Chickens, Crop Hops and Newbs (2/?)
Title: Chickens, Crop Hops and Newbs (2/?)
Author: pretty_paulie
Pairing: Frank/Gerard (eventually)
Rating: PG for this chapter, NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: This is fiction. As far as I know, Frank Iero doesn't live on a farm.
Summary: As a young boy growing up on a secluded mixed farm in rural Virginia, Frank had a thing for baby chicks. Yes, he knew that they would eventually develop into ugly, loud chickens, but he couldn’t help himself. He loved that they were all soft and small, with fluffy wings and adorable black eyes. He loved the way they waddled and they way they hopped awkwardly to him whenever he fed them in his family’s barn.
Warning: Language, Chickens.
Chapter 1
Frank strummed a few chords, the melody lifting from his acoustic guitar into the breeze. The small gust of wind startled him, causing his long bangs to sway, but he continued to move his fingers along the frets.
It was a relatively warm day and the Crop Hop was to start that evening. So as he sat outside in the heat against the red brick wall of the school, he knew he just needed to perfect a song he had just learnt, since he was to play on the main stage at eight o'clock that night.
He practised a lot during the whole week, between school, homework and chores which sucked.
He would show the newbs what the town’s ‘chicken boy’ could actually do… other than hang out with baby chickens. He would show them that he could play some sweet riffs and write some tunes that could melt their fucking faces off…or knock their dentures out. Well, they were all old folks. Anyway, he had nothing better to do at lunch break. So why not play some guitar?
“Hey, Chicken Boy!”
Frank grimaced at name and immediately stopped his playing in the middle of the chord progression. He stared down at his lap, trying to ignore the taunts that he was forced to deal with almost everyday. He could tell it was probably one of the jocks, one of the irritating, country-music loving jocks. Well, if you could call them “jocks”. The school only had a basketball team, badminton team and football team. So probably the proper terminology would be “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”.
“Chicken Boy, fucking listen to me when I talk to you,” shouted the “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”. Frank finally recognised the newb’s voice as fellow classmate Carter Kolibaba.
Frank could not get why Carter was so popular around the school, town and basically the entire community. Carter wasn’t that special, in fact, he was kind of an idiot. Carter was just a few inches taller than Frank and probably had about an extra 100 lbs on him. He had an unfortunate buzz cut which made his face seem twice as huge and he attempted to sport preppy clothes (like there was any clothes that could actually fit him).
Frank found him relatively dumb and found it really fucking weird that Carter tried to impress their classmates by stuffing entire cheeseburgers in his mouth. Come on, this was senior year, not kindergarten. Oh yeah, and Carter was the quarterback of the football team, the rather obese quarterback of the football team, but unfortunately it didn’t mean Carter lacked any muscle.
Frank didn’t look up, he figured that if he ignored Carter, he would just leave Frank alone. But then again, when was Frank ever right? He heard Carter stomping closer towards him. Carter was probably killing all the grass under each footprint due to his tremendous weight.
Oh God.
Frank was still staring at his feet when he noticed another pair of shoes, preppy shoes, almost brushed up against his. Fuck. Procrastinating would only make it worse, so Frank reluctantly rose his head, to get this shit over with already.
Carter sterned down at Frank, sandwich still clenched in his fat fist, staring with hate in his eyes.
Frank attempted to avert his gaze, but great, out of the corner of his eye, he recognised another “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”. The newb ran up to Carter, tapping his shoulder.
“Carter, man. There’s yearbook pictures for the SAC. We can’t have the picture without the school’s president. You can deal with Chicken Boy later.”
Carter still held his threatening stare for awhile, until shrugging and nodding to the other “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”.
“We’ll settle this later, Chicken Boy,” Carter said with hatred clinging onto every last word, as he retreated. He waddled over to the main entrance of the school, following the other newb, laughed at whatever the newb had said, and took another bite of the sandwich which was completely unnecessary.
Come on, there were kids starving in Africa and Carter ate for about four people. This was really starting to get on Frank’s nerves. Carter didn’t care about anyone then himself and well…being a fucking pig. What a fucking fat ass. Why should he have the power and control of Frank? Just because he was bigger than him and had more friends and he was the fucking quarterback…the fucking fat ass quarterback…
This is bullshit, Frank thought. He had enough of this shit.
