My Nicotine Romance.

After spending all morning talking to Frank about stuff, and getting to know him, I realised he was extremely camp – like the sort of guy who’d wink like an idiot and dance around flamboyantly. I realised that if I were honest in school – the honesty that comes with confidence – I would be a lot like him. He had also fashioned me a nickname. I had really never had anyone to give me a nickname before; except for my mom, who used to call me ‘Gerardykins’. Hmm. So, yeah, to Frankie, I was “Gee”. I have no idea where that came from, but hey. Who am I to complain? Oh, yeah, and he was “Frankie” to me, and only me.

He turned out to strong for his 5 foot 4 inches. He punched one of the guys on the baseball team in the face. He had heard me calling him Frankie, and then he had repeated it, in a mocking, high-pitched voice. So yeah, Frank had swung around and decked him one.

At lunch, we had declared each other best friends, officially. We had talked non-stop through our first three lessons, and now, we knew shit loads about each other. We walked into the canteen, to get his food, I suppose. I don’t eat at lunch. So, we queued for a while, and he ended up getting some salad wrap thing, and a little plastic bottle of water, because the last can of Coke had been taken ages before we got there.

“Aren’t you getting anything, Gee?” he asked, with an accusing look in his eyes.
“No, Frankie. No, I’m not. I don’t eat at lunch.” I said.
“You don’t look like you eat anything. You’re so skinny.”

Okay, I don’t eat that often. I’ve gone 72 hours on a kiddie’s ‘funsize’ chocolate bar before, if you don’t count loads of water and coffee. And I never eat breakfast or lunch, and I only eat half my dinner. Yet, unlike my little brother, who eats like a pig, I never seem to loose weight.

“I am not skinny. And I do eat.”

In desperation, I picked up a bottle of water like Frankie’s. I paid the dinner-lady woman with however much it was, and waited for Frank to pay by the woman.

“Dude, you are skinny. And don’t be dull, water has no calories. Um, where do we sit?”

He had obviously turned to look at the full lunch tables, and noticed that every single table seemed to be filled with kids dressed similarly to each other. He had probably also noticed that at least one of the people on each bench was looking at us as if we had an extra eye or something stupid.

“C’mon, we’ll go to my usual table.”

And he followed me, confused, as I walked straight out of the canteen, and took a left at the end of the little open area outside it. I jogged down the two flights of stairs that would take me down to the ground floor. I waited for him to catch up with me properly. He was giving me puzzled glances – well, he would. I had just walked in the opposite direction to the canteen, and the one exactly below it on the ground floor.

I walked outside, staying below the slanted plastic shelter. I walked us to my favourite table, around a corner, and just that little bit private. No one came out on this side of the school. The only other kids who used the back door were the few smokers in school – who went the opposite way and turned the opposite corner. It was really just a shabby concrete area with a shelter and a few lunch tables no one besides me – and now Frank – used.

The weather had turned into a ghastly cage-like drizzly mist. Even the smokers could ditch their nicotine addictions for today in this weather. It was the sort that clung to you, and made up uncomfortable. I’m just glad that the shelter can keep us at least a little dry.

“Ooh, nice little private place you got here, Gee.” He grinned.

I grinned in reply, while digging in my pocket for a packet of cigarettes, as my lighter was already on the table. Marlboro red Lights. I had to be careful with them – never leaving them in the sight of my hawk-eyed super-mother in my room, never leaving them in my jeans pocket, even when I’m pissed, never coming home smelling like a chimney-sweep, and never smoking when my mom could come in.

“Want one?” I watched his face twist into a look that said, ‘I don’t want to, but I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot or a baby.’
“Um, I don’t know, Gee,” he said uncomfortably.
“Darlin’, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it, Gee.”
“If you don’t want your mom to smell smoke on you, go and sit on the other side, but not opposite me.” I watched as he moved. “That’s a good boy, you don’t want to smell like nicotine, do you?”
“No,” he laughed.

He watched me intently as I smoked my cancer stick. I hated the fact that these addictive little buggers would kill me one day. I hated the fact that I’d smoked them for years, and I would probably continue to smoke until I died. Hopefully that wouldn’t be soon.

