Killin' Before Killin' Was Cool
Nov. 8th, 2011 05:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesPart One
Every morning when Gerard wakes up he checks his email. There’s usually around twenty, nearly all directing him to other websites. He’s on forums that notify him when he’s got a private message, he’s on blogging sites that notify him when he’s got a comment. And then there are the sale emails, stuff like Abe Books and Threadless that don’t go in the spam inbox because he cares about what he could potentially purchase. He gets emails from Ray occasionally, he travels a lot for his job. Bob is easier to find on Twitter. Nothing from James of course, he still lives in Setlzer. He gets Christmas cards though.
This morning he deletes the ads, too broke to click them open and be tempted to buy something. Next are the forum notifications, he’ll log on later. There’s a direct email from a name he doesn’t recognise; Nadine. Six days a week he wouldn’t open it, even if it didn’t wind up in his spam filter, but he’s curious about what ‘Please RSVP’ is about, and if they’re aware that’s redundant.
Two minutes later he’s not grinning anymore, just trolling the internet for cheap last minute flights to Newark. He’ll have to drive from there.
Gerard’s halfway through the purchase when it occurs to him it would be nice spending the eleven hours with layover with Mikey rather than a stranger. Besides, the three of them aren’t very good at searching for deals. With three incomes they don’t have to, not like him, but it kills him to see money wasted. It’ll soothe his soul if he buys tickets for all four of them. He just needs to make sure the departure time works for them. Pete often works overnights. Alicia answers on the first ring.
“Hey ‘Licia. Looking forward to seeing your parents?”
“Uh. Oh, you mean going back next week. Uh. You know what? I’m going to pass the phone to Mikey now. One sec.”
Mikey doesn’t say hi, just starts in. “I’m not going. I’m a different person when I’m there, and I wanna try to stay this person.”
“But what about James?”
“You’re going because Frank will be going,” Mikey says out of nowhere.
“What? Fuck you.”
“Gerard, don’t even try. It’s been nine years since you left, eight years since you broke up. You haven’t dated anyone since. The only reason you haven’t gone to him is because you have no idea if he still lives in Chicago. But you know he’ll be there, so that’s where you’re going.”
There’s no point in trying to reply to that. He presses end call, and turns the phone off so he doesn’t have to get even more angry when Mikey doesn’t call back apologising. Gerard doesn’t care if Mikey and Pete and Alicia come or not. He’s going. Not because of Frank, regardless of Mikey’s theories Gerard knows that ship has sailed. He’s going because James deserves to have people that care at his funeral.
August
Gerard’s not sure what to expect when they leave the house. He knows some things. He knows they’re going to host a teenager, like half the other families in Setlzer. All over the city cars are descending on restaurants and coffee houses viewed as neutral meeting grounds. He knows teens stay anywhere from a single year to six years. They’ve been told theirs is going to be three years, so he’s most likely his age, fifteen, and staying for high school. He knows the person’s values are going to be skewed and they have to make allowances for him or her. There are disadvantaged cities all over North America, people are clamouring to come to Setlzer. The problem is none of the things he knows are interesting. Gerard wants details.
Gerard’s wanted details since the beginning of the summer. As soon as they found out they were going to host -the only one among his friends- he started trying to guess what the guy or girl would be like. Mikey’s played along for most of the summer, imagining different shapes and races and personalities with him like they’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. He stopped doing it a few days ago though, along with just about anything else. For the last week all he’s done is run upstairs to steal slices of bread and run back downstairs. Gerard’s pretty sure he stole the spare toaster from Dad’s workshed, which is sort of a frightening idea. Mikey’s about as good working electrical appliances as Dad is fixing broken ones. He can’t check though. He can get the locked door open, he learned that trick from Frank when they were seven. But Mikey learned it from Frank too, so he’s got something heavy in front of the door as a backup. Gerard’s only option would be to dart in while he was upstairs getting more bread, and refuse to leave until Mikey talked to him. That sets a bad privacy precedent though. If he does it to Mikey now, it gives Mikey the green light to do the same to him in the future.
It’s obvious what the pissy mood is about, and it’s not fair. It’s not Gerard’s fault Frank and Ray are his age, and that this new kid probably will be. Gerard didn’t ask to be a year older. He would have been perfectly happy being a twin. But he was born first, and it’s not his fault, so there’s no reason for Mikey to be stonewalling his imagination.
Like everyone else, the Ways are meeting their guest at a restaurant. It’s technically a diner, stools and checkerboard tile making it a slight variation on the theme. He wonders if parents have a handbook for how to do this. Mom says no, but when everyone does the exact same thing it has to be more than just a social obligation. Gerard stares out the window as Dad winds through the nearly full parking lot, trying to see their guest, but there are at least a dozen teenagers in Tammy’s. It’s impossible to know which one is his. Theirs, hopefully. Gerard genuinely hopes the person and Mikey become friends even if they are in different grades. Gerard’s worry for Mikey surviving ninth grade alone is only topped by his worry for surviving tenth.
It seems to take forever for Dad to park. Gerard throws off his seat belt, and waits impatiently for everyone else to get out. It’s Saturday, he’s got less than forty eight hours to make a friend of this person before school starts. He might need every minute of it. Or maybe Mikey could stop being a hermit and befriend him or her, and they won’t take him out out of loyalty.
No one makes a beeline for them as they enter, so they just head for the counter. Gerard’s requesting extra caramel in his milkshake when the voice comes from behind them. “Are you the Ways? They gave me a picture, but-”
Gerard can understand the confusion. The picture they had to submit along with the meeting location was given in June. Since then he and Mikey have both grown out their hair, and he’s dyed his. Mikey’s is about three shades darker from not showering for almost two weeks. Middle length brunets aren’t exactly shaggy black haired guys. The guy probably only found them by honing in on Mom’s bleached hair. That hasn’t changed since their parents got married.
“Yeah, we are. Hi, I’m Gerard, this is my brother Mikey.” He has to introduce him, Mikey’s lips are pursed around his straw and he looks like he’s not gonna move them until the drink is finished. “Are you gonna be in tenth with me on Monday?”
“Yeah. I’m Bob. Hi.” Bob is wearing all black, from sneaker laces to hoodie to beanie. The diner air conditioning is shitty, but he’s not sweaty. Gerard’s jealous already, he sweats like a bastard.
“Do you want a milkshake? We could order food, but to be honest it’s not the best here. This is more an ice cream bar. I was thinking we’d pick up dinner on the way home.”
“My friend Frank always orders chocolate covered pretzels when we come here, but that’s just ‘cause he can’t have anything with milk,” Gerard offers. It’s a sly statement, letting Bob know he already has a group to back him while still sounding friendly. It’s hardly throwing Frank under the bus either. Even if someone tries to poison him it’ll only make him fart, it can’t kill him.
“It’s been months since- Do they have chocolate?” Bob sounds utterly awestruck by the idea. It’s almost cute, or something.
“What kind of ice cream place doesn’t have chocolate?” Mikey’s words are barely audible, spoken around the straw still in his mouth. But he spoke. It’s a start. It would suck if Mikey gave him the silent treatment the entire year, especially considering he might not live through it. Dying with his brother pissed off at him for something that isn’t his fault is a shitty way to go.
Bob shrugs, and then they stare at each other for a solid minute. Mikey breaks first, sucking more strawberry shake up his straw. Gerard wants to applaud, but doesn’t. It would probably fuck up the truce they just wordlessly worked out. Bob takes the brown shake from Mom and starts downing it.
“You’ll need to finish before we go. They ran out of take away cups three weeks ago and haven’t ordered more in yet. But we’ll go get fast food, and I need to pick up some smokes, and then we’ll go home, and they’ll show you your new room.”
“I get my own?”