“This is bullshit, Kolibaba,” Frank said, raising his voice, surprising himself. He definitely didn’t mean to shout it out since it was completely unlike his nature.
Carter appeared almost as shocked as Frank and stopped dead in his tracks. He just stood there, not moving, while the other newb (that called Carter in for the pictures) headed off into the school. When about a minute passed, he finally turned to face Frank.
“Oh yeah, and my name is Frank, not 'Chicken Boy',” Frank finished, pulling himself off the ground, guitar in hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Frank,” Carter answered sarcastically. Carter was about to open the door to the school when a couple girls passed him. Seeing an opportunity to humiliate Frank even more, he turned around and shouted: “Guess what I had for lunch today, Chicken Boy?”
Carter marched past the girls, throwing them a wink, and walked up to where Frank stood.
The girls stopped giggling to watch what Carter would do next since it was so entertaining to watch Frank get beat up.
Frank suddenly felt his confidence level fall.
“Your little friends! A fucking chicken sandwich! You freak!” Carter shouted, taking a few paces closer to Frank and whipping his sandwich in Frank’s face.
“There, you have your friends now,” snarled Carter, while the girls giggled and pointed at the bread stuck in Frank’s hair. Carter and the girls' laughter died off as Carter slammed the school doors.
Frank tossed his guitar to the ground, frowned and leaned against the wall feeling like complete shit.
*
The rest of the day, Frank tried to ignore the giggles that surrounded him. Especially when it was announced over the loudspeaker during last class of the day that there was to be a late entry in the Crop Hop Parade on Saturday and it would be “great” if any of the students would like to ride the Chicken Plant’s float and throw out candy. Of course, the kids had to find an opportunity to tease Frank again so they insisted that he should volunteer since it was “the Chicken Parade and for the Chicken Plant and since Frank was the Chicken Boy…” What idiotic newbs.
Yes, the town had a Chicken Plant, where they killed and processed chicken and would eventually ship the chicken out to stupid franchises like KFC or McDonalds or other mutli-national fast food chains. That Chicken Plant employed a good percentage of the town and a few surrounding towns, even Frank’s mom worked there part time.
Frank hated that his mom worked at the Chicken Plant. It seemed like nobody cared about how the chickens were cruelly treated and killed. Nobody cared about vegetarianism either and nobody accepted that Frank would not eat the town’s famous fried chicken. The whole town thought he was really weird, not like he cared. But still…if he could get the fuck out of there, he would.
The bus bell rang signifying the end of the school day. It was also for the farm kids, notifying them to catch their buses. It rang five minutes before the town bell rang dismissing the town kids, so there was only a limited amount of time to catch the bus.
Frank dashed out of the classroom to his locker, only to hear the teacher reminding the other students to “get down to that Crop Hop tonight because it’s going to be fantastic!”. Yeah right, Frank rolled his eyes.
Just as Frank slammed his locker door and was headed down the hallway to pick up his guitar at the music room, the loudspeaker came on, announcing that Frank Iero was to please come down to the office, immediately.
Shit. He only had enough time to grab his guitar and get to the bus, how could they expect him to go to the office too?
Aggravated, Frank quickly ran down the hallway to the music room, which was conveniently on the opposite end of the school. He tried to avoid knocking over a few kids as he rounded a corner, the music room in clear view. He snatched his guitar case that leaned against the music room down. He stopped to catch to breath and then ran all the way down the hallway again.
Office newbs were going to make his miss his damn bus! Didn’t they know he lived 22 miles away from town?
Frank ran down the hallway, trying not to bump other kids with his guitar case and finally rushed through the office door, panting.
Well, just GREAT. The office was busy, packed with ten other students and some kid that Frank didn’t know. Wait. He knew the other kids were students (it was a small school), but this kid looked like he didn’t fit into the town’s status quo at all.
The kid was pretty skinny, had sandy colored hair and was slouched over in a chair that the school had for visitors. He was dressed really differently from the other kids, with tight black jeans, a black hoody that read: “Clandestine”, and black and white plastic framed glasses. He looked extremely bored, until he pulled out his Sidekick and would smile at whatever messages he received.
Frank decided that staring at the stranger was just fucking weird and gay (well, he was bi-sexual, but he didn’t find the kid that attractive), so he waited impatiently behind the other kids, tapping his shoe nervously on the floor. Fuck, he was going to miss the damn bus. Frank fidgeted, hoping to get the secretary’s attention, but no such luck.
