Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Dead on the surface (but screaming underneath)
Chapter 1
Frank Iero is not a nerd. He’s just been blessed (more like fucking cursed) with a very good brain. Sure, being smart has its advantages – he never has to worry about failing anything, because he passes all his classes without doing anything. Okay, so he does do his homework for every class he has, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to be noticed by the teachers (and, indirectly, his classmates). He just stays quiet, does his homework and pretends to be a very colorful and weirdly-shaped part of the wall. No big deal.
But if Frank could choose between being smart and being average, he’d give up his giftedness in a heartbeat. You see, Frank does not like being smart. He can’t sleep more than two hours every night because his brain just won’t shut up. He tosses and turns while he thinks of every bad situation he could possibly find himself in someday: Being murdered while walking home alone, dying of a very rare disease before he’s 20, being abducted and then slowly eaten by cannibals while they juggle with his arms and legs.. He’s seen it all happen in his head. He can’t remember the last time he actually slept through the night.
Also, he’s extremely paranoid 99% of the time. If someone at school laughs while walking past him, he thinks they’ve figured out that he’s different. Because of that guy who was laughing at something stupid his friend had said, Frank has to lock himself in a bathroom stall and take deep breaths in order to keep himself from completely freaking out. He keeps telling himself that they’re not laughing at him, it’s fine, they didn’t even look his way but he just can’t help it. In the time that it would normally take for a person to consider the possibility that the joke could be on them, Frank’s brain has formed a detailed story called 'this is how you are going to get beaten up for being a 15-year old senior, run for your fucking life’. Frank doesn’t run for his life, but he can’t stop thinking about all the 'what if’s' and he can’t stop glancing behind him every few steps for the rest of the day either. His life sucks.
The worst thing about being smart is the fact that he feels incredibly lonely all the time. He tried to befriend some of his classmates when he was still in middle school, but they just ended up bullying him. That’s why he stopped looking for friends. They didn’t understand him anyway.
He keeps telling himself that he’s better off this way, but he can’t help but long for human contact. His mom is amazing and he loves her, but it’s just not the same. He hopes with all his heart that someday, he’ll find someone to fill up the emptiness in his life. Someday, he’ll find a friend.
*
His locker number is 1123 and it is located in the back of the school, fairly close to the art classroom. It’s old, the lock barely works and Frank hates it just as much as he loves it. Yes, it means that he has to run a marathon just to get his books for his next lesson, but the art wing is always deserted. His locker block is pretty close to the back entrance of the library, which means that he can sneak himself and his lunch into his favorite lunch spot.
Also, the lockers surrounding his are all empty, so he doesn’t have to worry about running into anyone here. This particular row of lockers is actually reserved for the new students, but ever since requesting a locker switch and ending up with 1123 Frank has never seen anyone else there. Not really a surprise, this school is a shithole anyway.., Frank thinks while pulling out his French books.
He really likes these quiet moments. Here, he doesn’t feel like he constantly has to watch his step or stick close to the walls. Here, he can be the energetic, music loving teenager he really is for a few minutes every day without feeling the need to hide his personality. He can just be himself.
But now, with his French books safely in his arms, he takes a deep breath and faces the scary crowd of obnoxious, overly aggressive and all-round disgusting creatures – teenagers.
*
Finally, Frank thinks. He walks down the hallway to his locker again, but this time he doesn’t have to hurry. It won’t matter if he’s a few minutes late; his teacher certainly doesn’t care. He’s just glad Frank’s gonna be there. In a non-creepy way. Frank shakes his head. Ew. Me and my guttered mind.
He opens his locker, dumps his books and locks it again. He doesn’t need any books for his next class; just his pencils and his imagination. As he turns around he’s already feeling better. He can spend the next hour with just his pencils and his imagination as company. With a smile on his face and a slight (girly) jump on his step, he reaches the art classroom.
“Hey Alex!”, Frank says to the man behind the desk. He may look a bit strange, but his art teacher is the only nice guy in the entire school. He’s incredibly laidback, but offers help when you need it. Also, for some strange reason he insists that everyone has to call him by his first name, Alex. Frank didn’t really know how to act around him during the first few weeks, but his art teacher seemed incredibly determined to make Frank like him. It worked, though; He’s the only teacher Frank actually talks to.