“You didn’t have one at home?” Gerard has way too many collectibles to share a room with a sibling. Mikey’s not much less cluttered.
“I didn’t come from home. I- shit. I’m not supposed to talk about it, it was one of the conditions.”
“Uh, okay?” Gerard doesn’t get it. Other cities are weird. But whatever. If Bob doesn’t want to talk about his old place, that’s up to him.
“Having my own room sounds really good though.”
“You can decorate it however you want. We can go paint shopping tomorrow. Gerard used to have your room, so the walls are bright red.”
“Thanks.” It’s the tone of someone that is genuinely surprised that an adult would want to give them freedom. It makes Gerard want to ask questions, even though Bob’s already made it clear he won’t be answering.
September
Gerard doesn’t really remember going to kindergarten while Mikey stayed home with Grandma. He’s heard stories though. When you eat family dinner every Sunday night certain stories become routine. Going to high school while Mikey stays in the junior high wing of the elementary school isn’t turning out much better for him. He’s a bit old for throwing himself to the ground and screaming or sobbing, but it’s not like he doesn’t think about it.
Dad drops Mikey off first. He gets out of the front seat and walks around to the back. Gerard always sits behind the driver if he can’t call shotgun, and Bob didn’t seem to care. Mikey pulls the door open and bends in to curl himself into Gerard. Gerard accepts the hug mutely, scared of what he might say if he opens his mouth.
“Get them before they get you,” Mikey orders. Gerard nods. Realistically speaking, the first day shouldn’t be too bad.
Mikey wishes Bob good luck in a louder voice then separates himself. He closes the door and watches Mikey walk up the double-wide sidewalk. Gerard watches every step, knowing that this might be the last time he ever sees Mikey. Dad doesn’t pull away until Mikey’s inside, a courtesy Gerard will no longer be getting.
Gerard’s going to the largest high school in Setlzer. Jonathon Brook has a population of a bit over a thousand compared to the two other school’s slightly less than. He can’t remember what his reasoning was. Maybe that in a sea of people he’s less likely to be noticed and singled out. Maybe it’s just that it’s the school Frank and Ray are going to. They’re not in his first period class, but they share other classes and Bob is in his homeroom. He doesn’t know much about comics, but he didn’t seem to mind Mikey pushing issues at him. Aside from the not talking about his home thing, Bob is pretty cool. And average, which is important. Gerard isn’t spending the next however long trying to impress incredible people.
Since they won’t get their locks for their lockers until first period introduction, there’s no reason to not go straight to homeroom. Gerard lets Bob lead the way, happy that he picks seats in the second last row. Gerard’s not really a front seat eager beaver, and if he was it wouldn’t be for general science. He pulls his binder and his information packet from his backpack. A boy in the front row is reading his student handbook, and the girl beside him is already making a list of names on her notes app. Gerard starts drawing a brontosaurus on the corner of the first page. Bob leans over and starts writing dinosaur related dialogue. Gerard tilts his paper for easier access.
They’ve almost got a comic finished when the five minute warning bell rings. It makes Gerard look up reflexively. The teacher’s gun is on her desk in direct line of sight. The class is nearly full now, and half the students are eyeballing it. Gerard goes back to adding dandruff to the pterodactyl. Guns aren’t his style, and they’re not allowed them in school anyway.
After the final bell rings they all stand for the anthem. It’s still the Star Spangled Banner, of course, but the backing instruments are different than the simple piano at his old school. When braaaave finishes ringing out and the intercom crackles off the teacher introduces herself over the scrape of thirty people settling back into their chairs. She takes attendance, then moves close to the door to kick at a plywood box painted navy blue.
“This is the lost and found. Technically I’m supposed to tell you to keep your mitts off. Realistically, if there are any weapons in lost and found feel free to take them. Chances are the student is no longer capable of reclaiming them.” Bob laughs. Gerard’s not sure why that’s funny.
Everyone is tense the whole morning. Gerard can’t help but wonder if this is what the next three years are going to be like. But no, it’s a different kind of tension. This isn’t just normal tension. This is first day specific. Everyone is waiting for something to happen, no one wants to make the first move. It’s almost a relief when in the middle of a conversation while walking out of cooking Frank barks out a shout of excitement. Gerard looks up from the locker combination written on his hand that he’s trying to memorize. Beside him Ray and Bob stop in their tracks.
Seemingly everyone in the hallway is turning to watch. Down the hall it’s a pretty decent show. A girl has another girl by the pony tail and is smashing her head into the locker. The defender isn’t doing much to save herself, the first blow must have stunned her. Part of Gerard knows he should run forward and join in. He could finish off the dying girl and take the aggressor’s kill. He could go after the aggressor, as she’s basically made herself open game. Or he could even go after someone random, really get the year started. And he should do it while shouting ‘you don’t mess with the Ways’ so he can start building a rep to keep himself and more importantly Mikey safe. He doesn’t though, just hangs back.
It’s not the first girl Gerard’s seen die. You don’t live fifteen years without seeing death, unless your parents keep you indoors whenever possible. Coddling like that is dangerous though. It leaves you unprepared for the world. Still, it’s the first time he’s seen someone get beaten so enthusiastically, and the first time he’s not protected from being the next. His hand goes to the sheath dangling from his belt loop, index finger rubbing over the hilt of his knife. He doesn’t have the safety of the yellow cloth any longer. If this escalates he has to watch his back, and Frank’s and Ray’s. And maybe Bob’s. They haven’t struck a deal, but alliances are constantly broken. There are entire reality shows based on the idea. Gerard would rather have a friendship, and not just because Bob looks like he could handle anything.
Bob’s chill demeanor doesn’t match the words coming out of his mouth. “That girl is killing her!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a knife,” Gerard reassures.
“What? Gerard, I think that girl is trying to kill her!”
Frank snorts. “Yeah, and my Spanish teacher is trying to teach me Spanish. Who knows who’ll prevail.”
Frank’s got a point. The defender is rallying. She’s got a delicate stiletto knife out of her pocket now. Her sight is obviously pretty fucked, she’s swinging it at random, but she’s connected a few times. Nowhere vital, but enough to make the aggressor cry out in pain and stop smashing the defender’s head.
“What the fuck, Frank? They’re trying to kill each other!”
“Yeah, and my math class had numbers, and in gym I had to move around. High school comes with requirements.”
Bob is staring at Frank wide eyed. Ray finally takes pity. “Did they wait until after labour day to start at your school?”
“Start what? What the fuck is going on! She just died!” Bob points wildly and Gerard looks again, noting that the stiletto did it’s work. The aggressor is slumped, pints spraying out of her thigh. “Someone just killed someone! Why does no one care? Where the fuck are the cops!”
Gerard doesn’t know how to answer that. Frank is confused too, though more distracted watching the girl finish opening her locker and getting out a change of clothing. For the second time, it’s Ray that attempts to help Bob. “Uh, cops come when crimes occur?”
“Someone just murdered someone! What the fuck do you think a crime is?”
Suddenly it all makes sense. Gerard can see the comprehension flash in Ray and Frank’s eyes. Of course it’s Frank that says it, because he has no head to mouth filter. “Oh, you’re from one of those towns. Weird.”
“Could one of you explain what the fuck that means before I go fucking batshit?” Bob doesn’t look like it would take much to push him into action. Gerard angles himself better so if Bob attacks him he can take him down.
“Just that there are towns like yours, you know, disadvantaged,” Ray’s voice drops to a whisper for the last word, “and then there are normal towns, like ours.”
“Jesus Christ, you guys think murder is normal. This isn’t. I don’t. I don’t belong here! I didn’t murder anyone, I just got drunk and hit my cousin for hitting his girlfriend. It was my first party, and he was a dick and he got me drunk and my aunt called the cops. I was supposed to be staying away from my family, being relocated was my early release condition. They moved me to a town where murder is okay. I don’t belong here! I barely even hurt him!”