Okay, so, I did try to hang myself before. But, being an idiot, I couldn’t figure out how to tie a noose. So I ended up messing it up and it kinda fell apart. So, instead of snapping my neck and going bye-byes, I got friction burn around one side of my neck, which did scar a bit, but I’m pale, so you don’t notice it. Maybe it’s a good job I had massive tantrums every time my mom tried to send me to Cub Scouts, and I quitted, before I had a chance to learn all the knots.

I finished my cigarette, and stubbed it out on the plastic, before flicking the orange filter onto the floor. Frank looked kinda shocked to see me ditch the filter, but the cigarette butts bin is over the smoker’s side of the building; like a good walk – and the shelter stops over that side – they’ve got no chance – not in this weather.

I opened the red screw cap on my water bottle and took a swig of it. Ew – strawberry flavour. I did the lid up again, and left the bottle next to my hand.

In the wet, Frank’s hair had gone all floppy and it was covering one of his greeny brown eyes. They were outlined with black too, only his eyeliner was neater and lighter than mine. His grey jeans had stuck to his legs slightly, and his black hoodie was looking damp.

“So, you having a good first day, Frankie darling?” I asked, laughing slightly.
“Course I am, Gee, honey. I met you.” he winked like the camp little boy he is.
“I’m so glad,” I said.

I lit myself another smoke, which would be even worse for my poor lungs. I’d stink of smoke when I got home, so I’d have to spray Lynx all over me, or something. Maybe I’d go home and go in the shower straight away, and shove my clothes straight in the washing machine. I find it amazing that my mom hasn’t found out my nicotine addiction yet, but the whole school knows. I don’t think there’s a teacher that doesn’t have the gist of my chain-smoking.

“Hmm…”I muttered to no one in particular.
“What?” he said, confused.
“Don’t worry,” Frankie darling.
“Whatever you say, dude.”

A bell rang from inside. Okay, five minutes to get to whatever we’ve got next. I pulled my planner out of my bag. We had, um, English. Boring. Mrs Wood does teach us anything. Ever. She just sits behind her little desk and tells us to read a book. Well, I read a comic usually, or, draw a comic strip, like, a little one they make you do in elementary. Most people just talk, although, I just never had anyone to talk to, before. Now, of course, I had Frankie.

“Gee, what’ve we got?” he asked me, hearing the distant footsteps storming through the school.
“English,” I said.
“With who?”
“Mrs Wood.”
“Is she nice?”
“She doesn’t teach us anything, usually.”
“But I want a decent exam grade. My mom will kill me if I get shitty grades!”
“Dude, she gives good exam grades, trust. She gives every Tom, Dick and Harry A’s.”

Haha. Dick.

“Oh, good.”
“Isn’t it just? A’s for reading comics.”

I stood up, putting my cigarettes back in my pocket with my lighter. I picked up my bottle of water, and let it swing between two fingers. He grabbed his stuff and put his water in his bag, and grabbed the cellophane wrapper his salad wrap thing came in. He looked around to see what he was supposed to do with his litter. He didn’t seem to want to drop it on the floor. He just put it in his pocket.

As we passed the bin by the back door, I put my hand in his pocket to get his garbage to chuck. Yeah, his ass pocket, and all. I threw it in the bin and he smiled. He grabbed my water and put it in his bag. He stuck his tongue out at me, the cheeky mare. Stealing my disgusting artificial strawberry flavoured water.

Miss Benjamin, our science teacher was walking along the corridor by the back door. She was carrying a green plastic wallet full of paper, and a supermarket’s “Bag For Life” reusable carrier bag. Her blonde hair was straggly, and just a mess, really. It looked like her hairdresser must’ve been blind and had a really shit pair of scissors. She was wearing a blue t-shirt, which didn’t really look right with her black skirt. It looked like she was trying to blend casual and formal, and it really wasn’t working, the way she was going about it.

“Oh, Gerard,” she said. She might be a mess, but at least she used my first name.
“Yes, Miss B?” I always called Miss Benjamin ‘Miss B’. I just always had.
“Do be a dear and help me with this?” she indicated the bag.
“Okay.”
“Who’s this then?”
“Frank Iero,” he said.
“Been moved into Gerard’s form from another school? Haven’t seen you around before.”
“That’s right.”
“You couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
I smiled. Frank nodded. “I know.” He said.
“I’ve got you last lesson, haven’t I?”
“Yes Miss.”
“Good.”

