This is it. The end.
This is it. The end.
My life is over at sixteen years old. I am a high school reject who can’t be bothered to apply myself in Calculus class and therefore am sure to end up on the streets as a bum with a guitar I can barely play. I haven’t had a girlfriend since kindergarten....unless you count that slag I used to carry books for in exchange for some attention when I was fourteen. The only thing I had left to me was my dignity.
And now that’s fucking ditched me too.
Two hours ago.
“Ah, Mr Way. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Do you have a question about Tuesday’s assignment?”
“Looking for a Saturday job painting sets, perhaps?”
“Then what are you doing at my rehearsal?”
“Well...uh...you see...the thing is...”
“He wants to tryout for the lead, Ms Maitland.”
“Is that so? Well, I am surprised. When we spoke earlier I got a vibe that you weren’t particularly eager to share your talents on the stage with us, Gerard.”
“Yeah...well I guess...I guess I changed my mind.”
“You are asking for a position in the school musical?”
“You are asking for the lead position in the school musical?”
“You are asking me to throw all caution to the wind and instead of giving this coveted place to one of my faithful protégées I should give it to a flunking skiver such as yourself who has never expressed any interest in the theatrical arts before now?”
“I guess I am.”
“You understand that this is a very, very dangerous journey you are embarking on?
“There shall be many obstacles to overcome. You must summon bravery in the face of the arch demons: peer pressure and exhaustion. You must tread the road carefully for fear of straying from the path. You must take head of all that I shall teach you and become my student, devoted to myself and the noble art of dramatic performance. Do you have what it takes, young man? Can a flunking skiver possibly be capable of holding the title of “Star of Belleville High”?”
“I...I have no words.”
“Good. That’s a good start. Now get your butt on that stage and sing me “Moon River”.”
As I look back on my short, uneventful life I feel a sense of loss. Sixteen years of dressing in clothes bought from shit-scary back alleys that stink of weed and piss. Sixteen years of doodling useless sketches into notebooks before subsequently losing them down cracks in the floorboards. Sixteen years of having my ass beaten by dumb jocks for lunch money and sadistic humour.
How did it come to this?
“Yo, Gerard! Gee!”
I don’t turn around. Frank’s joyful greetings yelled from down the hall attack my brain like the sharpest of knives. So young. So much to offer. So little knowledge of pain and suffering. The world is so very, very ugly.
His footsteps slow as he stops in front of me. From the corner of my eye I see his forehead wrinkle in concern. “Gee? What’s up, man?”
I don’t answer. I just keep staring at the incriminating words burning into my eyes from the pink, yes PINK, sheet of paper shaping my destiny. Frank clicks in front of my face sharply to bring me back to earth. It doesn’t work.
“Gerard?” he says softly. “Gerard, you’re really creeping me out.”
The words and thoughts I want to let out come together in my brain to form one jumbled mass of apathy, clogging my senses until all I can tell him is a simple cry of “Wagh!”
Not trained to understand the wails of a man descending speedily into madness, Frank raises an eyebrow. “Wagh?”
I point at the sheet pinned to the notice board. Frank squints and leans closer to read those three simple words out loud, sending my whole past, present and future crashing around my ears...
Gerard Way: Lead.
“Oh man!” Frank punches me in the shoulder. It hurts. “You got the lead! You got in!”
He raises an eyebrow at my forlorn expression. “Alright, come out with it. What’s the problem?”
Sniff. “I’m gonna epically fail.”
“Why do you say that?”
Fine. Make me say it, why don’t you? “Because I fucking fail at everything!”
“Gerard,” Frank rolls his eyes and slinks an arm around my sagging shoulders. “You don’t fail at everything.”
“Yes I do!” I cry. “I always have done! You tell me so every day!”
“Yes, but I’m partly joking when I do,” Frank shrugs. “You don’t fail at everything. Just most things.”
Jesus, does this guy know how to make someone feel better. “Well, I’m gonna fail at this. Majorly. In front of the whole school.”
“Gerard, the failing isn’t the important part,” says Frank. “It’s getting back up afterwards that makes you so special.”
“Oh, great. Stuff me into a pantyhose and call me King George VI.”
“I don’t even understand what that means,” Frank shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got a great voice and you like being on stage. Remember Peter Pan?”
I fix him with my most evil stare. “Don’t even go there.”
“But you rocked Peter, right? So whatever shit the Belleville High Drama club come up with is gonna be easy!”
“Would it help if I sang you a song to make you feel better?”
“Would it help if I told you Samantha Rose couldn’t keep her eyes off you throughout the whole audition?”
Huh? Samantha? “What?”
“Yeah,” Frank nods. “She was just sitting there with her eyes all wide and she was staring at you and you were singing like “Oh yeah” and there were violins playing in the background and hearts exploding in my face and cute little bunny rabbits and sheep and-“
“-You can shut up now.”