Gerard watches Bob spiral into hyperventilating. He doesn’t know what to say. Even Ray’s at a loss for words, and he’s always the comforter. Thankfully the silence doesn’t stretch long, the five minute bell rings.
“Oh shit, we gotta get to class. Look, we’ll hang out at Gerard’s after school and explain shit to you. But you have geometry with McKensson, right? He’s cool, my older brother liked him.”
Bob looks at Ray like he’s insane. “Yeah, I’m not going to class. I’m calling my probation officer and getting the fuck out of this crazy ass town.”
It isn’t until last period that Gerard gets sent to the guidance counsellor’s office. He’s been expecting it all day, hosts are checked in on a few times a year. Assuming the guest lives through all of high school, of course. If Bob dies next week there wouldn’t be any point in meeting to talk about him in December. Once he gets into the general office he knocks on the closed door he’s assigned to. Or at least he assumes he’s assigned there, the door has the label Q-Z on it, along with Grey. A female voice calls for him to come in, so he turns the doorknob.
The room is small, her nice chair on one side of a desk with paper strewn over it, two normal classroom plastic chairs on the other. Gerard throws himself into one and glances around the room as he waits for her to finish typing. The art is horribly generic, and a poor contrast for the safe walls. Not for the first time, Gerard wishes the school designers could have chosen a better shade to signify off limits areas. At the very least a bright yellow instead of a pastel butter shade.
“How are things going with Bob?” she asks. She’s still facing the computer, not him, but it’s fairly obvious she’s talking to him.
“Mrs Grey, I don’t get it. Bob seemed shocked when two girls went at it. Not just normal shocked ‘cause you never know when to expect it. Really shocked. And then he said it doesn’t happen where he’s from. He kind of implied that we’re the weird ones.”
She turns to look at him. Her face is compassionate, like she’s barely restraining herself from leaping over the table to hug him. “Gerard, you have to remember a lot of the guests are from disadvantaged cities. No one gets a college fund because no one has earned the right to be an adult. Many cities have populations where adults abuse or even kill each other.”
“What?” The idea is unfathomable. Parallel universes and time travel are far more plausible than someone over eighteen hurting someone else.
“Yes, it’s quite true I’m afraid. Not being able to get their aggression tamed has left them in a state of perpetual adolescence.”
“Well that’s fucked up.”
“That’s why we bring in so many teenagers. Every normal city does, in a sort of aide to those that need it. Bob told you he came from prison, correct? Did he tell you the circumstances?”
“Uh, he got in a fight with his cousin? I didn’t really get it, that’s not a crime. At least not here.”
“Gerard, his cousin is twenty one. His cousin had assaulted his twenty year old girlfriend, and Bob, fourteen and intoxicated at the time, was the only one in a room full of adults to try to stop it. When the selection committee found out he was immediately on the transfer list. Bob is exactly the type of child most in need of saving.”
“Holy shit,” he mutters. Bob didn’t say anything about their ages when they were in the hallway.
“His probation officer instructed him not to share his past. You can understand how some of our less, well, how some of the students would look down on him if they found out he was violent while in junior high, against adults. I’m going to make the same request of you.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” It’s only a little bit a lie. He’s going to tell Ray and Frank, and Mikey when he goes home. But he sure as fuck isn’t telling any of the dumbass popular kids. There’s already a prejudice against guests, if anyone finds out about Bob’s perverted act he’ll be a target immediately. Gerard doesn’t want that for him.
March
Gerard doesn’t really want to watch basketball. He doesn’t care about the sport, in his opinion the only good sport is wrestling. He really doesn’t care about showing school spirit for the team, there’s nothing that makes JB any better than Amos Avery. To top it off, he has a feeling that shit is gonna get messy. He can pretty much guarantee someone is going to die tonight, and multiple are actually pretty likely.
Unfortunately for them, Frank does want to go. He’s been invested in the games since November, even attends some of the Amos Avery vs Paulo Ferdinand games. They can’t exactly let him go alone. There’s safety in numbers. Frank doesn’t need protection, it’s the other way around if anything. The first semester of freshman year has taught them something not particularly surprising; Frank can be a bit enthusiastic with getting into it with someone over a perceived slight. If he didn’t have people around to make him laugh and keep him chill, he might rack up a body a day. It’s impossible to hold a grudge though, as soon as Frank is springing to his feet and cursing the referee Gerard can’t help but smile. And the two foot long plastic bag of popcorn seems to be placating Bob and Ray.
Mikey is the only hold out, scowling more each second. It takes a few meaningful nudges and knee knocks for his brother to spit it out. “This pinnie makes me look fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, well too bad. You’re wearing it.” He’s not Mom, but as older brother he’s got enough authority to make sure it doesn’t come off.
The scowl grows before it distorts as Mikey retorts “I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna wear it. I said it looks fucking stupid.”
Frank shrugs, sitting down for the tenth time in eight minutes. “Price you pay for being fourteen and hanging out with the big boys.”
“Frank I’m like two feet taller than you.”
Frank swivels towards him. “Fuck you, I am not three feet tall.”
“You don’t look like a runty junior high kid, is what Frank is saying.” Gerard’s pretty sure that wasn’t at all what Frank meant, but better to let Ray talk. “So when shit goes down, which we all know it will, that’ll say you’re immune. And in what, seven months, you won’t be an off limits kid, you’ll be a teenager. So enjoy not being a target while you still can.”
“Fuck off. And gimme some popcorn.”
It’s pretty much the best resolution Gerard could hope for. Mikey wants to be a freshman in a way Gerard never did, and he’s not going to be entirely himself until he’s no longer left behind. He jams both hands down the plastic and grabs two handfuls. He tosses one fully into his mouth, and holds the other open so Mikey can scoop it up.
For a minute it looks like things are going to blow up six minutes into the third. Frank’s outrage against an uncalled foul is met with catcalls by a guy with a hammer in his hand. The catcalls rile up the Jonathon Brooke crowd, all around Gerard people are shouting. It’s a young crowd, everyone in high school, except for one or two yellow pinnies. It’s a volatile crowd, to put it mildly. He stays sitting but keeps his hand on his hilt.
In the end, no one takes that first step off the bleachers. The screamed threats simmer down, and most sit down and the ref calls the game back on. Gerard could make a calm in the eye of a storm comment to Mikey, but it’s not really like that. That implies the storm will stop. Maybe after a ton of wreckage, but it will. Non-metaphored real life doesn’t stop. It’s a series of short pauses between death and more death.
Shit actually starts in the fourth quarter. Someone in the Avery crowd jeers the JB point guard, and his reaction is to turn and charge at her. The clock pauses again, and when Eric starts punching the girl the crowd swarms on him and the JB crowd swarms on them. Most of both basketball teams run to the door that leads to the change rooms. They still have half a season to play, they don’t want to die yet.
Gerard doesn’t want to die yet either. Ray’s got Frank by the hair so he doesn’t go dive into the melee, but it’s spreading as individuals start to hit and cut and kick, and it’s only a matter of minutes until it gets to them. Trying to leave wouldn’t be safe, you don’t expose your back to this kind of scene. Instead they cluster in front of Mikey. Pinnie or not, someone with a tec-9 doesn’t have a lot of accuracy. It’s better to be safe than to be at a funeral.
Gerard can feel Mikey’s forearm press against his back trying to get him out of the way. He doesn’t move. He’s Mikey’s older brother and that entails a lot of things. In the end being a human shield is no worse than making sure he eats the whole bowlful of soup when he’s sick. This is what he has to do.
