Poetry Class Part1.

I knew I'd made a horrible call, staring down at the script on my desk. I'd joined this poerty class for poetry, not this lovey-dovey Romeo and Juliet shit. How was this going to help me in anything? I thought, flipping through a couple pages. This isn't even romantic! Let alone intelligable. I let out an exaggerated sigh, aggravating Ms. Chilz who was standing in front of the class, waiting to do her job. Which she obvoiusly wasn't, because this was poerty class, and all I had was this dumb Shakespeare. The class was silent, filled with students in high honors, waiting to be taught a brutal lesson in writing. That's what I was expecting too, when I signed up for this class. "So now that we all have a book, I'll explain what's going on and what we're looking for in this," she explained, snooping her eyes around the room. I sneered, tapping my pen in impatience. "Shakespeare is one of the most amazing authors in history, writing extremely beautiful pieces that we know to this day. We only have enough time in this quarter to work on one part of this story, but it is surely the most famous out of the play. It is the icon of romantic scenes, and we'll be working on preforming this scene, too!" Like I didn't have enough reason to be pushed around in the halls with my dark makeup and skinny jeans, now I was gonna be a wannabe Romeo, oh joy. I crossed my arms, cursing under my breath. "And it's required that you preform in front of everyone in order to pass this class," she noted, making me want to chuck the book at her face. This was not the news I wanted to hear.

"I've already paired you up, so please listen for your name," she announced, pulling the cap off of a squeaky expo marker and jotting down names. I looked around the room, realizing there wasn't a pretty girl for miles. I made a face in defeat. "Holly and Alex, Jen and Dave, Kelly and Joe, Madi and Ben, Tyler and Rob, Jodie and Sam, Gerard and Frank, Angel an-" My head snapped up, a look of confusion etched on my face. "Wait, what?" I asked. Ms. Chilz turned to me, and unamused look on her face. "Is there a problem, Mr. Iero?" "Isn't Gerard a... guys name?" I said awkwardly. She nodded at me, "In Shakespeares time, all parts were played by males, females weren't allowed on stage. As you see, there are more males than females in this class, and I think you and Gerard will work well together," "B-but who'd play Juliet then?" She scoffed, "You'll have to discuss that with your partner," and turned to the board, continuing like nothing had happened. My jaw hung open, broken in shock. "Ugh, I give up," I moaned, burrying my face into my hands.

"Alright, everyone. In your groups!" she chimed. I didn't move from my seat, gripping the book in my hands. A glared coldly at the art on the cover, giving no notice when someone walked up to my desk. "Frank, right?" he asked. I peered up to see him. He was taller than me, with dark hair that hung infront of his hazel eyes. A slightly tight David Bowie tee gripping his flat stomach and skinny jeans clinging to his legs. He wore chuck taylors on his feet, too. I nodded, moving my eyes back to the book (Did I seriously just check him out??). A picture of Romeo and Juliet was printed on the cover, the balcony scene. Romeo clung to the wall, leaning close to his love with gentle eyes. Juliets eyes stared back, hazel orbs of bright adoration, watching Romeo like he was an angel in disguise. "Makes me sick," I stated, dropping the book and letting it slam onto the desk. "Suck it up," he replied. "Look, I'm going to get a good grade on this, and it's a group effort. So if I'm working my ass off-" he said, plopping into the seat beside me, "-then so are you," he added, opening my book and placing it in my hands. I starred back at him in disbelief, not used to be addressed in such a tone, or addressed at all for that matter. He pushed the page into view and I sighed, "Where do I start?" He smiled, opening his book, "Top of the page, Juliet," he snickered. My mouth fell open. "What?! No," I spat, raising my eyebrows in disapproval. "You heard me," he giggled, pushing the page into view. "No way!" I raged. "Then you WORK the Romeo part," he said seriously, "If you don't act, you don't get the part, got it?" I shook my head in shock. "Look, I'm willing to be Juliet if you actually try, otherwise-" "Yeah, yeah, I heard you," I mumbled. He smiled, a tiny laugh escaping his lips. "W-where do we start?" I said, voice muffled by my collar as I sunk as low as possible in my seat. He pointed at my line before leaning into his book. With a sigh, I read, "But soft. What light through yonder window bre- OUCH!" He punched me and I jumped. "What the hell??!" I snapped, rubbing my sore arm. "You suck," he said. "Big deal!" "Whatever you say, Juliet," he mocked. I growled, raising my book to my face.

