Frank gets in a fight and GDA starts.
After shoving down his breakfast, Frank ran back up the stairs hoping to avoid any of the kids that gave him evils. Not that he would admit it, but all the stares last night had freaked him out and now he was worried about what they were planning. Another thing he hoped for was that Gerard would be out of the shower and fully clothed, although another part of him strongly contested that idea and wanted Gerard still in a towel. Or less… Ignoring the hormones running around his brain, Frank realized he was hoping for a lot that morning and thought not much had gone this way lately - and today was unlikely to be any different. He sighed and shoved open the door of the dorm and found Gerard standing shirtless, back towards the door, with a t-shirt in his hands. Could’ve been worse. Or better - as his cock reminded him and Frank wanted to exorcise what was left of his brain and set fire to it. Anytime soon would be helpful. Forcing himself to keep his eyes averted, Frank walked over to his bed, and began to hunt for a hoodie seeing as he hadn’t put one on earlier and was consequently cold. Hoodie found; Frank then swung his bag onto his bed and began rummaging through it trying to find his timetable. He regretted having oversized hoodies as the long sleeves got in the way and so he pushed back the sleeves and carried on searching. He doesn’t notice Gerard staring at him for a moment, but when he did, Frank looks up and glares at Gerard’s smug face.
“Looking for something?” Gerard taunts “Maybe this?” He pulls Franks timetable seemingly out of thin air and holds it out to Frank. Frank goes to take it, but before he can quite reach it, Gerard snatches his hand away and smirks a little wider at Frank.
“Give it to me Gerard.” Franks voice is dangerously low; as much as he’s attracted to Gerard, he’s really fucking sick of the shit Gerard pulls. Gerard pulls away a little more and then, suddenly, without a hint of a lighter of matches, Franks timetable is on fire. The flames don’t seem to be hurting Gerard, but Frank can still see his timetable being shriveled up by the flames that dance and flicker. Gerard is watching Franks face carefully, and smiles maliciously when he sees Franks face twist in anger.
Gerard’s 'voice' flows into Frank’s head, and because Gerard is so close he can also see some pictures that are flickering through Gerard’s head. His face is in there, and a large part of Gerard’s concentration is focused on the burning paper in his hand, traces of lust are still tinting his thoughts although confusion, conflict, hate are also associated with his face and the burning paper; an older man’s face – Frank guesses it’s Gerard’s father – strikes a strong chord in Gerard, hate, anger, sadness and rejection abruptly peak and suddenly Frank doesn’t want to know anymore. He shuts his eyes and turns away from Gerard.
“Did I make poor Frankie cry?” Gerard mocks and suddenly Frank has a huge urge to burst into tears, but not for himself but for the green eyed boy behind him who has a complete lack of self worth and seems to be in a Catch 22 with himself and the stern older face in his head. All sympathy for Gerard vanished as soon as Gerard threw the burning timetable at him. It hit him in the back of his head and fell onto the bed where the flames diappeared, and the timetable remained whole and looked as if it’d never been on fire. Frank’s eyes widened and he looked up at Gerard, but once again all he saw was the door swinging shut.
One of the few things Frank hated about the school itself – barring the students – was the fact that there was no morning break, meaning that there were lessons straight up until lunch. And sadly, he seemed to share all of these with Gerard, who kept shooting him evil glances and smirked whenever he caught Frank’s eye. Frank had always considered his education pretty decent until he’d been forced to attend here, and then realized that rich kids had a whole different level of education offered to them from a young age. Money could apparently buy you everything. Everything that Frank knew and reasonably understood was at least two years below what everyone else had learnt. He felt stupid and cast out – because in reality, to these people, he was aware that was exactly what he was. The staring had started again, and that made Frank irritated. He wasn’t a zoo animal, for fuck’s sake – surely this elite little world had seen some lower class people. By the looks he was getting, no, no they had not. It was part of the group that had tipped oatmeal over his head yesterday and he knew he had a minor advantage in that he’d be able to hear the hostility they’d be thinking of and hopefully would have enough time to escape. Frank sighed. It looked like ‘hope’ was the theme of the day and he knew how unlikely it was that any of this hoping would pull through.