Eventually they get rushed. The girl has Jonathon Brook coloured hair ties, but this stopped being about teams five minutes ago. He can feel Frank tensing on one side of him, Bob on the other. Ray’s half behind Frank, in the last year it’s become obvious Ray doesn’t have the right teenage attitude. Of the three times he’s tried to kill, two lived after Ray walked away thinking he’d finished the job. Gerard doesn’t have the enthusiasm Frank does, or Bob’s strength, but he can hold his own if someone comes at him. His technique has changed in the last seven months. As it turns out, slitting throats does best for him. It requires far less force or momentum than stabbing someone in the chest would. It’s also more merciful, they bleed out much quicker from a nicked jugular than a gut wound. The most important factor is it gives no chance for recovery. People that survive tend to want revenge.
She comes at him, and Gerard does what he has to do. She’s obviously not thinking, caught up in the blood rage groups sometimes get. It’s easy to hold the knife up as she rams into him. The arterial spray is already gushing before Gerard fully lands. He closes his eyes and purses his lips to keep himself from ingesting any fluids, though it can only help so much. As her body twitches one last time her bladder loses control over his shoes.
“Fuckin’ gross,” he mutters.
“Get the hell off me.” Or at least that’s what sounds like Mikey says. His voice is pretty muffled with a blanket of two people on top of him. Gerard can’t do shit all about it though, not until Bob or Ray gets the girl off him. It’s too much dead weight, liked a felled tree; he can’t dislodge her himself.
Gerard is exhausted by the time he gets to his parents house. That hardly matters though, it doesn’t dampen the thrill of seeing them a bit. Mom makes him a sandwich, microwaved bacon and thickly sliced tomatoes. Dad tells him the score of a baseball game that’s being played somewhere it’s still light out.
He’s only taken his first bite when Mom tells him the wake is at Frank’s house tomorrow.
“Why are Mr and Mrs Iero hosting it?” He can think of a whole handful of people more appropriate.
“No, Frank is. He’s got a place near the river.”
“What? He lives here?”
“Has for about, what’s it, Don? Seven years?”
Holy shit. Maybe Mikey’s partially right, in that Gerard’s been curious about what Frank’s been doing. He’s probably daydreamed a hundred lives for him over the years. But not a single one of them involved Frank coming back to a city of murder and staying.
“I’m pretty sure a lot of the guys your age are having a pre-wake wake. Probably staying overnight, so it’s not too late to go over, if you’re not jetlagged.”
“They must be staying,” Dad adds. “They bought one of the liquor stores out of beer. Literally, Chris told me when I was picking up milk. Gerard, do you remember Chris? Well, he’s working three different part time jobs. Four, if you count gossiping.”
“I don’t drink anymore Dad. I had a problem with it after leaving here.” From what he could tell researching, a lot of PTSD survivors have substance issues. Mikey and Pete weren’t much better with the drugs.
“Well you should still go over. Pay your last respects to James. His funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
The action suddenly seems a lot more questionable now that it’s at Frank’s. And he is tired. Really, it can wait until tomorrow.
October
Anyone with common sense would say a teenager with a crush would spend their days talking about their crush to anyone that would listen. Mikey doesn’t. Instead he spends his days talking about Patrick, who talks about Pete.
Gerard’s glad Mikey has acquaintances. Friends can sometimes be exhausting. Ray didn’t successfully kill anyone this summer, Bob had to finish off the one guy Ray tried to get. And Frank was of course the opposite, diving into any possible situation. You have to back friends, or at least Gerard’s personal ethics says he has to, and he knows Ray and Frank and Bob share that idea. People that make you happy yet you have no obligation to keep alive are a relief. But every second sentence out of Mikey’s mouth is about Patrick. It’s getting old.
To be fair though, it’s not right for him to say what average teenager with a crush behaviour should be. It’s not like he likes anyone, has experienced what Mikey currently is feeling. Gerard can at least admit he doesn’t know what he’s talking about And they are supportive. If Mikey wants to relay that time where Patrick and Pete inhaled and exhaled, one of them will feign interest. They rotate. Today it’s Ray’s turn.
“Patrick told me Pete showers twice a day. Sometimes three times.”
As much as Gerard cares about neither Pete nor Patrick this just seems ridiculous and impossible. It’s the first thing all week worth asking about. “What? Why in God’s name would he shower three times a day?”
“Because not everyone can get by on three times a month like you and Mikey can?” Bob comments.
Frank and Ray laugh, Gerard just rolls his eyes. Everyone knows hair has it’s own natural oils that self clean. And soaps are just chemicals that leave a film on your skin.
“Patrick says it’s because when Pete is having his nightmares he sweats a lot. So he has to shower in the morning.”
“Yeah I can understand that, my sheets are always damp.”
“Sure that’s not just wet dreams?”
“Fuck off.”
Mikey interrupts Frank and Bob before it can devolve further. “Then he showers at night so he can jerk off.”
“How does Patrick know that?”
“You’re telling me you haven’t figured out when Lou is taking ten minutes too long?”
“Why the hell would I think about my brother?”
“And then sometimes he’s got soccer, so he has to get all the grass stains off his knees or whatever.”
Gerard can honestly say he wouldn’t use the shower in any of those situations. He’s not normally sweaty after his nightmares, and if he can’t get back to sleep he uses the time to draw instead of worrying about personal hygiene. It’s never too soon to start building a portfolio. There’s nothing wrong with jerking off in bed, it’s a lot more comfortable. And while he doesn’t do anything that would involve grass stains, if he did he would consider it a hazard of the action and not worry about it. Like the paint that sometimes gets in his hair.
“Patrick says that Pete and Jeanae don’t even like each other anymore. They’re just too stubborn to let go. Patrick thinks they’d end up getting married, just because they can’t stop.”
“That’s crazy,” Ray manages. Thank fuck it’s Ray’s day. If Gerard has to actively participate in one more conversation about Patrick’s thoughts on Jeanae he’s going to stab himself in the eardrum with his own knife. At least Frank and Ray and Jamia get to go home, this follows him and Bob.
“I know.” Mikey stands and Gerard is suddenly very interested. His brother’s pockets are bulging. It’s obvious he’s got something.
“Think about what you’re doing Mikeyway.”
“I’ve thought enough.”
When Mikey starts walking Gerard doesn’t hesitate a moment before following. He’s gratified to see Bob, Frank, and Ray too. It’s nice when trust is properly placed. Jamia stays at the table, but he can’t fault her for it. She and Frank have only been hanging out for a few weeks, she owes Mikey as much as Gerard owes Patrick.
Unsurprisingly Mikey stops at the table Pete is sitting at. Jeanae is sitting beside him, and they each have half a dozen friends to fill out the table. Pete’s have some variety, different ethnicities and styles. Jeanae’s girls are nearly identical.
Mikey doesn’t waste time calling her out. He just pulls a bottle of Axe out of one pocket and a lighter out of the other. He depresses the button as he flicks the lighter. The flame shoots out several feet. She’s screaming in an instant, a move that doesn’t do much good when it just has her inhaling the flame and roasting her throat. Mikey uses all his weight to keep the chair tucked in so she can’t escape. No one intervenes, her friends just shift so the clumps of burning hair don’t land on them and ruin their outfits. As she slumps he follows her, expending the rest of the can. Only when it’s empty does he throw his hoodie onto her corpse to suppress the flames before the whole table goes up.
He slips the lighter in his pocket and moves a few feet to the left. “Hi. I’m Mikey.”
“I’m Pete, Pete Wentz.” He’s not really looking at Mikey, rather he’s staring at the black fleece covering his charred girlfriend. Gerard can’t really blame him for the split attention.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been waiting for you to break up, but I got bored.”
“Oh. Uh, I get that. I’d get bored too.”
There doesn’t look like there’s gong to be any immediate retaliation so Gerard falls back. He should let Mikey have his moment. He’d want Mikey to do the same for him.