“Hey, Frank! Going next door again?”, Alex asks. By 'next door' he means the small unused classroom next to the one they’re currently in. Frank prefers to work there, because as much as he likes his teacher, he enjoys going there to work. There’s an ancient cd-player in the corner of that room that he fixed last year, so now he takes a CD with him to school every day and listens to it while he’s drawing. He loves it.
“Yeah.. Took some Pink Floyd with me today”, he says while grabbing his art folder.
Alex smiles at him. “Sweet! Old school is always good. Well, I’ll see you in an hour. Show me the progress then, okay?”
Frank nods. “Will do.” He turns around and exits the classroom. He keeps his eyes on the contents of his art folder as he walks to the next room, which is why he doesn’t see the figure walking down the hallway.
**
Gerard Way is not ready for this.
“Oh my god, it looks just like a prison.”
“Are you sure this is the school?”
“What the fu-“
“OW!”
“Shut. The fuck. Up. I’ve got to go and find my first class. Here’s your timetable. See you at lunch.” Mikey rolls his eyes at the amazed look on Gerard's face.
“When did you get our timetables?", Gerard asks bewildered.
“I got it while you were sadly staring down the hallway like a twelve-year old girl, you big fairy. Now, hurry up and go to classroom 113. You have History first. Later, big brother.” With that, Mikey Way walks off and leaves his older brother standing in the middle of the hallway, rubbing his reddening cheek with a hopeless expression.
*
Gerard Way does not like school. In fact, he hates it with a burning passion. Sure, he’s not very bad at it and some subjects he even likes. Sadly, school is not just about learning stuff. For most people, learning is just a small (and boring) part of their day because the older you get, the more school turns in a social contest with very few winners and a lot of losers.
Gerard was the biggest loser at his former school according to his schoolmates. He was 'king of the emofags', as they so lovingly called him while pushing his face in a rancid toilet bowl or while they were kicking him ‘til he threw up blood. Yeah, they weren’t really best friends. He never really got it. Sure, he dressed a bit differently and wasn’t as pumped-up and tan as the other guys, but that didn’t give them the right to beat him up every day, right? Thankfully, he still had Mikey to pull him through everything. He’s not sure he would have made it if it weren’t for his amazing little brother, even though Mikey can be slightly evil at times.
His art had played a very big role in the bullying as well. It has helped him through some very difficult times, but it has gotten him in trouble as well. In his freshman year, he had accidentally left his art folder in the cafeteria. A few juniors found it and they didn’t exactly plan on giving it back the regular way. Instead, they taped his drawings to his unconscious body after beating him up. That’s when the 'emofag'-trend had begun. Still, he’ll never be able to give up creating. They’ll have to pry his pencils out of his cold, dead hands.
*
“Stupid school, stupid uniform, stupid fucking tie”, Gerard mutters to himself while walking to the art classroom. This hallway seems older than the rest of the school, so he figures that this must be the old part of the school that has not been renovated. He’s incredibly glad that he has art next, because he already feels like hitting his head against a wall ‘til he passes out. This day is going downhill already.
History had sucked. The teacher made Gerard introduce himself (”Um.. Hi? I’m Gerard and I’m new here, so.. yeah.”) and then apparently decided that it would be a great idea to ask him every question he could think of. Each time he didn’t know the answer, his teacher had a mocking comment ready and the entire class would laugh at him. He hated Mr. Hastings already. Stupid pretentious asshole. Maths wasn’t as bad, but it was still maths. No matter how nice his teacher was, he was still going to hate it forever.
Further down the hall, he can already see the open door that will lead to his new safe haven. He smiles and speeds up, but stops walking as he sees a small figure dart out of the classroom and into the one next to it. The only thing he sees is dark hair and a white shirt with a red tie, so it’s a student. Maybe one of my classmates, Gerard thinks. He starts walking again and soon reaches the old, paint-splattered open door.
