Gerard;
To say Frank looks tired is an understatement. His eyes have bags under them along with being bloodshot themselves. His face is paler, his clothes are more crumpled than usual. He's sitting in his normal seat, looking forward like he isn't noticing any of the shenanigans happening around him. He only blinks maybe once a minute, his breathing is slow, and his movements are minimal.
So, with it being technically hallpassing, I get up and walk myself over to him. Nobody takes a second look at me as I pass them and stand next to Frank's desk. I don't know if he'd be okay with checking on him, but knowing he doesn't hate me just gives me a little confidence in what I'm doing.
I tap his shoulder lightly, "Hey, Frank?"
"Mhm?" He barely hums, not making any movements. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was dead.
"Are you, um, alright?"
"Mhm," he hums again, still barely loud enough to be heard. I'm caught between whether he's tired or if he's upset. It looks a little like both. I've seen Mikey in moods like this where he didn't get any sleep the night before and was upset.
I don't get to reply to that because the last bell rings and Mr. Ashby walks in, confidence airing off him. "Good morning!"
No one really replies, which earns a small, but heard, grunt from him. "Losers, get excited! It's biology! Science! The study of life! Come on, I don't get up at five-thirty in the morning and drive myself here for nothing!"
So, to make him happy, I raise my hand a little shyly. He points over to me, "Yes, Gerard?"
"Good morning, Mr. Ashby," I answer, trying to force enthusiasm and excitedness into my voice to please him.
"There you go! Now, I'll stop torturing you guys with my mood and get to the lesson, which happens to be the last one before your test tomorrow!" The class erupts into a fit of groans and whines. I don't really do much, I like tests, it's only time this goddamn class shuts up.
"Mr. Ashby, can't we just.... Skip it?" The guy in front of me, Oliver, says.
"No because I like giving out tests. Don't take my fun away, Oliver, I'd have to cry," Mr. Ashby replies, putting on a pout and using his left index finger to imitate a tear rolling down his cheek.
Oliver just chuckles and takes the papers Mr. Ashby hands him. "Okay, Mr. Ashby, I'll let you have your fun."
*~*~*~*
Algebra is one of my better subjects, although I actually don't like the subject. I'm good at it, I understand it, and I don't have a problem with it. It just works for me.
So, while Mr. Fuentes, stands at the marker board, working out a problem in sloppy handwriting. He towers over the board, so he has to crouch down to write legibly.
"Okay, for this lesson, you guys are going to need those.. those charts that tell you what a number will be when you square it, cube it, et cetera."
"The powers chart, sir?" A girl from the back asks, someone who's name I haven't learned despite it being the second semester.
"Yes, that," he says gratefully, smiling back at her.
"And because I feel nice today, you can have partners, but if you get too loud or start talking about things and don't do your work, you'll have to work on your own." Well, I'm glad I can write and talk at the same time because I'm going to ask Frank to be partners and ask him what happened to make him look so... Lifeless.
So, after Mr. Fuentes passes the homework out, I stand up and walk over to Frank's desk, which is only a few does away from mine. "Hey, Frank, do you want to be partners?"
"I'm too tired to comprehend this, so I won't be much help."
"You can copy mine, I kind of wanted to talk to you," I respond quickly, biting my lip nervously, afraid that he might say no, that he might tell me he doesn't actually like me.
"If you want," he sighs, sounding like he'd rather not. That kind of upsets me. I thought that since yesterday, he'd maybe want to be friends, but maybe I misinterpreted the entire conversation. Misinterpretation is something I'm an expert at. I look to far into things, dissecting every single word or movement down to the last thing it could mean, then I end up picking the wrong thing, the thing that I despritely want to happen, but won't.
I sit down anyways, choosing not to question him, see if he's sure. "Why do you look so tired?" I ask first, not caring that the answer could simply be I didn't sleep well last night.
"Usually the answer to that is that I didn't get enough sleep," he says quietly, chuckling. I sigh lightly and start on the first problem. I feel like the laugh added at the end was a form of mockery, laughing at the question, at my curiosity, at the fact that I didn't assume.
"Yeah, but you don't seem like the kind of person who's problems are always the usual answer," I explain, not looking at him as I'm working on a problem and would really love to finish the page in class.
"Exactly how much have you been watching me in class? Or out of class really?" He asks, sounding suspicious of me. That's another thing I hate, when people assume things about me. The way he asked that, the way his voice tinted with suspicion, I know he's accusing me of stalking him and that fires me up. I'm not a stalker.
"I'm not a stalker, Frank," I state bluntly, stopping this time to look at him so he knows I'm serious.
"I was joking," he says back, looking me right in the eye.
"I know, but it bothers me. Everyone says that, everyone accuses me of being a stalker because I like to observe things and people." I've started back up on the math, furiously working my mechanical pencil against the worksheet. "Just because I like studying people and figuring them out doesn't mean I stalk them during or after school. I don't go out of my way to watch you. I don't follow you. If someone one interests me, I figure out what it is and that's that. Okay?" I realize I probably overreacted, but I really don't care at the moment. I am pissed, my blood is boiling, I'm practically seething. This boy needs to know what is okay and what isn't. He wouldn't want me to accuse him of things that aren't true. This is the second time this week that I have been accused of something that is false by him and it's unacceptable. I won't tolerate it.
"So is that what you do?" He asks, completely ignoring anything I said in my entire spiel. "You study people and write it down?"
"Does that apply to you?" I ask back, answering his question with a question. I basically just told him what I've been hiding from people since last year, but he won't read it. Nobody is allowed to read my journal. Ever.
"Well, if you're writing about me, then yes. I want to know what a stranger is saying about me."
"Why do you look so dead today?" I ask, turning the topic around. In the time that I ranted to him to this point, I've finished four problems, plus the one I initially started on. My handwriting is thick, dark, and sloppy with rage, but still legible.
"Not everybody has a great life, Gerard," he answers. "What have you written about me?"
"Explain," I demand, answering the sixth problem out of ten.
"I don't tell people about my home life."
"I don't tell people about my journal." I stop my writing and look at him to see that he's already staring me down, seemingly trying to intimidate me.
"Fair enough," he replies curtly, leaning back in his chair and tapping his pencil on the desktop with the eraser end.
I shake my head slowly while finishing up the worksheet. I suck at making friends if it wasn't obvious.
*~*~*~*
Woo! Okay I got my hair cut today and that put me in a mood that I haven't been in since me and my gf got together so I'm super happy and I decided to update! It's like 2:30 though and I apologize if it sucks because I'm tired and I'm running off of a chocolate fudge pop tart and three hours of sleep.
I love you guys c:
xoCrashFire
