The sky was a clear blue and the air was cool. The first signs of spring were showing, even though it was only late February. Daffodil stems were already growing along the edge of the football field where Gerard and Danny were shooting balls at Jared, who was stood in the goal. The competition season was drawing closer and they were practicing harder than ever, especially Jared, who was a new student that year and had only been goalkeeping for two years, needed the most training of them all. He managed to block most of Danny's balls but had more difficulty with Gerard's, who was team captain and best striker of the team. Gerard kicked the ball almost gracefully and landed the ball with a neat swerve in the goal. Jared lay on the grass, defeated.

"Nice one, Gerard!" called Danny, who admired his captain a lot. He was still a freshman, like Gerard's little brother, but he had shown so much skill and talent during break one autumn day at the beginning of the year, that Gerard had convinced the Coach to let him play on the team. Danny was forever grateful and was determined not to let Gerard or the Coach down.

"Thanks, Dan!" Gerard grinned at him, knowing it was a great shot, and landed another through Jared's legs this time and into the goal.

"Come on, Leto! Amateur's mistake!" Roared the Coach from across the pitch into his favourite microphone. It was decorated with slogans like 'go Tigers!' and 'failure is not an option.' The slogans had seemed to work after all, since the Tigers had only lost one game last season and had proceeded to win the cup.

"Hey, Gerard! Over here!" called Mike. Only Gerard was allowed to call him Mike and Coach Pedicone made that extremely clear to the rest of the team. He said it was because Gerard was captain and all, but they all knew Pedicone favoured Gerard. It was to no one's surprise, because Gerard was a brilliant player and had scored the most goals for the past three years he'd been on the team. He had also started as a freshman, like Danny.

Gerard jogged coolly over to his Coach, already grinning, as if he knew what Mike was going to tell him. He did, of course, but he needn't let his Coach know that. It was the talk of the school and most of the town, anyway. This year, victory would be his.

"You know you've got a big season coming up, right, Gerard?" Mike stated, slapping Gerard's sweaty back. "Well, if you don't blow it, there's a lovely shiny scholarship waiting for you." He winked, as if sharing classified information, which is pretty much was, or was supposed to be.

Trying his hardest not to show he'd known all along that the scholarship would be his this year, he beamed at the Coach, "I won't let you down. You can bet on it!"

He ran back to where Danny was bent over Jared, who was pretending to die dramatically in his goal. He signaled to them that practice was over and the trio went to the changing rooms on the other side of the field near the school.

Gerard couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. That scholarship would be his, finally. He had done everything in his power to earn it, and not just to receive it because his competitor was terminated. Each year the senior captain got this scholarship and the townsfolk had to pretend they weren't surprised at the choice. Everyone had expected it to be Sam, but he got injured in a particularly violent match at the beginning of the school year and would probably never walk again. Gerard became the new captain after they heard the news that Sam would be in hospital for at least three months. He was out of hospital now, but was being home-schooled until he became more independent and the school had built ramps for his wheelchair.

Danny had rushed home after he got dressed, leaving Gerard and Jared in the changing rooms discussing tactics for the upcoming season. Toweling off, they talked about pretty much anything from how hot Katy looked in that mini skirt today or the grotesque amount of homework they had this week. Jared had only just started this year, but they were already firm friends.

"Look man, all you've gotta do is make sure you have contact with me. I'll tell the other players what to do. You've then got only half a goal to defend," Gerard explained, making a goal with hand gestures. "Walls aren't that hard. Just gotta stand in the right place, see where the ball is and if you read the body language of the striker, you can easily tell where the ball will end up, okay?"

Jared nodded uneasily. He was a brilliant player, but making walls was difficult for him. Gerard knew it was difficult so he tried his best to help Jared any time he could. Which was why he was captain, naturally.

Gerard threw a T-shirt over his head and buckled his belt. Throwing his bag with his football gear over his shoulder, he left with Jared on his heels.

"Cafeteria's shut now. D'you wanna take a pizza or – ?" Gerard asked.

"Nah, I gotta get home. It's, like, gone seven. And we're having stew, and Mom murders me whenever I miss her stew."

Watching Jared turn the left corner, Gerard wished he had someone else who would come with him to take out a pizza. He walked home alone, switching the blue and gold bag from one shoulder to the other. He was still wearing his blue and gold letter jacket. He enjoyed wearing it. That way people could see he was on the team and was heading for greatness. That way people knew he was the one of only about three students in the senior class who would actually leave the state to study. He was going to get the scholarship and he was going to get out of here. Out of Belleville, out of New Jersey, out of his mundane life. The same life every teenager in Belleville lived until they became whatever their fathers or mothers did. They'd end up working in an office or having children who would end up being exactly as boring as they were. Not Gerard. Gerard was getting out and it would happen soon.

