Making the Grade
Chapter 2
Journal
By Gerard Way
Entry #1: I have no idea what to write in this. Don’t expect me to talk about my feelings.
Frank’s P.O.V.
I sigh as I look through the massive pile of introductory essays. Of course, out of all the schools I could’ve student taught at, I picked one with 200 students in Creative Writing. Maybe I shouldn’t have assigned this. Even though we’ll be working on creativity and these are factual, a lot of the papers clearly state one thing: these kids can’t write. I take another drink of coffee as I finish off another God awful essay. The punctuation and spelling was shit, it was boring, the transitions were nonexistent, and they didn’t even answer all of the questions I gave them.
I write 68 with blue pen at the top of the paper. I try not to use red ink, because I read somewhere that the color makes kids look at their grade more negatively and can give them self-esteem issues.
I make it to another essay, titled, “Introductory Essay”. Oh, this should be thrilling. I check to see who wrote it, to see that it was written by a kid named Gerard Way. Huh, he has a cool name. It sounds like he should be writing comics and playing at Warped Tour rather than taking high school courses. Oh, I remember him. He was the kid who was getting bullied on the very first day.
I feel bad for the kid. He and I aren’t so different; when I was in high school, I was that weird kid with the black hair, eyeliner, painted nails, tight pants and horror movie t shirts. I was seen as even weirder because of my lip ring and nose ring, which my bullies would pull on and it hurt like Hell. I got called faggot too, and shoved into lockers just because I fit in them.
Let’s see what he’s got to offer. I can tell he hates writing; he seemed pretty bummed when I gave him the journal assignment.
I read his paper, to see that it is very well constructed. His writing style is sarcastic and dry, and contains a fluency I’ve never seen at their age. It’s almost poetry without him even trying. I give him an 100 before even thinking about it before going to the next paper.
I don’t get out the school until about 7:00, and it’s almost dark out as I get to my car. I drive home, blasting the Bouncing Souls, whom I love to tiny unrecognizable pieces. I make it to my apartment quickly, since it’s only a few blocks from the school. It’s actually nice enough outside to walk to work, but I’m afraid that not only kids would make fun of me, but Belville is a high crime area, notorious for muggers, rapists, and gang violence. So, walking, or being outside for over 10 minutes, really isn’t the wisest move in this town.
I get home, tossing my keys to the side and kicking off my shoes. I take off my waistcoat and undo my tie before tossing my shirt off. Even though it’s nearly September it’s hotter than Hell outside, and my shitty matchbox apartment is certainly feeling the heat.
I slip out of my slacks as well, walking around the house in my black boxer briefs. I know that there’s a huge window and probably anybody could look inside and see me, but I could really give a shit. I might as well just let them enjoy the show.
I sit on the couch and turn on a rerun of Friends while I get out yet more papers to check. That Gerard Way kid’s was so good, I’m kind of hesitant to read more. I doubt that anybody else’s will match up. I wonder what his journals will be like….
I end up falling asleep on the couch. When I wake up in the morning, I dress quickly, slipping on a short sleeved dress shirt without even noticing, a tie, and khakis. When I get to the school and rush to my room, coffee cup clenched in one hand, I notice that I get weird looks from a lot of students. I brush it off as nothing; if anything; they’re wondering what I’m doing walking around the same time they are, and rush to my room. I put my briefcase on the empty space on my desk, look down, and finally realize that all of the tattoos on my elbows to hands are on display.
Fuck! No wonder everyone was staring at me! Shit, the school doesn’t even know I have tattoos, other than the ones on my hands and wrists. I decide that the best thing to do is go explain my situation to the principal and apologize.
On my way to his office, I spot Gerard knelt down in the middle of the hall, gathering all of his books and papers as other students step around him or even kick his stuff. I retrieve his book that someone just kicked, and hurry to hand it back to him, when I notice the cover. Forgive Me Leonard Peacock.God, I completely forgot about that book. When I head back over to him, I give it to him, gushing,
“That’s a really good book, you know.”
Gerard nods, his face red and mostly covered by a curtain of greasy black hair.
“I’m guessing you didn’t drop all of this,” I tell knowingly.
Gerard blushes even harder.
I crouch next to him, asking, “Was it Tony?”
He shakes his head. “Someone else.”
Why can’t this kid seem to catch a break?
I pat him on the shoulder, standing. Gerard stands as well, tossing his bag over his shoulder.
“See you around, Gerard,” I say. I turn to leave when Gerard mutters so quietly I can hardly hear it,
“Mr. Iero?”
I face the student, who I have to actually look up at now that he’s on his feet.
“Cool tattoos,” he compliments, and then scurries down the hall.
I grin, and then make my way to the principal’s office, ready to kiss ass.