At least he was used to the regular punch ups – being gay and a punk in a Jersey high school meant you might as well had the word TARGET printed on your forehead. Frank was so busy lost in his thoughts of home, and how Ray and his mom were doing, that he didn’t notice a group of jocks had sauntered up to him until the one who’d dumped oatmeal on him – Tom Barker, he recalled – slapped him across the face.
“Oi, faggot. Look at me when I’m talking to you!” What was that about hope and it not working? Frank thought to himself. I was fucking right. He looked up into the brown little piggy eyes that boring into his and felt himself get angry.
“Hey Poverty Line! Enjoying your little trip to the nicer side of life?”
“Filth like you shouldn’t even at this school!”
“Can’t believe they let poor little gay emos in here of all places!” Frank felt his temper rise as these… these… haughty, conceited, well off, spoiled, bratty fuckers talked about his existence like he wasn’t there. He may not be as rich or well educated, but he was a fucking nicer person than them, and he knew it.
For once the insults didn’t even sting and he felt his tough New Jersey shell beginning to work as he slowly stood up. He would bet his last fucking dollar that none of these kids had had to grow up early so as not be exploited, bet none of them had been in a real street fight where losing meant having your head smashed against the pavement, bet none of them had to learn to fight of muggers and the general druggies in order to keep hold of everything you owned. They hadn’t slept on the streets and survived it, they hadn’t settled every argument with a fistfight, and they hadn’t been beaten black and blue for being gay. He’d won more fights than this lot put together; all they were was a bunch of rich pretty boy bullies who picked on the younger kids cause they could – they weren’t real trouble, real danger, whatever they liked to think, and Frank knew he could fight his way out of this. And that was without his little freaky gift. This was going to be more fun than fight. He needed an outlet for his frustration anyway.
One of the boys laughed and tried to shove him back down into his seat, but Frank clenched his jaw and struck out and caught the guy straight in the gut, completely winding him. Frank grinned without humour and cocked an eyebrow at the remaining boys, daring them to try and take a swing at him. The eight boys left gaped at Frank, clearly wondering how a 5’4”, scrawny looking punk had managed to wind a 6’2” muscle bound jock. Frank grinned wider – he was so going to enjoy this. Another jock obviously thought Frank had gotten a lucky punch, and tried going for his throat, but Frank ducked and brought his knee up, catching the guy straight in the dick. Frank full well knew the best way to end this was to punch them in the throats, completely robbing them of breath, but with his height that was a bit unrealistic and so settled for punching and kicking them in the stomach, legs and crotches. The entire gang was down after about two minutes and ha hadn’t even used his ‘gift’.
“One thing money can’t buy guys, is experience in fighting.” Frank laughed at them, grabbed his bag and walked out of the classroom knowing that they’d probably try and rope as many people as they could into their revenge scheme. Frank didn’t give a fuck. It was the first time he felt even a little bit close to home since arriving in California. The grim smile gracing his lips as he walked away was the first one he’d worn since he arrived at ‘Red Academy’.
Frank decided to skip the next lesson – it was Art again and he didn’t feel like putting up with Gerard and his bloody smug face for an hour – and he had some bruises and a split lip to deal with. Hey, if you’re in a fight against eight guys, no matter how shit they were, a split lip is the best you could walk away with, Frank mused. He dampened some toilet paper and pressed it against his lip until it was numb before taking a good look at the damage. It’d swell, but at least it wouldn’t need stitches.
He had a nice bruise on his cheekbone, boasting dark purple and deep red hues, as well as a slightly blackening eye; nevertheless he knew the damage could have been a fucking load worse – they were about nine inches taller than him and, if they weren’t so used to getting what they wanted just by scaring people, they could’ve easily broken his nose or wrist. No doubt he’d still be turned in by the spineless jerks because all wealthy kids seemed to rely on various ‘power figures’ like parents or teachers to do their dirty work whilst the kids hid behind them. Frank snorted. Fucking pansies. He’d been left to sort his own problems out since he was seven or eight. Stretching out, Frank wondered what the time was – like yesterday, Art was the last lesson before lunch – and whether he’d be able to sneak over to the copse of trees without being caught.
