Fanfiction: "Boys Like Him Always Think About Girls Like You."

[disaster notes.]

Don't worry, there's a point to all of this happening so fast! Heh, I do think this story has an odd touch to it, though. Glad I have another reader. Okay, here's the next chapter.

"BOYS LIKE HIM ALWAYS THINK ABOUT GIRLS LIKE YOU [[ frank iero ]] -- CHP.4

Frank Iero sits next to me in literature class. He smiles at me.

At the bottom I drew a little house.

Maybe I should have put it on nicer paper. I used one of the little pink papers that my sister had given to me at Christmas, along with a Bible with gold-edged paper and a leather cover. She said the pink paper was "nice". And I liked "nice things" didn't I? I liked safe things, didn't I? I liked exactly the same things that she did, didn't I?

I folded it.

I wondered what he'd do. What he would say. If he would say anything at all. But, God, did I want him to.



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He sat next to me again in class.

I didn't know what to do. How I could talk to him. I wanted to so bad. I wanted for him to talk to me.

But he didn't talk to anybody else either. They kept saying things to him. Everyone around him. Everyone wanted to know Frank Iero. Who this boy was. Because no one knew anything about him.

"So Frank, what school did you go to before?" the boy in front of him asked.

He looked up from the paper or teacher had just passed out. "A different one."

"Where did you move from?" It was the red-headed girl sitting next to him.

"Out of town."

He never gave straight answers. Ever. I liked that. I liked being able to retain who you were. Even in highschool. In highschool, where your business was everyone's but your own. Where you wore your identity on your sleeve or you had none.

I stared at the note in my hand. The folded pink paper. I needed to give it to him. But I couldn't. Not with everyone around. Not in the middle of class.

I could stop thinking about the dream either. Every time he reached out, I kept trying to see his wrists. Could they be the same as they had been?

No, of course not...His wrists couldn't be like me...He couldn't too...

I looked at the clock.

Oh god.

I only had five more minutes to give it to him. To say something. To stop sitting there, mute.

Why couldn't I say it? Why could I just reach over? To put it on his desk. Something.

Anyone else could. I bet every single one of the girls in that room could have just leaned over and given him the note. They could have said something. They could have done something to show that they hadn't just ignored this boy who had kissed them in the cafeteria and given them a note and smiled and picked up their papers when they dropped them.

I was losing time. Soon I wouldn't have any chance. Until the next day.

I couldn't keep wasting time panicking. It would take nothing. Just reach over, Bernadette. Just put it on his desk. Just say something. Anything.

"Frank!" I said suddenly, as the bell rang, releasing us to lunch.

He was standing, pulling his bag over his shoulders. He looked at me.

I took a step closer. "Thank you...For...The, uh, the note."

He smiled. "Your welcome."

I took another step closer. "I..Uh..." I couldn't think of anything to say.

Why did I always have to sound retarded when I got nervous? Why was I nervous? I didn't even know him. He was just someone from school.

Except he wasn't. I knew he wasn't. Frank Iero was anything but normal.



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As I leaned forward, quickly kissing him on the cheek, I slipped the note into his hand.

He wasn't the only one still staring at me as I rushed out the classroom door.

[IVY LAMHEAD]

Aw, that's cute. Haha. Bit strange, but cute. ^_^

[disaster notes.]

Eek, I need to stop writing this story! I have been neglecting my other story. Eh, this'll be the last one for about a week, I want to try and finish the HP story so I don't tear me hair out about that one.

"BOYS LIKE HIM ALWAYS THINK ABOUT GIRLS LIKE YOU" [[ frank iero ]] -- CHP.5

"Are you **bleep** high?" She shreiked, pushing down her white plastic glasses to stare at me. She had got those glasses yesterday at a thirft store. She had wanted me to go with her, but I didn't. I never seemed to be able to do the things she wanted me to do. Just like I couldn't be all of the things my mother wanted of me. I was never good enough. "What were you thinking?"
I was thinking about Frank.

Frank.

God, stop it Bernadette. Dad always said you were the obsessive type...

