Tell Me I'm A Bad Man [Teacher/Student Frerard]

One - They Gonna Clean Up Your Looks

"Eyeliner, off. Piercings, out. Wear your tie properly, and wear school trousers tomorrow. And proper school shoes. Take your gloves off." Anything else? Want me to cut my hair? Cut my dick off, perhaps? How about I come to school in drag tomorrow?

"What's the point, when you know I'm just going to ignore you?" I said sullenly, fixing the Deputy Principal with a bored look. He only frowned further, as if I was being deliberately insolent. I wasn't; I was merely stating fact.

"Fine. If you come dressed like this tomorrow, then you'll get detention. Understand?" Clearly he couldn't be bothered to argue with me, which kinda says a lot about this school.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now get to class; you're late."

Yeah, and whose fault was that? I turned and made my way down the corridor, my sneakers quiet against the tiles. Jesus Christ. Why my mom thought that it would be a good idea to make me move school in my Senior year, I'll never know. Oh, wait, yeah. I remember. She didn't have to make me move school. At least at Pencey they had no uniform. At Belleville High, we had to wear a white shirt and a dark blue and red tie, complete with 'nice' school pants and 'nice' school shoes. Well fuck that. I'd wear the shirt and tie, maybe the blazer if I was cold enough - which, in New Jersey, it always was - but I was sticking to skinny jeans and sneakers, thank you very much.

Already I hated this place. It was less like a school and more like a prison. Within ten minutes of walking into the building, I was whisked - I say whisked, more like sternly told to follow - the Deputy Principal, who promptly decided to tell me that my entire appearance was wrong. I'll have you know, Sir, that the whole idea of a loving and caring school is to celebrate everyone being different, and to not make everyone a fucking clone of each other.

I looked around at all the sports trophies (they can get stuffed if they think I'm ever going to play any kind of sport) and all the math geek trophies (ditto math tournaments), wondering just what in the name of the Principal's suspenders this school was like, and I was stopped in my tracks by crashing into someone.

"Sorry, dude!" I said, looking up at the smiling face of what looked like a Senior. What I hoped was a Senior. He had dark eyes and a warm smile, and one hell of a good afro.

"Nah, it's okay. I'm often running into pipsqueaks." He saw the look on my face and laughed. "I'm joking, I'm joking. The name's Ray." He held out his hand, and I shook it.

"Frank." I replied, my eyebrows rising.

"I'm guessing you're new here?" I nodded. "Where are you going? You're kinda late, so..."

"Uh..." I pulled my timetable from my backpack, frowning at it. "Music. With Mr M. Way."

A blush rose to Ray's cheeks, but he grinned. "I'm headed there now, actually. Come with me."

The walk was short, and it was silent. We arrived at a large classroom full of people, and Ray's face only reddened when he went in.

"Sorry I took forever, Sir; I bumped into Frank." He said, and a tall, lanky man at the front raised his head.

He had blond hair that looked dyed, but didn't look tacky, and it was slicked back, away from his face. He smiled when he saw us, and straightened up. "Hey," he said. "Frank Iero, right?"

"Yup." I swear, if he started on at me about the way I looked...

"Awesome; just take a seat, I'm sure Ray will fill you in."