Teeth

There was a loud snap, like the sound of thick ice cracking, and Gerard's desk toppled over as if it had been sniped. Gerard himself leapt up and stood shaking-- with anger. His eyes were black holes of fury, his mouth hooked down in a grimace of viciousness, his fist clenched so tightly around the umbrella that the metal bones inside the paper thin black skin quivered.

A small squeak escaped my lips, and my own hands clenched the cheap wooden desktop in a white knuckled grip.

Gerard glared at me, then turned on his heel and swept out of the room, the black clouds of fury hovering after him. I sat in the startled silence.

The quiet after the storm.

The gray after the black.

I finally released my death grip on the edge of the desk and watched the color flood into my fingers. I flexed them, my mind still processing what had happened. I pulled myself out of the hard plastic seat and crossed the room to examine the damage.

I bent over and picked up the desk and settled it like before, but it immediately fell again. Frowning, I crouched down on the floor and looked at the--

non-existant leg.

A metal nub protruded from the underside of the wood, the end jagged and sharp. Broken. My eyes widened as I saw the rest of the leg, lying three feet to my left. The other three legs of the desk were fine, this one must have been weak and broken under Gerard's weight. He had probably been embarrassed, and become angry...

It all snapped into place.

I just didn't know that metal could break like this.

-------------

"What a freak," Quinn said, smirking and rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I was afraid he was going to kill me for a second," I admitted, laughing.

I had just told Quinn about the bizarre detention events from this afternoon, right up to the broken desk.

Quinn was convinced that Gerard was bipolar.

I was convinced that I would never allow myself in a room alone with him ever again.

"So where was everyone, anyways?" Quinn asked curiously, brushing his bleached blond hair into place. I had always liked his hair, with the dark brown and blond together. I shrugged myself into reality.

"No clue," I answered, "it was only me and Gerard." I kicked a few loose bits of gravel or brit of some kind off the edge of the roof, watching the bits of rock scramble down the shingles like desperate beetles. We were in our usual place, the semi-abandoned old house about four blocks from both of our houses. Or I should say we were on top of our usual place.

The ancient house sat hunched over at the end of the street, staring down with glaring broken eyes at its weed infested lawn. The gray sides were peeling down in strips like confetti, ghostly moths flitted in and out of cracks in the foundation, and the whole place was rumored to be haunted. Was it haunted? Yes. But mostly by the homeless and drunks of Jersey.

An old tragically faded "For Sale by Owner" sign was face down on the lawn, the edges rusted and jagged. This was hardly anyone's idea of paradise, but it was free.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Quinn asked, prodding me playfully.

I batted his fingers away and sighed, leaning back against the rough texture of the roof. "The house," I answered truthfully, leaning down to scratch at my leg.

"Want to buy it?" He joked, knocking on the roof with his knuckle. "It's sturdy."

"Fuck you," I laughed, pushing him so he wobbled dangerously close to the edge. I caught onto of his sleeve just in case his klutzy side decided to make an appearance.

"Aww, you love me," Quinn cooed, looking at my hand snagged on his jacket. He made a kissy face at me and stretched his arms out as if he was going to embrace me. "Come 'ere you lil' tiger!"

I scooted away from him, making a cross with my fingers as if to shield myself from his evil. "He's possessed!" I cried dramatically, then laughed.

Quinn hissed and fell back as if my "cross" was burning him, then laughed along as well.

We had a boyish moment of wrestling and scrambling across the roof, when Quinn suddenly pulled back with an enormous grin on his face.

"Well, lookie there," he said, looking over my shoulder. "It's umbrella boy."

"What?" I gasped, twisting around to look. Sure enough, gliding down the street was Gerard, umbrella held aloft overhead, dark sunglasses on. "Why is he way over here?" I asked, confused.

"Shh," Quinn whispered, "come on." He pulled me after him across the roof where we ducked behind the large brick chimney. The back part of the roof was steep behind the chimney, so I dug my nails into the greasy black mortar in between bricks to hang on.

I held my breath as Gerard came closer, and I could feel Quinn's dark eyes peering past my shoulder intently.

Gerard was getting close now, a few more steps and he would be in front of the house.

Step, step, step.

He froze.

My lungs felt like they were going to burst. Quinn went stiff beside me.

Everything was still. Dead. I could hear the house creak beneath us, Gerard's black umbrella rustle, Quinn's shirt flutter in the almost still air. Why was he standing there?

Gerard's head suddenly tilted, then snapped up. His eyes zeroed in on mine.

I could feel my own eyes widen in shock, then I flipped around, my back pressed against the chimney, my chest rising and falling with my pounding heart.

How in THE HELL did he see me?

I glanced over and saw Quinn was in the same position as me, his dark eyes as wide as kiddie pools. He grabbed onto my wrist and dug his nails into the flesh, and I winced, breaking the trance.

Nervously, I edged to the side and snuck a look around the chimney. The street was empty.

The wind seemed to move again.

The moths fluttered into visibility.

I breathed out.

Quinn shut his eyes.

Without as much as a breath spoken between each other, we scraped down the roof hastily and dropped down onto the mangy lawn, heading for home.