"I don't know."

Jordan slammed her yellow plastic tray down on the table. "You cannot go sit with them."

"They asked me to..."

Why? Why had the asked me? Were they just being nice? Were they just being friendly? Was it stupid to believe in alterior motives? Who knew...Maybe they were just-

"Come on, Bern, do you seriously beleive that those girls want to sit with you?"

Ouch.

Maybe they did. They didn't want to sit with you, Jordan.

"I don't know," I picked up my own tray. "But I'm going over there."

What the hell was I doing? I didn't even want to go over there. I didn't want to sit with them. I didn't really want to sit with Jordan either. Who did I want to sit with?

Frank, my mind repeated over to itself. Frank Iero.

She just stared at me as I walked away.



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The whites of their teeth were the only thing to greet me as I went over there. They all looked the same. Same clothes. Same hair. Same face. Same smile.

"Ohmygod, Bernadette!" Bianca squealed. She scooted over, making room for me. I sat down. Nervously. "I can't beleive you came!"

"You asked me-"

"We were afraid for a second that you would stay over there with that Jordan girl."

They all smirked at each other. I just stared at my sandwhich. I wondered what they had made it out of. You never really knew. The only certainty was that whatever they said it was- was probably nothing like the reality.

Kind of like life that way.



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Bianca turned to me, halfway through lunch. The only words to be thrown in my direction had been polite, short, courtious. I didn't like such a lack of conversation. "So, like, you're friends with that new boy?"

This would be interesting.

"Who?"

She laughed. "Who? Frank Iero, of course. Who else is new?"

Was I friends? How could I be friends. I had hardly said anything to him. But there was something. Something there.

"Um, not really..." I said, more to my sandwich that to her.

"Oh," her face fell. "I thought that-" She looked up. "Frank."

I looked up too, following her gaze. There he was. How had he done that? Come so quick? Come without me noticing at all?

He didn't look at her despite her fervent hellos, but walked over to me, extending a hand.

I looked at it.

There was another note in it. But I couldn't take it. I just stared at it.

He took my hand, putting the note in it, and turned to go.



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"I thought you said you weren't friends with him," she said, irritatedly.
I unfolded it. It was on regular white paper this time.

I saw Bernadette walking home yesterday. She lives a street away from me. I would like to walk with her today.

I looked at Bianca. "Did I say that?"

[IVY LAMHEAD]

That Bianca girl is jealous. Haha.

Yes get back to the HP story too. xP

[disaster notes.]

Okay, this is the last chapter for a while. I have terrible writers block and I need to finish Between Love and Hate. Ergh.

"BOYS LIKE HIM ALWAYS THINK ABOUT GIRLS LIKE YOU" [[ frank iero ]] -- CHP.6

Frank found me.

Wandering among the masses, he found me.

He had managed, once again, for what felt like the hundredth time, appeared out of nowhere, standing right next to me. I could feel more eyes on us again. Everyone seemed to want to know him, but no one could seem to get close. I wondered if they were afraid. People always fear what they didn't know. And he wasn't talking to anybody, as far as I could see.

Except me, I thought. He was going to talk to me.

I could feel it.

They were still watching us, their hungry eyes searching for something to feed those starving beasts. The ones that need only gossip to survive.

"Hi," I whispered, watching him.

He smiled. "Hi."

I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to talk so bad. It was killing me. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to listen to him. To listen to the stories that he had to tell. "Frank, I-"

He grabbed my hand, pulling me farther from the front of the school, father away from the ears and the eyes. "Shh...Not here."

All I could do was follow.

Later, I would learn why he never talked in school. That he, unlike the rest of us, didn't boast who he was on his sleeve. That he didn't need everyone to repeat the words he said. That this was one of the most striking things about Frank. That he didn't need to flaunt who he was.

But then, then I was just perplexed. Intrigued.

When we were two blocks away, two blocks of him leading me, guiding me away from them, he stopped. It was in front of a park that no one went to anymore, more of an empty lot than anything. Under a tree with tiny little pink flowers and a thick trunk.

"Hi," he breathed.

