There he was again - Frank, the freshman I'd had eyes on since the start of school in September. He was shuffling down the hall in a hurry, avoiding others at all costs. Nobody smiled at him. Nobody knew him. He stopped at his locker and fumbled with the combination. I stood across the hall, leaning against my own locker, mentally smirking as Frank threw his hands up in despair. But he kept trying. A real stubborn type, you might say.
I notice his hair was cut. Choppy. Uneven. A home done job. I could just see his mother talking, waving her hands about as she did so, scissors just dangling off her index finger, threatening to slice into Frank's throat with one quick motion. "It'll save us money." I could hear her tell him, slicing a good chunk of his dark hair off. It would have fallen with a limp thud. Frank would be mad. He'd get red in the face. He wouldn't say anything. He'd let his mom chop his hair to just below his ear. Teachers always told him to get a hair cut anyway.
I notice him beginning to walk, finally giving up. I saw my chance.
"Hey, need some help?" I called out, walking toward him.
He froze. Turned slightly. Pulled the sleeves on his black thermal over his palms. Resembled a deer frozen in headlights. Stuck. Someone was actually talking to him? That's what he was thinking right now as I smirked at him.
"Well?" I asked.
"Uh." Was all he said, but he walked towards me anyway.
I found his locker, number 467, with ease. I'd memorized the number for future reference, you know, things like slipping an anonymous note through the cracks in the door.
"What's the combo?" I asked, placing my fingers on the lock.
"24-16-92" He said.
A group of loud, noisy and cussing jocks rounded the corner. Their fan Jersey's read last names and numbers of NFL stars a gay kid like me never takes the time to memorize. Too busy being fabulous.
"Joe! Think that's our boy Frank down there!" One of them yelled. The others laughed and echoed him, slinging insults at each other, and at Frank.
I popped open the locker, Frank took his book bag off his shoulder and filled it with books and binders, ridding of the unnecessary ones. He slammed it shut and murmured a "Thanks" in my general direction, before putting his head down and walking swiftly away. But he was too slow.
Tyler, one of the jocks, grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked back on it. Frank gagged and fell to the tile with a thud. The jocks laughed. Frank groaned.
"What's wrong, Frankie? Aren't you used to a little gagging?" Joe laughed. I felt like spitting on them in disgust.
"Fucking cocksocker." One of them spat, limply kicking Franks stomach.
Tyler then ordered his minions to each grab one of Frank's legs. Frank curled into fetal position, his body seemed to shake with panic. The boys kept trying to pry his limbs away from his torso.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" He screamed. It was nearly deafening. Everything stopped. The few kids who were at their lockers in the hall stopped. The jocks stopped. "Little Frankie Iero finally stood up for himself. Poor thing, now he'll get it worse." That's what everyone's face seemed to say.
I dropped my bag and knelt beside Frank.
"Frankie and the fatty sitting in a tree!" Tyler yelled.
"Grow up. You're 16. Not 3. Learn the difference, asshole." I sneered at him. He smirked at me, but then they all left.
Frank was still visibly shaking. I stood and reached out for his hands.
"Lets get out of here, huh?" I asked as I lifted him from the ground. He nodded.
We sat in the middle of the soccer field. Nobody in the school cared that we were skipping. Too many kids did it for them to care.
Frank was laying down, arms stretched above his head. The sleeves on his thermal came down to between his elbow and hand when he did that. I saw them. I said nothing. He knew I saw. I knew he knew.
I was sitting cross legged, the sun warming my back. The silence was comfortable between us. But I broke it.
"I'm sorry those guys did that to you." I said out loud. He sat up, squinting into the sunlight behind me.
"Don't be. I'm sorry they called you fatty." He said, looking down and not meeting my eyes.
I'd lost a lot of weight since junior year. I was doing good. They didn't bother me. Their morals bothered me.
Frank sat up too, so he was cross legged as well, his knees touching mine. He kept staring at his legs and he lap. He then produced a cigarette from his pocket, a lighter from his backpack, and began to smoke. He appeared instantly calmer. The cancer stick looked so right between his lips.
"Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful?" I asked him. I was comfortable with my question, after all, it was just a question. But Frank apparently was not, his whole face went apple red.
"No." He laughed and looked quickly over his features disgustedly before taking another drag, breathing the smoke out afterwards. Shuffled away from me. Our knees stopped touching.
"Too bad. Because you're beautiful." I told him. He looked at me, stamped out the cigarette in the dirt. Plucked some clover. He looked up, our eyes locked. He just looked right at me, right into me. Like a deer in headlights. Frozen.
I leaned in, and I felt his lips, tasted his lips, masked in the smell of nicotine. Felt a small shock. He didnt put any effort into the kiss, but let me kiss him. I'd guessed he'd never been kissed before. Shame. He was really beautiful.
I pulled back. Our knees were touching again.
