Making the Grade

“G-Gerard?” Frank asks. “Why are you calling? Questions about GSA?”
“No,” I reply sadly. I look up as I continue, blinking back tears as I tell, “I can’t go home, Frank.”
“What’s wrong?” Frank questions. I hear the clattering of keys in the background, followed by the roar of a car engine.
“My dad…. He beat me up,” I admit. “All because I told him the truth.”
“Gerard, where are you?” Frank worries. “You’re away from him, right?”
“Yeah, I’m about a mile or so from our house,” I inform. “At the square.”
“Lay low, okay? I’ll be looking for you. When you see a black car pull up, get in. Alright?” Frank orders.
“I think you’re overreacting,” I tell.
“This is serious, Gerard. He hit you. That’s messed up,” Frank responds.
“Well, I know that’s messed up, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t really mean it. He was just really angry,” I say.
“There’s no such thing as hitting a child and not meaning it. I’m here,” Frank replies.
I look around, to see a black car finally. I hurry over, getting in the passenger seat. Frank greets me with a sad smile and an understanding nod before putting the car in drive.
My legs are crumpled in the small space, folded like a chair to fit in the small vehicle. I look over at Frank to see if he’s having the same problems, to see his short legs comfortably reaching the pedals and his seat pushed up even further than mine.
The drive to Frank’s is unbearably quiet. I stare at my fingernails while Frank gazes out at the road and steals worried glances at me he thinks I don’t notice. We pull up to a car dealership after an excruciatingly long five minutes or so. Frank gets out of the car, so I follow, pulling on the hem of my shirt and fingering the fabric.
Frank digs his hand into his pocket, pawing around for his keys. He enters the building with me on his tail and starts up the first flight of steps. He fishes the keys from his pocket, fumbling with hem as he takes an attempt to comfort me.
“You know, you’re probably scared, but there’s a lot more options for kids like you nowadays.”
“That helps,” I lie, trying to be polite.
Frank stops in front of one of the oak doors, plunging his key into the lock. He turns it, apologizing as he opens the door,
“Sorry it’s such a mess. I’ve been so busy teaching that I haven’t really had time to maintain it.”
I walk in to Frank’s apartment after him. The place isn’t as bad as a wreck as Frank had made it seem; other than some papers on the table and a pile of dirty clothes on the couch, it’s pretty spotless.
Frank takes my bag and sets it on the floor. “You can stay here for the night while you find someone to stay with. Do you have any other family?”
I shake my head. “Not in this city, anyways.”
“Any friends you can stay with until you can go with them?” Frank questions.
“Ray Toro…. But I don’t know if his parents would let me,” I answer.
Frank nods, and then slaps himself, muttering, “God, what am I doing. You need to chill; I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”
“It’s fine,” I tell.
“So, what do you want to do all day?” Frank asks. “I have to go get groceries tonight, if you want to go with me.”
“That sounds fun,” I answer.
Frank giggles, scratching his mop of hair. “You’re kidding. But if you really want to, it never hurts to have a shopping assistant.”
“Cool,” I agree. “Do you want to watch movies?”
“Okay,” Frank replies. “Go open the cabinet under the TV; there’s a bunch of DVDs in there.”
I crouch to the floor by the TV, opening the door to see one of the largest DVD collections I’ve ever seen in actuality. I smile as I pick up A Clockwork Orange, asking Frank,
“You like this movie?”
Frank peeks over to see what movie I’m holding, and shakes his head. “I bought it because I heard it was good, and I haven’t actually seen it yet.”
“Oh, you have to see it,” I gush. I stand, popping it in the DVD player and sitting down next to the pile of laundry. Frank sits next to me, apologizing bashfully,
“Sorry again about the laundry.”
“It’s fine,” I assure.
Throughout the movie, Frank nudges me and asks me questions, which I answer in detail. Frank always nods, and then turns his attention back to the screen just to ask another question how many minutes later.
Right at the scene where Alex is going under aversion therapy, a pair of what must be Frank’s black boxer briefs from the stack next to me falls into my lap. I pluck them off of my lap and put them back into the pile, and although, at first, Frank doesn’t appear to notice, when I look over at him, his cheeks are bright red.
I fall asleep right around the part where Alex is forced to show a crowd how he’s reformed. When I wake, Frank’s gone, the stack of laundry is no longer present, a blanket’s around me and a pillow is tucked under my head.
I rise, to realize that my shoes have been taken off as well. I amble into the kitchen, where I see a note from Frank. I recognize his chicken scrawl in a second.
“Dear Gerard,
Went to get some groceries. I would’ve asked you to come, but you looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you! I should be back around 7:00. You can eat whatever you can find (please don’t make a mess).
Your teacher (and I like to think mentor),
Frank”
That cute son of a bitch. I end up making mac and cheese, and when Frank returns, he helps me with my homework before we both go to sleep, him on the couch, and me in his room.
Frank’s room is even more meticulously organized than the rest of the place. He has posters everywhere, so many that it’s difficult to define what the color of the actual wall is. I sleep in his bed, which smells of him so much that I involuntarily let out a soft moan as I pull the blanket up to my nose.
I fall asleep around 10:00, the last thing I see Frank’s photograph of him and who I can only assume to be a girlfriend tacked to his door.