He turned around to face the window, checking on the busses. Fuck! The first bus was already leaving! Frank’s bus was the third bus. His mom would give him hell if she had to drive into town to pick him up. He really wished he was allowed to drive to school, but his mom told him that why should he drive in when there were busses? The main point was she didn’t want to waste money on gas when he could just catch the bus.
“Uh, excuse me-” Frank started, waving his free hand that wasn’t weighed down by the guitar to get the secretary’s attention. The other students were still in the way. He jerked his head to window to check on the busses again. DAMN IT! The second bus was starting to pull away from the curb.
Frank attempted to push a short nerdy kid out of the way, only to end up elbowing a “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb” on the back. Shit. Oh well, he didn’t really care if he’d get beat up on Monday. He just couldn’t miss his bus!
“Watch it, Chicken Boy,” muttered the newb, under his breath, elbowing Frank back.
Fuck it! This was getting nowhere. Fed up with everything, Frank shouted to the secretary over the other kids’ heads: “Mrs. Seidlick? I’m going to miss my bus! Why was I called down to the office? Was there a message?”
The students that were surrounding Frank, glared at him and Mrs. Seidlick just answered nonchalantly, “Hold on Chicken Bo- I mean, Frank. I’m very busy right now.” She continued to rummage through some pages, picked one out, and then handed it to some kid.
Frank turned back to the window, nervously, only to find that his bus was pulling away. “My bus!” Frank cried out as he stared at the buses all heading out, feeling like newb or something else that was stupid.
How was he supposed to perform tonight? He needed his electric and that was at home too. He needed to see the baby chicks and feed them. Oh God, what if his mom didn’t feed them? Oh well, at least he had his acoustic guitar in the music room. As for the baby chicks, he could just hope his mom would realise Frank missed the bus and then she would have to feed Frank’s birds. Well, she was supposed to gather the eggs from the coop, but she usually left the feeding of the chicks to Frank… what else could go wrong?
Oh great. Frank smacked his forehead against his hand. He had just remembered. His mom’s friend Donna and her family were supposed to come down tonight too. Great. Just fucking great. He sighed over dramatically, disappointment written all over his face.
“Hey, did she say your name was Frank?”
Frank whipped his head around to the direction where the question arose. It was the kid with the glasses and the Sidekick, he was no longer sprawled out on the chair, but towering over Frank. Whoa, tall kid.
“Yeah, I’m Frank Iero,” Frank answered suspiciously, eyeing the kid like he was some kind of murderer.
Frank eyed the could-be murderer. How could he know his name? What the hell was going on?
“Frank!” called out Mrs. Seidlick, distracting him from the could-be murderer. “Your mother called. Said she sent some family friend to pick you up so you wouldn’t have to go on the bus,” she announced, reading a slip of paper that most likely had the details written on it. “It’s says his name is Mikey, Mikey Way?” she said, bringing to slip of paper closer to her eyes so she wouldn't have to squint.
Frank just shrugged. He didn’t know who the hell Mikey Way was.
“Strange name. Must be from the city or least Charlottesville...” she murmured to herself, and then glanced up at Frank.
“New Jersey, actually,” came the answer.
Frank and Mrs. Seidlick and the rest of the kids in the office whipped their heads around wondering where the answer came from, all eyes leading to the could-be murderer.
“New Jersey?” asked Mrs. Seidlick and the kids in awe, like it was some foreign place like Dubai or something.
Frank sighed in annoyance at the gaping newbs and rolled his eyes. How could they not know where New Jersey was? The Misfits were from New Jersey…Wait, but that didn’t explain who the could-be murderer was. Frank turned away from the newbs, raising his eyebrows in question at the could-be murderer, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah,” the could-be murderer answered the kids and Mrs. Seidlick. He looked very un-impressed. He then turned to Frank and said, “I’m Mikey Way and I’m here to rescue you from these newbs. Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” Frank paused, while glancing back at the newbs. “Hell fucking yeah,” Frank grinned, as he and Mikey left the office leaving Mrs. Seidlick and the rest of the kids staring in amazement.
