Escalators {Frerard}[COMPLETED]

➳ sesquipedalian

❝Sesquipedalian- given to or characterised by the use of long words.❞

There was only so much to be said for trying new things.

Usually, or by my choice, I'd have spent my summer in my room, on the internet, or writing, or trying and failing to learn to play the guitar for my fictional band. Okay, it doesn't sound all that amazing, but I'd have preferred that to this.

This being the cavernous, mainly-glass shopping mall that I'd somehow found myself becoming junior daytime security guard of. That 'somehow' was my mother. Apparently, my writing/internetting/failing guitar skills weren't enough for me to get enough college application credit to actually get into a 'good' college. And so here I am.

Frank Iero. Lover of words, insufferable bookworm and loosely classified nerd with no experience in the social field whatsoever; dressed like a museum nightguard and feeling suspiciously certain that I was the one attracting the wierd looks, and not my freakishly tall boss who made my diminutive frame even more diminutive. I think his name was Rob, or something. As bad as it sounds, attention wasn't usually the number one thing on my agenda, as I was usually thinking about something else, that most likely being how I could incorporate this person into my latest book, and what they would be like.

Making a mental note never to tell Rob that he was the inspiration for my homicidal gatekeeper with a love for guinea pigs and a fetish for socks, I followed him around the mall. It was 'induction' or something, again, I wasn't really listening. Most other seventeen year olds wouldn't have needed an induction, knowing where everything was already, but the mall wasn't really my hangout spot. Not that I actually had a hangout spot, unless you count the blog about the Five Nights At Freddy's anamatronics or the fridge.

Somehow, I don't think anyone did count the fridge. Apart from Sid, my dog, but I didn't know if dogs could actually count. Sid would be better than I was, anyway, seeing as I had a phobia of maths. That was a fairly simple name, actually, 'arithmophobia', a word that I'd picked up god-knows-where.

"Frank, are you listening?"

Rather rudely, I may point out, I was jarred from my thoughts by Rob's often scarily booming voice. Why someone felt the need to sound like an elephant drum, I have no idea. Not that I was complaining, it simply added to the guinea-pig-sock-gamekeeper thing. Booming Elephant Disorder. In my little fictional bubble, that was now a thing.

I hadn't been listening, but I nodded regardless.

"So like I said, you often get young lads hanging around here, but you should be alright with them, yeah?"

No. "Uh, yeah...?"

Looking pleased, which was a rather daunting concept, Rob strode off in the opposite direction, leaving me to scramble after him, reminding myself that while I was working, I really did need to keep my head on working, although my over-active imagination would make that rather difficult.

To be honest, I think that had been my mother's intention all along. Whilst I'd have been fine staying at home doing some computer programming that would have got me the same amount of credit, she'd insisted that I went and got some 'social interaction'. And also, I think she wanted me to start taking an interest on what was actually going on, and not pushing everything of importance to the back of my mind so I could focus on getting some inspiration.

That probably wasn't going to happen.

Looking around the mall, all I saw were the stereotyped 'popular' kind of kids, using their summer in the rather typical way of hanging out. This was actually the first time I'd been out of the house this summer, and whilst I thought it was a pretty big achievement, there was no kidding me that they felt the same way about it.