Once he steps inside of the art classroom, he instantly feels better. The smell of paint fumes and wet clay always has a calming effect on him. The room is completely empty, except for a middle aged man wearing a beret who appears to be cleaning his ear with the back of a paintbrush.
Ew.
Gerard decides to just make his presence known. “Excuse me? Are you Mr...” he says softly, while he quickly checks his timetable, “Bease?”
The man quickly pulls the paintbrush out of his ear (and Gerard definitely sees something disturbingly orange on the end of that paintbrush. Ew. Again.) and smiles at Gerard. “Yep, that’s me. Alexander Bease. ‘ve been teaching art in this dump for over 20 years.” Mr. Bease sighs. “Don’t know why.. As you can see, art is definitely not a priority here. I’m just here for the sake of it, I guess.”, he says gloomily as he looks out of the dirty window next to him.
“Anyway, who are you then? And why are you here?” Gerard, to his surprise, notes that his teacher seems genuinely interested. And surprised. Weird.
“I’m Gerard. Way. Um, Gerard Way I mean. And I’m here for my art lesson? This is senior Art, right?” Maybe he read his timetable wrong. Does he have Art later today? But wh-
Gerard’s interrupted by Mr. Bease jumping out of his chair, looking extremely surprised. “You’re kidding, right? You’re seriously here for art?” His eyes are huge as they stare at Gerard’s face and his beret has fallen from his head. He looks like a crazy homeless man. Gerard is a bit scared, if he’s being honest with himself.
“..Yes? Why is that so strange, sir? And where is everybody?” He notices now that, while the last bell has just rung, the classroom is just as empty as it was before. The guy he saw earlier isn’t there either.
“This year, instead of having just Senior Art as creative subject for the seniors, this school has introduced Senior Photography. A lot less work for better grades. The few students I had last year all switched. Well, except for one, but he prefers to work in the small room next to this one. Nice kid, nice kid. You’ll see him later, he always comes in at the end of the hour to show me his progress.” Mr. Bease smiles at him. “Now, let’s get you started..”
Gerard smiles back hesitantly. “Okay, sir.”
“Oh please, call me Alex.”
And the first chapter has been posted.
Thank you for reading!
Frank Iero is not a nerd. He’s just been blessed (more like fucking cursed) with a very good brain. Sure, being smart has its advantages – he never has to worry about failing anything, because he passes all his classes without doing anything. Okay, so he does do his homework for every class he has, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to be noticed by the teachers (and, indirectly, his classmates). He just stays quiet, does his homework and pretends to be a very colorful and weirdly-shaped part of the wall. No big deal.
But if Frank could choose between being smart and being average, he’d give up his giftedness in a heartbeat. You see, Frank does not like being smart. He can’t sleep more than two hours every night because his brain just won’t shut up. He tosses and turns while he thinks of every bad situation he could possibly find himself in someday: Being murdered while walking home alone, dying of a very rare disease before he’s 20, being abducted and then slowly eaten by cannibals while they juggle with his arms and legs.. He’s seen it all happen in his head. He can’t remember the last time he actually slept through the night.
Also, he’s extremely paranoid 99% of the time. If someone at school laughs while walking past him, he thinks they’ve figured out that he’s different. Because of that guy who was laughing at something stupid his friend had said, Frank has to lock himself in a bathroom stall and take deep breaths in order to keep himself from completely freaking out. He keeps telling himself that they’re not laughing at him, it’s fine, they didn’t even look his way but he just can’t help it. In the time that it would normally take for a person to consider the possibility that the joke could be on them, Frank’s brain has formed a detailed story called 'this is how you are going to get beaten up for being a 15-year old senior, run for your fucking life’. Frank doesn’t run for his life, but he can’t stop thinking about all the 'what if’s' and he can’t stop glancing behind him every few steps for the rest of the day either. His life sucks.
The worst thing about being smart is the fact that he feels incredibly lonely all the time. He tried to befriend some of his classmates when he was still in middle school, but they just ended up bullying him. That’s why he stopped looking for friends. They didn’t understand him anyway.
He keeps telling himself that he’s better off this way, but he can’t help but long for human contact. His mom is amazing and he loves her, but it’s just not the same. He hopes with all his heart that someday, he’ll find someone to fill up the emptiness in his life. Someday, he’ll find a friend.