A/N: Wow. Thanks for reading you guys! I never knew people would be so accepting towards my 'weird' fic idea. The next update with be in a few days. <3
next chapter
Author: pretty_paulie
Pairing: Frank/Gerard (eventually)
Rating: PG for this chapter, NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: This is fiction. As far as I know, Frank Iero doesn't live on a farm.
Summary: As a young boy growing up on a secluded mixed farm in rural Virginia, Frank had a thing for baby chicks. Yes, he knew that they would eventually develop into ugly, loud chickens, but he couldn’t help himself. He loved that they were all soft and small, with fluffy wings and adorable black eyes. He loved the way they waddled and they way they hopped awkwardly to him whenever he fed them in his family’s barn.
Warning: Language, Chickens.
Chapter 1
Frank strummed a few chords, the melody lifting from his acoustic guitar into the breeze. The small gust of wind startled him, causing his long bangs to sway, but he continued to move his fingers along the frets.
It was a relatively warm day and the Crop Hop was to start that evening. So as he sat outside in the heat against the red brick wall of the school, he knew he just needed to perfect a song he had just learnt, since he was to play on the main stage at eight o'clock that night.
He practised a lot during the whole week, between school, homework and chores which sucked.
He would show the newbs what the town’s ‘chicken boy’ could actually do… other than hang out with baby chickens. He would show them that he could play some sweet riffs and write some tunes that could melt their fucking faces off…or knock their dentures out. Well, they were all old folks. Anyway, he had nothing better to do at lunch break. So why not play some guitar?
“Hey, Chicken Boy!”
Frank grimaced at name and immediately stopped his playing in the middle of the chord progression. He stared down at his lap, trying to ignore the taunts that he was forced to deal with almost everyday. He could tell it was probably one of the jocks, one of the irritating, country-music loving jocks. Well, if you could call them “jocks”. The school only had a basketball team, badminton team and football team. So probably the proper terminology would be “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”.
“Chicken Boy, fucking listen to me when I talk to you,” shouted the “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”. Frank finally recognised the newb’s voice as fellow classmate Carter Kolibaba.
Frank could not get why Carter was so popular around the school, town and basically the entire community. Carter wasn’t that special, in fact, he was kind of an idiot. Carter was just a few inches taller than Frank and probably had about an extra 100 lbs on him. He had an unfortunate buzz cut which made his face seem twice as huge and he attempted to sport preppy clothes (like there was any clothes that could actually fit him).
Frank found him relatively dumb and found it really fucking weird that Carter tried to impress their classmates by stuffing entire cheeseburgers in his mouth. Come on, this was senior year, not kindergarten. Oh yeah, and Carter was the quarterback of the football team, the rather obese quarterback of the football team, but unfortunately it didn’t mean Carter lacked any muscle.
Frank didn’t look up, he figured that if he ignored Carter, he would just leave Frank alone. But then again, when was Frank ever right? He heard Carter stomping closer towards him. Carter was probably killing all the grass under each footprint due to his tremendous weight.
Oh God.
Frank was still staring at his feet when he noticed another pair of shoes, preppy shoes, almost brushed up against his. Fuck. Procrastinating would only make it worse, so Frank reluctantly rose his head, to get this shit over with already.
Carter sterned down at Frank, sandwich still clenched in his fat fist, staring with hate in his eyes.
Frank attempted to avert his gaze, but great, out of the corner of his eye, he recognised another “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”. The newb ran up to Carter, tapping his shoulder.
“Carter, man. There’s yearbook pictures for the SAC. We can’t have the picture without the school’s president. You can deal with Chicken Boy later.”
Carter still held his threatening stare for awhile, until shrugging and nodding to the other “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb”.
“We’ll settle this later, Chicken Boy,” Carter said with hatred clinging onto every last word, as he retreated. He waddled over to the main entrance of the school, following the other newb, laughed at whatever the newb had said, and took another bite of the sandwich which was completely unnecessary.
Come on, there were kids starving in Africa and Carter ate for about four people. This was really starting to get on Frank’s nerves. Carter didn’t care about anyone then himself and well…being a fucking pig. What a fucking fat ass. Why should he have the power and control of Frank? Just because he was bigger than him and had more friends and he was the fucking quarterback…the fucking fat ass quarterback…
This is bullshit, Frank thought. He had enough of this shit.
“This is bullshit, Kolibaba,” Frank said, raising his voice, surprising himself. He definitely didn’t mean to shout it out since it was completely unlike his nature.
