Forever is a Long Time . . . (A Frank Iero and My Chemical Romance Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Nine

Are You Thinking Of Me . . .

The school day was unsurprisingly long and boring. Well, except for the near heart attack I had in physics.

I watched as the clock ticked on and on, seeming to take longer in between each click than it did the last time. The teacher was shuffling through some papers at his desk and the class sat in silence waiting for the lesson to resume.

I could hear them whispering; the slutty, snotty girls who sat behind Frank and me. The girls who, for whatever reason, had something against me. I'll be the first to admit that I was different; choosing to hide behind dark clothes and thick black eyeliner apropos to the short little skirts and tight little tops most girls at my school often sported. I'd usually be found in ripped up jeans with my signature chain stretching from one belt loop to another, a dark or black shirt and old, beat up converse on my feet. I liked my style and so did my friends, but apparently it wasn't cool to, I don't know, be yourself or anything in my school. God forbid anyone did that.

I rolled my eyes at their childish slander and pulled out my notebook to distract myself from their ignorance. It was much more enjoyable to doodle and write in my notebook than it was to sit in silence or have to hear the bitches behind me gossiping. Rather than being left alone with my thoughts, I chose to write them down instead.

My notebook had definitely seen better days, but the content was totally worth it. There were poems I could never rewrite in a million years and random burst of artistic skill that were likely to never resurface. If I ever lost my flimsy, sad little notebook, I wouldn't take it lightly. Not only that, but if any one were to ever read any of what was written inside, I didn't know what I'd do. But I'd soon find out.

In the midst getting lost in a poem, I hadn't even noticed class recommence; not only that, but I didn't notice the teacher walk over to me either. He peered over my shoulder and I thought I'd caught myself in time to close my book and prevent my teacher from viewing its contents, but I was too late. "Well, what are you writing there, Ms. Kline? Anything interesting?"

"Uh, no. It's nothing." I stuttered out as I tried to flip the cover closed, but it was too late. My teacher had already picked up the book and was looking more closely at the page I'd previously been scribbling on. "Then you wouldn't mind if I shared it with the class?" he asked, a snarky tone taking over his 'request.'

"Actually I-" I was cut off by my own words, only, they didn't come from my mouth. "What would you do if I told you I loved you?" He wasn't asking, he was reading my unfinished poem, out loud for the whole class to hear. The whole class including Frank, who sat next to me and was the subject of my poem.

The teacher continued on, despite my protest. "What would you do? Would you feel the same way too? How would it feel just to know what I'm thinking? How could it be that you've never felt the same?" I started to panic but luckily he dropped my writings back onto my desk before he got to the part about how I thought Frank had the most amazing golden, hazel eyes I'd ever seen.

He gave me a look of slight shock and much disapproval. He shook his head and said, "How nice, but please leave your romantic, teenage fantasies outside of the classroom next time. Focus Paige." My teacher returned to the front of the class and immediately the snickers began. If I thought the girls whispering behind me were annoying before, they was just excruciating now.

I sunk down into my seat, trying to ignore the gossip, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Frank leaning into whisper something in my ear. "Don't worry. He's an ass." He gave me a smile, and if I'm not mistaken, a quick wink, before readjusting himself in his seat, leaving me hiding the flush of my cheeks behind my hair. I pretended to focus on my classwork like Mr. Shaw said to, but there was only one thing on my mind: Frank.

At the end of the day, I met Frank again by his car to go home like we did every day. We'd either end up going to his house or mine depending on whose parents weren't home and what our plans later in the day were. Today we decided to head over to my house considering my parents worked until five and Joshua would be busy with football practice, leaving Frank and I with the house to ourselves.

I greeted Frank as I approached him leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette as usual. "Hey Frank," I offered as he took his last drag before tossing his spent smoke and answering, "Yo, ready?" I nodded and he blew out the smoke he'd held in his lungs into the air around him. We got in the car and turned on the tunes. Our poison: Mommy, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight? Misfits; got to love them.

"Oh, I love this song." I exclaimed as he turned up the volume a little.

He gave me a sideways smirk and said back, "Not the only thing you love." I shot him a quizzical look, silently asking him for an explanation. He looked to me again and lightened his expression, letting it fall from a tease to a pondering. "Oh come on Paige, you know." His smile widened again as he nudged my arm but clearly I was missing something.

"Paige, I've been your best friend since preschool; I think I know what's up." He was probably right. Frank could see through me like a ghost, knowing exactly what was going on in my head, even if I didn't. "And that is?"

"Who are you crushing on, Paige?" I felt my face burning at the question. Oh god, he knew! Did he know? If he did, was he aware that he was the 'crush' he was talking about? Just play it cool, Paige; don't give him anything to catch onto, I thought to myself before responding. "What? No one; you're wrong, Frank." I tried my best to sound sincere so he'd drop it and I wouldn't say anything I'd later regret.

"I don't know," he sarcastically pushed on. "Poems like that don't just come out of nowhere." He gave me a suggestive smirk as if to say that he was on to me, but I wouldn't budge. I'd kept my secret for six years solid and I didn't have a problem keeping it any longer. "Well, maybe I'm just a good writer. I'm not 'crushing' on anyone, so stop trying to get something out of me; it won't work." I hoped that didn't sound too desperate.

"Whatever you say," Frank said, faking defeat though I knew this wasn't over. He paused for a moment, focusing on the road, and briefly, I thought he was done until he suddenly came back with, "But I liked it."

"What?"

"The poem," he explained. "It was nice, and honest, even if it wasn't about anyone." He gave me one final, coy smirk as he glanced over at me, ending the discussion upon seeing my discomfort. I smiled at him anyway to officially end the debate and because I couldn't help myself. My cheeks heated and I knew I was blushing and I did my best to hide it. Luckily, Frank's stare returned to focus on his driving.

Little did he know that the poem was about someone, and writing like that didn't in fact just 'come out of nowhere.' He was 'that someone' and had I written from the heart; a heart that was pining for her best friend and had been slowly, but surely, breaking over the past six years as the reality of her implausible love became clearer and clearer.