Teeth

"You look better," I commented to Quinn, shuffling alongside him to the cafeteria.

He flicked his head to one side, shifting his hair out of his eye, and grinned. "Yeah, I feel alot better. But what happened to you?"

I blinked tiredly, knowing full well how bad I looked. I couldn't bring myself to venture into my room last night, so I just didn't. I had laid down in the living room on the couch, my eyes wide open, until soft sunlight had filtered into the window. Dark purple shadows lurked under my eyes, and I had tried to cover it with some of my mom's makeup only succeeding in making my face look blotchy and even more haggard.

"My mom bought a cat," I answered finally, simplizing the situation by almost humorous standards. We stepped into the crowded cafeteria, bumping elbows against trays and groups of students.

Quinn laughed disbelievingly. "A cat? Only your mom, dude. But why would that keep you up?"

I sighed, rubbing one of my puffy eyes. "Oh god Quinn, you'll think I've fucking lost it."

He snorted, handing me a plastic tray while grabbing one for himself. "No worries there Frank my boy, you've already lost it. Now spit it out." He turned to glare over my shoulder at a preppy girl who was smirking hatefully at him, then turned back to me. "I mean come on, it's me."

A lunch lady with frizzy brown hair captured in a hair net plopped something white and formless on our trays, and I wrinkled my nose. "Not here," I finally responded. "If I'm going to talk like a crazy person, I don't want any witnesses."

"That bad, eh?" Quinn asked, grinning at me. "I think you're bluffing."

I raised my exhausted head indignantly. "I'm not."

A sloppy joe was slipped onto our trays, and we neared the end of the line to pay.

"Okay, so do you want to get out of here?" He asked, handing another lunch lady some cash. He retrieved the change and waited for me to pay.

"Yeah that would probably be better," I responded, my jaw popping as I yawned enormously.

I was handed back my $1.25 in change, and I picked up my tray and followed Quinn. "Where do you feel like going? The park?"

He paused. "We'd have to cut all of school for that."

I rolled my eyes. "And the problem is...?"

Quinn grinned. "You're right. Let's go after chemistry though, Zach told me we're going to get to light shit on fire." We sat down at the long table where all the outcasts were separated by a comfortable foot or so from each other. Quinn and I situated ourselves at the end, now forced to confront our runny sloppy joes.

I yawned in agreement to his earlier suggestion, then let my head drop on the table with a thunk. Quinn snickered, but stayed quiet and allowed me a few seconds of peace.

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"Shit!" Quinn exclaimed too loudly, greatly impressed by the purple flame now emitting from the Bunsen burner. He was holding a toothpick dipped in some chemical with metal prongs, his eyes bright and reflecting the colorful flame.

I held back a yawn as I sketched down on our worksheet:

Test number three:
Chemical turns fire purple.

Four words. The teacher will easily notice my unbridled enthusiasm for this project when he grades this. I groaned and dropped my head down on the paper, breathing in the metallic scent of pencil lead.

"Shit!" Quinn exclaimed again, but in a different tone as his toothpick turned black and caught fire. He waved it wildly through the air with his metal prongs, almost impaling himself in the eye as he did so. The fire blew out, and now only smoke emitted from the ruined sliver of wood.

"Everything alright here Mr. Allman?" Our teacher asked dryly, eying the toothpick.

"Yep," Quinn chirped, grinning. "That was awesome."

The teacher rolled his eyes, then prodded me. "Are you going to let your partner do all the work for you, Mr. Iero?"

"Mmmf," I mumbled. "I'm writing it all down."

He shook his head, overly disappointed, and strode towards another more successful group.

"Frank," Quinn nudged me. "Let's try putting the chemicals on at the same time!"

"Whatever," I grumbled against my arm, which was now across my mouth as I used it as a pillow. My eyes dropped shut like they were anchored, and I tried to ignore the chemical smells on the desk.

Quinn was chuckling delightedly as he clinked around the beakers holding chemicals like a child with several new toys.

I felt myself drifting off in the middle of class.

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"Detention! Can you believe this?" Quinn was complaining, matching my stride as we marched through the park.

I shot him a look. "You mixed a bunch of chemicals and put them in a fire, what did you expect?!"

He returned my look just as forcefully, but his face had an odd lopsided look to it since one of his dark eyebrows was completely singed off. "Not a column of fire," he snapped back defensively, rubbing the bare skin over his right eye. "And you could have stopped me."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah I could've, if I had been conscious."