Frank and I walked to Miss B’s classroom, with me carrying her bag for her, because I’m just nerdy enough to do that. She thanked us, and told us to hurry along or we’d be late for English. We walked off to Mrs Wood’s. We were late, but we explained, and she said she didn’t give a flying rat’s arse about our pathetic made up excuses. She said that we had to come back after school, unless we could get a memo from Miss B and brought it to her. Ugh. I hate how teachers hate everyone around here.

She told us all to get out our reading books and continue silent reading. Instead, I quietly walked to the back of the class and picked up a piece of paper for Frank and I, and a pencil each. Mrs Wood looked at me, but said nothing. She probably didn’t give a shit.

I sat there doodling a haunted house, while he sat there doodling his name over and over again in different letters and sizes.

“Self praise is no recommendation.” I whispered.
“I’m practising for when I’m older and I have to have a signature.”
“Oh, okay.” I giggled. He’s such a six year old sometimes.

I silently took his paper, and under the largest copy of “FRANKIE IERO”, where there was space, I wrote in light pencil “LOVES GEE WAY”

He took his paper back and laughed at the little message. His handwriting was tall and awkward looking, whereas mine was short, fat, stumpy, but flowing. My handwriting looked so out of place next to his, it was unbelievable.

I looked down at his hands, the pencil and the bit of paper. Instead of flipping the pencil upside down to rub out my writing, he was drawing a heart next to the ‘Y’. He traced over my untidy scrawl, making the faint grey almost black where he was pressing down so hard. What an idiot. If anyone else ever sees that, well. We’re screwed.

He folded it up, and stashed it safe inside his planner. He put his planner back in his bag, and then pulled out a car magazine. Oh great, my best friend is an autophile. Well, maybe it was better a car magazine than a porn magazine.

He was flicking through it absent mindedly, just looking at the pictures, rather than reading the paragraphs on the speed, the comfort, the 0-60 time. He was smiling, in a more “the editor of this has a problem” way, than a “oh, look, it’s a sexy car” way.

“Don’t worry. I don’t know what half of this means.”

I laughed at him. I laughed a lot with Frankie. He had a sunny aura. A warmth. Like you could feel the happiness radiating off him. You could feel the warmth – like I was stood even across the room with a heater turned up to full, and I could feel it as strongly as if I was stood next to it. Today was the first time I’d honestly laughed in a while, really.

It was like digging through your closet and finding a pair of your old favourite jeans you’d forgotten about, and they fitted better than the jeans you’d become used to. It was like finding something and having to blow the dust off of it, before you could see what it was, but then loving it as soon as you remembered what it was, what to do with it, its emotional values….

“Class?” Mrs Wood spoke up.

The room collectively looked up, suddenly alerted from their relaxation by the sound of a voice that was spoken loud enough to echo from the walls.

“Mr Johnson will be coming down here shortly for a little checkup. Please look like you’re reading at least, when he gets down here.”
“Miss,” I said as I raised my hand.
“Way and Mr. Iero, you don’t have books, do you?”
“No Miss.” I spoke for us.
“Well, I doubt it’s because you’ve finished yours.”
I remained silent.
“Come here, both of you. You can both borrow Romeo & Juliet. I have copies. Way, open it half way through, would you? And Iero, you’ve not been here before, so, not too far in.”

We collected our worn, tattered, graffitied copies of the Shakespeare classic. We did as instructed, and we were both at least doing a good job of faking interest in the words. Mr Johnson came down here, as expected, and Miss Judith Chevart stood by his side with a clipboard and a pen, writing down seemingly endless notes.

“Oh, Mr Iero!” he said, surprised to see him in this lesson. He obviously hadn’t been doing his research properly as to where Frankie was going.
“Yes, sir?”
“Nothing, nothing, don’t worry. Remember to come to my office after 5th period.”
“’Kay, Sir.”
“Don’t bother getting Mr Keith – just come straight down with Mr Way.”

He nodded and then Mr Johnson and Miss Chevart both walked out the door, seemingly satisfied by the faked reading attempt.