*
His locker number is 1123 and it is located in the back of the school, fairly close to the art classroom. It’s old, the lock barely works and Frank hates it just as much as he loves it. Yes, it means that he has to run a marathon just to get his books for his next lesson, but the art wing is always deserted. His locker block is pretty close to the back entrance of the library, which means that he can sneak himself and his lunch into his favorite lunch spot.
Also, the lockers surrounding his are all empty, so he doesn’t have to worry about running into anyone here. This particular row of lockers is actually reserved for the new students, but ever since requesting a locker switch and ending up with 1123 Frank has never seen anyone else there. Not really a surprise, this school is a shithole anyway.., Frank thinks while pulling out his French books.
He really likes these quiet moments. Here, he doesn’t feel like he constantly has to watch his step or stick close to the walls. Here, he can be the energetic, music loving teenager he really is for a few minutes every day without feeling the need to hide his personality. He can just be himself.
But now, with his French books safely in his arms, he takes a deep breath and faces the scary crowd of obnoxious, overly aggressive and all-round disgusting creatures – teenagers.
*
Finally, Frank thinks. He walks down the hallway to his locker again, but this time he doesn’t have to hurry. It won’t matter if he’s a few minutes late; his teacher certainly doesn’t care. He’s just glad Frank’s gonna be there. In a non-creepy way. Frank shakes his head. Ew. Me and my guttered mind.
He opens his locker, dumps his books and locks it again. He doesn’t need any books for his next class; just his pencils and his imagination. As he turns around he’s already feeling better. He can spend the next hour with just his pencils and his imagination as company. With a smile on his face and a slight (girly) jump on his step, he reaches the art classroom.
“Hey Alex!”, Frank says to the man behind the desk. He may look a bit strange, but his art teacher is the only nice guy in the entire school. He’s incredibly laidback, but offers help when you need it. Also, for some strange reason he insists that everyone has to call him by his first name, Alex. Frank didn’t really know how to act around him during the first few weeks, but his art teacher seemed incredibly determined to make Frank like him. It worked, though; He’s the only teacher Frank actually talks to.
“Hey, Frank! Going next door again?”, Alex asks. By 'next door' he means the small unused classroom next to the one they’re currently in. Frank prefers to work there, because as much as he likes his teacher, he enjoys going there to work. There’s an ancient cd-player in the corner of that room that he fixed last year, so now he takes a CD with him to school every day and listens to it while he’s drawing. He loves it.
“Yeah.. Took some Pink Floyd with me today”, he says while grabbing his art folder.
Alex smiles at him. “Sweet! Old school is always good. Well, I’ll see you in an hour. Show me the progress then, okay?”
Frank nods. “Will do.” He turns around and exits the classroom. He keeps his eyes on the contents of his art folder as he walks to the next room, which is why he doesn’t see the figure walking down the hallway.
**
Gerard Way is not ready for this.
“Oh my god, it looks just like a prison.”
“Are you sure this is the school?”
“What the fu-“
“OW!”
“Shut. The fuck. Up. I’ve got to go and find my first class. Here’s your timetable. See you at lunch.” Mikey rolls his eyes at the amazed look on Gerard's face.
“When did you get our timetables?", Gerard asks bewildered.
“I got it while you were sadly staring down the hallway like a twelve-year old girl, you big fairy. Now, hurry up and go to classroom 113. You have History first. Later, big brother.” With that, Mikey Way walks off and leaves his older brother standing in the middle of the hallway, rubbing his reddening cheek with a hopeless expression.
*
Gerard Way does not like school. In fact, he hates it with a burning passion. Sure, he’s not very bad at it and some subjects he even likes. Sadly, school is not just about learning stuff. For most people, learning is just a small (and boring) part of their day because the older you get, the more school turns in a social contest with very few winners and a lot of losers.
