The headmaster’s name is Mr. Verney, or something. He’s a total twat. I occasionally see him walking round school in his shitty suit and nodding to every student wearing the uniform in a correct manner. He nods at them all, and then probably thinks “Those students are looking exceptionally spiffing today. I will call them to my office later for a nice sip of tea and then some anal.” He fucks kids you know, Mr. Verney. I’ve seen a couple students go in his office looking all posh and then coming out all ruffled.
It’s a weird school. There are two main sides, I guess you could say. One side is the posh kids; the cunts. They all do their top buttons up and have neat polished shoes and tied back hair, and their skirts are on the knee or below. Then there’s the other side. I’m part of that side. We wear our shirt scruffy and unwashed and untucked. You’re not allowed piercings or dyed hair here but we get away with it.
The teachers don’t give a shit about us. They let us do what we want cause they’re not fucked to tell us off.
I feel like part of something, when I say that. Us. We. I’ve never been part of something, but it’s not like I care, cause I hate everyone anyway.
The bathrooms stink. And I know you may be thinking I’m in the bathroom a lot and it’s true. It’s the only place to hide. Sometimes if it really reeks in here I go sit outside at lunch. Somewhere away from everyone else. I just put my music on and crank it up.
Someone threw a sandwich at me once. I don’t even know why. I don’t think they knew I was there and just chucked it. Some other kids started laughing and the guy who chucked it turned around and looked like he was about to apologize, but then stopped. He laughed too, after realizing who I was. It’s like kids who aren’t even in my year know me. I picked the sandwich up and ate it. It was now covered in dirt and half chewed but the kids laughing got freaked out and practically ran. It was tuna sandwich. I hate tuna.
Someone opens the bathroom door. I’m sitting in a stall, the one at the very end, where it’s bigger because of the way the building is. I’m sitting on the toilet seat, obviously with the top down, resting my legs on the door handle, smoking. And yeah, don’t go all “smoking is bad in school you’re underage you’ll get expelled” cause I don’t give a shit. I wouldn’t mind getting expelled anyway. I guess my master plan could be that first I hit Mr. Bass over the head, go to the Mr. Verneys office, ask him for a BJ and then start smoking. That would get me expelled, for sure.
The kid who opened the door starts coughing. Isn’t he used to this now? I’m sure he’s been here long enough to know everyone smokes in this bathroom.
Unless he’s new. Unless he’s new and been to catholic school, where they all worship God every morning and scream when someone says a “dirty” word.
I used to go to Sunday school. I’m guessing it’s the same thing. Well, I went to Sunday school until I drew a picture of Satan and stuck it in the teacher’s desk.
I laugh, remembering the old bags face. I really did myself proud, with that picture. My red marker was all ran out by the end of it, though.
“Hello…?” Catholic boy calls out. Well I think it’s a boy. The voice was so quiet and girly I can’t be sure.
I laugh more, slightly coughing on my cigarette. “Do you worship the Devil, o pretty boy?” I ask through the door.
There’s no response. My laughing has stopped. I guess I creeped him out too much.
I throw the cigarette on the floor and stomp on it, unlocked the door at the same time.
So it is a boy. He’s standing by the sink, laughing silently. Weird. I thought he would be standing awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs.
“Yeah?” He asks, ceasing his laughter and looking at me. He’s got black hair, naturally black hair. I’m insanely jealous.
His eyes are nice too. They seem to sparkle. I could get lost in those.
Wait, where the fuck did that come from? Why am I thinking about getting lost in Catholic boy’s eyes?
He blinks at me. I blink back. I can’t get that thought out of my head. His eyes are just so... pretty.
“Got something on my face?” Damn, this guy’s got attitude. Even with a squeaky, girly voice he sounds bad ass.
“No.” That’s all I can think to say. I mentally slap myself. Where’s my sass gone? I was meant to be teasing him about satanic doings and being allergic to cigarette smoke.
Cigarettes. Yes! I should offer him one. Meaning as he just nearly died from the smoke and all that.
“You want a cigarette?” Unless he really is allergic. That would be kinda a pity wouldn’t it? Hey, let’s just offer the pretty new kid a cig and watch him die from it. Well shit, that ruined his future education. “Unless you’re allergic. In which case I’m sorry for your future death on my behalf.”
He shrugs. Nods. Shakes his head. Make your mind up…
“You called me pretty?” Shit. Did he read my mind? Can he read my mind? Does he know I think his hair is nice? Does he know I want to ram him against the sink and kiss him?
“WHAT?” I scream. I turn away from him my heart beating fast. He really can read my mind. What if he just heard what I just said? Why did I even say that? I mean even if he is pretty I’m not going to start kissing him. I don’t even know his name. But he is so pretty. Shit he heard that too. He knows I know he can read my mind. “STOP READING MY MIND!”
“Dude you’re really fucked up. I can’t read your mind. I can’t read anybody’s mind. You called me pretty boy when you asked me about worshipping the devil.”
He’s put something on my shoulder. What is that? What has he put on my shoulder? Oh, it’s just his hand.
His hand is on my shoulder. His hand is nice, you know. I guess you could say its… pretty.
He notices me staring at my hand. He takes it off. I turn back around and we stare at each other in silence. He’s probably thinking about how weird I am. I’m just thinking about how adorable he is.
“What’s your name?” He finally asks. I guess he picked up on the mega awkwardness in the room too.
“Frank. I’m Frank and my teacher threatened to rip my cock off today. He said it was small.”
Pretty boy laughs. He doesn’t stop laughing. He leans on the edge of the sink and laughs boy. Tears are leaking from his eyes. His pretty eyes.
I slap myself in the face. I need to stop think about hot pretty he is. He really isn’t that much. And anyway he is a guy. And so am I.
He sees me. I expected to him to look at me like a retard but he laughs more. He puts his hand out to me, and through laughter, says “I’m Gerard. Hi.”
I take his hand. “Hi Gerard. My penis isn’t small.”
More laughter. He straightens up in the end, looks down at our hands still grasped together and says “You can let go off my hand now.”
I let go of it. I let go of pretty boys – Gerard’s hand.