Mrs Wood nodded and we all resumed our peaceful boredom. Even Frankie didn’t try to grab my attention again like the two year old he really was. Yes. That was it – he was like a toddler, or a puppy – always in desperate need of attention, always wanted to be talked to, cuddled, laughed at, to have friends and admirers crowed around him at all times in all directions. To always have someone with me would be like some heaven on earth, really. I wasn’t a lime light grabber, because I was so used to not being centre of attention, but I did wish that sometimes, someone at least, would not overlook me like part of the architecture.

Frankie was silently sat doodling on his Frankie loves Gee piece of paper. Little hearts littered the spaces and the gaps, and I knew it was just for a laugh, a joke, to make a spectacle of himself, however, I still wished that he knew how much it even meant to me, that someone would even bother to write my name over mine, to make it darker, more permanent, more eye-catching. I felt like every single one of the messy pink hearts were helping to slowly put my soul back together, like they all fitted in some strange jigsaw puzzle.

We continued to relax until the loud bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson. I threw my doodles into a bin, and Frank eased his paper into his black canvas bag. When he realised what I’d done, he salvaged the crappy cartoons of vampire bats and haunted houses and moons and knives. Damn, I was running out of things of his to steal.

We silently forced our way through the corridors, amongst the noise and the pushing and the corridor crushes and the teachers desperately trying to break up little arguments. We reached Miss B’s and stood by the green door that I had walked through earlier with her bag.

“Oh, shit!” I realised quietly. “We’re supposed to go to Mrs Wood’s with a memo, and to Mr Keith’s for him to sign your new student yes-I’ve-settled-well slip.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll run to the hag’s room, and then to the cheat’s.” he smiled as he badmouthed the teachers behind their backs.

I shot him a friendly, joking disapproving look, as if I was his mother, telling off a two year old on a train for running around. He just grinned back, his white teeth gleaming through his smile. He poked my nose, and I made my mouth into an ‘O’.

“I can think of something I’d like to put in your mouth,” he smirked. Horny teenager.

Miss B came out of her room, looking cheerful as always. She’d had PPA last lesson – something about planning lessons, marking and having a break from the rabble, I think. Post PPA teachers are always the happiest teachers, unless they’d had to cover for another teacher. Then they’re likely to be extremely grumpy. She’d obviously had a break and a coffee.

“Hello, class, come on in, Frank, you sit next to Gerard of course, at the back.” She gabbled.

The classroom had four long, wide tables in it, with seven or eight stools around them, each. Some seats were empty of course, as the class filed in through the deep green doors. Across the back wall of the classroom, the wall with outside windows, was a long white, cheap countertop, with sinks, gas valves, and cupboards underneath all along. There were only four seats available on the back row, all facing the window, with two at each end. There were only these seats, because they were the only breaks in the cupboard, wide enough for two stools, with leg space underneath.

Two girls occupied the end by the technician’s door, giggling away as they unpacked their stuff. They were nameless to me – I’d never really paid any attention to them. Frank and I headed towards the other end of the room, both grinning because we were really retarded.

I put my pen on the desk, and Frankie put his little pencil case down next to it. They were so different in comparison.

“Linda and Debbie, give out the textbooks please.” Miss B called over the chatter.

The nameless, well not anymore, girls stood up without protest, and picked up half the books each. Linda laughed at Debbie when she walked into a table end, but continued the distribution. Once we all had books, Miss B called for quiet.

“Right, shut up. Page 57, please. Debbie, try not to walk into anymore tables, please?”

Everyone collectively looked downwards and started flicking pages. I let Frank do the page-turning, because he seemed so eager to do a favour. I sat scribbling reminders to myself on my hand, while Frank started writing on his pencil case while the rest of the class struggled to count to 57.

“Frank, if you don’t get much of this, it’s okay. Just try to follow. It’s a new topic, though, so, I expect you’ll be okay.” Miss B announced.

Frank nodded and looked down at the page. By his expression, he hadn’t paid much attention to the title when he had found the goddamn thing.

“Smoking Harms – Its causes & effects”

Brilliant – just amazing. At least it’s last lesson. And seeing all the pictures of teenagers smoking – it’s just making my cravings worse. How awesome.