Summertime (Frerard)

49: Best Friends, Ex-Friends Till The End, Better Off As Lovers

I never even thought about school, and I never even thought about the people and the stares that would follow. Everyone thought they knew what was going on, but know one really knew - perhaps not even Mikey, not anymore - he'd already passed off his injury with something about falling out of a tree and some stupid dare that was embarrassing enough to ensure people took it as gospel.

And that had worked for him; that had all worked perfectly fine and dandy, but luck was certainly not on my side, and there was no confirmation of such a fact like the one you received with thirty sets off eyes and whispers that you caught too much of, passed around the room - rumours and gossip, all among the shock on the faces of the people who didn't quite believe that I was actually back, and were stupid enough to believe that one guy that started a rumour I got hit by a truck and died as a result, and then apparently got reincarnated as someone's cat.

And to top it all off, the black eye that Gerard had given me wasn't exactly helping matters.

And of course, really, the teachers had been staring and assuming more than the majority of the student body had been, and the only godsend of this day so far was Skully's absence and the torture I was saved from for the next 'blissful' twenty four hours.

It was certainly weird to think that at one point my life seemed to revolve around the guy and the way he taunted and beat up me, and perhaps my only saving grace in life was the elusive guy with the fiery red hair, and perhaps he was, perhaps he had been after all, but then again, the black eye was a constant reminder of reality: pulling me back down to earth like the pop of a balloon whenever I caught my own reflection or someone was simply kind enough to point it out.

To think I hadn't noticed the massive swelling bruise across my own face was just a little ridiculous, then again, I had been blessed with forgetting the absolute blatant ignorance and stupidity with which pupils here almost seemed to come with the obligation of having.

"Frank?" I jumped at the voice - breaking the silence that the gazes brought, and turned to see Mr Toro turning up, eyes almost dropping from his sockets at my sudden appearance, and I felt overcome with a wave of guilt as I remembered that I'd made no contact with the poor overwhelmed, curly haired music teacher for several weeks now.

"Mr Toro." I nodded, almost as if I was confirming my presence, ignoring the gazes of the rest of the class - most of which who had turned away the moment Mr Toro had showed up.

"Come talk to me after class." He met my gaze with sincerity that translated as 'you're going to tell me what the hell is going on, Frank Iero, because I'm driving myself crazy here', and I let out a reluctant nod as he gestured to the only spare seat beside a kid with bleach blonde hair that I wasn't quite sure I recognised. "Sit down there."

And as I did sit down, I go the shock of my life. "Pete?" I exclaimed, my voice a hushed whisper as I caught the gaze of the bleach blonde haired boy beside me, who I couldn't quite get myself to truly believe was none other than Pete Wentz himself. "Your hair..."

"I dyed it." He exhaled in a tone that told me instantly that this was a question he was more than tired of answering by now. "Hair does exist, Frank, or did you forget that when you were busy travelling the world and getting high with gypsies because you think you're better than us all?"

"What?" I exclaimed, eyes almost popping from their sockets as I did so. "People actually believe shit like that?"

"Oh, that's one of the milder ones." Pete shrugged it off, continuing to doodle what I believed was a shark attacking Skully on the corner of his planner in blue biro - perhaps sometimes it was best just to not ask questions. "I'm totally staying behind with you, because I want to know what the fuck is going on."