"But soft, throu- Ow, hey!" He frowned at me. "I'm trying!" I spat. "Well, you don't know what you're doing," he said. "Ya, well this isn't exactly what I was expecting to get out of poetry class. If you're so good, why don't you do it?" I huffed. "I can't act out two parts at once, you dweeb. And it's a combined grade, so learn to act," "But how?" I asked desperately. He sighed, shaking his head. "Ok, well, he's talking about how beautiful Juliet looks, so think of something pretty," he shrugged. I rolled my eyes, "Ya, there isn't too much 'pretty' in here," I scoffed. "Everything has beauty," he stated. "Like what?" "Hmm... Try me," he said with a cocky smile. I crinkled my nose at him, "Yea, no thanks," "C'mon, Frank... or should I say, Juliet?" he giggled. I cringed, turning to him, "Oh, FIIINE," I said reluctantly, rolling my eyes. He straightened up, flashing a cheesy smile at me so I could study his features. He was actually quite handsome, to be honest, although I'd never admit that to him. His pale skin seemed fairly flawless and soft. Black bangs fell in front of his clear, hazel eyes. Was he wearing eyeliner? Looked like it, he had very pretty eyes, very very pretty eyes. His nose was cute, too. His pink lips looked soft as he gently chewed his bottom lip between his tiny teeth. I looked at him again, in a whole new light. His was actually pretty beautiful, even prettier than most girls in this class. Really, really pretty... I rested my chin on my hand with a sigh, still staring at his face.

"Now don't fall for me, sugar," he joked. My cheeks flared and I raised a hand to hide my face, "Pshh, ha, you wish," I grunted, my jaw clenching in embarrasment. He giggled in a way that made my stomach jump and I tried to sink deeper into my seat. "Sit up, pretty boy," he said, grabbing my shoulder and yanking me upright. His hand was warm through my tee shirt. "Don't touch me," I growled, shrugging his hand off me. "Oh, s-sorry," he said, looking down at his book in shame. I glanced over at his nervous expression, almost considering apologizing. I sighed, rolling my shoulders back, before reading. "But soft... What light through yonder breaks?" I said, trying to make my voice reflect mesmorized curiousity. I saw him lift his head with a shocked expression. I glanced over, giving him a smirk, before continuing, "It is the East, and Juliet, o, Juliet is the SUN," He watched me, a grin painted on his lips. I smiled back, "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief," I took in a breath of hope, looking over to him. He nodded enthusiastically, "And I thought you'd be no good," he kidded, leaning over to see my book, "Now, read from here, and look at me now and then this time," he instructed, before sitting back and waiting, eyes glimmering with amusement. I almost blushed, quickly looking down at my script. "What if her eyes were there, they in her head?" I said in a pondering voice, "The brightness of her cheek would SHAME those stars as daylight doth a lamp;" I glanced up to see him watching me, his lips pursed in faint adoration as he rested his face on his hand. "Her eyes in heaven," I said, my heart skipping a beat. What if Juliets' eyes really were heaven, what would Romeo feel? I cleared my throat, my cheeks heating a bit, "would through the airy region stream so bright the birds would sing and think it was not night," whatever that means, I thought to myself. "See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!" I looked up to see Gerard, his chin resting in his palm, fingers on his cheek. My hand found its way to my neck, scratching at a sudden nervous itch, "o, that I were a glove upon that hand... that I might .. touch .. that cheek,"

Gerard gently swung his head in sorrow, his dark bangs casting closer to the right side of his face, revealing emotion-filled hazel eyes. "Ay, me..." he whispered, a voice filled with drama and depth. I ducked my head into my book, blushing, suddenly remembering I had lines. "She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel!" I recited in passion, "for art thou as glorious as this night... being o'er my head, as a winged messenger from heaven unto the white, upturned wond'ring eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, and sails upon the bosom of air," I looked up waiting for him to speak again. He turned to me, looking straight at me, "O, Romeo..." he pouted, saddened eyes longing into my own, "Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo?" he turned from me, tone turning a bit prideful, "Deny thy father and refuse thy name! Or..." his tone was but a whisper, and he was looking at me again, a tiny, shy smile peeking at the side of his pretty little mouth, "if thou wilt not... be but sworn my love... and I'll no longer be a Capulet," his smile widened and eyes filled with a passionate lust that made my throat tighten. "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" I said, almost jumbling my words together but making it out ok. He giggled and I blushed, ducking my head. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interupted by Ms. Chilz. "Ok, everyone, back to your own seats, it's about time to leave," I gave a sigh of releif, closing my book with a snap. "I guess this won' t be as bad as I thought," he said, picking up his book, "You're a good actor. I really like what you did at the end of that first paragraph. Keep that up, it's really believable," he stood, balancing his book under his arm and walked to his seat.

