Chapter eight - Reggie and the partial effect

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Grenville House had lost the song competition, and although a part of Gerard was a little bit furious at the judges, he reminded himself that they were only teachers, after all, which made him feel slightly better about the results. Of course if the competition been judged by the Misfits instead then Grenville house would have won in a heartbeat. More than that, they'd have got a standing ovation and a free Misfits concert, just for them. (Maybe that was being a bit excessive, but Gerard felt a bit excessive today. His levels of excessiveness came and went, and today they were disturbingly high, and without discernible cause, as usual. He was becoming accustomed to it, though– and so was Mr Iero, it seemed, to his dismay.)

Instead of attending a free Misfits concert with a VIP pass, however, Gerard was leaving Belleville for Cornwall, to die. The class had already begun the 'art' element of the art trip before they had even been on the bus for ten minutes, as the entire group had been instructed to draw what they could see out the window.

Naturally, Gerard ignored the teacher, and started eating the sandwich his mom had packed for him. The sandwich was slightly deformed from being squashed under all of his art supplies (maybe this was the reason his mother had told him to pack the sandwich last instead of first), and it tasted weird, probably due to the fact that the ham had sort of melded into the compressed bread, but Gerard carried on eating it anyway. He knew he would be able to catch up with the art easily, he was far more advanced than the other kids on the trip.

Again though, his 'modesty' got the better of him, and just as he decided that it was time he started drawing, the bus pulled out onto the freeway at breakneck speed, and his sketchbook fell from where he'd balanced it on his knees and skidded down the bus floor. Perhaps this had been why the teachers had wanted them to sketch while they were on minor roads. Perhaps his teachers did have some sense after all.

Gerard tugged on his seatbelt until it extended as far as possible, then tucked it under his arm so he could lean under the seat in front of him without getting strangled. Somehow, he managed to strangle his armpit, which was unexpectedly painful, but he supposed that it was better than breaking his neck. He could feel his brain getting compressed and crushed, just like his sandwich, except by the blood rushing to his head rather than books and pencils. Gerard could just see his sketchbook, a few rows ahead of him on the floor. Some kid gave it a kick, and he hissed in irritation, filing away the image of the kid's shoes so he could find out who to be angry with later. Then, blessedly, the bus lurched and accelerated at alarming velocity, and Gerard's sketchbook was launched back towards him, sliding across the gritty sheet floor and coming to rest at the feet of the kid sitting in front of him.

The kid bent forward to pick up the sketchbook, then twisted around in his seat and stuck his face through the gap between the two seats in front of Gerard. It was the perfect picture of the scene in The Shining when Jack smashed a hole in the door and pressed his face into it. Right before attempting to kill everyone. Gerard twitched in faint apprehension, but took out an earphone nonetheless. "Hello," he said uneasily.

"Hey," the kid grinned. He slid Gerard's sketchbook halfway through the gap between the seats, and nodded down at it. "This yours?"

"Yes." Gerard took the sketchbook, then plugged his headphones back in.

The kid turned around again, looking slightly put out. Gerard felt a little guilty, but only five minutes later the guy was grinning and pushing his face through the gap again.

Gerard reluctantly pulled both earphones out. "What?" he asked.

"What's your name? I'm James, but only my mom calls me that. Everyone else calls me Dewees."

"I'm Gerard," Gerard said dully. "My mom calls me Gerard. Everyone calls me Gerard."

Dewees nodded, smile ever-present and bright. He still looked a little bit like the dude from The Shining and it was faintly disturbing, but he seemed harmless enough, and significantly less bloodthirsty than Jack, which Gerard counted as a major plus. "So, Gerard, you like art?"

"What sort of a question is that?" Gerard asked indignantly. He wanted to say that he hated art, but then he would look like even more of a freak than people already perceived him to be. What sort of an idiot would take an advanced art class if they didn't fucking like art? Gerard was very reluctant to admit aloud that he was that sort of an idiot.

"Well," Dewees shrugged (Gerard could see the movement of his shoulders through the tiny gap between the seats in the space his head wasn't taking up), "You did chuck your sketchbook all the way across the bus floor."

"It fell," Gerard said huffily. If there was one thing Gerard had respect for in the art classroom, it was sketchbooks. Every kind of book deserved respect. Books were fucking sacred, and not to be abused.

"It fell," Dewees agreed, "Then I picked it up and gave it to you, and you shoved it in your bag with the cover bent in half, and now it's got sandwich crumbs all over it."

Gerard froze, then scrambled to unfold the front page of his sketchbook and smooth it out, before placing it carefully back in his bag. He hastily zipped his bag up again, swearing under his breath at the stupid kid's stupid observational skills.

"What's your middle name?" Dewees asked cheerily as Gerard kicked his bag onto the bus floor.

"Why do you care?" Gerard asked, staring at the straps of his bag as he tangled them between his feet.

