"Goooooood morning Belleville! It's seven o'clock and you're here with me - on this fine morning may I add - Kurt Peterson. I'll be with you until eleven, so stick around folks, it's going to be a good show with classic hits from the likes of-"

I shut my radio alarm off.

Fuck.

How did I fall asleep last night?

I pick myself up out of bed, unhooking myself from my guitar. I hope nobody would ever see me like that, asleep hugging my guitar like a toddler and a teddy. I often found myself falling asleep whilst playing to myself. It seems lonely to fall asleep that way. I shrug then walk over to my mirror: the boy that greets me is too short, too messy, too pale and too angry looking. I try to smile but find nothing. Nothing finds me. Same as usual.

I run my fingers through my hair, it isn't overly long, I have a long fringe, that's all. But that doesn't matter. Running my fingers through my hair won't make it look any better.

I wander out of my room, as if in a trance then into the bathroom.

It was my daily routine.

Get up.

Shower.

School.

Home.

Guitar.

Sleep.

I hardly ate either. Eating was something I found hard, what with being far too fussy and not liking really anything but pop-tarts. Being vegetarian didn't help either. I didn't like anything.

I stand in the shower thinking about this, letting the warm water sooth me. For what would be short relief from the dread of having to face up to school. The water really calms me. Sends me into a dream-like state. But it's over soon, I emerge from the shower, a dripping wet zombie with heavy shadows under his eyes. I wrap myself in a towel then go back to my room. It doesn't take long to get ready. I just like to sit for a while and enjoy the peace for a while longer.

I sit for a half hour or so before getting up. It's nearly eight o'clock, I know I'll have to leave for school soon so I don't bother eating. What my Mom doesn't know can't hurt her.

I slip my feet into my comfy skating shoes, they were just plain black. Matching only to my jeans, hoodie and hair. I was a dark person. The only colour on me was the red design that read "Misfits" on my hoodie. And, of course, the white writing on my very dark blue shirt that read "I don't care." My outfit really summed me up.

I take a couple of dollars from the table, not caring if Mom does. I shove them in my jean pocket then throw my bag over my shoulder. I head to the door quickly but before opening it I turn and look up the stairs.

"Bye Mom!" I call, not expecting a response. She was probably still asleep.

I wait for a second or two then just leave. It hurts. My Mom would normally be the only one to smile at me kindly in a day. I dread the taunting when I eventually get to school. But then that's the life I've been given. I sigh at how unfair it seems.

It doesn't take long to walk to school in the early morning sun, it's not very warm but more mild. Comforting to say the least. I soak in every last minute of peace before stepping through the school gates.

Hello hell.

I walk casually down the path, minding my own business. So far so good.

I get to my locker without any comments.

A new record.

Maybe?

Just as I'm fishing about in my locker for the books I need for the days lessons though, I realise I thought too soon.

I feel a sharp jab in my back.

"You're in the way of my locker, fag." a tall, strong-looking boy says to me, I don't even recognise this one.

"Sorry," I croak, closing my locker promptly and taking my books in a hurry.

"Not so fast. I never heard you say sorry properly, you piece of shit, I want to hear you say it. Loud." He taunts while giving me a menacing look.

"I said sorry, sorry if you didn't hear me. Sorry I wasted your time." I reply, my voice shaking: laced with fear.

The boy takes a step closer to me.

"You dare to be sarcastic?" He threatens.

I shake my head vigorously. I repeat myself, no, no. I wasn't being sarcastic. I'm sorry if you took it that way.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry everyday.

I end that "argument" on the floor, my head bashed against my locker with the warning that if I came near it again I'd get shoved in it. And told I was lucky to not be in there already.

I wait until he walks away before picking myself up, despite the fact that several people were there and had witnessed it, nobody helped me. These kids weren't even the bad ones, they just didn't want to be anything to do with me.

That was okay.

I was made to be avoided, that was the person I was.

