It All Started With Women's Rights -Frerard-

Nervous Smoke

SCHOOL DANCE

I was outside, skipping gym class, a cigarette between my middle and index finger. I almost threw up, staring at the sign. I had only ever been to one dance. It was our 8th-grade semi-formal and it was because my mom thought that it wasn't a dance. Looking back at my 8th-grade year almost made me want to puke. That year was awful. It's when I slowly started questioning things and when all my bullying started. Hell, I was still questioning things about myself. One time a kid beat me up in the boy's locker room. Thank God his girlfriend turned him in. No matter what happened, I never changed schools. We were too poor to. So, naturally, fag is like my second name.

"Frank, shouldn't you be in gym class?" I heard my friend speak from behind me.

"Shouldn't you be teaching a class?" I retorted, turning to him and leaning against the wall.

He folded his arms, "No, I'm on lunch break," he looked at the sign next to me, "Planning on going to the school dance?"

I scoffed, "Never. I don't want to be publically humiliated."

"Not even if I was there to protect you?" He offered.

"If you gave me 20 bucks," I said.

He laughed, "I take that you really don't like dances? Ever even been to one?"

"Once. In 8th-grade. On accident."

"Accident?"

"My mom thought it wasn't a dance."

He chuckled, "What a strange family you have."

"Just wait till you meet them," I sighed, smoke puffing out.

"Oh, that's right. Parent-teacher conferences are coming up, aren't they?" He changed the subject, "Here's a question, if you could describe your 8th-grade year in only two words what would they be?"

I thought for a second, putting the cigarette to my lips and inhaling, "Fag Iero."

"A vulgar pun to your name, huh? Kids... they scare me." He shivered.

I nodded, "I'm scared of teenagers, and I am one."

He huffed, "Why do kids even think it's okay to call people that? Hell, they used to call cigarettes that!"

I laughed and flicked the ash off of my cigarette. He watched me, interested. Those who have seen me smoke usually say I do it in a 'badass hot way'. Or that's what my Aunt Cindy said. I could see him stare at my hands and then migrate to my lips. I lifted an eyebrow and he coughed into his hand.

"Want one?" I asked.

He nodded, "Don't tell anyone I got it off of you."

I chuckled, handing him the box and lighter. He took one, lit it, and handed me back my stuff. He leaned against the wall next to me. I watched how he smoked. I always have said you could tell a lot about a person by the way they smoked. He had an arm down, yanking part of his shirt lower. He then held his abdomen with it. I could tell he was self-conscious about it. He didn't like people watching him. Me, on the other hand, I couldn't care less. I was confident. Him, not so much.

"What are you looking at?" He asked, blowing smoke over my head.

I smirked, the end of mine between my teeth, "You. I'm observing. You're nervous, self-conscious."

He looked away, "Oh, shut it."

My smirked didn't fade, "So I'm right?"

"Yes. Dammit, Frank, yes I'm nervous. I'm smoking by the school with a student."

"Is that the only reason?" I said, not really knowing what I was saying.

I breathed in again, waiting for a response. When he turned back to me to answer, I blew smoke on his neck, smirk still plastered on my face. He smiled, a look on his face that was slightly annoyed but curious. I scrunched my nose and lifted my head up, teasing him, saying 'what are you gonna do about it?'. He sighed, taking in one last huff before tossing it on the ground. He blew the smoke on my neck, mocking me. I chuckled, flicking mine to the ground as well. I exhaled, watching my friend's body language.

"No, it's not the only reason." He sighed.

He looked stressed, so I let it be, "Well, if you ever wanna talk. I'm usually out here same time every day."

He turned to me, putting out a hand for me to shake. I shook my head, "I don't do that, come here."

I opened my arms and he smiled, hugging me. Not to my surprise, he was a good hugger. The way he hugged me was like it was the last thing he was gonna do. That kinda worried me. We had been friends for quite a long while now. It was the colder months of Autumn.

He let go and then awkwardly ran a hand through his hair, "Thanks, Frank."

"Anytime-" The bell cut me off and we both jumped slightly.

"Best be going." He sighed, shivering.

"Wait," I took my jacket off and gave it to him, "here."

He took it hesitantly, looking at me with big eyes. I nodded, telling him that I literally have one of his sweaters to keep, the least I could do was let him borrow my jacket. He laughed at that, making the atmosphere a little less tense. I could tell he had some shit going on with the end of the trimester projects and tests. We walked inside together. He thanked me again and I nodded, saying 'anytime'. I waved goodbye and we went our opposite directions. My wave was the one that girls do when they flirt; they do that weird thing with their fingers. He had laughed and done the same thing, humoring me.

If I'm allowed to vent here, I think our friendship was going very well. My mom and dad thought it was going a little too well. They were worried he was starting to get attached to me in unhealthy ways. I corrected them, saying that he was indeed not. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was me that was... He was like my best friend. They thought it was weird for me to have a teacher for a best friend cause some laws kinda said it was bad. I then reminded them of one people tend to ignore and they sighed, saying reluctantly that I had won.

Also thanks to my good friend, I had to come out to my family.