Nothing You Can Say Will Stop Me Going Home (Frerard)

Chapter One

Gerard's POV

I pulled up the hood of my black hoodie, blasting Iron Maiden through my earbuds. Having slept

in to the last possible minute, I disregarded breakfast, opting for only a cup of coffee. I was

never hungry in the mornings anyway.

"Have a great first day of school boys!" trilled my over enthusiastic mother.

"Yeah, sure," I grumbled. This flashed me back to last year, only Mikey was still in middle

school, and I actually knew people. Well, one person. Without Bert, I was so fucked.

"C'mon Gerard. I can't be late today." whined Mikey. "It's­"

"Yes Mikey, we all know, it's you're first day of high school, this is going to be your year, everything has to be perfect, you're gonna study so hard and since no one knows you, this is

your year!" I ruffled Mikey's hair. His excited behavior reminded me of my first year of high

school. Before the bullies. Before the cutting. Before the self hate. Now wasn't that a cheerful

start to my junior year? But none the less, I grabbed my backpack and we trooped out the door.

The walk to school was short and uneventful, much like it was before we moved to New Jersey.

It seemed that walking was popular, despite the fact that most people probably had cars. I

guess I wouldn't want to pay the gas bills either. I wish I had a car; walking to school sucks.

Shuddering, I recalled how I'd gotten beat up in previous years. I guess it didn't really help that I

was stoned the whole time, but honestly, how could I not be? when you're subjected to daily

beatings for your style or sexuality. It wasn't my fault I wore all black, or didn't like talking or was

gay. Fuck this.

"Names?" asked the bored desk assistant once we'd found our way into the main office. I rolled

my eyes, matching her icy attitude.

"Gerard and Mikey Way," I replied.

"Here are your schedules. There's a map on the back." She replied robotically.

I ruffled Mikey's hair, chuckling to myself as his hands flew to his hair in panic. "Gerard," he whined, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Later Mikes," I laughed, watching him desperately run his fingers through his hair, and exited

the office.

I looked at my schedule.... Locker 319. Where was that? This place was a maze. After a few

minutes of stumbling around, I finally found it. Shoving a few notebooks inside, I grabbed a

pencil, a notebook and my sketchbook for English. Why did I even bother getting notebooks? It

wasn't as if I payed attention anyway. I just sat at the back of the class and doodled. Rolling my

eyes, I trudged to english.

"Class, it appears we have a new student! What's your name, young man?" the teacher asked

me, smiling warmly. I narrowed my eyes. It wasn't like she actually cared. I could tell that she

didn't give a fuck about education or whatever. Papers were stuffed haphazardly in her

workspace, overflowing the cheap, wood­painted drawers. Faded literary quotes adorned the

walls, yellow and peeling, barely clinging to the dried, flaky glue. A beat­up plastic plant teetered

on the edge of her desk as if that would make up for the layer of dust coating everything but the

first few desks. Taking a deep breath, I peered at the filled desks. Rows of glassy eyed students

stared back at me. I felt the familiar panic creeping up my throat; anxiety bubbled in my chest. I

hated public speaking, even if it was as simple as saying my own name. I felt my breathing

accelerate any wiped my slick palms on my jacket.

"Gerard Way," I muttered, and sped toward the back of the room without a second glance. I

quickly took a seat beside a pale boy with a dark hoodie. He was slumped down in his seat, and

I could see headphones under his jacket. He looked like the kind of person I'd associate myself.

I smiled. Maybe he might like me too? Yeah funny joke Gerard. I pulled out my sketchbook­ I

could already tell that there was no use in even trying to focus. I failed all my classes except Art,

and this unkempt english class would be no exception.

My eyes flicked to the boy beside me. He had black hair, cut in a faux­hawk, that was bleached

blonde on the side. He had a beautiful bone structure and flawless pale skin. My pencil moved

across the page, trying to transfer his beauty onto paper. After a few minutes of my frankly

creepy staring, he met my eyes. I sharply inhaled, his eyes were a fucking gorgeous. They were

green, with flecks of golden brown accenting them perfectly, framed by long, dark eyelashes. It

was only when he half­smiled at me when I realized I'd been intensely staring into his eyes, and

awestruck expression on my face. Major. Fucking. Fail. Cheeks on fire, I ducked my head and

pulled my hood up farther. God, he probably thought I was some sort of creep. Now I'd royally

fucked up any chances of an actual friend here. And now the teasing begins. He didn't look like

a stereotypical jock or popular, but once word got out that I'd been staring at him like some sort

of drugged idiot, it would surely begin again. Nice one Gererd.

My embarassed thoughts were interrupted by a note on my desk.

I'm frank what's your name? It read. Oh god. He obviously felt bad for me and that's why he was

being nice. Why else would he talk to a freak like me? Great. Now not only had I ruined my

chances with someone who was cool, but nice too. Well, it's not like I'm in the position to turn

down kindness, so I scrawled, Gerard Way. Sorry if I freaked you out:), underneath his writing.

no prob:) you look okay, want me to show you around? ­frnk

yeah that would be awesome:)

I grinned. Was it possible that I hadn't scared him off? And maybe even made a friend?