We both stopped under a large oak tree, the upper branches covered in the killing growth of mistletoe. The park was conveniently large, the weed-ridden grass creeping onto the many wide sidewalks that cut through the park for bikers, walkers, and joggers. Trees were encircled with iron fencing, and the oak we were under had begun to grow around the rusted iron defiantly.

"So what's this all about?" Quinn asked, settling down on the grass with a grunt.

I joined him, sighing. "Okay, so I came home yesterday like any other day right? And I walked in the door and my house smelled like shit," I started, then paused. "No, like something dead. Literally."

Quinn nodded, looking like he wanted to laugh, but wouldn't because he wanted to humor me. "Go on."

I rubbed my eyes, my fingers coming away lightly dusted with my mom's make-up. I rubbed my hand on my jeans and continued. "Well, so I'm going around the house like ' what the fuck is that smell' you know? And I walk into my mom's room and she's reading like she can't smell it. And Quinn, you have to understand how awful this smell is. It's like roadkill times forty."

He nodded, his single eyebrow furrowed.

I took a breath and continued. "So I'm like ' Mom what is that fucking smell?', and she's like ' Oh Frank don't be rude." I snorted humorlessly. "Then she says the house is so lonely that she thought we needed another ' family member'. Then she whips out this cat carrier from the closet."

"She said that?" Quinn asked, laughing.

"Shh," I scolded. "It gets fucking weird."

Quinn chuckled a few times, then became quiet. "Okay, continue."

"Well, this cat is the thing that smells. And it goes all crazy and starts rattling the cage around and my mom just smiles. Then she let's it out of the cage."

Quinn was watching my face as I talked thoughtfully, not really giving anything away.

"It goes crazy and hits the window, and my mom stuffs it back in the cage, still smiling. Apparently its name is Buster."

He nodded. "Okay that is fucked up. But what are you implying?"

I paused, biting my lip. "I think it's... undead."

"Undead," Quinn repeated. Then he shook his head. "I think you should just wash the damn cat, Frank."

I looked at him in shock. "Are you kidding me? Do you know why I couldn't sleep last night? I woke up with it staring at me. Like it wanted to eat my face or something."

"How'd it get out?" Quinn asked, his face still showing he didn't buy it.

I shrugged helplessly. "Hell if I know."

"Well..." Quinn said, looking thoughtful. "I know something even more disturbing..."

"What?" I asked curiously.

"I saw Gerard Way making out with the head fucking cheerleader behind the school this morning," he told me matter-of-factly.

I felt my eyes enlarge. "WHAT?"

Quinn nodded his head enthusiastically. "I know, it was even more fucked up than your dead cat story."

I shook my head in disbelief. "That is...strange." I looked off into nothingness across the park, thinking that something was not right.

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"Of course," I muttered as me and Quinn entered the detention room. Gerard was slouched in his desk in the back corner of the room, his pale fingers tapping lightly over the etched wooden desktop impatiently.

Three other kids were scattered across the room, all of them at least 5 desks away from Gerard.

Me and Quinn situated ourselves far away from him, and I tried to identify the other kids in the room. Most of them looked to be young, freshmen or sophomore, but one of them looked to be a junior.

I glanced across the room at Gerard, and he smirked at me. A private smirk. He aimed one hand at me like a gun and winked.

I shot my gaze back to my desk, feeling cold fearful adrenaline rush though me.

Quinn hadn't missed this little exchange, and he shot me a confused look.

I gave a little helpless shrug of my shoulders like I had no idea, but I did know.

He knew where I lived.

Gerard went back to smirking at a notebook in front of him, and started to write lazily across the paper.

I lowered my head to my desk, trying to sleep. Quinn was watching me, waiting for me to look up, but I pretended I didn't notice.

"I saw Gerard Way making out with the head fucking cheerleader behind the school this morning."

My mind was roving over this sentence over and over again, trying to make sense of it. The head cheerleader was Courtney Fox: platinum blond, fake nails, bright red convertible, Hollister clothing, high heels, short skirts, spray on tan... The idea of her with Gerard Way: creepy, black clothing, black hair... I stopped. I knew more about Courtney Fox than Gerard.

There was a rustle of paper next to my ear, and I raised my head in surprise. A folded note was resting on the corner of my desk. I glanced over at Quinn, but his head was down like mine had been only a few moments ago. The other kids were in similar positions or working on homework. My gaze found Gerard, on the opposite side of the room, his smirk evident.

There was no way he could have walked over and put the note on my desk and walked back before I noticed. It was impossible.

I reached forward and grabbed the folded piece of paper. I unfolded it in my lap and read...