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Chapter Four.
November drafts settled between the walls of Pency Prep, resulting in a slew of headcolds among the students. Thanksgiving drew near, and most rooms could be found vacated for the long weekend. Such was not the case of 707. Both boys had decided to stay at school over the holiday. On a particularly cold and quiet evening, Mikey sat up on his bed, reading a book for his British Literature class. Gerard stood in front of the lone mirror, adjusting the tie hanging crookedly off his neck. He could barely conceal how badly his hands were shaking. From the radio unit in the corner, the "bleak-pop" tunes of Morrissey loudly filled the room. The Smiths were the first band on both of their "favorites" lists, something that, mutually, was quite a relief.
"So, where are you going?" Mikey asked idly over the music.
"What?"
"I said, 'Where are you going?' " he repeated.
"Helena's." replied Gerard as the tie finally lay straight. "She's having a party-thing. God, I'm so ******** nervous..." He ran a comb through his long dark hair.
"There'll be alcohol, I suppose?" said Mikey.
Gerard paused for a second, then resumed the frantic grooming of his hair. "Look," he said, turning to Mikey and waving the comb at him, "Just because I had a hangover and was a hardass when I met you - and that was partly your fault, by the way, 'cause you showed up at, like, eight in the ******** morning - but, just 'cause I was seriously hung over then, and my drinking habits are what the teachers say is what's keeping me back these last few years, doesn't mean I'm going to drink at Helena's tonight."
The two boys stared at each other for a minute, Gerard brandishing his comb like a sword; Mikey wearing a blank expression with his eyebrows slightly raised. They held straight faces as long as they could, but soon dissolved into raucous laughter. The tension between them had only really lasted a day or two. They balanced each other well - Mikey would be embarrassed to even think most of what came flying unabashadly from Gerard's mouth. Gerard's visual aids, when explaining things, looked straight out of Frank Miller or Alan Lee's studio; Mikey's usually ended up looking like a "hangman" war.
After a last reassurance that he wouldn't drink, and a lot of physical pushing on Mikey's part, Gerard finally left for the "party-thing" at Helena's. Mikey watched him, through their windows, walk across the darkening lawn and shook his head. One of the few introverted points of Gerard's personality centered around this mystery girl. Somehow he had, at one point, convinced Gerard to draw a picture of her, after listening to an hour and a half-long analysis of a two-minute conversation they'd had in the library between classes. The portrait now stood vigil in the top desk drawer. Mikey pulled it out of Gerard's desk and took a good look at the face staring back at him. She is very pretty, he thought. I can see why he likes her so much. I hope he's just... himself tonight, and says one of those lines of his and then I'll get to hear all about it 'til Christmas.
Mikey put the drawing of Helena back in its place in Gerard's drawer. He turned around, surveying the room, and trying to decide what to do. His eyes fell on the mirror. There was that thin, bespeckled face he hid behind. He sighed. Why didn't he have any talents? He couldn't draw, didn't even want to know what kind of a singing voice he had (if he had one at all), hated sports, wasn't bright enough to be one of "the smart kids", wasn't very attractive... He ran through the full list in his head, coming to the conclusion that he was just this thin, extraordinarily awkward kid with glasses, whose sole redeeming attribute was that he could kind of play bass guitar. Not well enough to be in a band or anything - just well enough to tell people that he could play.
There was a very sudden bang on the door, which made Mikey jump. Something heavy had evidentally used his door as a crashmat. Tentatively, he opened the door. It swung open as far as the chain lock would allow, with the weight of the two people pressed against it. They seemed very intent on pressing out every last air bubble between them. Mikey stood there, wondering how it always managed to happen to him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. The couple didn't notice. Over top of their heads, Mikey saw the outline of Carla Russ, that very attractive and very intelligent girl from his chemistry class. She was walking his way, staring disgustedly at Mikey's new door decorations. His throat tightened. Tearing an entire chapter from Gerard's book, he toook a deep breath and undid the chain lock.
The door flew inward, and the couple seperated as they tumbled to the floor. The girl screamed, and so did Carla. Mikey hurridly tore his glasses off and threw them down the space between his bed and the wall. There were a few seconds of confusion, but then he and Carla descended on the fallen students, unaware the other was doing the same.
Profuse apologies were made, mostly by Mikey, who blamed the whole fiasco on the fact that he couldn't find his glasses. Though they were blurry, he did make out the faces of the couple: it was Sonny and Coleen. They were freshmen, too, and were unofficially going for the record for "Most Time Spent Physically Attached To One's Significant Other". They moved on down the hall in the general direction of Sonny's room as Mikey squinted after them.
"What's the problem? Can't see?" came a voice at his shoulder. Carla! He'd completely forgotten about her, and she was the reason he'd caused this whole nonsense to begin with. He felt his throat tighten again, on this time it was accompanied by a burning sensation around the tops of his ears.
"Err... yeah. I, uh... can't find my glasses." he muttered.
"Would you like some help looking for them? Where was the last place you remember wearing them? And don't say "my face", 'cause that's just cheeky."
"Err..."
"Not very articulate, are we? Oh, well. I bet they woke you up or something, right? Sure would've woken me up if this was my room."
"Were." Mikey's brain, or the grammatically-inclined part of it, anyway, snapped to attention.
"Excuse me?"
"If this were my room. You said 'was' instead."
Carla mulled this over for a second, smiling. "You know? You're right. Thanks."
"Anytime." He was feeling a little more relaxed now, but still had no idea where he was going with this.
"So..." Carla started slowly, "Do you... need help finding your glasses or... are you ok?"
The lightbulb in Mikey's brain shorted out the fuse box. Drawing himself up out of his slouch to his full height, he responded with more confidence in his gut than he'd ever felt in his life up until now. "Yeah. Sure. Do you mind? I mean, I'd be fine, and it is kind of late - I hate to ask you to stay out this late on my account, except I can't really... well... see. I can't see what I'm looking for, so that kinda makes things, hehe, difficult, you know?"
"Aww! Hey, no problem." she said as she followed him into his room.
Mikey shot a silent prayer of thanks - first, up to the ceiling, and then out the window to Gerard - as he and Carla scoured the dorm for his "missing" glasses.
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