I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

New Kids Got Jokes

Gerard

I peek around Emily to look at Frank. There's still a paper towel hanging out of his nose, blood leaking past his nostril painting the paper red. His left eye is swollen shut, a mess of purples and blacks. Frank should've let Emily go get an ice pack. He looks a mess. Part of me wants to encase him in my arms and tell him those assholes will never hurt him again. The teeth biting a hole in my cheek hold me back. That's not what he wants.

Frank's honey hazel eyes follow the charms bouncing on Emily's bracelet, nose crinkling as he lets out one of his giggles. She's what he wants; the redhead with the whole package. Somehow they are the perfect storm, each complimenting the other's inner demons. Emily is always there with a snarky come back to one of Frank's jokes. She tames his demons, forcing them to play nicely in the sandbox. I'm just some sweaty dude who only showers to sober himself up. I get it. I guess.

We get halfway across the courtyard before he descends. His thick northern Jersey accent meets my ears like nails on a chalkboard. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"To get ice cream," Emily keeps her back to her dad, arms still linked with Frank and me.

Growing increasingly uncomfortable with the growing tension I dig into my pocket, pulling out a cigarette. It's bad enough to have the principal catch us trying to leave school early; it's something totally different to be a witness to a battle of wits between Emily and her father. We should have known better. He watches Emily like a hawk. Nothing she does ever gets past him. It's like a damn sport for people to turn her into her dad. What a sick joke. No wonder Emily is the way she is. I'd lose my mind if my mom could keep constant tabs on me.

"Put that out, mister Way. You know there's no smoking on campus."

As I go to drop my cigarette, Emily curls her boney fingers around my wrist, a familiar fire in her gaze, "You don't need to do anything." Emily turns, taking a step towards her dad. "You need to control your monkeys. If you're not careful they'll put someone in the hospital." Emily rips up Ray's shirt, grabbing Frank by the shoulder, spinning him around. "You're lucky I stumbled in when I did."

"Perhaps if you had come to me instead of deciding to leave we could have handled the situation," mister Bryar looks past Emily to the trees that line campus. He keeps his hands shoved deep in his pockets, clearing his throat over and over.

Emily scoffs, staring down her father, weight shifted to one side, arms crossed over her chest, "Oh yeah, like what? Suspending my friends for starting a fight? Giving your precious lacrosse players a slap on the wrist? I'm so sad that didn't happen." She turns, relinking arms with Frank. "Come on, let's go."

"Young lady if any of you step even a toe off this campus before the final bell rings I'll have no choice but to give you all detention."

"Bummer," Emily lifts her middle into the air, leading the rest of us towards the parking lot.

I gotta give it to her. In a group of all guys, Emily's got the biggest set of balls.

"What happened to start that fight?" Emily questions, unlocking her car.

Frank turns to Emily, his face falling as if she's accusing him of something, "Fucking nothing at all." He climbs into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut, feet instantly hitting the dashboard as he slouches, "We were just fucking minding our own damn business cutting through the gym to get to class and they're just on us."

"We didn't do anything to deserve that," Ray claps a hand on Frank's shoulder, cutting off his angry rambles.

Shaking my head, I buckle as Emily pulls out of the parking lot, "Fuck. This morning was going so good too." This was the first morning I've seen Mikey smile and laugh in months. I feel like myself, void of any hangover or residual drunkenness from the night before. We were happy. Things felt like they did so long ago when we were little and our only worry was missing Saturday cartoons.

"Sorry I wasn't there for you guys," Mikey pipes up, lips drawn down in a harsh frown. "I should've just gone through the gym with you."

"Hey. No way. It was better that you weren't there," my friends pipe up, giving my little brother encouraging smiles. "Three of us beat up is enough. There's no need for you to feel bad."

Emily slides into a spot near the downtown ice cream shop, twisting around so she can look at all of us, "If it happens again, go to Bob. He'll double anything they do to you. I promise. And if he doesn't there's always the croquet equipment in the storage sheds."

"Croquet?" I raise an eyebrow, trying and failing, to not trip over my feet as I get out of Emily's car. Frank reaches out, grabbing hold of the back of my shirt before I totally eat shit.

Ray ushers all of us inside, sliding into one of the 80s style booths in the back of the shop, "Yeah. We've only been trying to recruit you for forever. Emily, Frank, and I play. Bob's our fourth, but only on paper. He never actually comes to practice. You have to have at least four to have a team. Mikey, you should join too."

"Uh," Mikey digs his inhaler out of his pocket, spinning it around on the sparkling black and white tabletop, "sports aren't really my thing."

I find myself watching Emily and Frank as they wait for our ice creams at the counter. He runs his hip into hers, trying to twist away from Emily as she tries to tickle his armpits. Those two could make even the most cynical person believe in love and soul mates. Emily fishes some of the whipped cream out her sundae, smearing it across Frank's cheek. They walk back over to the table, Frank's tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, wiggling around as he tries to clean his face.

"Two chocolates," Emily places a dish in front of Mikey, giving the other to Ray. "A coffee with extra chocolate syrup." She places a dish at my place. "A vanilla for Frank and –" Emily plops down at the end of the booth – "butterscotch."

"What are you, fifty?" Mikey says through a mouthful of chocolate ice cream. "Butterscotch is for old people."

We all laugh. Emily gets her fair share of shit from the rest of us. Seeing Mikey's take on it only confirms what we've all been saying for years.

"Oh, new kids got jokes. I see you." Without warning Emily pulls back her spoon, a glop of ice cream hitting Mikey square in the nose.

Everyone goes quiet, all eyes on Mikey waiting for his next move. For a few seconds, my brother just stares down at his sundae, teeth working at his lip. Slowly, he gathers whipped cream and melting ice cream onto two fingers. Leaning across the table, he smears the mixture over Emily's face, eyebrow to chin. "Guess I do."