Part Two
Every morning when Gerard wakes up he checks his email. There’s usually around twenty, nearly all directing him to other websites. He’s on forums that notify him when he’s got a private message, he’s on blogging sites that notify him when he’s got a comment. And then there are the sale emails, stuff like Abe Books and Threadless that don’t go in the spam inbox because he cares about what he could potentially purchase. He gets emails from Ray occasionally, he travels a lot for his job. Bob is easier to find on Twitter. Nothing from James of course, he still lives in Setlzer. He gets Christmas cards though.
This morning he deletes the ads, too broke to click them open and be tempted to buy something. Next are the forum notifications, he’ll log on later. There’s a direct email from a name he doesn’t recognise; Nadine. Six days a week he wouldn’t open it, even if it didn’t wind up in his spam filter, but he’s curious about what ‘Please RSVP’ is about, and if they’re aware that’s redundant.
Two minutes later he’s not grinning anymore, just trolling the internet for cheap last minute flights to Newark. He’ll have to drive from there.
Gerard’s halfway through the purchase when it occurs to him it would be nice spending the eleven hours with layover with Mikey rather than a stranger. Besides, the three of them aren’t very good at searching for deals. With three incomes they don’t have to, not like him, but it kills him to see money wasted. It’ll soothe his soul if he buys tickets for all four of them. He just needs to make sure the departure time works for them. Pete often works overnights. Alicia answers on the first ring.
“Hey ‘Licia. Looking forward to seeing your parents?”
“Uh. Oh, you mean going back next week. Uh. You know what? I’m going to pass the phone to Mikey now. One sec.”
Mikey doesn’t say hi, just starts in. “I’m not going. I’m a different person when I’m there, and I wanna try to stay this person.”
“But what about James?”
“You’re going because Frank will be going,” Mikey says out of nowhere.
“What? Fuck you.”
“Gerard, don’t even try. It’s been nine years since you left, eight years since you broke up. You haven’t dated anyone since. The only reason you haven’t gone to him is because you have no idea if he still lives in Chicago. But you know he’ll be there, so that’s where you’re going.”
There’s no point in trying to reply to that. He presses end call, and turns the phone off so he doesn’t have to get even more angry when Mikey doesn’t call back apologising. Gerard doesn’t care if Mikey and Pete and Alicia come or not. He’s going. Not because of Frank, regardless of Mikey’s theories Gerard knows that ship has sailed. He’s going because James deserves to have people that care at his funeral.
August
Gerard’s not sure what to expect when they leave the house. He knows some things. He knows they’re going to host a teenager, like half the other families in Setlzer. All over the city cars are descending on restaurants and coffee houses viewed as neutral meeting grounds. He knows teens stay anywhere from a single year to six years. They’ve been told theirs is going to be three years, so he’s most likely his age, fifteen, and staying for high school. He knows the person’s values are going to be skewed and they have to make allowances for him or her. There are disadvantaged cities all over North America, people are clamouring to come to Setlzer. The problem is none of the things he knows are interesting. Gerard wants details.
Gerard’s wanted details since the beginning of the summer. As soon as they found out they were going to host -the only one among his friends- he started trying to guess what the guy or girl would be like. Mikey’s played along for most of the summer, imagining different shapes and races and personalities with him like they’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. He stopped doing it a few days ago though, along with just about anything else. For the last week all he’s done is run upstairs to steal slices of bread and run back downstairs. Gerard’s pretty sure he stole the spare toaster from Dad’s workshed, which is sort of a frightening idea. Mikey’s about as good working electrical appliances as Dad is fixing broken ones. He can’t check though. He can get the locked door open, he learned that trick from Frank when they were seven. But Mikey learned it from Frank too, so he’s got something heavy in front of the door as a backup. Gerard’s only option would be to dart in while he was upstairs getting more bread, and refuse to leave until Mikey talked to him. That sets a bad privacy precedent though. If he does it to Mikey now, it gives Mikey the green light to do the same to him in the future.
It’s obvious what the pissy mood is about, and it’s not fair. It’s not Gerard’s fault Frank and Ray are his age, and that this new kid probably will be. Gerard didn’t ask to be a year older. He would have been perfectly happy being a twin. But he was born first, and it’s not his fault, so there’s no reason for Mikey to be stonewalling his imagination.
Like everyone else, the Ways are meeting their guest at a restaurant. It’s technically a diner, stools and checkerboard tile making it a slight variation on the theme. He wonders if parents have a handbook for how to do this. Mom says no, but when everyone does the exact same thing it has to be more than just a social obligation. Gerard stares out the window as Dad winds through the nearly full parking lot, trying to see their guest, but there are at least a dozen teenagers in Tammy’s. It’s impossible to know which one is his. Theirs, hopefully. Gerard genuinely hopes the person and Mikey become friends even if they are in different grades. Gerard’s worry for Mikey surviving ninth grade alone is only topped by his worry for surviving tenth.
It seems to take forever for Dad to park. Gerard throws off his seat belt, and waits impatiently for everyone else to get out. It’s Saturday, he’s got less than forty eight hours to make a friend of this person before school starts. He might need every minute of it. Or maybe Mikey could stop being a hermit and befriend him or her, and they won’t take him out out of loyalty.
No one makes a beeline for them as they enter, so they just head for the counter. Gerard’s requesting extra caramel in his milkshake when the voice comes from behind them. “Are you the Ways? They gave me a picture, but-”
Gerard can understand the confusion. The picture they had to submit along with the meeting location was given in June. Since then he and Mikey have both grown out their hair, and he’s dyed his. Mikey’s is about three shades darker from not showering for almost two weeks. Middle length brunets aren’t exactly shaggy black haired guys. The guy probably only found them by honing in on Mom’s bleached hair. That hasn’t changed since their parents got married.
“Yeah, we are. Hi, I’m Gerard, this is my brother Mikey.” He has to introduce him, Mikey’s lips are pursed around his straw and he looks like he’s not gonna move them until the drink is finished. “Are you gonna be in tenth with me on Monday?”
“Yeah. I’m Bob. Hi.” Bob is wearing all black, from sneaker laces to hoodie to beanie. The diner air conditioning is shitty, but he’s not sweaty. Gerard’s jealous already, he sweats like a bastard.
“Do you want a milkshake? We could order food, but to be honest it’s not the best here. This is more an ice cream bar. I was thinking we’d pick up dinner on the way home.”
“My friend Frank always orders chocolate covered pretzels when we come here, but that’s just ‘cause he can’t have anything with milk,” Gerard offers. It’s a sly statement, letting Bob know he already has a group to back him while still sounding friendly. It’s hardly throwing Frank under the bus either. Even if someone tries to poison him it’ll only make him fart, it can’t kill him.
“It’s been months since- Do they have chocolate?” Bob sounds utterly awestruck by the idea. It’s almost cute, or something.
“What kind of ice cream place doesn’t have chocolate?” Mikey’s words are barely audible, spoken around the straw still in his mouth. But he spoke. It’s a start. It would suck if Mikey gave him the silent treatment the entire year, especially considering he might not live through it. Dying with his brother pissed off at him for something that isn’t his fault is a shitty way to go.
Bob shrugs, and then they stare at each other for a solid minute. Mikey breaks first, sucking more strawberry shake up his straw. Gerard wants to applaud, but doesn’t. It would probably fuck up the truce they just wordlessly worked out. Bob takes the brown shake from Mom and starts downing it.
“You’ll need to finish before we go. They ran out of take away cups three weeks ago and haven’t ordered more in yet. But we’ll go get fast food, and I need to pick up some smokes, and then we’ll go home, and they’ll show you your new room.”
“I get my own?”
“You didn’t have one at home?” Gerard has way too many collectibles to share a room with a sibling. Mikey’s not much less cluttered.
