My Harlequin Romance (MCR Fan Fiction)

Chapter One

"Watch it," I snap, dusting off my blazer. Then, I'm struck. It's the same damn kid as the portrait. The same shaggy hair and retarded looking smile. He's not smiling now. In fact, he looks ready to kill me.

"You ran into me," he says, standing up. I remember the portrait, and with burning jealousy, I clench my fists. I really have no idea who this guy is, but I can already tell he's going to piss me off.

I scoff loudly. "Whatever," I mutter, deciding that he's not worth the energy right now. He'll get his in a minute. As I walk by his table, I peek at what he's drawing, and, to put it simply, I'm completely blown away. It's like an epic battle between the same person. The drawing shows the person torn in half. One have is black with devil horns and evil, red eyes that almost disturb me. The dark half has a pitch fork, which it's trying to use to impale the other lighter half. The other half is white, with barely an outline, has a halo, and is trying to avoid getting stabbed by the dark half, nearly ripping itself in two in the process. It's honestly the best drawing I have ever seen. Why can't I just draw like that?

"What are you doing?" The boy asked, sitting back down, his stool back with four legs stationary. He looked up at me with inquisitive eyes that you'd only find in private investigator. Someone who loves details. Maybe that's why he's so good at drawing. I wonder if my eyes look like that. He seems pretty dark, judging from his hair, clothes and dark eye makeup. He's defiantly not like the other juicehead douche bags around this school, and I can totally respect that. Except I don't. He took my spot.

"Dropped my pencil," I reply shortly, reaching down quickly to pick up the non-existent pencil. I pretended to slid it into my pocket. The boy watched me for a few seconds with a "You're-Really-Annoying-Me" look on his face, an expression I was so used to from various other students, faculty, janitors, people I meet on the street, people who talk to me, et cetera. Then, he went back to drawing, ignoring my existence completely. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the figure of Mrs. Eight slid into her office stealthily. I take the moment to my advantage. "Hopefully, she'll realize the mistake and just switch out the portraits now," I thought desperately as I approached her desk, "That'll show that weird kid." I knocked on the side of Mrs. Eight's office door. She looked up from her laptop monitor, a look of primal fear on her face. When she realized it was only me, that quickly faded.

"Oh, Lola," She said, looking relieved, "I was afraid you were the principal." I realized that she had been late again, and if I HAD been the principal, that would have meant another pay deduction. That shows you how much I know about Mrs. Eight. I smiled a little. Mrs. Eight was easily my favorite teacher, and I was easily her favorite student. This so wouldn't be an issue and in a few minutes my portrait would be back where it belonged, front and center.

"I saw you changed out the portraits," I started, seeming like I was only making idle conversation. Mrs. Eight looked back up again from her laptop, brow furrowed. She seemed to know where this was going, and she didn't like it.

"Yes," she said, nodding her head, "And I'm rather pleased with yours as well, Lola, but I just couldn't find the space up on the wall. It's not a big deal. I'm not disappointed." Mrs. Eight ran a hand through her short curly hair. "It was a tough decision."

"Who replaced me?" I asked, wondering if I was treading too deeply, but I knew she would answer me anyway. She always does.

Mrs. Eight knodded out her door to the dark boy, telling me something I already knew for obvious reasons. "Gerard Way," she said, looking back at me, "He's got so much vast talent. He's really quite extraordinary." That nearly knocked the wind out of me. I'm supposed to be her favorite! Mrs. Eight watched him back through the door for a minute. "I wonder about him sometimes though. He doesn't have many friends, it doesn't seem like," Mrs. Eight stopped suddenly and began fidgeting.

"Oh," I murmured, quietly, deciding I had no desire to hear about his sad, sad life, and then continued, "Why did he replace me now? I mean, he hasn't always been in my class, has he?"

"No, he hasn't," she responded, shaking her head, "He just transferred from my other class in seventh hour to this one because of scheduling issues"

I cleared my throat and stood up. How dare he come in and steal my limelight and my favoritism. I was the best artist in the whole class. Not anymore. Not because of him. "Thank you, Mrs. Eight," I said quietly. I hurried out the door before she could respond. It seems like he's doing it on purpose, just to spite me for being so good. Maybe this was a challenge. As I walked out of the art room, my eyes latched onto Gerard. His black army jacket and black hair. Everything he does annoys me. His breathing. His hair. His body. His face. His existence in general just really irked me. I think it was at that point I decided I had to know who this guy was. Not just the petty stuff Mrs. Eight had told me.

I wanted to know him.