New Kid in New Jersey

Slowly bringing my hand up to my mouth to hide my smile, I looked over to the back of the class where Gerard sat. When he had heard the mention of his name, he had quickly turned his head to look out of the window once more. He looked as if he was in deep thought, as he kept his unfocused eyes in the exact same spot somewhere in the distance outside. He had purposely let his thick, black fringe hang over his pale face, in a failed attempt to hastily conceal a faint smile, similar to the one being hidden by myself.

Miss Fass gave a quiet cough, before giving me a small push forwards. Realising that I was still standing at the front of the class, I began to walk shyly down, through the middle of the class. I kept my head down; feeling all eyes on me. As I reached the back rows, I turned and sat down on the hard, plastic chair next to Gerard's. He didn't seem to notice that I was even there, until he slowly turned around to face me, and jumped slightly, as if I'd just appeared out of thin air. We sat, looking at each other for a few seconds, before we both awkwardly turned our heads to face the other way.

"We're going to be staying in the formroom through first period today, class." Miss Fass announced, sitting down at her desk, "I'd like you all to work on your very own individual poems."
Practically the whole class groaned in annoyance, and someone said loudly "Oooh, what fun..." in what could've been the most sarcastic voice I'd ever heard in my life.

Miss Fass shushed us all, and began handing round different coloured felt tip pens and sheets of plain paper. For some reason, she gave Gerard several sheets. Maybe he's just one of those weird poetry nerds. I watched him with interest as his hand hovered above the pen pot, until he chose a black felt tip and set it down on the blank piece of paper. He sat for a moment, chewing his pen and staring at the ceiling. Retrieving the pen from his mouth, he laid his head down on the paper, and began to write. He was scrawling away at top speed, pausing only occasionally to think about the next line he would write.

I stared blankly at my sheet of paper. We were twenty minutes into the lesson, now, and I still hadn't written a single word. I'm awful at rhyming. My words don't mean anything, and whenever I attempt anything of the sort, it ends up sounding like some sort of suicide note.
I picked up a purple felt tip, and scribbled down a couple of sentences:

Late dawns and early sunsets, just like my favorite scenes
Then holding hands and life was perfect, just like up on the screen

I don't know what it's supposed to mean. It just rhymed. It sounded okay, I guess. I put my pen back down on the table once more, and sat to think. I looked over at Gerard again. Wow, he'd almost filled up his first sheet of paper already. I leaned over his shoulder slightly, to have a look at what he had written.

Hand in mine, into your icy blues
And then I'd say to you we could take to the highway
With this trunk of ammunition too
I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets

I'm trying, I'm trying
To let you know just how much you mean to me
And after all the things we put each other through

And I would drive on to the end with you
A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full
And I feel like there's nothing left to do
But prove myself to you and we'll keep it running

But this time, I mean it
I'll let you know just how much you mean to me
As snow falls on desert sky
Until the end of everything

I'm trying, I'm trying
To let you know how much you mean
As days fade, and nights grow
And we go cold

Until the end, until this pool of blood
Until this, I mean this, I mean this...

And it went on a little like that. Amazing. How the hell does he do that?
I sat in awe for a short while, just staring, wild-eyed at his paper.

"It's called Demolition Lovers." He muttered quietly, noticing me. I drew back, realising that I had leant over so far that I was practically on top of him. Embarassed, I shifted slightly in my own uncomfortable chair.

"It's amazing..." I breathed.
I decided that I should get back to my own poem. After all, I'd only written two lines. I sat for a few minutes, thinking bluntly, before I got mildly bored and started tapping my pen on the edge of the table; making up random tunes. I heard a low sigh, and sitting up, Gerard turned around to watch my pen's movements.

I kept tapping, when he suddenly brought his hand to rest on top of mine, stopping the pen. He looked at me, with hazel eyes; his warm hand still on top of mine.

"Don't." He smiled. I smiled back, and looked down at our hands. "Sorry..." Gerard mumbled, blushing slightly, and giving my hand the tiniest squeeze, before lifting his own.