He laughs shortly, smacks me on the ass and walks off to his next lesson. I watch him swagger away, thinking to myself. Was he kidding? Or was he serious? Sometimes it’s real hard to tell with that guy. But seeing as the only reason I’m doing this thing is for Samantha it’s in my best interests to believe him. My stomach feels all glowy and warm and sunny at the thought. She likes me, then? She tolerates me? She doesn’t totally hate my guts? I’m so happy I feel like nothing could pop my bubble of sunshiney yellowness.
Then I pull out my timetable.
It’s Tuesday and that means Frank’s at our house.
The fact that it’s Tuesday usually has very little to do with the situation seeing as Frank’s round at our house every other day, however, due to Mrs Iero’s quest for a new boyfriend after the separation she now goes out for tequilas ever Tuesday night. Frank says that if I am his friend I should never put him through having to watch his mother come down the stairs in a too-small cocktail dress she bought sometime in the late 80’s.
Mikey, Ray and Heather aren’t back yet so we get dibs on the TV. We kick our stuff out the way, Frank walks over to the living room and I set about making us coffee. When I’m done Frank is already staring at the screen looking like he belongs there, which I guess he does seeing as he’s been here so many fucking times.
“Watcha watching?” I hand him coffee before crashing next to him.
“Kerrang,” he replies. “Pop punk riot.”
“Awesome,” Yum yum. Coffee taste gooood.
Evidently Frank doesn’t agree as he chucks half of his on the floor in his haste to jump up and down, clapping like a teenage girl.
“Frank, what the fuck?”
“It’s Green Day!”
“And that means you have to fangasm all over my couch?”
“Yeah,” Frank nods vigorously and sighs. “Billie Joe is so gorgeous.”
“But so am I,” says Frank. There’s a pathetic, obsessive gay fan look in his eyes. “And look how he plays...and his hair is so blue...”
“Frank, enough fangasming now. You know there’s only so much I can take.”
“Ah, Billie,” Frank groans. “Billie, ah, ah.”
“Ah, ah, ah, oh God-”
“-Frank stop it.”
“Ah, ah, ah, Tré-”
“JESUS CHRIST FRANK, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”
Frank is now rocking forwards and backwards on my couch, pretending to orgasm right fucking there, moaning Billie Joe’s name in a very disturbing way. I slam my hands over my ears but the sounds keep coming and Frank keeps rocking.
“I’M WARNING YOU!”
The door opens. Mikey, Ray and Heather walk in. Followed by Frank’s boyfriend, Alex.
“Hey guys,” Ray greets us. “What’s up?”
Mikey’s eyes sweep the room. He sees Frank groaning in mock-ecstasy on our couch, laughing at me. I am huddled under the coffee table attempting to block out as much of him as I can, my hands over my eyes and my elbows squeezed against my ears.
Mikey raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Nothing new, then.”
With the last grinding note of the guitar, Green Day walk off the stage and Frank is in hysterics. I, however, do not see anything funny about torture. God knows I’m okay with his relentless talk about hot guys in our class. That I don’t mind that he giggles and blushes whenever the dude in the record store talks to him. But there is only so much I can put up with. And he knows it. And thinks it’s funny.
Alex, apparently, does not agree either.
His eyes narrow into slits as he glances at the screen. “Who was that?”
“Green Day,” Frank replies innocently.
“Why were you moaning?”
Alex’s face sags comically. I step behind him so I can laugh silently with Ray and Mikey. “Jesus Christ Frank, I hate it when you do that!”
“Orgasm over some other guy right in front of me!”
“I wasn’t really orgasming Al, I was trying to piss Gerard off-”
“-So you’ll orgasm for Gerard too?”
“No, that’s not what I-”
“-I think I need some air,” Mikey pipes.
“Yeah so do I,” Ray nods.
“Me too,” I say.
Heather says nothing. Shocker. We hurry outside to the rising cries of “What do you mean he has blue hair?!”
“God, those guys,” Ray shakes his head in dismay.
“It’s not Frank’s fault,” I shrug. “Alex is an asshole. I don’t know why Frank puts up with him.”
“Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that he’s an underwear model.”
“But every word he speaks sounds suspiciously like bullshit!”
“Well, guys think with down below.”
“Gee, he’s gay, not a woman.”
Heather raises her eyebrow at Mikey who subsequently looks down at his feet. Wow. Who new she was capable of such power?
“Anyway,” Ray changes the subject quickly. “How was your day?”
Ah. Here comes the tricky part. See, I haven’t exactly told Mikey and Ray that I took the audition yet. I guess I was kind of scared they’d take it badly, which they most definitely will. But there’s no point in putting it off any longer.
“Gerard?” Ray probes.
“Erm,” I wrinkle my nose. I shuffle my feet. “It was kind of...I kind of...”
“Spit it out, fucktard.”
“I’ve kind of got the lead.”
Firstly, I have absolutely no idea if they have Kerrang! in the US. I know it’s a British mag but maybe you have the TV channel, huh? Oh well. If you do, good for you, doesn’t it rock? If you don’t, I’m sorry. And you’re missing out.
Secondly, fangasming is a natural part of obsession. There is nothing wrong with it. Honestly, ask saze97.
Hope you liked this chapter! Next one up Monday.