By Gerard Way
Entry #1: I have no idea what to write in this. Don’t expect me to talk about my feelings.
Frank’s P.O.V.
I sigh as I look through the massive pile of introductory essays. Of course, out of all the schools I could’ve student taught at, I picked one with 200 students in Creative Writing. Maybe I shouldn’t have assigned this. Even though we’ll be working on creativity and these are factual, a lot of the papers clearly state one thing: these kids can’t write. I take another drink of coffee as I finish off another God awful essay. The punctuation and spelling was shit, it was boring, the transitions were nonexistent, and they didn’t even answer all of the questions I gave them.
I write 68 with blue pen at the top of the paper. I try not to use red ink, because I read somewhere that the color makes kids look at their grade more negatively and can give them self-esteem issues.
I make it to another essay, titled, “Introductory Essay”. Oh, this should be thrilling. I check to see who wrote it, to see that it was written by a kid named Gerard Way. Huh, he has a cool name. It sounds like he should be writing comics and playing at Warped Tour rather than taking high school courses. Oh, I remember him. He was the kid who was getting bullied on the very first day.
I feel bad for the kid. He and I aren’t so different; when I was in high school, I was that weird kid with the black hair, eyeliner, painted nails, tight pants and horror movie t shirts. I was seen as even weirder because of my lip ring and nose ring, which my bullies would pull on and it hurt like Hell. I got called faggot too, and shoved into lockers just because I fit in them.
Let’s see what he’s got to offer. I can tell he hates writing; he seemed pretty bummed when I gave him the journal assignment.
I read his paper, to see that it is very well constructed. His writing style is sarcastic and dry, and contains a fluency I’ve never seen at their age. It’s almost poetry without him even trying. I give him an 100 before even thinking about it before going to the next paper.
I don’t get out the school until about 7:00, and it’s almost dark out as I get to my car. I drive home, blasting the Bouncing Souls, whom I love to tiny unrecognizable pieces. I make it to my apartment quickly, since it’s only a few blocks from the school. It’s actually nice enough outside to walk to work, but I’m afraid that not only kids would make fun of me, but Belville is a high crime area, notorious for muggers, rapists, and gang violence. So, walking, or being outside for over 10 minutes, really isn’t the wisest move in this town.
I get home, tossing my keys to the side and kicking off my shoes. I take off my waistcoat and undo my tie before tossing my shirt off. Even though it’s nearly September it’s hotter than Hell outside, and my shitty matchbox apartment is certainly feeling the heat.
I slip out of my slacks as well, walking around the house in my black boxer briefs. I know that there’s a huge window and probably anybody could look inside and see me, but I could really give a shit. I might as well just let them enjoy the show.
I sit on the couch and turn on a rerun of Friends while I get out yet more papers to check. That Gerard Way kid’s was so good, I’m kind of hesitant to read more. I doubt that anybody else’s will match up. I wonder what his journals will be like….
I end up falling asleep on the couch. When I wake up in the morning, I dress quickly, slipping on a short sleeved dress shirt without even noticing, a tie, and khakis. When I get to the school and rush to my room, coffee cup clenched in one hand, I notice that I get weird looks from a lot of students. I brush it off as nothing; if anything; they’re wondering what I’m doing walking around the same time they are, and rush to my room. I put my briefcase on the empty space on my desk, look down, and finally realize that all of the tattoos on my elbows to hands are on display.
Fuck! No wonder everyone was staring at me! Shit, the school doesn’t even know I have tattoos, other than the ones on my hands and wrists. I decide that the best thing to do is go explain my situation to the principal and apologize.
On my way to his office, I spot Gerard knelt down in the middle of the hall, gathering all of his books and papers as other students step around him or even kick his stuff. I retrieve his book that someone just kicked, and hurry to hand it back to him, when I notice the cover. Forgive Me Leonard Peacock.God, I completely forgot about that book. When I head back over to him, I give it to him, gushing,
“That’s a really good book, you know.”
Gerard nods, his face red and mostly covered by a curtain of greasy black hair.
“I’m guessing you didn’t drop all of this,” I tell knowingly.
Gerard blushes even harder.
I crouch next to him, asking, “Was it Tony?”
He shakes his head. “Someone else.”
Why can’t this kid seem to catch a break?
I pat him on the shoulder, standing. Gerard stands as well, tossing his bag over his shoulder.
“See you around, Gerard,” I say. I turn to leave when Gerard mutters so quietly I can hardly hear it,
“Mr. Iero?”
I face the student, who I have to actually look up at now that he’s on his feet.
“Cool tattoos,” he compliments, and then scurries down the hall.
I grin, and then make my way to the principal’s office, ready to kiss ass.