Chapter Text
The world shakes and rumbles, Friend or Foe blasting in your ears, your hair getting knotted together as it presses against the glass of the car window. You’re jolted awake as your brother comes to an excessively abrupt stop. You’re shot forward but get stopped halfway as your seatbelt locks, your headphones flying off your head and onto the dashboard from how aggressively your head swung forward. You rub your hand against the back of your neck in response to the new ache starting to burn under your skin.
“What the hell was that?” You shoot at Cody, side-eyeing him until you’re out of sight, leaned over to pick your headphones up off the trash-ridden car floor. The music coming from them continues quietly.
He just laughs at you, clearly having done that on purpose, “Dad said to pick up the neighbors, right?”
You stop in the middle of adjusting the strap of your headphones and behold Gerard and Mikey, walking down the sidewalk beside each other. Seemingly not noticing the old ass–and therefore loud ass–Camry that abruptly stopped a few feet behind them. They probably did notice, but think it’s some old man coming to kidnap them or something.
“Roll down your window!” Cody demands, slowly lowering his foot down onto the gas pedal to sluggishly follow beside them. You sigh and reluctantly obey. “Hey!” He yells over top of you and through the window.
Once you’ve shoved your headphones back over your ears, you push yourself into the back of the passenger seat using your feet against the floor, desperate to sink into the cushion until you’re completely invisible. You hear bits of muffled conversation and then out of the corner of your eye see the two figures coming closer to the car, giving you the cue to shut the window again. The car wobbles as they slide into the backseat, shutting the door behind them. The gritty guitars and microphone feedback go silent, so you grab the black and white jewel case from the cupholder between you and Cody, pop your discman open in your lap, take the CD out, and carefully place it in its case. You lean down like you had earlier when grabbing your headphones, forehead resting against the dashboard this time as you zip open the small pocket on the front of your backpack slouched between your legs. You slip away the Madball album in favor of Siamese Dream by The Smashing Pumpkins. It’s quite whiplash to go from Madball to The Smashing Pumpkins back to back, but that’s kind of how you like it with how wide your musical library is.
As you open the case, you hear someone’s voice from behind. At first, you ignore it, automatically assuming it was directed toward someone else. But when all that follows is silence, you take off your headphones and crane your neck to see who spoke up, your hand still wrapped around one side of the headphones, “hm?”
Mikey glances at Gerard, and your eyes follow. “Oh- uh, just- I like The Smashing Pumpkins, too,” he says shyly.
“Oh,” you mutter, turning to face forward again, “you can borrow Gish if you want, I’ve got that in my bag, too,” you offer.
“Thanks, but I-” Gerard’s thoughts interrupt him, leaving a doubtful silence in its wake before he dissipates it again, “actually? Yeah, I’ll take it.” You bend down to reach into your bag, emerging once again but this time armed with a dark purple jewel case. You pass it back to him without turning. He quickly accepts it from you, “Thanks.”
“Mhm,” you hum in acknowledgement. You notice Mikey shooting Gerard a weird look during your brief glance in the rearview mirror, but you decide against acknowledging it. Instead lowering your gaze to the Siamese Dream CD as you place it in your discman, dropping its case in the cupholder, and slipping your headphones back on.
The overactive butterflies in your stomach morph to gross, rabid pigeons as the school comes into view over the small hill. You wish to wake up back in your bed, that this is just another one of your nightmares on a summer morning. But as you leave the car, you study your surroundings and accept that they are way too realistic to be from a dream. You want to puke, and you almost do crouch over to rid your stomach of your breakfast until you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn and see Gerard with his dark hair and hazel eyes that look more brown at the moment. As he softly starts to speak, you realize how selfish it is for you to be wallowing in your own anxiety. This is his first time probably even being inside this building. He’s most likely feeling what you do tenfold. Yet all you can think about is yourself.
“Could you show me where room 109 is? Like, once we’re inside?” He asks.
You look away from him to try to catch your breath, “Yeah.”
He gives you a concerned look, but lets it go once you start the trek into the building. It’s quite small, especially compared to his old school. To him, the size means easier navigation. To you, it means everyone knows each other and collectively pushes out people they dislike. You being the prime example.
A lot of people who live in cities tend to romanticize a small town. But in reality, it sucks. Everyone dresses and acts the same, everyone knows everyone–which is not fun when people like to start rumors about you–and everyone is catholic. At least here everyone is, since the town was pretty much built around the church. Although of course, like anywhere else, there is a minority that actually sees through the bullshit, like your small immediate family.
