I'll kiss your lips again (Frerard)

Chapter 2

"Oh, come on, old man." whines Pat, complaining about some physics homework, and earning a stern glare from Billie Joe.

Billie Joe Armstrong, is the crazy old and psychotic physics teacher. Definitely not eye candy. He's basically crazy, wearing a head of neglected gray hair, and gaining a rather opposite reaction from Oli Sykes. Oli Sykes gets admiring stares from the girls, (and occasionally some guys too). Billie Joe gets laughs and snickers, and whenever he reaches out in kindness to anyone, they quickly brush him off. He's old and has impaired vision, and usually notes and paper balls are thrown around the room, and nobody ever really says that much, or does that much work.

(Here I switch tense without realizing).
"You know," said Ray, deflecting a paper ball with his arm, "all of us, you, me, Patty and Ry, we're all single."
My eyes widened.
"It's so depressing."
I nodded fervently in approval, and said, "Jeez, that is depressing."

I couldn't stop thinking about it all lesson. I was single. I had never been in a loving relationship. Sure, I had kissed, I had experimented with the odd blowjob, and briefly went out with a girl before I decided I was gay. But I had never truly been in love with someone.
It scared me, and I often found myself feeling insecure. Was I ugly? Or maybe I just had to find the right person? Now that I thought about it, I wanted to be with someone. I was too alone, too different, and too much apart from my friends, somewhat older in my years mentally than physically. My friends would look at a painting or sculpture, and think nothing of it, get bored quickly.
But I would see meaning, and beauty. I would understand how they felt and who they were when they painted it.
Perhaps I needed someone more mature, or someone older.

When I walked out into the hallway, even the school jocks seemed to know what I was thinking.
"Hey, shortie," they called me over.
"What's up with you? You haven't got someone's arse to stick your dick in?" they teased.
My face fell. "Gay!" one of them said to me, his face scrunched up in disgust.

"Hey, maybe that new art teacher will take your fancy."
"Or your virginity." someone added in the background.
"He's a fag too, just like you!"
And before I even had time to think about it, I was being swiftly knocked to the ground and punched in the stomach, the head, and all over.