Giggling in an overexcited manner when the staple came out, she turned over to the first page.
Riley’s pencil froze in mid-sentence on the white sheet of lined paper. Her eyes trailed up to Paul’s face. Smiling in her most angelic expression, she asked if she could be excused to go gather her belongings from the locker before continuing to write; she said she had a lot on her mind to note down. She frowned slightly when Paul willingly nodded. Wasn’t that a bit too easy? Sliding backwards, she rose from her chair and left Frank’s diary on Paul’s table. The guidance counselor never uttered a word. Not wasting any time, she rushed out the door. Once at her locker, she noticed that some of her books had fallen out of the wide open door. They now lay strewn out on the carpeted floor, along with her backpack. Immediately, she realized her backpack had been opened. With a panicked expression, she searched through each of the compartments. She cursed loudly when she didn’t locate her iPod. It was her most priced possession since two Christmases ago when she received it. She knew her mother had to scrape in quite a bit of money to buy it for her. Now, some asshole who could have just bought one themselves was walking around, enjoying all her precious music. They had no idea how much value that thing had. For a moment, Riley forgot about her plan and instead proceeded to deathwish whoever had done this terrible crime. Although disappointed, she was soon back on track.
From the floor, she picked up her English notebook; one which was the exact same tint of green as Frank Iero’s. After thoroughly exploring her pencil case, she managed to find a black sharpie marker. She traveled back into her mind, trying to remember Frank’s handwriting. Quite contrarily to her messy scrawl, it had been rounded and kind of cute; like a Catholic schoolgirl’s. She attempted to reproduce it on the cover of her notebook. Her imitation of it was far from perfect, but she figured Paul was too blind to notice. The next step was the stapled pages. She conveniently carried a mini stapler around, like the little dork she was. It was never something she predicted to be useful, but it was worth it now. Quickly, she attached together all the pages she had written on. Perfect. Stuffing all of her books into her bag messily and making sure she left it unzipped, she ran back to the guidance counselor’s office.
Upon reaching Paul’s table again, she “accidentally” knocked down Frank’s diary. As she bent down to pick it up, she was in the ideal position for all of her other books to slide out, including her English book. Trying hard not to grin at how well this was working out, she pulled a pissed-off expression.
“Just calm down, Riley,” Paul said in an annoyingly monotonous voice.
This helped keep the irritated look on her face. The old guy was just so...argh! While gathering all her books, she replaced her mock Frank book with the real one. Then, she shoved the actual Frank book along with her belongings into her bag. Internally, she was partying. Her face remained (hopefully) blank as she sat back in the chair. In her own notebook, she scribbled down a few more sentences.
Glancing up once again at Paul, she smiled, “That really helped. I feel so much better now.” She tossed the notebook to Paul’s desk, “Thanks! Bye!”
With that, she darted out of the room, ignoring all of Paul’s shouted out questions. For as long as her breath would last, she continued to keep a steady face. It was when the scenery began to change from the nice, white houses nearby her school to the more beaten down ones that she slowed down. Her neighborhood wasn’t anywhere nearby these houses. But God, she wished it was. Compared to where she lived, this part of town—the “bad” part—was equivalent to Sunset Boulevard. It pissed her off to pass through there. A bothersome feeling called envy would constantly be at her throat. She retreated into her hood and kept her eyes on her shoes. Her head didn’t tilt upwards until her house came into view. The sight made her grimace.
The one-floored house was made of wooden logs sloppily placed together, as if by a kindergartner...a particularly messy one. The front door would’ve been hanging on one hinge, had it not been for the fraying rope which tied it in place. The window adjacent to the door was cracked; a silly accident during which a dumbass vandalizer threw a softball at it. It was not as if a lack of the broken glass would fix the house, though. Only money was capable of doing that. However, Riley knew for a fact that if money was spent on the house, she and her family wouldn’t even have money for decent clothes and food. Being stuck inside a hideous house seemed much more appealing to her than starving ...or going to school wearing tattered clothing. Stepping up to the porch, she couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. As if to disguise the grossness of the house, a moldy mat lay in front of the door which read: Welcome Home. Although this disaster was what she came home to every day, she was disappointed every last time. She always had this weird, tarnished hope that one day, she’d return to find that her little... shack transformed into a beautiful mansion. One pre-equipped with maids...and a swimming pool! She sighed. There went her mind, being crazy again. Shaking her head with disgust at herself, she tapped the rusty knocker against the wood three times. The door creaked open to reveal her mother, who smiled wearily.
“Hi honey, how was school?” a classic “mom” question was asked.
Riley mumbled a sarcastic ‘great’ before pushing her way inside. The house was noisy, as usual, with her three younger brothers running around wildly. Every day seemed to introduce a new game for them. Today was apparently “Tackle Tyler Day” during which Mike and Peter pounced on Ty in order to make the poor kid scream as loudly as possible. If Riley’s prediction would come true, it would inevitably result in breakage of the extremely tiny television set. It wasn’t much of a loss (there were only six channels) so she quietly walked up to the dark, dingy attic which she was ashamed to call her room. After slamming the door behind her back and latching it shut, she belly flopped onto her bed. Anyone else would’ve found this uncomfortable since the mattress had a few springs protruding from the inside, but hey, she was used to it.
From her backpack beside her, she pulled out Frank Iero’s diary. The name on the front seemed to gleam with a strange energy of some sort. Flipping the cover back, her chest filled up with apprehension; she couldn’t help but wonder if she was setting herself up for disappointment. How was she to know if this Frank guy was as great as her mind was telling her he was? She didn’t even know him for goodness’ sake! Unless he happened to be that cute blonde waiter... But if Frank was so awesome, why would he be a fucking waiter? He sounded like a total loser now. Groaning at all the negative thoughts in her head, she began to pick at the staple. She figured it was worth a shot. It was not like she had anything better to do anyway.
Giggling in an overexcited manner when the staple came out, she turned over to the first page. The black and white calligraphy on the page grabbed her by the head and dragged her downwards, back into 1997; to the world of Frank Iero.
I know, you're probably all mad that I stopped the chapter right there. Aren't you just itching to know what Frankie's thinking? Review and let me know. Wait, what? You're not itching to know what Frankie's thinking? Review and tell me why not...
< 3 I less-than-three you all!
P.S. And I'm so sorry I haven't written this in over a month! I've been so focused on my Frerard that I totally forgot this one! Thanks to I-love-frank-and-max, I remembered it.