Frankie Fever

I know what you're thinking. I'd be thinking it too, if I'm totally honest with you.

But it was a Frank thing! I didn't have a guy thing and hearing it out in the open like that scared me. And Sarah knowing about my Frank thing scared me even more, especially when she assumed it meant I was a faggot.

Yes, I proudly admit it: I was a homophobic queer.
'How is that even possible?' you think. Believe me, it is. I was living proof.

I couldn't be a fag. I wasn't.

I'm not a fag.
I'm not a fag.
I'm not a fag.

I'm not queer.
I'm not queer.
I'm not queer.

I'm not a sissy.
I'm not a sissy.
I'm not a sissy.

I'm not an ass-bandit.
I'm not an ass-bandit.
I'm not an ass-bandit.

I'M NOT GAY.

And repeat.

I'd printed it over and over. The same thing on every single page of an old notebook I'd found in one of my drawers. I don't know why I did it. Who was I trying to convince?

The rest of the world or myself?

Whoever I was trying to convince, I wasn't doing a very good job.

Who was going to see that notebook anyway? It wasn't like I was going to go running downstairs, waving it triumphantly in the air, and scream 'Look, Mommy, look! I've proven it! I'm not a fag!'.

Maybe it was just for the reassurance. If I ever began to doubt myself, I had that notebook to reassure myself. I could just take a little peek and I’d feel much better.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

I smiled to myself and nodded. That’s what it was. The notebook was slipped under my pillow for if I ever wanted it. It was there if I ever needed it.

My bed groaned as I leant back against my pillow, pulling my math equations onto my lap, tapping my pen against the paper impatiently. I don’t hate math but I don’t particularly like it. It’s one of those subjects where you realise you have it next period and you think ‘urgh, I can’t be bothered’ or you think ‘okay, let’s get it over with’.

What is the value of F if F= ma when m=5 and a=3
The value of F if F=ma is fifteen.
F= ma.
m=5
a=3
5 x 3= fifteen.
F= fifteen.

Swot. That’s me. Teacher’s pet, nerd, geek and all that. But I’d sooner be the nerd at the front of the class than the Nancy boy at the back, secretly checking out the other guys and sitting up just a little bit straighter every time one of the guys got up to go and sharpen his pencil.

God, yes. Who’d ever want to be like that? Some sad dried up old faggot?

Hm, I wonder, who indeed?

I was going to find myself a girlfriend, invite her home for dinner and proudly introduce her to my family. Then maybe we’d creep upstairs to my room and. . . no. I didn’t need to lose it to prove it. I was fine. I. Was. Fine.

I went to bed that night with a smile on my face and one hand closed around my notebook.

* * *

Thank God it was Friday. Friday meant the weekend. It meant no school. It meant peace. It meant no dumb girls and moronic guys. It meant no nerds scowling at you every time you’re picked to answer something instead of them. It meant no fat, sweaty old men teaching you history and no perverted gym teachers telling you your shorts are too long and baggy for school regulation.

It meant time to myself.

Sarah had been coming out of her house when she saw me. She jumped, turned and ran as fast as she could. I felt bad. I’d been out of order with her. She wasn’t a fag hag. She was just trying to be helpful and supportive - even if she did have her facts wrong-

“God, I’m so bored!” Frank groaned under his breath, pretending to fall asleep on his biology textbook.

“I think everyone is,” I noted, sweeping my eyes around the room at all the bored kids.

Personally, I didn’t mind biology. It could be really interesting at times. But it seemed no one else felt the same. I was alone. Very alone.

Frank groaned again and peered over my shoulder to check my answers to all the questions that had been scrawled on the board. His pen was a blur as he scribbled them down equally fast. He could really move when he wanted to.

I glanced over my shoulder at the clock positioned on the back wall. Teacher’s always strategically place the clock either along the back wall or above the door. It means if you glance at the clock to see how long it is before you can escape, they catch you in the act. Sneaky, right? Bet you never thought about it that way, huh?

Tick. . . Tick. . . Tick. . . Tick. . .

Time always goes slower if you’re bored. Best thing to do - as suicidal as it sounds - is to get on with your work. Don’t think about time or leaving. Literally just immerse yourself in your work. If you get stuck, have a good long hard think or look in your textbook/at the board or through your notes. They wouldn’t set work that you know nothing about.

The bell rung and everyone gathered their stuff, practically running for the door. Frank waited patiently for me to finish my sentence and gather up my stuff. He smiled as I slung my bag over my shoulder, throwing his arm round my neck playfully and pulling me into him. I protested with a giggle.

Sarah was in the hallway. She blinked at the sight of me and Frank, looking embarrassed. I stared back and then pulled away from Frank quickly.

“What?” he questioned.

I shrugged, brushing myself off. Sarah had turned and walked away. Frank saw her and smirked after her, turning to me with a wink.

“I see,” He smirked “I’m embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend, eh?”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” I protested “Will you give it a rest?”

He smirked at me. That smirk revealed all.

Here it comes. The lead-up to another key moment in our lives.

“Anyway,” He smiled “If your Mrs will give you the night off - I’m kidding! How’d you fancy going into town tonight and drinking through a bottle of cheap vodka?”

Say no!

“Yeah, sure,” I smiled.

No, you idiot! You don’t know what’s gonna’ happen! I should‘ve said no.

“Great,” He grinned “Come over mine about. . . Eight?”

No! Change your mind!

“Okay, sounds cool,” I grinned.

Gerard Way, you idiot.