Carter appeared almost as shocked as Frank and stopped dead in his tracks. He just stood there, not moving, while the other newb (that called Carter in for the pictures) headed off into the school. When about a minute passed, he finally turned to face Frank.
“Oh yeah, and my name is Frank, not 'Chicken Boy',” Frank finished, pulling himself off the ground, guitar in hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Frank,” Carter answered sarcastically. Carter was about to open the door to the school when a couple girls passed him. Seeing an opportunity to humiliate Frank even more, he turned around and shouted: “Guess what I had for lunch today, Chicken Boy?”
Carter marched past the girls, throwing them a wink, and walked up to where Frank stood.
The girls stopped giggling to watch what Carter would do next since it was so entertaining to watch Frank get beat up.
Frank suddenly felt his confidence level fall.
“Your little friends! A fucking chicken sandwich! You freak!” Carter shouted, taking a few paces closer to Frank and whipping his sandwich in Frank’s face.
“There, you have your friends now,” snarled Carter, while the girls giggled and pointed at the bread stuck in Frank’s hair. Carter and the girls' laughter died off as Carter slammed the school doors.
Frank tossed his guitar to the ground, frowned and leaned against the wall feeling like complete shit.
*
The rest of the day, Frank tried to ignore the giggles that surrounded him. Especially when it was announced over the loudspeaker during last class of the day that there was to be a late entry in the Crop Hop Parade on Saturday and it would be “great” if any of the students would like to ride the Chicken Plant’s float and throw out candy. Of course, the kids had to find an opportunity to tease Frank again so they insisted that he should volunteer since it was “the Chicken Parade and for the Chicken Plant and since Frank was the Chicken Boy…” What idiotic newbs.
Yes, the town had a Chicken Plant, where they killed and processed chicken and would eventually ship the chicken out to stupid franchises like KFC or McDonalds or other mutli-national fast food chains. That Chicken Plant employed a good percentage of the town and a few surrounding towns, even Frank’s mom worked there part time.
Frank hated that his mom worked at the Chicken Plant. It seemed like nobody cared about how the chickens were cruelly treated and killed. Nobody cared about vegetarianism either and nobody accepted that Frank would not eat the town’s famous fried chicken. The whole town thought he was really weird, not like he cared. But still…if he could get the fuck out of there, he would.
The bus bell rang signifying the end of the school day. It was also for the farm kids, notifying them to catch their buses. It rang five minutes before the town bell rang dismissing the town kids, so there was only a limited amount of time to catch the bus.
Frank dashed out of the classroom to his locker, only to hear the teacher reminding the other students to “get down to that Crop Hop tonight because it’s going to be fantastic!”. Yeah right, Frank rolled his eyes.
Just as Frank slammed his locker door and was headed down the hallway to pick up his guitar at the music room, the loudspeaker came on, announcing that Frank Iero was to please come down to the office, immediately.
Shit. He only had enough time to grab his guitar and get to the bus, how could they expect him to go to the office too?
Aggravated, Frank quickly ran down the hallway to the music room, which was conveniently on the opposite end of the school. He tried to avoid knocking over a few kids as he rounded a corner, the music room in clear view. He snatched his guitar case that leaned against the music room down. He stopped to catch to breath and then ran all the way down the hallway again.
Office newbs were going to make his miss his damn bus! Didn’t they know he lived 22 miles away from town?
Frank ran down the hallway, trying not to bump other kids with his guitar case and finally rushed through the office door, panting.
Well, just GREAT. The office was busy, packed with ten other students and some kid that Frank didn’t know. Wait. He knew the other kids were students (it was a small school), but this kid looked like he didn’t fit into the town’s status quo at all.
The kid was pretty skinny, had sandy colored hair and was slouched over in a chair that the school had for visitors. He was dressed really differently from the other kids, with tight black jeans, a black hoody that read: “Clandestine”, and black and white plastic framed glasses. He looked extremely bored, until he pulled out his Sidekick and would smile at whatever messages he received.
Frank decided that staring at the stranger was just fucking weird and gay (well, he was bi-sexual, but he didn’t find the kid that attractive), so he waited impatiently behind the other kids, tapping his shoe nervously on the floor. Fuck, he was going to miss the damn bus. Frank fidgeted, hoping to get the secretary’s attention, but no such luck.