"Mine's Reggie," Dewees said brightly, grinning.

Gerard wondered if anyone would notice if he strangled Dewees with the fastenings of his backpack. The kid was really starting to get on his fucking nerves.

"My mom was actually gonna call me Paco," Dewees continued, "and have James as my middle name, but the guy who drove mom to the hospital was called Reggie, and he wasn't like, an ambulance driver or anything, he was just some taxi driver, but he got us there in record time, so like, mom thought it was a good enough feat to name me after him, but she didn't want my Christian name to be Reggie cos it's kind of a stupid name, so she made my first name James and my middle name Reggie, and anyway, it was really impressive that he drove us all the way through town so fast, cos I was born in Manhattan, and the traffic there is absolutely hell."

Gerard stared at Dewees for a few moments, unable to form words. Then he put his earphones in. He tugged his stringy hair over his eyes to form a stringy blackout curtain. To Gerard's dismay, however, he could still hear the kid talking, and when he went to turn the volume up on his iPod, he found that it was already as high as it could possibly go, and oh god, he was just about ready to die. He took out an earphone again to tell Dewees to please shut up, but was interrupted by another happy train wreck of a question– "Who are you friends with?"

"No one," Gerard snapped. He had briefly considered saying Mr Iero, but had decided mid-thought that it was probably the stupidest idea ever, especially as most kids didn't actually like Mr Iero at all. Gerard couldn't understand why in the slightest. Mr Iero was fucking great.

"Who d'you hang out with at lunch then?" Dewees asked persistently.

"No one," Gerard reiterated.

"I've seen you with that kid with the weird hair though, the one who looks like she's been rained on."

Gerard scrunched up his face. "What kid with weird hair?" He didn't know any kids with weird rained-on hair, did he?

"Whatsername. You know, the one who's always wearing those freaky ass frilly skirts."

"Oh," Gerard said. "Mikey." (He'd told her to stop wearing grandma's old petticoats. He'd known something like this would happen.) "That's my sister. And her hair isn't weird, she just straightens it." Gerard was quiet for a moment, contemplating putting his earphones back in for the fifth time. "Her skirts are kinda freaky though," he admitted.

"Freaky in a sort of cool way though, y'know?"

Gerard frowned. No one had ever used the word 'cool' to describe him or Mikey in the entire history of the universe. His perception of Dewees shifted slightly towards the more positive side of his brain. "Yeah," Gerard said absently, unsure of what to say in response.

"I love that fifties shit," Dewees mused. Gerard marvelled briefly at the moment of silence as Dewees floated into a nineteen-fifties-themed daydream. Unfortunately though, a second later, he started talking again. "I always thought Audrey Hepburn was super cool. You know Breakfast at Tiffany's?"

Gerard stopped short in his tracks, his carefully planned out one word response discarded, and his plot to deter Dewees from talking to him completely forgotten. "I fucking loved Breakfast at Tiffany's," Gerard said emphatically. He paused. "Although, that was actually 1961."

Dewees waved his hand dismissively (Gerard could see it behind the gap between the chairs). "I was only a couple years off, cut me some slack. Anyway, Roman Holiday's my favourite film of hers, and that's from the fifties, so I always associate her with the fifties," Dewees said.

"Roman Holiday... That was, what, '53?"

"'53, indeed," Dewees confirmed. "Shit, I've found my soul mate."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "I hope you don't mean me."

"Of course I do, buddy!" Dewees grinned.

Gerard wondered if the kid was drunk. Drunk people were supposed to be overly affectionate, weren't they?

And anyway. Gerard had rather hoped that Mr Iero could be his soulmate, despite the seriously weird implications that would involve.

"Right," Gerard said uncomfortably. Although– Dewees was the only person under the age of eighty Gerard had known to like Audrey Hepburn. Maybe he should be making more of an effort with the guy.

"D'you know your tie isn't on properly?" Dewees reached through the gap between the chairs to poke at Gerard's mangled tie.

"Yes, I know."

"Do you care? Cos you should. School pride and all that."

"I don't like school. Do you?" Gerard asked reproachfully.

"Fuck," Dewees grinned. "Man, I was just tryna blend in with that school pride crap. I thought I was the only one. Jesus, I hate our school."

"Ah," Gerard said contentedly. "We are kindred spirits, after all."

"You wanna come sit by me?"

Gerard shrugged. "Sure." He had never been given an offer like this. It was generally in reverse: whoever he was sitting by would ask him to leave. Or demand it of him. He paused for a few moments, then quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and scrambled into the seat in front of him, his heart racing. Fuck, that was probably the most dangerous thing he had ever done.

"So, dude," Dewees said. "What sorta music d'you like?"

"Oh," Gerard responded.

"What?"

"Oh," Gerard repeated. "This is gonna take a while."