“Why don`t you just bite me you little fucker!?”
The overconfident front man saunters into the spacious, brightly lit room, his chocolate eyes narrowed disgustedly at the loud noises coming from inside. He had replaced his earlier, far too tight Misfits shirt for an equally tight Iron Maiden one and changed his slightly damp with lake water converse. Hanging limp between his long, pale fingers was a cigarette, and upon seeing the no smoking sign on hung haphazardly the door, he laughs once and stomps the cancer stick out into the carpet.
Around ten young people were in the poster covered vocal classroom, all of various different ages and levels of talent. A few girls were sat cross legged on the red carpeted floor chatting amount themselves excitedly, another two were leaning casually against the far wall, the one dedicated to posters of the legends that were Green Day. One person in particular caught his eye.
It was the pale ebony haired boy from earlier down by the lake. The nameless, intriguing stranger was sat on the cracking windowsill, doodling absentmindedly in a battered silver and purple notebook. His hazel green eyes were narrowed with deep, intense concentration, his converse clad feet dangling down, the tips of the scruffy shoes scraping the carpet. He looks so cute sitting there, Frank thinks, before quickly ridding the confusing thought from his mind.
Sighing deeply, surveying the room one final time, Frank calls out for silence and the small talented group of young singers all eagerly rush forward into the centre of the room where blood red bean bags had been placed in a lopsided circle.
“So I`m Frank Iero.” The short, self confident young man begins, the corners of his pierced lip curving upwards to form a small smirk. “But I`m sure you already know that.” he grins, strolling over towards the large, top of the range music system that was sat on top of a large oak table, swaying his thin hips. The campers all watch intently as Frank hooks up his IPod, pacing the delicate, expensive headphones around his neck.
“I am going to be your vocal coach, teacher, whatever the fuck you wanna call me for this first lesson.” He tells the slightly confused campers. “But don`t get used to it. This is a onetime only deal, I ain`t planning on sticking round this shithole long, got it?” nobody says a word and the wild haired, cocky singer laughs once and nods sharply. “Good.”
The campers all look at each other, similar looks of confusion, disbelief and shock at this boy`s attitude on their young faces.
“So who can tell me why they want to be a singer? Anyone?” everyone but the ebony haired boy, who was still doodling raises their hand. Deliberately Frank picks on him.
“You. what`s your name?”
Glaring up at him, Gerard answers in an emotionless tone. “Gerard.”
Frank nods, an odd chill going up his short spine as he hears the boy speak in his melodic, soft voice. Gerard, it suited him perfectly. Anything else and it would have been too normal and Frank knew that this boy was far from normal.
“Why do you wanna be a singer?” Gerard groans and shakes his head.
“I don`t. I didn`t want to come here, alright?” he snaps, and returns his attention back to his drawing.
“Sing something.” Frank demands, enraging the slightly younger messy haired teenager.
“Were you not listening or are you just deaf?! Or maybe you just can’t hear me over your insanely huge ego!” Gerard scream venomously at the shorter boy, getting to his converse clad feet, dumping his drawing book. “I don`t want to be here!”
Biting back a grin, Frank smugly retaliates, “So? I told you to sing something.” he smiles smugly as Gerard`s usual chalky white skin turns a violent shade of red.
“And I said no.” he glares evilly down the end of his small, button nose at the other boy, wanting to do nothing more than to punch the smug smirk off of his beautiful, but evil face.
“Are you refusing?” Franks asks innocently. “I should probably tell Apollonia that you are disobeying a direct request of your teacher. I don`t think she will be too pleased, do you?”
Fuming, Gerard throws his purple and silver sketchbook into his Misfits bag and angrily swings it over one shoulder.
“Why don`t you just bite me you little fucker!?” he flips the singer off before storming out of the room, everybody`s eyes on him or on the shorter, smirking front man.
“Jeez, what`s his problem?” He asks, sauntering over sashaying his little hips to the music system, ready to properly start the lesson now that he had found out the stranger`s name and had his fun.
“No who can tell me the best singing technique?”
“I fucking hate him!” Gerard screams into his pillow, desperately fighting back the tears of fury that dared to form in his eyes.
He had only been at this evil camp a day, and already it looked as though somebody had it out for him. Gerard didn`t even know what he had done, Frank just hated his guts. Sure, the black and red haired, red eyeliner obsessed guitarist treated everyone like crap, but he seemed to make a special effort with him. In the two occasions their paths had crosses Frank had thrown a stone at his head and embarrassed Gerard in front of the other campers.
Poor, confused Gerard just couldn’t figure out why Frank hated him so much…