Gerard was the biggest loser at his former school according to his schoolmates. He was 'king of the emofags', as they so lovingly called him while pushing his face in a rancid toilet bowl or while they were kicking him ‘til he threw up blood. Yeah, they weren’t really best friends. He never really got it. Sure, he dressed a bit differently and wasn’t as pumped-up and tan as the other guys, but that didn’t give them the right to beat him up every day, right? Thankfully, he still had Mikey to pull him through everything. He’s not sure he would have made it if it weren’t for his amazing little brother, even though Mikey can be slightly evil at times.
His art had played a very big role in the bullying as well. It has helped him through some very difficult times, but it has gotten him in trouble as well. In his freshman year, he had accidentally left his art folder in the cafeteria. A few juniors found it and they didn’t exactly plan on giving it back the regular way. Instead, they taped his drawings to his unconscious body after beating him up. That’s when the 'emofag'-trend had begun. Still, he’ll never be able to give up creating. They’ll have to pry his pencils out of his cold, dead hands.
*
“Stupid school, stupid uniform, stupid fucking tie”, Gerard mutters to himself while walking to the art classroom. This hallway seems older than the rest of the school, so he figures that this must be the old part of the school that has not been renovated. He’s incredibly glad that he has art next, because he already feels like hitting his head against a wall ‘til he passes out. This day is going downhill already.
History had sucked. The teacher made Gerard introduce himself (”Um.. Hi? I’m Gerard and I’m new here, so.. yeah.”) and then apparently decided that it would be a great idea to ask him every question he could think of. Each time he didn’t know the answer, his teacher had a mocking comment ready and the entire class would laugh at him. He hated Mr. Hastings already. Stupid pretentious asshole. Maths wasn’t as bad, but it was still maths. No matter how nice his teacher was, he was still going to hate it forever.
Further down the hall, he can already see the open door that will lead to his new safe haven. He smiles and speeds up, but stops walking as he sees a small figure dart out of the classroom and into the one next to it. The only thing he sees is dark hair and a white shirt with a red tie, so it’s a student. Maybe one of my classmates, Gerard thinks. He starts walking again and soon reaches the old, paint-splattered open door.
Once he steps inside of the art classroom, he instantly feels better. The smell of paint fumes and wet clay always has a calming effect on him. The room is completely empty, except for a middle aged man wearing a beret who appears to be cleaning his ear with the back of a paintbrush.
Ew.
Gerard decides to just make his presence known. “Excuse me? Are you Mr...” he says softly, while he quickly checks his timetable, “Bease?”
The man quickly pulls the paintbrush out of his ear (and Gerard definitely sees something disturbingly orange on the end of that paintbrush. Ew. Again.) and smiles at Gerard. “Yep, that’s me. Alexander Bease. ‘ve been teaching art in this dump for over 20 years.” Mr. Bease sighs. “Don’t know why.. As you can see, art is definitely not a priority here. I’m just here for the sake of it, I guess.”, he says gloomily as he looks out of the dirty window next to him.
“Anyway, who are you then? And why are you here?” Gerard, to his surprise, notes that his teacher seems genuinely interested. And surprised. Weird.
“I’m Gerard. Way. Um, Gerard Way I mean. And I’m here for my art lesson? This is senior Art, right?” Maybe he read his timetable wrong. Does he have Art later today? But wh-
Gerard’s interrupted by Mr. Bease jumping out of his chair, looking extremely surprised. “You’re kidding, right? You’re seriously here for art?” His eyes are huge as they stare at Gerard’s face and his beret has fallen from his head. He looks like a crazy homeless man. Gerard is a bit scared, if he’s being honest with himself.
“..Yes? Why is that so strange, sir? And where is everybody?” He notices now that, while the last bell has just rung, the classroom is just as empty as it was before. The guy he saw earlier isn’t there either.
“This year, instead of having just Senior Art as creative subject for the seniors, this school has introduced Senior Photography. A lot less work for better grades. The few students I had last year all switched. Well, except for one, but he prefers to work in the small room next to this one. Nice kid, nice kid. You’ll see him later, he always comes in at the end of the hour to show me his progress.” Mr. Bease smiles at him. “Now, let’s get you started..”
Gerard smiles back hesitantly. “Okay, sir.”
“Oh please, call me Alex.”
And the first chapter has been posted.
Thank you for reading!
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