“I didn’t come from home. I- shit. I’m not supposed to talk about it, it was one of the conditions.”
“Uh, okay?” Gerard doesn’t get it. Other cities are weird. But whatever. If Bob doesn’t want to talk about his old place, that’s up to him.
“Having my own room sounds really good though.”
“You can decorate it however you want. We can go paint shopping tomorrow. Gerard used to have your room, so the walls are bright red.”
“Thanks.” It’s the tone of someone that is genuinely surprised that an adult would want to give them freedom. It makes Gerard want to ask questions, even though Bob’s already made it clear he won’t be answering.
September
Gerard doesn’t really remember going to kindergarten while Mikey stayed home with Grandma. He’s heard stories though. When you eat family dinner every Sunday night certain stories become routine. Going to high school while Mikey stays in the junior high wing of the elementary school isn’t turning out much better for him. He’s a bit old for throwing himself to the ground and screaming or sobbing, but it’s not like he doesn’t think about it.
Dad drops Mikey off first. He gets out of the front seat and walks around to the back. Gerard always sits behind the driver if he can’t call shotgun, and Bob didn’t seem to care. Mikey pulls the door open and bends in to curl himself into Gerard. Gerard accepts the hug mutely, scared of what he might say if he opens his mouth.
“Get them before they get you,” Mikey orders. Gerard nods. Realistically speaking, the first day shouldn’t be too bad.
Mikey wishes Bob good luck in a louder voice then separates himself. He closes the door and watches Mikey walk up the double-wide sidewalk. Gerard watches every step, knowing that this might be the last time he ever sees Mikey. Dad doesn’t pull away until Mikey’s inside, a courtesy Gerard will no longer be getting.
Gerard’s going to the largest high school in Setlzer. Jonathon Brook has a population of a bit over a thousand compared to the two other school’s slightly less than. He can’t remember what his reasoning was. Maybe that in a sea of people he’s less likely to be noticed and singled out. Maybe it’s just that it’s the school Frank and Ray are going to. They’re not in his first period class, but they share other classes and Bob is in his homeroom. He doesn’t know much about comics, but he didn’t seem to mind Mikey pushing issues at him. Aside from the not talking about his home thing, Bob is pretty cool. And average, which is important. Gerard isn’t spending the next however long trying to impress incredible people.
Since they won’t get their locks for their lockers until first period introduction, there’s no reason to not go straight to homeroom. Gerard lets Bob lead the way, happy that he picks seats in the second last row. Gerard’s not really a front seat eager beaver, and if he was it wouldn’t be for general science. He pulls his binder and his information packet from his backpack. A boy in the front row is reading his student handbook, and the girl beside him is already making a list of names on her notes app. Gerard starts drawing a brontosaurus on the corner of the first page. Bob leans over and starts writing dinosaur related dialogue. Gerard tilts his paper for easier access.
They’ve almost got a comic finished when the five minute warning bell rings. It makes Gerard look up reflexively. The teacher’s gun is on her desk in direct line of sight. The class is nearly full now, and half the students are eyeballing it. Gerard goes back to adding dandruff to the pterodactyl. Guns aren’t his style, and they’re not allowed them in school anyway.
After the final bell rings they all stand for the anthem. It’s still the Star Spangled Banner, of course, but the backing instruments are different than the simple piano at his old school. When braaaave finishes ringing out and the intercom crackles off the teacher introduces herself over the scrape of thirty people settling back into their chairs. She takes attendance, then moves close to the door to kick at a plywood box painted navy blue.
“This is the lost and found. Technically I’m supposed to tell you to keep your mitts off. Realistically, if there are any weapons in lost and found feel free to take them. Chances are the student is no longer capable of reclaiming them.” Bob laughs. Gerard’s not sure why that’s funny.
Everyone is tense the whole morning. Gerard can’t help but wonder if this is what the next three years are going to be like. But no, it’s a different kind of tension. This isn’t just normal tension. This is first day specific. Everyone is waiting for something to happen, no one wants to make the first move. It’s almost a relief when in the middle of a conversation while walking out of cooking Frank barks out a shout of excitement. Gerard looks up from the locker combination written on his hand that he’s trying to memorize. Beside him Ray and Bob stop in their tracks.
Seemingly everyone in the hallway is turning to watch. Down the hall it’s a pretty decent show. A girl has another girl by the pony tail and is smashing her head into the locker. The defender isn’t doing much to save herself, the first blow must have stunned her. Part of Gerard knows he should run forward and join in. He could finish off the dying girl and take the aggressor’s kill. He could go after the aggressor, as she’s basically made herself open game. Or he could even go after someone random, really get the year started. And he should do it while shouting ‘you don’t mess with the Ways’ so he can start building a rep to keep himself and more importantly Mikey safe. He doesn’t though, just hangs back.
It’s not the first girl Gerard’s seen die. You don’t live fifteen years without seeing death, unless your parents keep you indoors whenever possible. Coddling like that is dangerous though. It leaves you unprepared for the world. Still, it’s the first time he’s seen someone get beaten so enthusiastically, and the first time he’s not protected from being the next. His hand goes to the sheath dangling from his belt loop, index finger rubbing over the hilt of his knife. He doesn’t have the safety of the yellow cloth any longer. If this escalates he has to watch his back, and Frank’s and Ray’s. And maybe Bob’s. They haven’t struck a deal, but alliances are constantly broken. There are entire reality shows based on the idea. Gerard would rather have a friendship, and not just because Bob looks like he could handle anything.
Bob’s chill demeanor doesn’t match the words coming out of his mouth. “That girl is killing her!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a knife,” Gerard reassures.
“What? Gerard, I think that girl is trying to kill her!”
Frank snorts. “Yeah, and my Spanish teacher is trying to teach me Spanish. Who knows who’ll prevail.”
Frank’s got a point. The defender is rallying. She’s got a delicate stiletto knife out of her pocket now. Her sight is obviously pretty fucked, she’s swinging it at random, but she’s connected a few times. Nowhere vital, but enough to make the aggressor cry out in pain and stop smashing the defender’s head.
“What the fuck, Frank? They’re trying to kill each other!”
“Yeah, and my math class had numbers, and in gym I had to move around. High school comes with requirements.”
Bob is staring at Frank wide eyed. Ray finally takes pity. “Did they wait until after labour day to start at your school?”
“Start what? What the fuck is going on! She just died!” Bob points wildly and Gerard looks again, noting that the stiletto did it’s work. The aggressor is slumped, pints spraying out of her thigh. “Someone just killed someone! Why does no one care? Where the fuck are the cops!”
Gerard doesn’t know how to answer that. Frank is confused too, though more distracted watching the girl finish opening her locker and getting out a change of clothing. For the second time, it’s Ray that attempts to help Bob. “Uh, cops come when crimes occur?”
“Someone just murdered someone! What the fuck do you think a crime is?”
Suddenly it all makes sense. Gerard can see the comprehension flash in Ray and Frank’s eyes. Of course it’s Frank that says it, because he has no head to mouth filter. “Oh, you’re from one of those towns. Weird.”
“Could one of you explain what the fuck that means before I go fucking batshit?” Bob doesn’t look like it would take much to push him into action. Gerard angles himself better so if Bob attacks him he can take him down.
“Just that there are towns like yours, you know, disadvantaged,” Ray’s voice drops to a whisper for the last word, “and then there are normal towns, like ours.”
“Jesus Christ, you guys think murder is normal. This isn’t. I don’t. I don’t belong here! I didn’t murder anyone, I just got drunk and hit my cousin for hitting his girlfriend. It was my first party, and he was a dick and he got me drunk and my aunt called the cops. I was supposed to be staying away from my family, being relocated was my early release condition. They moved me to a town where murder is okay. I don’t belong here! I barely even hurt him!”