I couldn't stand looking into his eyes for too long.

"Hi."

"I'm glad you walked with me," he said. He put his hands in his pocket and started walking again. "It's nice to have someone to walk with. I don't have any friends."

"Same here..."

Kind of a lie. But close enough. I figured he knew what I meant anyway. It felt like he would have understood whatever I said.

He seemed to almost become somebody completely different. Out of the eye of the Highschool Sun, he grew into a new person. Someone who talked. Who spoke, but just to me.

I bit my bottom lip. This boy had kissed me hours after I had first met him, said only a handful of things to me, but didn't act like that was anything unusual.

Maybe for him it wasn't.

"I moved here a month ago." He pulled out a flower that had poked it's head through the white fence of a house I didn't know. The house was a soft pink color. I liked that. You never saw pink houses.

"From where?"

"Out of town."

He drove me crazy. I wanted to open him up. See what was inside of him. See what had made him this way. Why he never gave straight answers. Why he was walking home with me.

Why he was always leading and I was always following. Even though I had lived here my whole life and he had just moved.

"Do you like it here?"

He paused, staring at the flower he still had in his hands. "I like school. I like my new house. I like walking home."

He looked up at me, handing me the flower. "And I like you."

With no more words than that, he had turned, made his way down another street, leaving me standing.

He had lead me straight to my house. I hadn't even noticed. I hadn't noticed until I was waving to him, and looked up to see my father standing on the porch.

"Who's your friend?"

I liked my dad. I liked how he was nothing like my mom. How he let me do my own things and I let him do his own things.

"Boy from school." I climbed the steps. "He just moved here. He lives a street away."

"Oh," my dad smiled. "It's nice to have someone to walk home with...What's his name?"

"Frank."

"Frank..." He was acting funny. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Something off.

"Dad?"

He ran a hand through his hair. It was going gray. I wondered if it was because of me. Because of him raising one daughter and his marriage failing and him never seeing his other daughter.

"Bern, we need to talk."

We sat on the steps of the porch. I could remember sitting on those same steps the first time I saw my mom and my sister drive away with all their things. I had been eleven. Being declared hopeless at eleven didn't feel good.

I kept thinking of that while I watched their car drive further and further away from the house. Closer and closer to their new house, the one that was closer to the Church. She had said I was hopeless.

Hopeless.

My dad took a long time to start. Whatever it was, it was bad. I could tell.

"Bern, we're, uh, it's not gonna be just the two of us anymore."

"What?"

He stopped, staring out. It had begun to rain. The hot, steamy late summer kind of rain.

"Bern, your mom's moving back in."

As the thunder rumbled, I knew that it wasn't the sound of the friction or of electricity.

It was the sound of everything been ripped open.

The sound of everything beginning to fall apart.

[IVY LAMHEAD]

o_o... What happened? Update! I want to know!

[disaster notes.]

Ivy, I am in love with your sig, please allow me to marry it.

"BOYS LIKE HIM ALWAYS THINK ABOUT GIRLS LIKE YOU [[ frank iero ]] -- CHP. 7

Just one more day. One more day where things would be the same.

One more day of freedom. One more day free of shame. One more day.

It had been a week.

A week of Frank walking me home. Or walking home with me. A week of sitting next to him. A week's worth of notes sitting in a little black wooden box under my bed.

Under my bed with everything else I knew to hide.

A week until my mother came.

Just one week.

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I sat on the bathroom floor, sponge in hand.

It was important to clean everything before they got there. My mom and my sister Sarah. They're house was always clean. It was always perfect. Me and my dad- ours was comfortable. But I knew and he knew that the second they got there, crosses in hand, that everything would be inspected.

She'd go through everything.

Throw away everything that wasn't right.

It was like that before she left. Well, right at the end. After she lost it. Always going through our things. Throwing our things away.

So I scrubbed all the floors, cleaned the cabinets, did all the laundry and dishes. I threw away what I knew she already would, saving what I wanted.

They were under my bed, hidden. Right against the wall, behind boxes of old things. I knew she wouldn't look there. She never had.