I sniffle as I make my way to class, angry inside, quiet and unrevealing on the outside. Nobody bothered asking how I was. Nobody waved at me. As far as they were concerned I was nobody, I just showed up everyday for lessons then left. It was that simple. I wished all the people in the school would accept that.

I make my way to home room slowly, running things over in my head.

Fag.

He called me a fag. What's new? Honestly? I'm not gay. Why do people assume I am? Or maybe they don't know what fag means. I wish I had the guts to tell them that.

I sit in home room alone. As per usual. Frank, alone in the corner, at a two-seat desk, with only his bag on the other chair.

Then someone knocks on the door. He pushes the door open and blushes instantly, he gets some hoots from the jocks who all laugh at the timid looking boy.

What did he do?

The same as me probably.

He walks over to Mrs Canter, he says something inaudible to her and she nods.

"Find a seat, Michael, and choose wisely." She tells him, hardly bothering to look up from her magazine.

The boy called Michael looks around the room. That's when he realises there's only one seat left. The one next to me. He comes towards me, shy and awkward looking. Reluctantly, I move my bag to the floor.

"Hi," the boy croaks.

I grunt in reply. People will just tell me to shut up if I speak.

"I'm sorry, there's nowhere else to sit." He explains, going red.

He pushes his black rimmed glasses up his nose and blinks twice. I nearly laugh, I feel like one of those people who make me constantly apologise.

"You did nothing wrong." I wish somebody would tell me that. "I'm Frank." I say, hardly loud enough for "Michael" to hear.

"Mikey." He says softly. Would be. Michael sounds too harsh for him. "I just moved here, to Belleville. Is it nice?"

I snort.

"Yeah, I love Belleville. I honestly do." I lower my voice "The people aren't very cool though."

Mikey seems to understand.

"I know what you mean. I got tripped over on my way here." He tells me, going even further red.

I smile apologetically at him.

"Me too. But then what's new? Same old, I guess." I sympathise, then realising I was having a conversation with someone my own age for the first time in a very long time.

Mikey grins.

"I just moved, me and my brother are new here." He tells me "My brother is in the year above us, his name's Gerard. If you ever meet him, he's the one with the Misfits sweater."

I feel my face break out into a smile. I'm not alone! Excitedly, I show Mikey my own sweater, feeling proud. Mikey laughs.

"You'd like Gerard, if you could get him speaking."

Gerard suddenly sounds a lot like me.

Oh, you'd like Frank, if you can get him speaking. He's a nice lad, just a tad shy, keeps to himself. I don't know why. He could be such a brilliant friend…The other children don't seem to appreciate this…

I relive the way I'd been introduced to my "mentor" when I first came to Belleville High. My mentor was a senior girl who had dark hair and eyes. She didn't seem impressed. The first thing she asked me was if I was into cutting. I could of cut her.

"Doesn't he speak?" I ask, interested to find more about the boy who sounds so like me.

Mikey giggles.

"To me. To Mom. To everyone I guess. If it's necessary. He only speaks to stand up for himself or me. We're the sort of family that usually stick together, to the end, you know?" he explains.

I feel the connection with the boy I don't know disappear. He stands up for himself… that's more than I could do.

"What about you Frank? You seem kind of…" Mikey trails off.

I understand. He wants to know why I'm so outcast from the rest of the room.

"Rule number one, Mikey, nobody talks to Frank Iero or nobody talks to them."

Mikey swallows then smiles at me. He holds out a hand to shake.

"I'd rather talk to Frank Iero than some shallow ba- kids…" Mikey smiles, disallowing himself to swear.

I shake his hand, shocked, somebody would rather talk to me that anyone else. I almost feel sick with the happy feeling.

Then the bell rang.

"Oh. Well I'm in French. I'll see you at lunch, if that's okay Frank?" Mikey says as we head to the door. I simply nod and Mikey leaves in the opposite direction.

I'm alone again and feel sick with a bad feeling this time.