Elmo's World

“Want a smoke?”

I groaned, flopping backwards to land on the grassy hillside. “Don’t spoil my mood.”

Gerard fingered the as-yet-unlit menthol, visibly confused. “What?” he questioned, eyebrows raised.

To get to the point, I needed to rant a little. But before that…

WARNING! The following paragraph might implode your brain cells. Please skip it unless you do indeed understand the ramblings of a deranged teenage mind.

“Well, I only smoke when I feel like it, or when I’m upset. And right now, I’m perfectly chippy, on to of the world, over-the-hills-and-far-far-away-where-Teletubbies-come-to-play happy. Therefore, I do not feel like smoking, and don’t want to smoke, just because I feel that way. The end.”

Sweet Jesus, I sounded as paranoid as an entry in Jack the Ripper’s diary. Which must’ve been one hell of a sanitarium record, come to think of it.

He just tossed the white stick of nicotine at my face, hitting me square on the nose.

Underlying message: I get you, for the love of God, ease the ranting.

Smirking, I watched in third person as my hand automatically swept up the cigarette, flung it to Never land and far far away.

Nothing today was going to spoil my mood…except school.

Translation: Unless I gave school The Finger, my day would otherwise be a complete piece of shit.

My eyelids slid shut on their own as I placed both hands behind my head, providing support. Inhaling as a fresh blast of cool air caressed my fringe, a sigh finally bubbled from my lips.

“Where can I sit?”

My hazel eyes flew open almost immediately, silence disturbed. That, and the fact that gawking had recently become one of my life-long pals.

Gerard’s face obscured most of my view of the clear blue sky as he leant over myself, on all fours and face (by my point of view) upside down.

Okay, what…?

He burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, eyes pinching up, black hair a complete mess before he tipped backwards and away from my face.

Scowling, I sat up slowly, turning around to face the still-hysterical Gerard.

“Can you stop giving me the ‘I am a hyena’ routine and tell me what the hell’s so funny?”

Gerard made a noise that sounded like “huuughnfff”. “Speaking of animal imitations, you’re doing a pretty good goldfish.”

Before my slack jaw fell open again, I screwed it (how?) shut.

Goldfish, my asshole.

“Seriously,” Gerard (seemingly) couldn’t stop grinning like a maniac. “Where can I sit?”

I rolled my eyes. I thought the answer was obvious…?

I prodded the grass patch beside me like it was a dead rat. “Here, you dodo?”

“WHAT!?”

Good grief, Gee. Just sit down already!

“Forget I even said anything,” I snorted. “Sit. Here.” Poking at the grass was honestly weird.

“Actually, it’s weird having landscape like this near a school,” he commented, finally deciding to sit down beside me.

If someone had to be a hardcore random, Gerard Way’ll be THE hardcore random. Bleh, I was in no mood to spit out a comeback.

“Yeah, it’s weird.” Lame was actually a more appropriate word.

“I’d rather sit on a weird landscape than tackle school,” he snorted, hazel eyes flaming.

“Amen to that.”

Time stretched on. Literally. Either someone had to start speaking sometime soon, or the world would fall apart at our feet.

Epic, but it felt like that, at least.

“You don’t seem to be in a talking mood.”

Congrats, Gerard. Prize for F.T.S (First to Speak).

“You too,” I accused, smirking in the slightest and nudging him with the toe of my converse.

Gerard whacked me on the back. “You taking Fang out today?”

Fang. My girlfriend.

Her real name wasn’t Fang, of course. It was Fran Hampton, but Gerard had taken the matter into his own hands and christened her Fang.

Must’ve been his vampirism or something.

But the nickname grew on me, eventually. She was pretty cool about it, and that was one of the things I liked about her.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Gerard closed his eyes, smirking only slightly. “Damn, you’re lucky you made a catch like that.”

Hell yeah I was.

Everyone kept telling me how completely fucking perfect she was. Fang was the kind of goth-emo (motherfucking ignorant labels and I was using them) that could’ve been a quarterback’s dream girl. I mean – she wasn’t a blonde supermodel wannabe (dark, straight hair was what grew on her head) but she could’ve been accepted into that group if she wanted to.

Dressed mostly in dark reds or black, Fang haunted the corridors of the school. She’d told me she hated studying…but she still did well academically. What the hell, I didn’t know HOW she did it.

Fucking genius, that was.

Want a clearer picture?

Dark brown eyes, lover of dark jeans and red converse sneakers, pale skinned and a supporter of mascara and eyeliner. Graphic enough? A prominent face shape and drop-dead gorgeous lips weren’t the only highlights of her beauty.

As Gee’s kid brother (and major nerd) Mikey put it, Fang had “an ass that demanded to be stared at”.

That day, I almost tackled the fucker.

“Oh good. Wanna go out with me and Amy later?”

His voice, Gee’s voice, anchored me back to reality.

Amy – or Amy Lighthouse as I like to call her – was Gee’s girl. Another of the popular gang but loving it, unlike Fang. Fang just hated attention, but was a literal magnet for it. Amy was a fellow magnet, but drank the attention up.

Still, she was Gee’s one and only love.

I’d never tell him this, but she was the bane of MY life.