As I scrubbed, I could remember exactly what I had put there.

All the notes from Frank. A tank top that dad had bought me right after we left that would soon be deemed inappropriate. Birthday cards. Emergency money. Poloroids I had taken at school a few days ago.

I liked those poloroids a lot.

Most of them were of Jordan. A couple of me. And one of Frank that I had taken while he wasn't looking while we walked home.

He didn't like it, but I gave him one of me. So it was our deal.

The one of Frank was my favorite one of all.

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"You have bleach on your pants," Frank whispered, leaning over.

I stared down. I did. From cleaning.

I sighed. "I had to clean the whole house. For today."

"What's today?"

I hadn't told him about my mom moving back in. About what was wrong with her. Why she moved out in the first place. About my sister. Jordan knew. But only because she had seen it first hand. Maybe Frank would see it one day.

But then, I figured I'd let fate decide when he'd know. Not now.

"Guests coming over," I muttered.

We sat in the back and the teacher was lecturing. I was half listening. Frank had been half listening too.

We were reading Catcher in the Rye and we had to do a project with a partner. We got to choose. We had to write about what qualities Holden had with everyone. Why he was such a universal character. Find a creative way to express that.

It seemed like a stupid project. I didn't know why we needed two people to do it either.

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"I'm going to call you alphabetically," my teacher said, picking up the roster. She always looked tired, worn out. I guess that's what being a teacher does to you. But beneath those pearly glasses and dye-job hair, I bet she was just like us. A person. "And you say who you want to be your partner."

There was a mad scramble.

Everyone whispering, calling out.

Everyone had their person.

But who would pick me?

My name was one of the last two on the roster. Vernon. Right before Way. I didn't know anybody there except Frank. And there were boys who he sat with now- those misfits that no one else knew either- in that class. He'd pick one of them. Of course he would.

Maybe I could request to do it myself. That'd work. Then I wouldn't end up with a bad partner.

Who would I choose though? If I did get a choice?

Would it be Frank?

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As the teacher kept going, I could feel myself getting more and more nervous. More and more concerned. I didn't want to feel that kind of 'last kid in gym class' rejection. I didn't want to be the last one picked. Though I probably would be...Because no one knew me.

"Iero, Frank."

He looked up from the paper he was writing on, folded it, and handed it to me, hurriedly, while the teacher tapped her foot impatiently. Everyone was staring at him. I figured they would be.

The mysterious Frank Iero. Who would he choose?

Who could the beautiful new boy who never spoke to anyone decide to work with?

Surely it would be one of the other boys like him. The other silent, dark ones. Though they were nothing compared to him.

No one allured like Frank Iero did.

I unfolded it.

I want to work with Bernadette Vernon. She is my first choice. Could she come over to work on the project sometime?

"Bernadette," he said, to the opened mouth students around the class.

I tore off the bottom of my paper.

Of all the people to work with, Frank Iero would be the one I would choose. I could go to his house tomorrow.

My friend, after reading this story, asked me what Bernadette looked like, and I realized I had never really thought about it, so here it goes:
<center>Bernadette
Hair: Medium length, ash brown, wavy
Eyes: Grayish tone, though they can change to green or blue
Height: 4'11"
Weight: around 105
Piercings: One in each ear. (Though she wants two more.)
Other features: Scar over her left eyebrown, freckles across nose and cheeks.
Sense of style?: Whatever's comfortable, and mostly band merchandise.

Yeah, it's pretty typical.
</center>

[imported_playboiprincez]

Love this story also... UPDATE Soon!!!

[IVY LAMHEAD]

Whoo! I'm taller! Haha. ^_^

Anyways, I knew he would pick her. Wink wink. Hahah.

Rightttt, marry my sig. `

[disaster notes.]

Okay, as of now this story is on HIATUS.

I have a lot of person problems right now, and as much as I love love love love love this story (This is my favorite one) it's getting in the way. I've been trying to write an orignal story, and I've been having some problems there.

But I will update this story, eventually, more than likley sometime in January, so...don't give up on it. Come back after New Years.