You don’t understand why your dad; a punk, of all people, would ever want to come back to a place like this after escaping. But you guess grief fucks with people in ways you’ll never fully understand. The worst part is, you’re the reason you’ve grown up in this hell. If you weren’t born, your father would still have his wife and oldest son and would probably live pretty well in the city. They’d be able to visit this place every once in a while to see family, but never stay long enough to get sucked back in.
“This is the science and math hall, 109’s at the end on the right,” you instruct as Gerard and you turn the corner, the off-white painted brick covered in decorations most likely funded by the teachers’ own pockets.
“Thank you,” Gerard says, and before he even has time to head toward the room, someone calls out to you, and honestly probably to him as well.
“EMO!” You just turn your eyes to the wall, not wanting to give the guy who said that any attention. You’re sure he’s already hard enough from the laughter he earns from his friends whose favorite hobby is to ride his dick. Luckily, Gerard isn’t a total idiot and keeps his focus on you rather than them. Judging by his reluctance to get defensive, he’s probably used to this kind of thing, too.
Gerard breaks the short silence after that, “sorry, um- bye.”
You look back up, but he’s already walked away. You turn around and make your way to the nearest bathroom. Once you’re in, you go into the second stall, hang your backpack on the old, rusty hook on the back of the stall door, and sit on the closed toilet seat. You bury your face in your hands, the scent of the vanilla and coconut hand soap from home crowding your senses; an escape from the smell of the wet dog the janitors apparently cleaned the bathroom with. You take in a breath, then let it go as you remove your face from hiding, now being held up by your palm flat under your chin. You stretch your free hand out in front of you in order to examine the shape of the black nail polish as you chip it off your ring finger nail with your thumbnail.
Your guts continue to twist and lurch under your ribs with anticipation for something so mundane. Sure, it’s the first day back, but it’s not like you don’t know your first period teacher. You already know Ms. Sehgal from last year. She’s the one who puts on the whole “cool teacher” image that a lot of the girls in her classes buy into despite the fact that she would make a scene out of catching you falling asleep during class and gave you detention for attempting to defend yourself for once in your life from someone who decided it was the perfect time to verbalize how much they hated you. Therefore, you already know what you’ll be walking into if you go to class, but fifteen minutes of debating if you should follow through or not have already passed. By now it just wouldn’t be worth it to go. So, you grab your sketchbook and mechanical pencil from your backpack and make yourself as comfortable as is possible on a hard, cold, probably disease-ridden toilet seat. You would sit on the floor, but you learned your lesson last year that it’s way too obvious. Your ass is going to hurt by the end of this either way, so might as well choose the safer option.
You spend your time just drawing whatever characters and clothing come to mind. You aren’t great at art, you aren’t even good. But you don’t care anymore. It gives you something to do with your hands when nothing else makes sense. You know you'll never make a job out of it, you’ll probably end up running away and working a 9 to 5 job you hate for the rest of your life until you lose all passion for anything interesting. But it’s nice to have art when you have the time for it.
Since there are seven periods in a day, each class ends up being relatively short, which means you don’t have to sit for too long. When the bell indicating the end of first period rings, you stand up, put your things back into your bag, take it off the hook, and slide the straps over your shoulders. You leave the bathroom to enter back into the crowd moving through the halls, and you take the longest route possible to get to your next class. Thank god for slow walkers.
You end up getting to your art class right as the bell rings. Meaning that technically you weren’t late, but that determination depends on how nice your teacher is. Apparently Ms. Lutz is nice because when you go up to her desk to ask where your seat is, she doesn’t say anything about lateness.
You would think that someone who just spent the whole first period drawing in the bathroom would love art class, but honestly, you really don’t. You don’t like many different mediums and high school art classes are kind of all about trying new mediums. On top of that, you never get your work turned in on time, so you usually end up with Bs and Cs in this class. Your complete refusal to go to any coach classes being another downfall for your grades. You wish you could have Ms. Beckett again, but she only teaches fundamentals and sculpture, and there is no way you’re taking sculpture. You can simply settle with eating lunch in her classroom every day.
