Frankie Fever

Ever had a moment in your life when you know you're doing something you shouldn't be? Of course you have! We all have. But have you ever nearly been caught? Have you ever been waiting in terrified silence trying not to let an expression of shock slip over you while you're awaiting your impending doom?

Frankie stared at the guy in front of him with a gawping mouth while he tried to stutter an explanaion out. I was stood beside him, with a similar expression, no doubt! The guy in front of us did not look impressed, with his folded arms and disbelieving expression. He was waiting for us to make a mistake, we knew it.

"Uh. . . it's just these new machines. . ." Frankie offered "I can uh. . . never quite remember how they work. . ."

I tried to think. Did I know it? I was pretty sure I did. Then again, maybe I didn't. Oh God oh God oh God. What was it?

The cashier sighed and spoke in a patronising voice with an expression that said attitude.

"Would you like me to cancel the transaction?"

Frankie's next 'um' came out as a frightened little squeak.

Maybe we would have to cancel it. Fish through our pockets and find the right amount of money. There was no chance in hell that we'd have enough between us, though. God, how embarrassing. Our attempt at inflicting revenge on Dad had gone horribly wrong. And he'd probably kill me for taking his credit card even though it wasn't me.

Then something clicked. I remembered. Dad had changed his PIN number a few years ago. I'd love to say it was my birthday or his and Mom's anniversary. But, actually it was the day he first discovered Halle Berry.

"I'll do it," I smiled.

I punched the number in confidently and waited for the machine to bleep that I'd got it right. . .

The cashier took the machine and raised his eyebrows. Then he shrugged and placed all our new items into bags for us to take.

New items for our wardrobe.

Skinny jeans for us both.

Band t-shirts.

T-shirts with awesome little motifs and sayings printed across the front of them.

We rushed out with our new goodies, feeling the cashiers surprised expression on us. Frank giggled, resting his head on my shoulder while he laughed.

"Jesus, Gerard," He exhaled "I thought we were screwed then!"

"Me too," I confessed.

"What would we have done if it hadn't been for you?" He questioned.

I shrugged. He gave it no more thought and dragged me into the next store. A shoe store. We spent ages drowing in the shoes, trying various pairs on and swaggering around in them, watching ourselves in the mirrors. The assistants were clearly getting annoyed with fetching shoes in different styles, sizes and colours for us but there wasn't a lot they could do. We were contemplating spending big money.

I went for a pair of black and white converse all stars; I'd always wanted a pair of all stars. Frank selected a pair of vans slip-ons with the pink and black checkered style. We also bought ourselves a pair of sneakers and boots each.

The moment we were out of the store, Frank's scuffed old sneakers were off and in the trash and he was in his new vans. They looked good on him. How did he get away with it without looking gay? I've always wondered that. Frank's style at times should have screamed flaming gay! Skinny jeans, eyeliner, pink and black shoes, tight t-shirts, even a pink hoodie. Yet he carried it without looking like he could have a very nice boyfriend like. . . say, me. I reached the conclusion that it's his confidence. Frank didn't care what you thought about him. Confidence has to have something to do with the way you look in clothes.

Next, he scared me by browsing through guitars in a music store. We'd already spent a hell of a lot of Dad's money, a guitar would probably cripple us as a family. Plus I couldn't see him being anywhere near done! Thankfully, however, he moved on, deciding he wouldn't be that cruel to us. That's the thing about Frank. He had no sense of consequence. He'd do whatever the hell he pleased. In his own words: he never felt guilty.

It should have been a great day. But the day wore on and Frank began to morph into my father. More guiltless spending with each street we came across. Everytime he flashed that card, I'd sigh.

Cds.

DVDs.

Clothes.

Shoes.

Video games.

Alcopops.

"What d'you think his credit card limit is?" Frank questioned, examining the card.

"Frank, I think we've already spent way more than he can afford!" I appealed.

He scoffed carelessly and marched forwards. All poor Gerard could do was follow.

Like I said, it should have been a great day. Instead, I was sitting on Frank's bed with a bottle in my hand contemplating while he bounced around to Smashing Pumpkins. Not even his amazing body could sway me while he tried t-shirt after t-shirt on. He smirked at me and smacked his lips in a kissing gesture.

"Don't you just love my genius?" He questioned, checking his reflection in his mirror.

"Mm," I replied non-commitedly "I think I'm gonna' go."

"Ohh," He whined "Why? There's that party, tonight, remember? And Seventh Heaven afterwards!"

"I don't feel like it," I shrugged.

Then he asked it. 'Would you let me keep your Dad's credit card for the evening, then?' I scoffed at him, Gee suddenly bursting out in me. My newfound confidence almost scared me.

"You know what?" I spat "I'm sick of being your little errand boy!"

"Gee!" He protested as if appealing to a toddler having a tantrum because his slice of cake wasn't big enough.

"And no, you can't keep the credit card!" I growled, turning on my heel and marching out.