School of the Damned

-Ashley's POV-

After dinner, Andy, Ronnie, and I headed up to bed. I hadn’t done much today, yet I found that I was exhausted, and collapsed into bed immediately after brushing my teeth, only to have Andy shake my shoulder lightly.
“Dude, you forgot to take your makeup off,” he whispered. “It’s gonna get all over your pillow.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, thanks,” I mumbled, dragging myself off the bed--which wasn’t even that comfortable, you could feel the springs prodding at your back through the thin mattress--and forcing myself to rummage through my bag until I found my remover stuff, and trudged over to the sink. When I fell back onto the bed, I didn’t wake until the morning bell, ringing with a shrill tone throughout the cabin. Ugh. It was officially time for school.

Andy and I groaned when we checked our schedules, which arts rotations changed with the days of the week. But every day we would start with gym first thing in the morning after breakfast. Ronnie took one look at that and went “ouch, that’s bad. Sorry, dudes, that’s really gonna suck.” Great.
“Is this even legal?” I grumbled as Andy and I made our way to the gym, just to find a sign taped on the door saying Health first quarter, please meet in room 218.
“Wonderful!” Andy exclaimed sarcastically. “Where the frick is room 218?”
“Down this way,” a girl’s voice answered, and we turned around to see a girl with caramel skin, black hair, and big glasses walking next to a pale boy, also with dark hair. Both looked out of place in the plaid uniforms. Her pale blue shirt was wrinkled and she appeared somewhat uncomfortable with the tight collar. The boy’s tie was messy and too loose around his neck, yet seemed to fit him all the same as he fumbled with it slightly.
“Thanks,” I replied. “My name’s Ashley, and this is Andy.”
“Sandra,” the girl introduced herself as we approached them.
“Braden,” the boy greeted us more quietly. We nodded and started down the hall with them.
“He doesn’t talk much, but he’s cool and-” the bell rang, interrupting Sandra and signaling our lateness. “Shit!” she swore before covering her mouth and shaking her head as we walked faster. “I need to get out of that habit.” We burst into the room a little louder than expected.
“Uh, sorry we’re late, Father Way,” Andy apologized for us.
“Call me Frank,” the teacher responded, “and you may take the latecomer table to the left and in the back there,” he pointed to the arrangement of four desks facing the board. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, attendance. Sandra Alvarenga?” Sandra raised her hand.
“Here.”
“Braden Barrie?”
“Present,” he said softly.
“Braden Barrie? Are you here?” Frank tried again, as he had not heard him.
“Present!” Braden repeated a little louder.
“Kay you’re gonna have to speak up if you’re here because I’m marking you absent.” Sandra nudged him, and Braden stood up.
“Uh, I’m here.”
“Oh, there you are! Sorry about that!”
“No problem,” Braden murmured, sitting back down again.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Nevermind,” Sandra waved it off for him. Attendance continued, though they must only take it at a boarding school as to prevent people from wandering off the premises and skipping class. When it was finished, Frank placed the clipboard on his desk.
“Now, let’s see what I’m teaching you today,” he started, opening up a drawer and removing a large stack of papers. He took a quick peek at him.
“Oh my god it’s sex education,” he groaned with a wince while somehow also managing to make it sound sassy. He took out one of the packets and flipped through it. “One moment. No, I have decided that I most definitely do not feel comfortable teaching this to you. You know what we’re going to learn about today, kids? FEMINISM. That’s important, yes, I will teach you about feminism,” he decided aloud. Finally, a useful class! He began to set up the smart board and took out the electronic pen, turning to the class once it was ready. “Can someone please give the definition of feminism?” A boy in the front raised his hand. “Yes?”
“Well, first of all I’m going to report you to Sister Sturm for taking the Lord’s name in vain, and second of all, feminism is an evil thing created by evil women who believe that women are better than men.”
“First of all, I’ll tell Sister Sturm that you’re the one who’s been sticking gum underneath all her desks if you do that, and second of all, you are extremely wrong, Luke. Let me rephrase my question: Can someone please give me the correct definition of feminism?” A girl a few desks over from us raised her hand.
“Feminism is the desire for complete equality for men and women,” she answered.
“Yes! Very good, Maria! That is feminism, class! I want you all to be taking notes, because this is very important and I guarantee that you will require this knowledge later in life! Feminism is the desire for complete equality for men and women, that’s it. No more, no less.” Frank scribbled all over the board enthusiastically as he spoke, going over the many reasons of why we need feminism and we are all classified as feminists if we believe in equal rights (which we very much should, he emphasized) and in general he was a simply fantastic teacher. I might actually enjoy my time here. “Ok, gender neutral pronouns-”
“Please stop right there, Father Way.” All heads turned to see Father Smith standing there in the doorway. “I received a notification alerting me that you were not teaching the assigned material.”
“Um, not exactly, no,” Frank admitted.
“Well, as fascinating as all of this might be, you are not permitted to cover this subject, and you are required to preach abstinence. I’ll see you later,” he instructed Frank before leaving. Dammit. I was liking this class a lot. Frank sighed, erasing the board and asking for a volunteer to pass out the papers after glancing at them again with a disgusted look on his face.
“Also, Luke, please hand over your phone,” he told him. “I have a feeling it was you who sent a message to Father Smith.”
“It was the right thing to do,” the boy insisted.
“You shouldn’t have even had your phone out in class. Now, would you rather I take it, or have me tell Father Cerulli and let him take it? You know he’ll hold it for longer.” Defeated, Luke handed over his phone glumly and unwillingly. Frank then announced that we would be doing textbook work on this topic instead of group work. The rest of the class period was spent in silence. Yay Catholic school.

