozy. "That's... That's a good picture... Frank, right?"

I nodded and Way said: "I'm Gerard."

"Gerard Way," I repeated, rolling the name around in my mouth. Then, a sudden realization came to me. "Are you Mikey Way's brother?"

"Yep," Gerard said.

"He was telling me the other day about his brother who graduated from SVA with a freaking BFA," I told him. "Holy crap, dude."

"Mikey talks to you?" Gerard asked, almost as if in doubt.

"Not, like, during class, but at Tapestry meetings and tutoring sessions," I told him. "Why do you act so surprised?"

"Mikey doesn't talk to anyone," Geratd told me. "For a good five years, it was only me and my grandmother who got more than a word out of him."

Oh, great, way to make me feel like the chosen one, jackass.

I swallowed and whispered: "Damn. Now I feel... Really special."

"From what I've heard about his English teacher, you are really special," Gerard said and my face flashed hot with embarrassment. "I should be getting back to class. Abstract self portraits don't grade themselves."

"I should be getting back to," I said.

Then, he did something strange: he hugged me. A nice, tight hug, where I was able to smell his cheap hair dye. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure," I said, pulling away. "Tomorrow."

---

"He's a dude," I said, cradling the landline between my face and shoulder. "A full on— slightly feminine, totally Mikey Way's brother— dude."

"I knew his name sounded familiar," Ray said. "Way. How do you forget a name like that?"

"You're one to talk, Toro."

"You're one to talk, Iero."

"Touché."

After a moment, Ray asked: "You totally want to fuck him."

"Ray!" I cried. Thankfully, I was at home, with only my dog to overhear. And Sweet Pea undoubtably didn't give two shits about who I want to sleep with.

"Don't deny it," Ray cried. "You were looking at him during staff meeting the same way you look at a Queen vinyl. He's the News Of The World of men!"

"Goddamn, leave me alone," I whined, rolling my eyes. "Don't you have a two year old to tend to?"

"Christa's got him," Ray said. Then, after a short pause, Ray said: "Speaking of the wife. I gotta go."

"Have fun," I said and Ray hung up. I set the landline back on the dock and flop back into my bed. After a moment, I furry warmth settled on my stomach, accompanied by a small grunt. "Hey, Pea," I said quietly, gently scratching her pink belly. "So I met this dude today. He's the one replacing Mrs. Morgan. He's really pretty for a dude; I might try to put the moves on him."

Sweet Pea whined and kicked my hand, as if she was disapproving of my use of the phrase 'put the moves on him'.

"I know, Pea, that was a lame choice of words," I said. I sighed and added: "And I'm talking to my dog and I've lost it. And I'm talking out loud to myself about how I want to sleep with Mr. Way."

Pea whined again, this time squirming up my body to lick my cheek. She seemed as if she was trying to sympathize with me.

Wait. I'm personifying my dog. Yep. Definitely lost it.

Notes

Hello! It's Oli with another new story! This time, though, I'm co-authoring with Electric Siren! They'll be writing Gerard's POV and I'll be doing Frank's!

And we're totally doing the Odyssey Twitter flame war in my Englsih class right now. My group is doing Calypso versus Penelope, and I got to read Penelope's 'Tweets'. When I said: "hashtag, man snatcher", the whole room lost it. It was amazing.

xoøli