"Oh, my God, honey," was all Gerard could hear over the sound of his mother smothering him. "I'm so proud of you," he picked up too and when he finally freed himself from his mother's iron grip, he saw his little brother smiling up at him from the dinner table. Mikey was proud of him, too. Even though he never showed much emotion on his face most of the time, right now it was totally obvious he was very happy. His smile was adorable, Gerard thought. Mikey and he were really close even though they were four years apart. Mikey was smart though, so he was moved up a year and now went to Belleville High School, too.

"Just wait until I tell your father!" Oh, Gerard!" She squealed and pulled her eldest into another bone breaking hug.

"I've not won it yet. Calm down, Mom," said Gerard, wrestling his way out of his mother's arms and sitting down at the table next to Mikey.

"Oh, but you will. I'm sure of it," she replied, petting his hair affectionately and rubbing his shoulders before going back into the kitchen.

"Mom, what's for dinner?" asked Mikey, jotting down a few more equations into his workbook.

"You just asked that, sweetheart. Do I have to repeat everything ten times?"

"But Gerard doesn't know yet and I forgot," Mikey sounded hurt. He stared down at his workbook full of failed attempts at graphing functions. Looking at his brother, he asked if he'd help him because he didn't understand quadratic functions at all or how to find the maximum if a function was given. He just couldn't do it. Gerard moved his chair closer and put his arm round his little brother and took his pencil in his other hand and showed him exactly which numbers to divide by what. Giving up, Mikey shoved his book away saying he'd never get it anyway.

"Mikey, come on, you've just gotta look past all the stupid numbers and just do it, okay? So, to get the maximum, just divide the second number in the equation, the b, by twice the first number in the equation, the a. Come on, this shit is easy peasy pumpkin peasy," Gerard tried. "Look, I'll write it down for you," he scribbled the sums down and told Mikey to use that sum for every time he needed the maximum and left him to it for a while. Going into the kitchen, he smelled the familiar scent of homemade pizza.

"Smells good, Mom," said Gerard, sneaking some cheese out of the bowl, licking his fingers. "By the way, when's Dad home?"

"Should be in about," she paused checking her watch, "five minutes. Could you lay the table, honey?"

"Sure, Mom," he answered. "Mikey, clear that shit off the table, we're gonna eat!"

At that moment Gerard's father walked in the door, putting his suitcase down and greeting his wife with a warm hug. Donna struggled to get out of his arms and rushed over to Gerard and grabbing his arm gesturing wildly for him to tell him his story.

"Well, Dad, I might get a scholarship this year," he grinned sheepishly while his mother gushed and beamed everywhere. His dad hung his coat up and strode over to Gerard and pulling him into a tight hug.

"I'm so proud of you, son," he said, meaning it. Gerard stood there, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to tell his Dad he hadn't exactly won the scholarship yet and that he still needed to win the season, but that was no problem at all because Gerard was a great player and they just needed to train Jared just a bit more, but it was all going to work out fine.

Out of breath, Gerard plodded back onto his seat next to Mikey, who was sat staring at his placemat with utmost concentration as if it held the answers to all life's questions. Gerard saw a small tear escape from the corner of his eye before his Mom placed their pizza's in front of them, demanding they eat quickly before it all got cold. Promising himself he'd talk to his brother later, Gerard started to practically inhale his pizza. He hadn't noticed how hungry he'd gotten when he was outside. He barely ate anything at school anyway, because the cafeteria food was absolutely disgusting and the general store was too far away to get some sandwiches from during break.

The dinner passed with constant enquiries from his mother about the upcoming competition and encouraging cheers from his father in between bites that he was 'going to show them' and 'kick their asses' and lots more along the lines of that. All conversation at the dinner table was always about his football. Gerard didn't mind at all, but when he saw Mikey staring at his pizza as if caught in a marijuana induced stupor, his grin faltered. After finishing his pizza and announcing he didn't want pudding, Gerard went up to his room and he saw Mikey quickly following suit. Clearly he had understood the brotherly 'we need to talk' eyebrow gestures Gerard had been making for approximately half an hour.

Mikey sat on the bed, wiping his eyes and staring up at Gerard. It wasn't like he wasn't proud of his brother or that he thought he didn't deserve the praise he got. He loved his brother and was convinced he was going to make it big one day. He was going to be a star. The only thing bothering him was the fact that Gerard was the only one ever to have someone be proud of him. Mikey never had that. He never had anything that he was particularly good at never mind how hard he tried. He felt he'd never be good enough, at least not as good as Gerard. Not good enough to receive praise from his parents instead of them acting like he didn't exist most of the time.

