Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Night You Skated Into My Life And Gave Me Fishnet Burn

In Which We Learn The Golden Rule: Roller Derby Fever Leads To Fs On Pop Quizzes.

by leatherandlace 1 Reviews

SUMMARYYYYY. don't worry we'll get to the horror soon enough.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: R - Genres: Humor,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero - Published: 2011/07/24 - Updated: 2011/07/24 - 1877 words

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In Which We Learn The Golden Rule: Roller Derby Fever Leads To Fs On Pop Quizzes

Derby Fever killed my weekend, quiet literally. Saturday was a migraine forced into band practice. Sunday was a dreamy boy forced into studying. It should be noted now, that Ray Toro and History notes are as bad as Gerard Way and feedback to a Derby Fever suffer-er.

So as Bob drove us all home from the weekends all I could do was wait until next weekend, when I’d get to see Nestor again. Then my day dreams turned into plotting to get into the school records and find out exactly who she was. My plan so far involved a cherry bomb fir work, Vaseline (the Big Daddy Size), elastic, a CD, Mikey’s hair straightener, my emergency cigarette stash, coffee, and Bob’s arms, when we pulled into the parking lot at Prep. I dragged myself out of the car with the rest of the boys toward the dorms to get some much needed rest before classes start the following day.

Slugging to Gerard and my dorm he collapses on the Frankenstein bedspread and groaned.

“That’s my bed asshole.” I tell him slapping his foot and dropping my weekend back on his ass. “Just… neh.” Gerard smiles and pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and started studying for that pop quiz that everyone was expecting.

“When was the shovel invented?” He asks me as I lay on the ground rather then the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bed that was his.

“When people decided that they need a tool to dig big holes.” I answer looking at the ceiling and thinking about Nestor. Gerard asks me another question and I gave an answer like the one above. Then another and another and another.

My history teacher’s name is Mr. Delay. He wears traditional teacher grab but plays guitar and wears a pair of my aviator glasses he stole on the first day. He walks down the hall ways before class starts and tells us to get to where we need to be. “get to class Hello Kitty, you better join her Dorito… is this where you’re suppose to be, Storm Cloud?.... Bells about to ring Doll.” He also makes up nicknames for everyone. And never used the same nickname twice. I’ve been called Mohawk, Safety Pin, Aviator, and Pizza (because pizza is obviously Italian)

I drag my way into his class room and collapse on the desk in a heap of messenger bag, denim, iPod headphones and a new pair of Aviators. This is how I got the last pair taken away.

Laying my greasy head on the desk I think maybe, just maybe, Mr. Delay will forget about the teaching and I can sleep off the Derby Fever. Yeah right. Because just a few moments later he taps me on the head and I sit up taking my glasses off.

“Nice uniform,” he says walking away. “But I don’t think its school issued.”

“Actually.” I say as Bob takes the seat next to me “My hem line has never been above my fingers and I am still sporting the school logo.” I point to the patch on my denim jacket. “And,” I tug on my tie “I’m wearing the tie.” Mr. Delay thinks about it and then nods.

“Alright Bacon Head,” he starts to write on the chalk board “You’re right,” he tells us that our class today is to work on our papers. Which are due at the end at the end of the 9 weeks. And trust me we need all those 63 days to work on this paper. Bob and I are partners and our paper is gonna be the most epic because it’s about COWBOYS. Yep the black sombrero wearin’, self rolled tobacco smokin, by the chapel doors waitin, beast tamin’, sharp shootin’, boot wearin’, heart breakin’, whiskey drinkin’ cowboys. So we jump at the fastest computer and start researching like mad men.

With 20 minutes left in class Mr. Delay calls the class to attention and starts to write something on the board. Then I see what he’s writing. The two biggest more dreaded words in my vocabulary besides prom: Pop and Quiz. Now quiz is pretty bad anyway but add the pop onto the and you get the one thing worse then death for me. (if you haven’t put the two words together by now, then, well maybe you shouldn’t be reading this).

“Fuuuuck,” I mutter my mouth opening wide and slack jawed “Fuck.” the quiz he hands out is 10 questions half of it matching, which means if you get one wrong you get two wrong, and the other half short answer. I do alright on the matching and then it comes to the short answer. I can feel my GPA dropping.
Question number 1: Why did fish crawl out of the sea and grow legs?
they were Tired of getting Fishnet burn.
2: Where was the Ice Man found?
in The freezer.
3: Why were the Bog People deformed?
They Were born This way.
4: Why were the Native Americans afraid of owls?
Because Owls are scary. have you ever Look At one In the Night Time?
5: Who invented the ukulele?
morgan freeman

Slowly I turned my paper in with a slow indignity that shows everyone I totally just made up half the answers on the paper. Dragging my Converse back to my desk, I slumped into my chair while Bob smiled widely. I periodically practice random capitalization. It seems unfair to the words in the middle.