Gerard watches Bob spiral into hyperventilating. He doesn’t know what to say. Even Ray’s at a loss for words, and he’s always the comforter. Thankfully the silence doesn’t stretch long, the five minute bell rings.
“Oh shit, we gotta get to class. Look, we’ll hang out at Gerard’s after school and explain shit to you. But you have geometry with McKensson, right? He’s cool, my older brother liked him.”
Bob looks at Ray like he’s insane. “Yeah, I’m not going to class. I’m calling my probation officer and getting the fuck out of this crazy ass town.”
It isn’t until last period that Gerard gets sent to the guidance counsellor’s office. He’s been expecting it all day, hosts are checked in on a few times a year. Assuming the guest lives through all of high school, of course. If Bob dies next week there wouldn’t be any point in meeting to talk about him in December. Once he gets into the general office he knocks on the closed door he’s assigned to. Or at least he assumes he’s assigned there, the door has the label Q-Z on it, along with Grey. A female voice calls for him to come in, so he turns the doorknob.
The room is small, her nice chair on one side of a desk with paper strewn over it, two normal classroom plastic chairs on the other. Gerard throws himself into one and glances around the room as he waits for her to finish typing. The art is horribly generic, and a poor contrast for the safe walls. Not for the first time, Gerard wishes the school designers could have chosen a better shade to signify off limits areas. At the very least a bright yellow instead of a pastel butter shade.
“How are things going with Bob?” she asks. She’s still facing the computer, not him, but it’s fairly obvious she’s talking to him.
“Mrs Grey, I don’t get it. Bob seemed shocked when two girls went at it. Not just normal shocked ‘cause you never know when to expect it. Really shocked. And then he said it doesn’t happen where he’s from. He kind of implied that we’re the weird ones.”
She turns to look at him. Her face is compassionate, like she’s barely restraining herself from leaping over the table to hug him. “Gerard, you have to remember a lot of the guests are from disadvantaged cities. No one gets a college fund because no one has earned the right to be an adult. Many cities have populations where adults abuse or even kill each other.”
“What?” The idea is unfathomable. Parallel universes and time travel are far more plausible than someone over eighteen hurting someone else.
“Yes, it’s quite true I’m afraid. Not being able to get their aggression tamed has left them in a state of perpetual adolescence.”
“Well that’s fucked up.”
“That’s why we bring in so many teenagers. Every normal city does, in a sort of aide to those that need it. Bob told you he came from prison, correct? Did he tell you the circumstances?”
“Uh, he got in a fight with his cousin? I didn’t really get it, that’s not a crime. At least not here.”
“Gerard, his cousin is twenty one. His cousin had assaulted his twenty year old girlfriend, and Bob, fourteen and intoxicated at the time, was the only one in a room full of adults to try to stop it. When the selection committee found out he was immediately on the transfer list. Bob is exactly the type of child most in need of saving.”
“Holy shit,” he mutters. Bob didn’t say anything about their ages when they were in the hallway.
“His probation officer instructed him not to share his past. You can understand how some of our less, well, how some of the students would look down on him if they found out he was violent while in junior high, against adults. I’m going to make the same request of you.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” It’s only a little bit a lie. He’s going to tell Ray and Frank, and Mikey when he goes home. But he sure as fuck isn’t telling any of the dumbass popular kids. There’s already a prejudice against guests, if anyone finds out about Bob’s perverted act he’ll be a target immediately. Gerard doesn’t want that for him.
March
Gerard doesn’t really want to watch basketball. He doesn’t care about the sport, in his opinion the only good sport is wrestling. He really doesn’t care about showing school spirit for the team, there’s nothing that makes JB any better than Amos Avery. To top it off, he has a feeling that shit is gonna get messy. He can pretty much guarantee someone is going to die tonight, and multiple are actually pretty likely.
Unfortunately for them, Frank does want to go. He’s been invested in the games since November, even attends some of the Amos Avery vs Paulo Ferdinand games. They can’t exactly let him go alone. There’s safety in numbers. Frank doesn’t need protection, it’s the other way around if anything. The first semester of freshman year has taught them something not particularly surprising; Frank can be a bit enthusiastic with getting into it with someone over a perceived slight. If he didn’t have people around to make him laugh and keep him chill, he might rack up a body a day. It’s impossible to hold a grudge though, as soon as Frank is springing to his feet and cursing the referee Gerard can’t help but smile. And the two foot long plastic bag of popcorn seems to be placating Bob and Ray.
Mikey is the only hold out, scowling more each second. It takes a few meaningful nudges and knee knocks for his brother to spit it out. “This pinnie makes me look fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, well too bad. You’re wearing it.” He’s not Mom, but as older brother he’s got enough authority to make sure it doesn’t come off.
The scowl grows before it distorts as Mikey retorts “I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna wear it. I said it looks fucking stupid.”
Frank shrugs, sitting down for the tenth time in eight minutes. “Price you pay for being fourteen and hanging out with the big boys.”
“Frank I’m like two feet taller than you.”
Frank swivels towards him. “Fuck you, I am not three feet tall.”
“You don’t look like a runty junior high kid, is what Frank is saying.” Gerard’s pretty sure that wasn’t at all what Frank meant, but better to let Ray talk. “So when shit goes down, which we all know it will, that’ll say you’re immune. And in what, seven months, you won’t be an off limits kid, you’ll be a teenager. So enjoy not being a target while you still can.”
“Fuck off. And gimme some popcorn.”
It’s pretty much the best resolution Gerard could hope for. Mikey wants to be a freshman in a way Gerard never did, and he’s not going to be entirely himself until he’s no longer left behind. He jams both hands down the plastic and grabs two handfuls. He tosses one fully into his mouth, and holds the other open so Mikey can scoop it up.
For a minute it looks like things are going to blow up six minutes into the third. Frank’s outrage against an uncalled foul is met with catcalls by a guy with a hammer in his hand. The catcalls rile up the Jonathon Brooke crowd, all around Gerard people are shouting. It’s a young crowd, everyone in high school, except for one or two yellow pinnies. It’s a volatile crowd, to put it mildly. He stays sitting but keeps his hand on his hilt.
In the end, no one takes that first step off the bleachers. The screamed threats simmer down, and most sit down and the ref calls the game back on. Gerard could make a calm in the eye of a storm comment to Mikey, but it’s not really like that. That implies the storm will stop. Maybe after a ton of wreckage, but it will. Non-metaphored real life doesn’t stop. It’s a series of short pauses between death and more death.
Shit actually starts in the fourth quarter. Someone in the Avery crowd jeers the JB point guard, and his reaction is to turn and charge at her. The clock pauses again, and when Eric starts punching the girl the crowd swarms on him and the JB crowd swarms on them. Most of both basketball teams run to the door that leads to the change rooms. They still have half a season to play, they don’t want to die yet.
Gerard doesn’t want to die yet either. Ray’s got Frank by the hair so he doesn’t go dive into the melee, but it’s spreading as individuals start to hit and cut and kick, and it’s only a matter of minutes until it gets to them. Trying to leave wouldn’t be safe, you don’t expose your back to this kind of scene. Instead they cluster in front of Mikey. Pinnie or not, someone with a tec-9 doesn’t have a lot of accuracy. It’s better to be safe than to be at a funeral.
Gerard can feel Mikey’s forearm press against his back trying to get him out of the way. He doesn’t move. He’s Mikey’s older brother and that entails a lot of things. In the end being a human shield is no worse than making sure he eats the whole bowlful of soup when he’s sick. This is what he has to do.