Although Andy wasn’t in my art class with me, I found that Ronnie and Braden were. The three of us made sure to all sit at a table together. Father Sykes was again dressed in a turtleneck shirt, long pants, and gloves. Geez, what was with that getup? Seriously.
“Hey, Ronnie,” I nudged him, “why does Father Sykes wear all that stuff?” Ronnie shrugged.
“I dunno. You got a clue, Braden?” Braden shook his head and continued to doodle. A soft, mischievous smile began to spread on Ronnie’s face. “I’m gonna find out, though.”
“What? How?” I asked.
“I’m gonna tug off one of his gloves when he’s not expecting it.” You could practically see the gears turning in Ronnie’s head as he plotted. Uh-oh, what had I provoked?!
“Dude, don’t do that, you’re going to get in trouble.”
“Yeah so? I’m curious.”
“Just don’t do it. It was a stupid question to begin with. See, ask Braden. Braden, what do you think?” I tried passing it on to the quiet boy to answer.
“Be smart about it,” Braden advised, “at least make it look like you didn’t mean to.”
“Braden!” I hissed, “that’s not what I meant!” Braden shrugged and continued to doodle.
“Don’t do it today, though, wait a little bit and establish a positive relationship with him beforehand so he’ll naturally assume it was an accident,” he added.
“Really not helping!” I told him.
“Just a reminder to the class that this is silent drawing time,” Father Sykes announced, glancing at our table for a moment. Shit, hope he hadn’t heard us. I focused on my drawing of a penguin--which was turning out absolutely terrible--and hoped that Ronnie would forget about pulling off one of Father Sykes’ gloves, although I was curious to see what he was hiding. As I drew, I found myself missing Andy, and shook my head in attempt to shake away the thoughts of him. The feeling stayed. Goddammit.

Notes

YES I AM FULLY AWARE THAT GERARD WAY'S FIRST NAME IS NOT FRANK!!!!!!! This is intentional, his name has not changed in the story, but he just likes to be called Frank. Why? You'll have to find out... Braden Barrie is a solo artist under the name SayWeCanFly, I highly recommend looking him up!! Sandra used to be in BVB, of course, and you all know who Ronnie is. How're you all liking the story?? Also, please comment or message me about any typos you see, there are probably a few!