“Derby Fever sucks.” I tell him.


As I’m getting read to leave history, I hide by the door as to not get called back by Mr. Delay. I don’t want to explain the quiz to him and I don’t want to think about my failure. So as the bell rings I run out of the room and down the hall before he knows I left first. I’ll take an absence for leaving before he tells me too.

In current events I write down notes about a scientist that was found dead and then I draw an elementary doodle of the roller skate disco ball. Then in ceramics with Mikey I almost fling clay into Jacob’s hair, but alas, it ending up in Mikey’s glasses. His vase looks like a lopsided frog because of the wrist brace. I roll though the rest of the day like a ninja and only fail two more pop quizzes. Then on Gerard’s laptop I look up Jersey Shore Roller Girls and get a list of their games. The local ones anyway. When I wave the paper in Gerard’s face practically dancing from one foot to the other he just looks at me and says, very seriously,

“Chill the fuck out,” and goes back to his book.

“Geraaard!” I mew jumping on him “Geraaaard. Geraaard my best friiiiiend.” Gerard sputters and we almost fall off the bed “We haaave to go.”

“You’re crushing my chest,” Gerard gasps as I sit on his chest, pinning his arms under my legs and shove the paper into his face.

“Girls. In fishnets.” I say “On roller stakes. ARE YOU A MAN?!”

“You just want to go because of that roller girl!” Gerard accuses breathlessly

I roll my eyes “Well yeah! But come oooon! There could be a roller girl for you tooo!” we continue to shout at each other for a few minutes before Gerard’s cell phone rings and I pick it up.

“Hellooo?” I say holding a hand over Gerard’s mouth.

“Uh, is this Gerard?” she asks. Oooo it’s a girl.

I smirk at him “No, he’s a little busy right now. Can I tell him who’s calling.”

“I’m LynZ Kill’em,” she tells me and Gerard hears. He reaches for the phone and I sit up out of his reach. “From the Warehouse.”

“Ohhh,” I said smiling at him “A roller girl? huh? Yeah he’ll be at the next game. Mmhhh. See ya there. Bye.” I throw the phone on to my bed where is bounces off and hits the floor. “You hypocrite. You dirty lying rat. You got a Derby girl’s number! I’m so proud!”



As proof that the world does turn the right way, God is merciful, and that the sun does rise in New Jersey, Bob drove all of us rowdy, zany, psychotic, suicidal teenagers back to Asbury Park the following Friday, using Ray Toro’s epic plan of escaping again. Driving down the freeway with Misfits blasting loud in the stereo system I installed into WDWM, it was a pretty amazing night. Bob is the driver, as always, I’m in the front with him head banging along to Bullet with my feet up on the dashboard.

“TEXAS IS THE REASON THAT THE PRESIDENT IS DEAD!” Gerard scream/sings from the back before going into an air guitar solo. I’m pretty sure he’s already drunk. Mikey’s sitting next to him smiling at his idiot of a brother with an arm around Alicia. A note about Alicia Simmons: she is a freshmen like Mikes, she has a brother, a smoking body (I know I say that about everyone… even Gerard), a dangerous obsession with Zombies, should never get cornrows again, owns an illegal at Prep snake, and the pair are sickeningly cute.

Now, a 1970’s Chevy Camaro, with red racing strips and a flat black spray paint job that does not run on gas, only has so many seats. And these seats are taken up so Ray is stuck in the non-seat in-between the front two seats. This seat is like the stool in the corner of class with the pointy wizard hat they make you sit is when you’ve been bad so kids can throw rotten fruit at you. So I apologize to Ray Toro for making him sit there but, what can you do? The pretty girl can’t sit in the Non Seat.

I’d like everyone to know the extent of my EPICness this night (I did it up special for Nestor): ripped jeans, a shirt that’s inside out and full of holes, my hoddie, and I’ve painted Xs over my eyes. Think she’ll like it? I do.

The bout tonight is Metal Beach Militia verses Anchor Assassins. And when the lights dim Gerard, Mikey, Alicia and I are in the stands waiting happily for the game to start. Top row. Ray and Bob in the pit again jostling for a good view of lacy panties. The girls stake out and Gerard and I both elbow each other in the ribs pointing at LynZ Kill’em and Cherry Bomber. Mikey shares a good laugh about that as the first jam starts.

“Here comes the Anchor Assassins!” the announcer shouts “Putting the ‘Sass’ back in Assassians!”

I hand Gerard my bag and dig a poster out of it. a poster I made with lots of glitter and Gee’s paint markers I’m not allowed to touch. It read:

cherry bomber’s The Bomb!
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