Eventually they get rushed. The girl has Jonathon Brook coloured hair ties, but this stopped being about teams five minutes ago. He can feel Frank tensing on one side of him, Bob on the other. Ray’s half behind Frank, in the last year it’s become obvious Ray doesn’t have the right teenage attitude. Of the three times he’s tried to kill, two lived after Ray walked away thinking he’d finished the job. Gerard doesn’t have the enthusiasm Frank does, or Bob’s strength, but he can hold his own if someone comes at him. His technique has changed in the last seven months. As it turns out, slitting throats does best for him. It requires far less force or momentum than stabbing someone in the chest would. It’s also more merciful, they bleed out much quicker from a nicked jugular than a gut wound. The most important factor is it gives no chance for recovery. People that survive tend to want revenge.
She comes at him, and Gerard does what he has to do. She’s obviously not thinking, caught up in the blood rage groups sometimes get. It’s easy to hold the knife up as she rams into him. The arterial spray is already gushing before Gerard fully lands. He closes his eyes and purses his lips to keep himself from ingesting any fluids, though it can only help so much. As her body twitches one last time her bladder loses control over his shoes.
“Fuckin’ gross,” he mutters.
“Get the hell off me.” Or at least that’s what sounds like Mikey says. His voice is pretty muffled with a blanket of two people on top of him. Gerard can’t do shit all about it though, not until Bob or Ray gets the girl off him. It’s too much dead weight, liked a felled tree; he can’t dislodge her himself.
Gerard is exhausted by the time he gets to his parents house. That hardly matters though, it doesn’t dampen the thrill of seeing them a bit. Mom makes him a sandwich, microwaved bacon and thickly sliced tomatoes. Dad tells him the score of a baseball game that’s being played somewhere it’s still light out.
He’s only taken his first bite when Mom tells him the wake is at Frank’s house tomorrow.
“Why are Mr and Mrs Iero hosting it?” He can think of a whole handful of people more appropriate.
“No, Frank is. He’s got a place near the river.”
“What? He lives here?”
“Has for about, what’s it, Don? Seven years?”
Holy shit. Maybe Mikey’s partially right, in that Gerard’s been curious about what Frank’s been doing. He’s probably daydreamed a hundred lives for him over the years. But not a single one of them involved Frank coming back to a city of murder and staying.
“I’m pretty sure a lot of the guys your age are having a pre-wake wake. Probably staying overnight, so it’s not too late to go over, if you’re not jetlagged.”
“They must be staying,” Dad adds. “They bought one of the liquor stores out of beer. Literally, Chris told me when I was picking up milk. Gerard, do you remember Chris? Well, he’s working three different part time jobs. Four, if you count gossiping.”
“I don’t drink anymore Dad. I had a problem with it after leaving here.” From what he could tell researching, a lot of PTSD survivors have substance issues. Mikey and Pete weren’t much better with the drugs.
“Well you should still go over. Pay your last respects to James. His funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
The action suddenly seems a lot more questionable now that it’s at Frank’s. And he is tired. Really, it can wait until tomorrow.
October
Anyone with common sense would say a teenager with a crush would spend their days talking about their crush to anyone that would listen. Mikey doesn’t. Instead he spends his days talking about Patrick, who talks about Pete.
Gerard’s glad Mikey has acquaintances. Friends can sometimes be exhausting. Ray didn’t successfully kill anyone this summer, Bob had to finish off the one guy Ray tried to get. And Frank was of course the opposite, diving into any possible situation. You have to back friends, or at least Gerard’s personal ethics says he has to, and he knows Ray and Frank and Bob share that idea. People that make you happy yet you have no obligation to keep alive are a relief. But every second sentence out of Mikey’s mouth is about Patrick. It’s getting old.
To be fair though, it’s not right for him to say what average teenager with a crush behaviour should be. It’s not like he likes anyone, has experienced what Mikey currently is feeling. Gerard can at least admit he doesn’t know what he’s talking about And they are supportive. If Mikey wants to relay that time where Patrick and Pete inhaled and exhaled, one of them will feign interest. They rotate. Today it’s Ray’s turn.
“Patrick told me Pete showers twice a day. Sometimes three times.”
As much as Gerard cares about neither Pete nor Patrick this just seems ridiculous and impossible. It’s the first thing all week worth asking about. “What? Why in God’s name would he shower three times a day?”
“Because not everyone can get by on three times a month like you and Mikey can?” Bob comments.
Frank and Ray laugh, Gerard just rolls his eyes. Everyone knows hair has it’s own natural oils that self clean. And soaps are just chemicals that leave a film on your skin.
“Patrick says it’s because when Pete is having his nightmares he sweats a lot. So he has to shower in the morning.”
“Yeah I can understand that, my sheets are always damp.”
“Sure that’s not just wet dreams?”
“Fuck off.”
Mikey interrupts Frank and Bob before it can devolve further. “Then he showers at night so he can jerk off.”
“How does Patrick know that?”
“You’re telling me you haven’t figured out when Lou is taking ten minutes too long?”
“Why the hell would I think about my brother?”
“And then sometimes he’s got soccer, so he has to get all the grass stains off his knees or whatever.”
Gerard can honestly say he wouldn’t use the shower in any of those situations. He’s not normally sweaty after his nightmares, and if he can’t get back to sleep he uses the time to draw instead of worrying about personal hygiene. It’s never too soon to start building a portfolio. There’s nothing wrong with jerking off in bed, it’s a lot more comfortable. And while he doesn’t do anything that would involve grass stains, if he did he would consider it a hazard of the action and not worry about it. Like the paint that sometimes gets in his hair.
“Patrick says that Pete and Jeanae don’t even like each other anymore. They’re just too stubborn to let go. Patrick thinks they’d end up getting married, just because they can’t stop.”
“That’s crazy,” Ray manages. Thank fuck it’s Ray’s day. If Gerard has to actively participate in one more conversation about Patrick’s thoughts on Jeanae he’s going to stab himself in the eardrum with his own knife. At least Frank and Ray and Jamia get to go home, this follows him and Bob.
“I know.” Mikey stands and Gerard is suddenly very interested. His brother’s pockets are bulging. It’s obvious he’s got something.
“Think about what you’re doing Mikeyway.”
“I’ve thought enough.”
When Mikey starts walking Gerard doesn’t hesitate a moment before following. He’s gratified to see Bob, Frank, and Ray too. It’s nice when trust is properly placed. Jamia stays at the table, but he can’t fault her for it. She and Frank have only been hanging out for a few weeks, she owes Mikey as much as Gerard owes Patrick.
Unsurprisingly Mikey stops at the table Pete is sitting at. Jeanae is sitting beside him, and they each have half a dozen friends to fill out the table. Pete’s have some variety, different ethnicities and styles. Jeanae’s girls are nearly identical.
Mikey doesn’t waste time calling her out. He just pulls a bottle of Axe out of one pocket and a lighter out of the other. He depresses the button as he flicks the lighter. The flame shoots out several feet. She’s screaming in an instant, a move that doesn’t do much good when it just has her inhaling the flame and roasting her throat. Mikey uses all his weight to keep the chair tucked in so she can’t escape. No one intervenes, her friends just shift so the clumps of burning hair don’t land on them and ruin their outfits. As she slumps he follows her, expending the rest of the can. Only when it’s empty does he throw his hoodie onto her corpse to suppress the flames before the whole table goes up.
He slips the lighter in his pocket and moves a few feet to the left. “Hi. I’m Mikey.”
“I’m Pete, Pete Wentz.” He’s not really looking at Mikey, rather he’s staring at the black fleece covering his charred girlfriend. Gerard can’t really blame him for the split attention.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been waiting for you to break up, but I got bored.”
“Oh. Uh, I get that. I’d get bored too.”
There doesn’t look like there’s gong to be any immediate retaliation so Gerard falls back. He should let Mikey have his moment. He’d want Mikey to do the same for him.
Part Two