Once lunch eventually does come around, you first have to face the lunch line. You always dread it because it forces you to be stuck standing with random people for an extended period of time with no choice–other than to just not get food of course, but you’d rather not feel nauseous and dizzy for the rest of the day. The beginning of the year especially sucks being around these people because they haven’t gotten used to seeing you every day. Meaning, they haven’t had time to get tired of bothering you nonstop yet. It never really completely stops, but it kind of withers away as the year progresses.
You find your place at the end of the second line, keeping your head down as you fidget with your fingers, trying to make yourself look occupied so it’s at least a little less awkward. You’re fully prepared to stay that way the whole time, but your plans get canceled when you feel someone touch your shoulder. You keep your expression purposefully guarded, assuming whoever grabbed your attention did so to pick on you, especially with how loud these people are being, but it shifts into something more soft once you recognize the person as Gerard. How does this kid always just materialize near you? You glance over his shoulder, and the obnoxiousness you heard is quickly explained by Frank’s presence as he interacts with Mikey and a curly haired guy. You recognize him, and it takes you a moment to pinpoint where you know him from; it’s Ray, he hangs out with your brother sometimes. You remember seeing them talk at the skatepark a couple times in the past, and he’s come over to your house before.
“Hey,” Gerard repositions your attention to him instead.
“Hey,” you echo, turning and stepping forward in line as you realize the people ahead of you are a few steps further than before.
Once you turn back to him, Frank asks Gerard, “you’re friends with them?” in a hushed voice. Though not hushed enough for you to not hear.
Gerard nods innocently, not understanding what’s so shocking about it, “yeah, why?”
Frank looks at you without turning his head and leans back a little to speak at a regular volume again, “Oh, I’ve just never really seen ‘em talk to anyone,” he eyes you again, “no offense.” You simply nod in understanding, not minding the comment because you’re just as surprised as he is that you’re starting the school year with a friend for once.
“Have you guys ever talked to each other?” Gerard asks, not directed specifically at just one of you.
You shake your head, but Frank catches it with his finger as he points it at you, “not true! I asked you to grab me a beer at a party once.” You give him a doubtful look, obviously that doesn’t count as talking to each other. Plus, you remember when that happened. After he asked, you just briefly acknowledged him and then walked away without fulfilling the request.
“Other than that, no,” you clarify to Gerard.
“Well, we sit at the same table in third period now, so we’ll have more chances,” Frank adds, “anyway, that’s weird, right? School’s so small you’d think we’d have something a bit more significant.”
“I’m just not a very social person is all,” you murmur.
“I always thought you were cool, though,” he says. That honestly shocks you. He’s got your dream piercings and is in a band with his friends, and he thinks you’re cool? The world must have been flipped upside down. “Hey, but Ray knows you, right?”
Ray perks up at the mention of his name, not really knowing what’s going on since he wasn’t fully listening, “huh?”
“You know them, right? I coulda sworn you mentioned ‘em one time,” Frank explains.
“Oh, yeah!” He looks at you, arms crossed, “yeah, I’m friends with your brother.”
You nod, “yeah, I remember. Took me a second.”
“He’s a damn good skater, man,” he says.
“You don’t gotta kiss his ass, but sure,” you mumble sarcastically with a small smile. He must be where Cody gets his ego from. Ray just laughs at that. Once you’ve gotten far enough in line, you grab a water and a tray. You and Gerard are the first to make it out, and you don’t even wait for Mikey to finish handing the lunch lady his cash before telling Gerard “I’m gonna use the bathroom,” and turn to make a beeline for the door to the empty hallway.
Gerard simply stares at the doors you just walked through. Why wouldn’t you find a table with them first to put your things down? Maybe you’re just trying to get away from him. Maybe he came off too strong and maybe you think he’s following you around. Maybe you’ve already realized he isn’t worth your time.
“You good?” Frank’s voice cuts through the blur of the spiral he began to go down. He just nods, tearing his eyes away from the door as he turns to Frank, who asks if you left.
“Yeah,” Gerard replies.
“Oh, yeah, I never see ‘em at lunch. ‘Pparently they eat in the bathroom,” he says.
Meanwhile, you stand outside the door to your favorite teacher’s classroom. You shouldn’t be nervous at all, you’ve eaten lunch in her classroom every day for nearly two years. But of course, your mind goes straight to the irrational. What if she doesn’t work here anymore? You literally passed her in the hall this morning. What if her classroom was moved? It wasn’t; her name is still on the door. What if some other kid is eating lunch with her now? it’s the first day, it’s highly unlikely someone knows her well enough yet. You force each foot forward until somehow, you end up inside.