-------------------

"Art is about expressing the soul, people," Ms. Davis explained passionately to the assembly of zombie students in her classroom. Someone tossed a marker across the room slyly. Ms. Davis ignored it. "Few things can spill out emotions like it. Anybody know what an example is?"

Silence.

Someone yawned.

Ms. Davis frowned deeply. "Anybody? Ted?"

Ted raised his head groggily from his desk, his hair creased from being pressed down on his arm. "Huhh?"

The teacher rolled her eyes. "Anybody else? Gerard?"

I tensed in my seat, scared to turn. Would he remember seeing me and Quinn? I peered at him from the corner of my eye, watching him straighten up coolly in his seat.

"Writing," Gerard said, his icy voice laced with boredom.

Ms. Davis smiled warmly at him. "Exactly! What else, um," she scanned the classroom, "Frank?"

I straightened from my hunched over sitting position and groaned inwardly. The don't-look-the-teacher-in-the-eye trick never works. I cleared my throat nervously, noting that his eyes were on me. "Music," I mumbled finally, keeping my eyes carefully off of him.

Ms. Davis seemed impressed. "Perfect example, Frank. Very good... Well, today we're going to draw something that you're very passionate about. It could be your family, your dog, your boyfriend or girlfriend--" A few people giggled "--or just something you enjoy doing."

"Can we paint?" Someone asked.

Ms. Davis winced. "Um, I think this class should stick with drawing for now."

We all caught her meaning. Some people in this class were too immature to handle paint.

Great.

I pulled out some paper, then started to sketch out a few lines. I paused to steal a quick look at Gerard, maybe to catch some hint to what he was thinking. My heart leapt into my throat nervously when I looked. He was staring directly at me.

And he wasn't happy.

I gave my paper my complete attention for the rest of the class period.

When the bell rang, I was out of my chair and at the door faster than the people in track. I handed Ms. Davis my drawing, smiling fakely and briefly, and shot through the doorway.

I rushed down the halls, bumping and sliding through the crowd, looking desperately for Quinn. I had to tell him that Gerard was pissed, and possibly dangerous. I also just wanted to put about ten miles between me and that umbrella's owner.

I shot around a corner and almost slammed into Quinn. He was walking casually to his next class, a packet of cigarettes faintly outlined in his front pocket. His eyes widened when he saw what condition I was in.

"What's wrong?" He asked, alarmed.

I leaned on one arm against the school lockers, trying to catch my breath. "It's Gerard," I breathed. I lowered my voice, "He's pissed."

Quinn looked worried. "Shit. What'd he do to you?"

I shook my head. "Nothing... yet. I just caught him looking at me and art, and I think he was imagining stabbing me with his colored pencil."

"But, he didn't say anything?" Quinn prompted, his brow furrowed.

"He didn't have to."

"Maybe he didn't see me..." He thought out loud, leaning against the lockers as well.

I punched him in the arm, scowling. "He better have. It was your idea to hide in the first place, dumbfuck."

Quinn flashed me a quick grin. "Oh yeah." Then his smile faded. "FUCK. I have him in my next class." His worried look returned, and he shifted nervously. "What should I do?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. Just tell me if he does anything." Then I added in an offhand matter, "If you ever return."

Quinn narrowed his eyes at me playfully. "Fuck you. I'll see you after class alright?" He pushed himself off the lockers with a spin, starting off to his next class.

I waved and called after him, "Don't die!"

He flipped me off. "I won't!"

Grinning, I started to my next class.

-------------------

I waited impatiently outside of the school, sitting down with my back against the rough red brick of the side wall. I was tearing the grass out of the ground, then spitting each blade into thinner and thinner strips. The green chlorophyll made crescent moons under my finger nails.

I sighed, throwing the grass into the wind, therefore ending my lawn massacre. Where was Quinn?

A rumble of thunder shattered my thoughts and I groaned. The sky threatened rain, and I really didn't reel like trudging home through a downpour. I stood up, brushing the seat of my pants off and scanning the school entrance for that familiar head of blond hair.

No Quinn.

If this was some kind of joke I would kick his ass.

I sighed again, starting up the concrete steps to the entrance of the school. I raked through my memories, trying to remember what class he had before school ended. I. Had. No. Idea.

"Frank!" I head someone call, and I turned. Quinn was striding towards me from the back of the school, his hands stuffed in his pockets against the cold.

"Hey!" I called back, hurrying to him. "Where the fuck have you been? It's going to rain!"

He looked up, studying the skies. "I think we can make it," he said, frowning. "But I had some stuff to finish up in class, sorry."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Alright..."

Quinn? School? Pshh...

We started walking away from the school in silence, my thoughts tangled and racing like the lightening flashing over head. What was happening here?

"Hey Quinn," I said, looking over at my silent companion. "What did Gerard do in class?"

Quinn looked up, his face unreadable. "Huh? Nothing. Nothing at all."

I frowned looking down. My feet scuffed over the dirty concrete, and I watched as the first few droplets of rain patter down making shadowy spots on the pavement.

"Fuck," I mumbled, and we picked up the pace.

Thunder crackled overhead, and for a second, I thought I saw a dark figure following us through the rain.