Having recounted this all to Gerard for the first time in his life, he didn't know if he was supposed to feel better or to curl up in a ball and hope he disappeared forever. His skin crawled with the knowledge that Gerard was simply staring at him, previously unaware of the inner torment Mikey was going through and now utterly perplexed as if the thought of his little brother wanting perhaps an atom worth of attention from his parents, was completely ridiculous.

"Mikes, I – " Gerard started, seemingly at loss for words. "I had no idea," he finished.

"Well, you wouldn't. You're so busy with your football and your girlfriends and your schoolwork and – Gerard, you always manage it. You always, always manage. I have the physical condition of a koala. I'm not intelligent, I have no hobbies, and no friends, and no girlfriends, and I just can't do it. Everything is just so easy for you, Gerard."

They sat together in silence for a while for they had nothing left to say to each other. As much as Mikey tried to make his older brother understand his situation, he wouldn't understand. Or couldn't. It didn't matter. This was going nowhere anyway. Standing up to leave, Mikey threw one last half-angry, half-disappointed look at his brother before leaving the bedroom. He still needed to fill in the dishwasher anyway so there was no use staying upstairs longer. His parents would only get more annoyed with him. He was almost like Cinderella, the way they all made him tidy up but he refused to feel sorry for himself and proceeded to load the plates one by one into the dishwasher before taking a long, hot shower and throwing himself into bed. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep instantly.

"Pass it! Pass it, Gerard!" Mike yelled from the other end of the pitch. It was amazing how far his voice could carry.

His way was blocked by Danny and Evan. Danny wasn't hard to pass, but Evan was a greater challenge. With no choice, Gerard passed the ball backwards towards James and circled around Evan who was momentarily distracted by Gerard's swift footwork. With a beautifully improvised assist from James and a skilled kick from Gerard, the ball landed in the back of the net.

"Nice one, Dewees!" Mike bellowed and then, "Leto, get off the floor!"

"Yo, James, great assist," Gerard beckoned for his friend to come over with his head. He slammed him on the back, like all the athletes did. It was normal. It was the thing to do and they did it without even thinking most of the time.

"Thanks, man," answered James, grinning.

"Team, hit the showers!" ordered Mike.

As they traipsed off the pitch with muddy boots and grass stains practically everywhere, they all simultaneously noticed the group of cheerleaders heading their way. Gerard noticed Avril, Hayley and Kelly among them. They were totally awesome and he would do almost anything to get into their pants, he admitted to himself. He shared this desire with plenty of his teammates, apparently, as Evan immediately wolf whistled at his girlfriend and Danny flushed slightly and James' eyes immediately went to the fronts of their shirts. Gerard knew well enough to steer well clear of Avril, though. She was really short but, hell, was she hot and, sadly, unavailable. He noticed Hayley make her way over to them, giggling with Kelly and another girl he didn't know the name of.

After a few minutes of small talk, mainly about the party at Hayley's house that weekend and the upcoming football season where the girls would be cheering them on, Gerard made clear he needed to shower. No one objected and the guys followed him into the changing rooms where they would continue to discuss every single cheerleader's ass in turn and making the obligatory 'I would tap that' remarks.

Slinging on their blue and gold letter jackets they all loved to show off in the school hallways, they departed for their homes, splitting into groups of two. Gerard lived in the other direction of Jared so he walked home alone. Usually he was really chatty and always could make small talk, but he was knackered and really just needed a lie down. Talking about how much he was getting laid didn't really appeal to him much right now. Jared was constantly talking about how much ass he was getting, but Gerard was convinced he made half of it up.

With bleeding fingers, Frank put his guitar down next to his favourite Marshall amplifier and kracked his tattoo clad knuckles. He wasn't old enough to have gotten them legally and the freshmen stared at him in awe whenever he walked by. They'd been playing for a good hour and a half and it was time for a break since Pete announced his bladder was going to burst if he played one more note. It also gave Patrick chance to have a drink. He was wearing his vocal chords out and Frank was surprised his voice was more than just a faint croak by now. Without turning any of the buttons on the amp back to their original setting – Frank hated when people did that because that meant he'd have to reset it back to his favourite tuning and that took forever to get right – he flicked the off switch and the room was engulfed in silence. For a moment they just sat on the stage of the auditorium together and Bob climbed out from behind his drum set and Pete came back from the bathroom. Bob sat himself down next to Frank, who was lying spread-eagled on his back, and said Pete had really improved on the bass since last month, especially on the previous song.

"Really? Aw, thanks, man," said Pete, blushing. He had laid down next to Patrick, who had drank almost his weight in mineral water, Frank guessed, and put his head on Patrick's lap.

"Yeah, really," Frank added, "I mean, you've always been pretty good but you really fucking nailed that solo. It really sort of flowed, y'know? We all played together for the first time. That's what it felt like."