Before I shoved the book into my bag, I quickly flipped it open scanning the page. "See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek," I whispered the lines of the last paragraph to myself. How had I said that? All I remember was him leaning his chin into his hand, not me talking. I gently closed the book, placing it in between my binder and my text book. I shook my head, trying to convince myself it was nothing, that it was the last period of the day, and that I should stop stressing about this lovey-dovey play bullshit and go home. I slung my backpack over my shoulder as the bell rang and I dashed out of the class. The thing was, I didn't consider it a lovey-dovey bullshit play anymore. It was actually an okay story. It was interesting- interesting in the fact that it made me curious about feelings. It really made me rethink things (and people). And it made me really think about those few people that released butterflies in my stomach, and where those butterflies were flitting off to, and if I should try and chase them or was it a lost cause? I put my headphones in, clicking the volume three notches from max, knowing I'd need to crank it more in a minute. I let out a little sigh, sinking into the music, one of the only things that ever made the noise in my head go away. There were people who had the same effect on me, making all that chatter in my mind go away, but they were never there or close enough to realize that I needed them. I clicked the volume to max and double stepped my way home.

I didn't take the bus because... reasons. I was tired of the people on there, that's all, and they weren't all too fond of me anyway, so it worked out well. I tugged the collar of my jacket up to cover my neck from the bitter sting of the early December air that seemed to waft off the Jersey shore just to freeze me to the core. The snow was crisp now, and it soaked into the thin fabric of my scuffed converse. Over and over, I'd catch myself thinking about the play. That stupid play. Why couldn't it be Friday so I could just ignore school altogether? I sighed, hiking up the front steps to my house, fishing the key out of my pocket. "Hi, Frank," my mother greeted, sitting on the couch with a cup of steaming hot cocoa in her hands, "How was your day at school?" I shrugged, dropping my shoes by the door, "It was fine," I lied. In all honesty I didn't know what I thought of the day, I couldn't even pin point a good or bad on it. It was easier just to keep my mouth shut instead of explaining myself. Sometimes, things that happen don't need to be talked about to anyone, and today was a great example of one of those.

"Do you have homework?" she asked, raising her mug to her lips. "Mhm, I'm going to do it now," I nodded, not needing to look to see the shocked expression on her face. "Why?" she asked. I almost laughed, "Do I need a reason to do my homework? I just want a good grade," I lied again. It wasn't entirely a lie, not entirely true. Before anymore could be said, I hiked up the stairs to my room. Then I opened my bag, grabbed my book, and threw myself onto my bed. The binding creaked as I opened it, flipping to the page I'd been practicing. "See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!" I said, sitting up in my bed. Over and over I read it, trying to remember what I'd done to the lines. I wanted to get it perfectly, but my mind wouldn't compute. All that I could think about was him, and it was frustrating. I was at the point of burning the book, coils of tension building in my stomach. I wanted to stop thinking about him, just focus on this stupid script. I just need to act, that's all, what the fuck is wrong with me. I slammed the book shut in my hands, chucking it in my bag.
I stood up and walked to my closet, pulling my guitar off its stand. How come everytime I put this damn thing down, it magically untuned itself? It's not like I minded, I loved to play, and tuning it was just part of the joy. Propping it against my leg, all tuned up, I played. The thing with playing is I don't completely remember it. It's almost my nature, a place I can go to escape the noise of the world. I get lost in the music, I loose track of time, and half the time I don't write down a single note. I just play. Thank god my mom didn't mind. She's always supported me, knowing that my dreams were all based around music. She never shushed me and I think that helped me grow. Sometimes, I would catch her listening to me play when I didn't know it. There's something about music that's in our blood, and I don't think there's any way to obtain or learn what some special musicians have. It's like a spark that we let shine through sound.
I looked up, feeling someone watching me. Mom was leaning against the door, listening. "Didn't take you long to finish your homework, I see," she joked, a smile on her face. I grinned, nodding. "Well, just so you know, it's almost nine, and I'm going to bed," she said strolling to her room. I stood up, putting my guitar back on it's stand, thinking I should get some sleep. I flicked the light off, curling into the warmth of the covers. "Ugh, shut up," I whispered to myself, "You'll see him tomorrow and then you can ask about the play," My dreams had other plans...