FicWad

I endure the rest of the day like every other. Dull, with nothing to look forward to. I’m a standalone. I’ve never been good at reaching out to people. All of the friends I’d ever had had talked to me first. Here in New Jersey, I am alone.
But I can deal with that. I’ve learned to.
I walk into detention, sign my name on the clipboard, and sit down in the far corner, decently far from everyone else.
I vaguely wonder if Ipods are allowed, but then I realize I don’t care whether they’re allowed or not. I’m still going to use it.
I put the headphones in and turn it up, but not blaring it. The song is Hard Slammin’ by The Blackout. I lose myself in it after a little bit, and I don’t care that I have another two hours of detention ahead of me. Give me music, and I’m set.
Suddenly, I feel cool breath on my neck, and I start; whirling around and yanking out my headphones. The Iero kid is there, smiling at me.
“The Blackout are a good band.” He says, lifting the side of his mouth and blowing his hair out of his eyes. It doesn’t do much good; the hair falls right back down into the same spot it was.
“Yeah. I like them a lot.” I say. If I am capable of talking to people about things, music is definitely one of them.
“Thank you.” I say to him. “You didn’t have to get busted.”
He makes an offended expression. “What kind of man would it make me if I stood by and watched? Like I said, you don’t know where their hands have been.”
I laugh. “I guess it would make you like just about every guy in this school.” I pause for a moment. “And pretty much all the girls too.” I’m surprised at how bitter I sound, but it’s true.
The kid raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to say something. I think he changes his mind, because he doesn’t react to what I said. Instead, he smiles widely, showing white, straight teeth.
“I’m Frank. Frankie. Whichever.” He holds out a hand with fingerless gloves with skeleton bones. I contemplate it for a moment, before shaking it once.
“I’m Evangeline.”
He raises an eyebrow again, which seems to be a common habit. “Nice name.”
I smile. “Thanks. Same.”
“Italians.” He shrugs and motions with his hands, looking straight out of Italy.
I laugh again.
“Your parents Italian?” He asks me. I stiffen, any happiness or comfort gone.
Frank regards me with a slightly confused expression. I know he’s waiting for me to answer, so I spit out a few words.
“Yeah. Yeah, they’re Italian.”
“Mine too.” He smiles. Then he leans back quickly as the teacher comes in. He tilts his chair back all the way and puts his feet on the desk. The teacher glares.
“Are you comfortable Mr. Iero?”
He smirks. “Quite. Thank you so much for taking an interest in my well being.”
The teacher doesn’t know what to say. I get the feeling Frank has that effect on most teachers.
I’m still stiff from thinking about parents. I take deep breaths and try not to think about having to go home after this.
In my peripheral vision, I can see Frank watching me still, with a soft expression. Thoughtful. His brows are slowly coming down, and he’s frowning, for no reason that I can see.
He leans forward, and speaks quietly in my ear. “Why are you so angry?”
It catches me completely off guard. “What?”
“Why are you so angry?”
“I’m not.” I say, in a well, angry tone.
“I don’t believe you.” He says. He leans back again.
I try to ignore him, but it’s difficult. He demands attention.
Why was he asking me that? What made him think I was angry?
I sigh softly, putting my headphones back in. I put my arms on the desk and put my head down. Song after song plays, and part of me keeps thinking Frank with show up right by my ear again. Part of me is disappointed.
Unfortunately for me, detention ends sooner than I would like. I hear footsteps, and I pull my head out of my arms. Everyone is standing and walking out the door. I sigh and stand, grabbing my messenger bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I’m sort of disappointed when I turn around to see that Frank is not there. I want to kick myself for being stupid.
With dragging feet, I make my way towards the door.
“So, are you coming with me?” I restrain myself from jumping he surprised me so much.
“Coming with you where?” I ask Frank in a dry tone. I’m afraid he’s punking me. But I’d do almost anything if it meant not going home.
“Where I’m going….” He trails of, casual, as if I should know.
“Which is where exactly?” I feel ridiculous. Considering going anywhere with a boy I met a few hours ago. For all I know his hands could be far dirtier than the jocks.
“Wherever.” He answers with his trademark smirk. “The only way to find out is if you come along.” He raises his eyebrow, waiting patiently for an answer.
I consider his open face, his clear eyes, for any sign of hidden intentions. I can’t see anything.
“I guess.” I say, after looking at him for another moment.
His smile lights up his entire face. “Alright then.” He grabs his bag, black and red, with diagonal stripes that look suspiciously like the were hand drawn with a red Sharpie marker. I look down at his shoes and notice that they too were artfully decorated, but with a marker.
I look closer at the twisting lines and patterns, and I begin to make out faces, wings, music notes. He looks at me and laughs.
“Like the shoes huh?” I nod.
“Did you draw all that?” He looks surprised.
“Me. Hell no! I can draw a little, but I can’t do that!”
“Who did then?” I ask, curious. The stuff on their qualified as art. It was beautiful.
“A friend.” He smiles. “Not everyone here is an asshole.”
I’m about to question who that friend is, but he slings his bag over his shoulder and jerks his head towards the door.
“Let’s go.”
I trail after him, thinking about how odd this is. I’m going with a boy I met a few hours ago, to an unknown destination. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, apparently. Still, I have this slight feeling that he’s ok. I don’t think he’d hurt me.
That says a lot. Trust has never really come easily to me.





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