She looks up and a smile grows on her face as she says your name in a greeting, clearly excited to see you. You can’t help the small grin that forms on your lips as well, and you lower your head in an attempt to hide it. “How was your summer?” She asks, eyes following you as you sit down at the desk nearest to hers. Every year she changes the layout of the desks, sometimes throughout the year as well just to change things up. But she never moves this desk.
“It was alright,” you reply, dropping your backpack on the floor beside your desk’s leg.
“Yeah? Did you do anything fun?” She inquires.
“Mm…not really. I spent most of it either working at my grandma’s produce stand or just in my room,” you reply.
“Still sounds nice; you got to rest. Anything memorable happen?” she asks.
You think for a moment, “I mean, I got new neighbors.”
“Really? Anyone your age?”
“Yeah, it’s these guys named Gerard and Mikey. Gerard’s in junior year, too, and I think Mikey’s a freshman.”
“Oh, nice. Do you get along well?”
“Surprisingly, yeah. Gerard’s the first person I've like, really trusted in a while. I think we’re kind of becoming friends,” you reply. Over your food, you speak to Ms. Beckett for a while, just about anything that comes to mind.
You don’t realize you fell asleep until Ms. Beckett taps your shoulder to wake you. You slowly sit up, lifting your head off your arm, a thousand pins and needles poking at your hand from all angles at once. You flap it a bit to your side to try to shoo the feeling away, but it only comes back with the same force as your hand stills.
“You alright?” Ms. Beckett asks.
You look up to her, “mhm,” you hum, “what time is it?”
“The bell’s gonna ring in a minute,” she replies. That’s enough of an answer for you, and you get up to go throw away your half-empty lunch tray. The bell rings just as you pick up your backpack off the floor. You thank Ms. Beckett over your shoulder on the way out. Besides an instance of some guy asking weird questions to make fun of you, you’re able to avoid speaking to anyone for the next two classes. Which is easy, since you don’t have any friends you need to catch up with or anything. As another bonus, you don’t cross paths with Silas at all, so that’s nice, especially since you had to see his shit-eating face everyday between class periods last year. When the bell for the final class rings, you push the doors to the gymnasium open–which, thank god you have last in the day so you won’t have to be all sweaty and gross in your classes–and look up at the bleachers, where you see Gerard of all people. He hasn’t seen you yet, so you debate between sitting with him or going in the back corner on your own, and running back out into the hallway is not an option because Coach Rob has already seen you.
You keep dragging each foot forward, and your moment of peace in not being noticed is cut short when some girl you used to be friends with knocks her shoulder hard into yours, “oh, gross!” she exclaims, saying your name like it’s something dirty. Of course, her voice is loud enough that it reaches Gerard, who then lifts his gaze until he finds yours, giving you a small smile. You close your eyes and lean your head down to take a frustrated breath before stripping your expression of any emotion. You raise your head again and walk over to sit beside Gerard, placing your backpack between you both on the bench.
“Hey,” Gerard says quietly, careful not to disturb the silence in the gym. You give him a brief smile as a response. “Where were you the rest of lunch?” he asks.
“My old art teacher’s classroom,” you say simply.
“You could’ve sat with us if you wanted,” he offers.
“I know,” you reply dryly.
The fabric of his clothes rustles as he shifts in his seat, “what classroom was it?”
“Ms. Beckett’s,” you keep your answer intentionally vague.
“Okay…” he says, his tone condescending since your answer really didn’t give him much to work with.
Coach Rob shouts out to get everyone’s attention as he starts to speak, explaining the situation for locker rooms, uniforms, and the sports that he’ll teach you all throughout the school year. You didn’t bring any money or a combination lock, so when he calls people down to come pay for uniforms and claim a locker, you stay right where you are.
You stop Gerard when he starts to stand up, “Don’t. You don’t lose points for not having a uniform for the first two weeks,” you advise. You learned that freshman year by accident and it’s great for you because you hate having to change near people. Of course you change in the bathroom as a solution anyway, but still, you’d prefer to skip the hassle for as long as possible.
“Oh, thanks,” he sits back down, and you decide to occupy yourself since you won’t have anything else to do this entire class. You take your sketchbook out of your bag to spend the time drawing. In the corner of your eye, you see Gerard start to do the same. You smile slightly, amused about how similar he is to you. It’s kind of cute how he followed after you. You cover your grin with your free hand, not wanting him to notice.