He turned around to face the window, checking on the busses. Fuck! The first bus was already leaving! Frank’s bus was the third bus. His mom would give him hell if she had to drive into town to pick him up. He really wished he was allowed to drive to school, but his mom told him that why should he drive in when there were busses? The main point was she didn’t want to waste money on gas when he could just catch the bus.
“Uh, excuse me-” Frank started, waving his free hand that wasn’t weighed down by the guitar to get the secretary’s attention. The other students were still in the way. He jerked his head to window to check on the busses again. DAMN IT! The second bus was starting to pull away from the curb.
Frank attempted to push a short nerdy kid out of the way, only to end up elbowing a “thick-headed-sport-fanatic-country-music-loving-fucking-stupid newb” on the back. Shit. Oh well, he didn’t really care if he’d get beat up on Monday. He just couldn’t miss his bus!
“Watch it, Chicken Boy,” muttered the newb, under his breath, elbowing Frank back.
Fuck it! This was getting nowhere. Fed up with everything, Frank shouted to the secretary over the other kids’ heads: “Mrs. Seidlick? I’m going to miss my bus! Why was I called down to the office? Was there a message?”
The students that were surrounding Frank, glared at him and Mrs. Seidlick just answered nonchalantly, “Hold on Chicken Bo- I mean, Frank. I’m very busy right now.” She continued to rummage through some pages, picked one out, and then handed it to some kid.
Frank turned back to the window, nervously, only to find that his bus was pulling away. “My bus!” Frank cried out as he stared at the buses all heading out, feeling like newb or something else that was stupid.
How was he supposed to perform tonight? He needed his electric and that was at home too. He needed to see the baby chicks and feed them. Oh God, what if his mom didn’t feed them? Oh well, at least he had his acoustic guitar in the music room. As for the baby chicks, he could just hope his mom would realise Frank missed the bus and then she would have to feed Frank’s birds. Well, she was supposed to gather the eggs from the coop, but she usually left the feeding of the chicks to Frank… what else could go wrong?
Oh great. Frank smacked his forehead against his hand. He had just remembered. His mom’s friend Donna and her family were supposed to come down tonight too. Great. Just fucking great. He sighed over dramatically, disappointment written all over his face.
“Hey, did she say your name was Frank?”
Frank whipped his head around to the direction where the question arose. It was the kid with the glasses and the Sidekick, he was no longer sprawled out on the chair, but towering over Frank. Whoa, tall kid.
“Yeah, I’m Frank Iero,” Frank answered suspiciously, eyeing the kid like he was some kind of murderer.
Frank eyed the could-be murderer. How could he know his name? What the hell was going on?
“Frank!” called out Mrs. Seidlick, distracting him from the could-be murderer. “Your mother called. Said she sent some family friend to pick you up so you wouldn’t have to go on the bus,” she announced, reading a slip of paper that most likely had the details written on it. “It’s says his name is Mikey, Mikey Way?” she said, bringing to slip of paper closer to her eyes so she wouldn't have to squint.
Frank just shrugged. He didn’t know who the hell Mikey Way was.
“Strange name. Must be from the city or least Charlottesville...” she murmured to herself, and then glanced up at Frank.
“New Jersey, actually,” came the answer.
Frank and Mrs. Seidlick and the rest of the kids in the office whipped their heads around wondering where the answer came from, all eyes leading to the could-be murderer.
“New Jersey?” asked Mrs. Seidlick and the kids in awe, like it was some foreign place like Dubai or something.
Frank sighed in annoyance at the gaping newbs and rolled his eyes. How could they not know where New Jersey was? The Misfits were from New Jersey…Wait, but that didn’t explain who the could-be murderer was. Frank turned away from the newbs, raising his eyebrows in question at the could-be murderer, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah,” the could-be murderer answered the kids and Mrs. Seidlick. He looked very un-impressed. He then turned to Frank and said, “I’m Mikey Way and I’m here to rescue you from these newbs. Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” Frank paused, while glancing back at the newbs. “Hell fucking yeah,” Frank grinned, as he and Mikey left the office leaving Mrs. Seidlick and the rest of the kids staring in amazement.
A/N: Wow. Thanks for reading you guys! I never knew people would be so accepting towards my 'weird' fic idea. The next update with be in a few days. <3
next chapter