The bruises on his face and lack of jocks around while he was still walking without aid would mean that the students would now ultimately leave him alone (except maybe Gerard, because he had a weird way of ignoring of everyone else anyway), so all he had to worry about was the teachers seeing him. Mind you, most of them thought he was an idiotic trash student who had no right to be here. They either wouldn’t care at all, or would care too much and get him in more trouble. Although his little fight with all the jocks earlier would have certainly caught some of the teachers attention and he was in enough shit already; he might as well as be difficult to find. He walked casually out of the doors as if he had every right to be there before making his way over to the familiar copse of trees and scaled up his favourite one. Apparently he’d taken longer than he thought examining his souvenirs from the scuffle earlier because only ten minutes later, according to his iPod, the gong sounded and kids began to pour our of lessons and into the courtyard.
He watched them all move in their little groups, all defined by how they looked and acted, and was grateful that he hadn’t made any friends in California. It meant nothing could get in the way of him returning home to Jersey as soon as he failed to graduate this freak house. Had he been at his old high school, he would of felt quietly confident about graduating, although here was an entirely different game – so much more was expected of these students, and consequently of him as well. No one of the teachers gave a shit about him and how he was failing because he was an outsider in this place. Poor! Gay! Emo! Faggot! Filth! All the insults from earlier stung now – even though they hadn’t at the time – seeing as they were all true. He saw a figure dressed in black from head to toe mindlessly ambling towards the trees alone, and that meant it could only be one person, considering everyone else had a group. Frank rolled his eyes and told himself to grow a pair before digging out his iPod and shutting out the world for the rest of the break.
Frank watched the minutes slip through his fingers and, five minutes before the next class started, resigned himself to his fate and begin to hunt for his timetable once again. Fucking hell, how often could you lose one scrappy piece of motherfucking paper? Shoving his Art sketchbook aside, Frank found the aforementioned paper, plucked it out of his bag and smoothed it out before peering at the small black print. Tuesday… period five… GDA. What the hell was GDA? If it was some ridiculous rich kid lesson, he was walking out and spending the rest of the day in his dorm with Pansy. Frank let out a huge breath then made his way back down the tree and landing on the soft shady ground. To his surprise, he found Gerard slumped against the wide fir tree he liked to climb, looking totally unaware of anything around him. Frank took a tentative step closer and Gerard suddenly jolted upright, looked up in slight fear, and then scowled as he realized who was standing over him. Frank shrugged and began to walk towards the courtyard where whatever-the-fuck-this-GDA-shit-is class was held. Most of the class was already assembled there, supervised by a highly excitable looking teacher who was straining the buttons of his tweed suit and had a thick bushy moustache that practically quivered in delight. So, Frank thought, not only is this class probably going to suck, I have a complete hyperactive moron of a teacher. Great. Frank also knew he’d stick out in this class – he’d received scholarship here based on his freak show skills – not only for that, but it seemed that he was one of the few that could control their ‘gifts’. A lot of the students did things unconsciously instead.
As the last of the class settled down on the grass – Frank had decided to lay on his back and stare at the blue sky – the twitching man introduced himself as Mr. Smith. From what Frank actually heard of his teacher’s little spiel was that GDA stood for ‘Gift Development Assessment’, and was basically a class that taught students how to control their powers and strengthen them. Frank’s initial thoughts of all them being molded into weapons didn’t seem to be too far off the mark then. He knew for certain that he was never going to work for his powers if it meant working with assholes like the ones that attended here. Ol’ Smith was ending his little talk and that’s when Frank heard a sentence that mad him sit up.
“… all of you will be partnered up so you can help each other. It’s not too difficult, you’ll be paired with someone in your dorm, so you already have some form of bond with them…” Paired with Gerard? For power practice? Was this class trying to kill him?
Massive thanks as usual to everyone who read and rated (FOUR ORIGINALS! FUCK TO THE YEAH! Ahem) as well as fuckload of thanks to patdfan01, snake56tongue, lambchop101, Eleonora, Heymimusic, striketoincinerate and Abicus for writing reveiws that contained 'infamous rants', impatience, longish reveiws, rambling, speculation and crazily fast reveiwing! I'm givng nothing away about where this is going. One thing I was wondering, is this moving too slow? I've written 10,000 words (on word, so excluding A/N's) and Gerard and Frank still hate each other.
On a sadder note, I have four exams this month, so updates will be a little slower, but. I. Am. Going. To. Try. My. Best. Reveiw so I have the motivation to start another chapter for me? Until next time ^.^