Chapter eleven - Gerard's Temporary Stars

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Frank fucking missed the kid. He missed Gerard's stupid smile and his stupid brilliant mind and his weird aversion to standing up. He was determined not to contact him again though, after the first impulsive email he sent. Jesus, he was never drinking vodka again. He had to keep himself in check. He sounded like a goddamn paedophile, and the last thing he wanted was to lose his job at the only school in New Jersey that would take him.

Frank knew he was different to most people, but it was supposed to be in a punk way, in a good way, not a fucking paedophile way, and he was pretty set on proving that. He supposed that the reason he was thinking about Gerard so much was that he was the only student in any of Frank's classes who had disappeared for the art trip. It was to be expected; Frank took all of the misfit classes, the overflow kids, and they all seemed to have very few interests other than being top of the social ladder, least of all, fine art. It was probably because Gerard was missing that Frank was thinking of him. He added something interesting to the class. Something interesting to mark, and not because it was terrible quality.

The trip was ending tomorrow though, so Frank supposed that all of this weird overthinking of his relationship with a random kid would stop, now that everything would go back to normal. Frank had a tendency to think about things a little too much when they were missing. (When he'd lost his phone, all he could think about all day was what he could be doing with his phone if he had it—even though he a rarely looked at his phone, and was pretty certain that if he wasn't counting on some incredible guy giving him his number extremely soon, he wouldn't even have a phone.)

But Gerard was even better when he came back. Gerard was refreshed and almost happy, and he had a friend, and he was so excited to show Frank everything he had written and drawn and painted while he was away, and Frank couldn't imagine why he had thought that Gerard would be less interesting in real life compared to in his mind. Gerard always exceeded his expectations.

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The first few days Gerard was back home were a blur, as was the usual when returning from any trip out of state—or even out of Belleville. Mikey brought him tea periodically; Gerard drank every other cup. Donna didn't force him into going back to school straight away, but didn't really do much to help him feel less jolted from all the change, other than occasionally half heartedly cuddling him when he didn't want to be touched.

Gerard was actually vaguely motivated to go back to school, for once, now that he had Dewees and Mr Iero, but there was something stopping him. For the first few days at least. Relationships always shift a bit after one person has gone away. Things are always different, and Gerard wasn't sure he wanted to face up to what 'different' would mean. He didn't hold out long, though—Mikey managed to nag him just enough to get him out of his room for a dreaded walk (anything to stop Mikey's special brand of bugging, the most annoying thing in the land), and before he knew it, he was standing in front of the school, with a very smug sister at his side.

"Fuck you," he muttered to Mikey, part irritated and part impressed at her for utilising his state of vague disassociation. She grinned, and passed him his pencil case and treasured notebook—he'd thought her bag had looked a little bulkier than usual. He snatched the notebook away and held it to his chest with one hand, and shoved his pencil case into his pocket with the other. But his stupid fucking punk pants had more holes in than an alien sex machine, and the pencil case dropped down through the bottom of the pocket and fell out through the knee. Gerard settled for tucking it under his waistband and looking like one of those unaware people who don't know the universal school laws. It could be worse. He could actually not know the school laws. Sure, he was the weirdest fucking kid in NJ, but at least he wasn't stupid.

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Gerard was a little bit stupid. He smiled too big at Mr Iero when he ducked into English, and ended up looking even more like one of those assholes who didn't understand the inevitable way of things. He stayed behind after class and let himself get all excited showing Mr Iero his sketches and watercolours from the trip, and telling him how he had done the whole English project without straying outside the syllabus at all, and he could feel himself flushing and getting all shaky like he always did when he was secretly too proud of something.

Mr Iero just smiled, and told him he hadn't expected anything less and that Gerard was a talented art student, but he didn't tell Gerard that he "could do better in school if you tried this hard all the time," like his art teacher had. Mr Iero knew he tried this hard all the time. It just only sometimes showed through.

Gerard's sporadic talent was like shining a light through a colander stacked on top of another colander. Only when the conditions were right and he had the right kind of motivation could he reach his full potential and let the light through. Nobody seemed to understand that but him. The art technician he'd explained it to had looked at him like he'd told her there was an alien behind her, and then shuffled off to murmur concerned remarks to the teacher, all the while shooting Gerard odd glances.

It was alright though, that nobody understood these things. Although sometimes the thought of how stupid people must be to not understand the simplest of things made Gerard furious, it wasn't their fault, he supposed, and in the long run it just made him feel cleverer, and there was very little wrong with that.

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Gerard found Dewees where he told him he'd be: out behind the smokers' door, where Gerard had never dared to go. It wasn't like it was a hotspot for the cool kids, but it was a hotspot for people, stoners and skivers alike, and Gerard wasn't big on people. Gerard thought he'd make it clearer to Dewees as soon as he could that he'd rather they could hang out somewhere less frequented by humans.

But Dewees was unfortunately encouraging, and through some spectacular force, actually managed to convince Gerard to join him and a few other kids who didn't belong to any particular clique at the park in the middle of the night. Fuck, even more strangers. It was supposed to be fun, and although Gerard didn't really understand what was fun about doing something that could get him into trouble, he also didn't understand why it was so troublesome in his mother's eyes. There was a choice; Gerard opted for the option that got him closer to the stars.

(His mother was two towns down with his cousin, Mel, and her new baby, anyway. Gerard wouldn't even have to omit anything, his mom would be too busy fussing over how precious the baby had looked when she got back to ask Gerard how he'd been.)

Precisely nine hours later, the five of them were lying in a heap on Dewees' unnecessarily large coat on the tarmac of the playground, mostly drunk, and entirely freezing. A big guy known as nothing but 'Worm' kept passing out bottles from the paper bag stashed in his rucksack. Gerard was out of it after no less than four sips, which made sense because on at least nine out of ten of his medications had come with a leaflet stating that he shouldn't consume alcohol. Dewees affectionately called him a lightweight, and Gerard absently mused that Myra Willis would take that as a great compliment.

Lindsey, a fawnish girl with dark brown hair and very red lipstick, was nice to Gerard after he went into his vague state of delirium, and gave him some of her dry cereal from a tupperware container, and Gerard told her miserably about his medication. She told him that her girlfriend didn't drink, and suggested that maybe Gerard shouldn't either, if he didn't want to die from liver failure. Gerard thought it over for it a bit, leaning his head back on Dewees' belly, which was acting as a brilliant temporary pillow. "No, I think I'd rather not die. I want to be alive to see Bernie fuck Trump up in the election."

The lanky boy in all pink—Jimmy, Gerard thought his name was—snorted, then wiped his nose, and clapped Gerard over the back with his other hand. "Smart move, kiddo."

"Told you he was a good one," Dewees said; his words slurred a little. He tweaked at the air above him, like he was trying to pluck the stars from the sky. Gerard smiled lazily. The stars were his, and his alone, but maybe he would be willing to share for these guys. He had known them for only several hours, but he was already sure—they were Forever People.