Most knew him as Mr. Way, and to some, he was simply 'the school master.' Because that's what Gerard Way was; the head master of the boarding school owned by his father. None of the students dared to call him 'Gerard,' that was disrespectful; although there was one student in particular, Frank Iero, who didn't care too much about being respectful, or traditional, or anything else along the lines of. Surprisingly, Mr. Way responded the same; but only towards the eighteen year old boy who threw paper airplanes at him while he directed the class. He'd send a disapproving glare towards the kid, nothing more or less, and continue teaching. Now normally, if the unruly boy had been anyone but this one, he'd be given detention, or punishment, (scrubbing the bathroom floors was one of them). But this was Frank Iero, and there was always an excepetion for him. Everyone knew that.
School had just started up again. It was only the middle of September, and the sun was still shining brightly throughout the day, taunting the teenagers cooped up inside the classroom to come outside and thrive in it.
If you had asked them, any of the kids forced to wear the school's uniform, and worse, sit in the classroom the entire day while wearing it, they would have all complained about being robbed of their Summer. None of them had wanted Summer to end. Not only could they laze around all day in their pajamas with a cigarette hanging out of their mouths and play video games whenever desired, but most importantly; there wasn't a teacher in sight. No one to force them to stay up half the night, slaving over a book report due the very next morning. The only authority figures constantly present were the boys' parents. Sure your mom was always demanding that you finally get to cleaning your room, and your dad often suggested the thought of finding a Summer job, but they weren't teachers. You didn't have to listen to them. You were supposed to, but most of the teenage guys attending the school thought otherwise. Could that be the very reason they were shipped off to boarding school? Because they didn't give a damn about their parents instructions, or really anything at all. The school wasn't necessarily a reform school; but you couldn't just show up in your favorite band t-shirt and jeans, with your hair a mess and yesterday's eyeliner smudged under your eyes because you fell asleep on your parents couch the night before; no, that wasn't allowed. Not at all. You apparently weren't supposed to arrive with a cigarette in your mouth, either.
He knew this, obviously, because from the time he turned fifteen his parents had began sending him to all kinds of schools in their failing attempt to fix their son's bad behavior. He hadn't, however, been to this school. The school where Mr.Way was in charge of him, and for the entire year. If the thirty year old man who wore tight pants and still dyed his hair had been anyone other than Gerard Way, Frank probably would've ditched the enormous building and hitchhiked to Canada or something drastic like that.
Frank was always one for taking drastic measures. He just loved to be noticed for anything he did, even if not praised for it. He just craved attention--especially from the quick-witted school master.
It all started the first morning he was dropped off at the boys' school and assigned to Mr. Way's classroom by this cheerful guy with an afro.
Now, Frank didn't like to hope for someone to get hit by a bus the moment he met them; no he had to be properly acquainted first. But this guy, this tall, cheery guy with the blue striped tie, who snatched the cigarette from Frank's lips the second he'd shaken hands with him--this one could walzt into open traffic for all he cared.
"You must be Frank! Your parents told me all about you over the email I received yesterday." Ray beamed, still shaking the short teenager's hand with both of his clasped over Frank's.
"They did, huh? What'd they say?" Frank asked, slipping his hands from the strange man.
"Well, they told me you were eager to learn, hard working, and-"