"Wow, that was deep," Bob chuckled and nudged Frank's knee with his right foot. "But, I agree. Remember when you could only play the bass line in Seven Nation Army and you thought you were the best bass player in the world?" They all laughed, remembering the arrogant ass Pete had been in Sophomore year.

The entire auditorium was deserted except for the stage, where Bob was still nudging Frank with his feet, trying to get a reaction, but Frank needed a few days to sit up properly so Bob pulled him up and put his arm around him. Pete was busy retying Patrick's shoelaces, while Patrick played with Pete's hair, grinning from ear to ear. Ray was sat polishing his guitar next to his amp, which was stood a few metres away from where the rest was sat.

"Guys," Frank began, resting his head on Bob's shoulder with his eyes closed. "Guys," he repeated, opening his eyes to make sure he had everyone's attention. Pete looked up from where he was practically sprawled all over Patrick who was still fiddling with Pete's hair.

"I know you guys hate the battle of the bands, and you make a point of it each year by vandalizing the posters, but –" he ignored Ray's disgusted looks and didn't see Bob furrowing his brow. "What if—, what if this year we actually participate? We never do and all the bands that do, really suck. We've improved since freshman year and we can easily win this. We'll show them how it's really done."

Looking genuinely pleased with himself, Frank looked at his friends, who showed little sign of enthusiasm. Patrick was the only one who was still looking directly at Frank. The rest was either shuffling around nervously, like Pete, or frowning at the floor. Bob and Ray both looked disgruntled – except Bob always looked disgruntled due to his permanently furrowed brow and inability to smile - and Ray took a deep breath, which Frank had learned was a sign that he was about to start a longwinded speech.

"Look, Frank," began Ray, stuffing his guitar picks into his pocket and making his way towards the rest of the group, "the reason we never participate is because the people who do, are desperately trying to be cool, to be with the in-crowd, which is precisely what we vowed we would never do. To participate would be to break that vow and you can't expect me to do that. I don't expect you to either."

Frank made a 'arghghg' noise and exhaled deeply. "Man, don't you ever get tired of it?" he looked at Ray, frustrated.

"Tired of what?"

"Following those stupid rules you made up."

"They're not stupid. And, no." Ray folded his arms and looked hurt, but still maintained a furrowed brow, which annoyed Frank.

"They are. It's so tiring not being able to do stuff I want without you breathing down my neck that I'll be labeled as a sellout, that I want to be "cool" and it's just so dumb," Frank made air quotation marks with his fingers. "So what if Coca fucking Cola is more popular than Pepsi or what the fuck ever? So what if the battle of the bands is only for jocks and popular people and not people like us? I want to do it, because I think it'd be totally awesome and it would be fun. You know I don't give a fuck about being cool. Why do you still make such a big deal out of it?" he made another 'arghgh' noise and looked at Ray expectantly. He was glad he'd finally gotten that off his chest; he'd been wanting to say it for month since Junior year had started and Ray had adopted this hipster way of life, wanting to be uncool and denying the rest of the group anything they wanted that would be considered 'cool'. Ray was surprisingly persuasive, mostly because he was the nicest person in the world and you didn't want to make him angry. Frank had never actually seen Ray angry, but he expected it would be hilarious since he had such a nice face. He still sort of got the feeling that Ray would shun him if he ever found out that Frank did anything cool with popular people. It wasn't as if Ray hated the more popular kids at school, but it was more like he disassociated himself with them. He was totally fine with people in general and he was always nice to everyone, but he just plain refused to join in with activities that were led by the student committee. Frank didn't understand Ray at all anymore.

"So," Patrick broke the silence. Frank had half expected Ray to go on a rampage and destroy the drum set or something, but Ray just looked at him understandingly, nodding his head slowly, his arms still crossed.

"So," Patrick repeated, rising from where he was sat with Pete. "We don't mind doing the Battle, right Pete?" Pete nodded and grinned up at him, holding his hand. Pete was still kind of nervous about playing in front of crowds but Patrick squeezed his hand and told him it was totally okay to be nervous. He had been singing ever since he learned to talk and he still got nervous, even just singing with the band.

"But, guys, I don't want to do it if Ray's gonna act like a total asshole," said Frank with his head in his hands.

"Look, man, if it pleases you and it stops you nagging at me… okay. I'll not act like an asshole. I mean you deserve to do stuff you like and, y'know, it's really kinda selfish of me to not let you do that so, uh, you get the go-ahead," Ray relaxed his shoulders and ruffled Frank's messy hair. Frank looked like a kid who just received the coolest toy in the world from his parents. Bob, who still had his arm round Frank's shoulders, squeezed him and Frank snuggled up to him feeling like the happiest dude in the world.

"Awesome," he told Bob's sweater. Sitting up, he added, "you never know, man. You might actually enjoy it." He grinned at Ray, who smiled back at him. Ray was the nicest person in the world again and Frank loved everything.