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High school is about what people tell you it is. Unless you’re Illi. Everyone talks about high school like it ends at boring homework and people who are mean. No one tells you about not feeling like you fit into your own skin quite right. Maybe that’s just Illi.
People are mean, and Illi is bad at homework. Illi’s bad at school in general. Another failed Chemistry quiz and another bruise forming on Illi’s cheek, and they’re only halfway through the day. On the way to third period, Illi passes a commotion in the hall, yelling and laughing and shoving.
As they get closer, Illi realizes some of the lacrosse boys are trying to shove Frank Iero into a locker while a crowd stands around and watches.
Illi huffs, ignoring the sting in their cheekbone from their bruise that comes with opening their mouth. “Leave him alone!”
There’s a lull in the noise, then some laughter as the lacrosse boys turn around to look at Illi with disgusted faces.
“You standing up for your boyfriend?” one of the boys asks with a smirk.
Illi doesn’t even know Frank. Well. Everyone knows of Frank. He’s the only kid in school who’s on the dean’s list as often as he’s in detention (read: every day.) Evil little genius, even skipped a grade. Emphasis on “little,” as he’s squirming to get away from the varsity seniors.
“Just leave him alone,” Illi says. “What do you have to gain from this?”
“You want some?” another boy asks.
“What?” Illi asks. “That’s not what I said at all.”
Before Illi knows it, there’s more motion. Frank knees one of the boys between the legs and sends him doubling over. He tries to make a break for it while the boys are distracted, but one of them catches him by the back of his collar.
“Hey!” Illi shouts.
A terrible idea really, Illi gets involved. They lunge forward to try and help Frank get free, but they’re not the most coordinated person. Illi isn’t sure what happens because it goes by in such a flash, but Frank takes a fist to the face and immediately punches back, knocking a jock back a few paces.
“Boys!” a teacher shouts.
The crowd breaks up to let Mrs. Wilcox through. She looks appalled, taking in the sight of Illi with their hands around the arm of a lacrosse player, who’s practically lifting Frank off the ground, who just punched another lacrosse player in the face. The boys all let go of each other and straighten up.
“Detention,” Mrs. Wilcox snaps. “All of you.”
Frank gawks. “I didn’t even start any—”
“I don’t care who started it. You’re too old for that. Detention after school. If any of you aren’t there, you’re getting written up.”
The commotion dies down to a usual hallway chatter as the crowd fizzles and everyone continues going about their days. At least Illi has a chance to talk to Frank. He seems… unique. Illi’s been thinking lately that the outcasts would be better if they stuck together. Maybe Frank is one of those people who seems mean at first but is really good to have on your side. Maybe.
Illi approaches him with a soft smile. “Hey, I—”
Frank rolls his eyes and does a 180, taking off without a single fuck.
Illi sighs.
Today is Illi’s first time in detention. Ever. She doesn’t belong here. There are a couple kids smoking in the back and breathing it out through the window, some people are staring at the wall, some are doing homework, and none of them are quite like Illi.
Frank is part of the group of individuals who choose to read. Illi takes a seat next to him and he doesn’t even look up.
“What are you reading?” Illi whispers.
“Quiet,” Mrs. Wilcox scolds.
Frank gives Illi a glare out of the corner of his eye, then goes back to his book. There goes that. Illi stares at the wall.
Illi gives up on their idea that the outcasts should stick together. He still has his brother to hang out with at lunch, and that’s pretty cool. As far as brothers go, Mikey rocks. He’s into the same stuff as Illi and respects whatever the hell is going on with her gender. Mikey is a boy and has never questioned that about himself, but he’s always been supportive of Illi.
Illi isn’t sure what her deal is either. Illi’s alright with being called Mikey’s brother. It’s what Mikey has always called them. When Illi first expressed feeling weird in his own skin, Mikey offered to stop using that word, but Illi didn't mind it. Still doesn’t. “Brothers” feels like the right word, even if Illi doesn’t necessarily feel like a boy all the time. Or any of the time.
Said brothers are sitting together at lunch, discussing what they think is going to go down with Anakin in Episode III of Star Wars this spring when they’re approached by a fellow outcast. It’s been a few weeks since Frank Iero took Illi’s hopes for the world and stomped on them, so Illi doesn’t think much of this.
Illi doesn’t know the guy’s name but they recognize him as a fellow senior. Tall, weird guy, fun hair. The type to sit in the back of class and keep to himself, like Mikey.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is far softer than his stature would suggest. “Can I sit with you guys?”
“Yeah, of course,” Illi says, probably too fast and with a smile too big.
The new guy doesn’t seem bothered by it, smiling back and taking a seat on the steps with Illi and Mikey. “You’re Gerard, right?”
Illi shakes their head. “I go by Illi. This is my brother, Mikey.”
“Oh, cool,” the guy says. No reaction to the chosen girl name. Illi likes this guy. “I’m Ray.”
“Have you seen Star Wars?” Mikey asks.
Ray grins. “Fuck yeah, I’ve seen Star Wars.”
They catch Ray up to speed on their theories and fall right back into their conversation.
Ray joins them for lunch every day. He fits right in, giving good feedback on the little comic strip Illi has been adding to every now and then. It’s rad having friends who like comic books. Another thing they’ve all got in common, apparently, is music.
They’re talking about a Smashing Pumpkins song that Mikey brought up because of course he did, and Ray goes, “I’ve been trying to learn that on guitar!”
“You play guitar?” Illi asks, face lighting up.
Ray scratches the back of his neck. “Kind of? I mean, I do, but I’m not that good. I’ve only been playing for a few months.”
“You’re probably better than Illi,” Mikey laughs.
Illi shoves his shoulder. “We should totally start a band. Mikey plays bass.”
“Awesome,” Ray says. “Yeah, that sounds rad.”
There’s a spark catching to a flame in Illi’s belly. He’s always wanted to be in a band. That was the whole point of him and Mikey saving up for months to buy their own instruments. Even though Illi really isn’t that good at the guitar, they rock out in their room and sing at the top of their lungs when nobody else is home. They love to play with Mikey too. This is so exciting.
Ray’s mom is just as thrilled about the band as her son is. She’s quick to tell the kids they can use the Toros’ garage as a rehearsal space as long as they don’t touch any of Ray’s dad’s tools or break anything expensive.
The unnamed band, from a performance standpoint, is not good. They’re bad at staying in time with each other even with a metronome, Illi is still finding their voice and sucks at the guitar, Ray is still getting the hang of barre chords, they have no drummer, and Mikey is too timid to attempt any difficult bass lines when anyone is listening to him. They fucking suck. It’s the most fun Illi has ever had.
Above all, they really need a drummer. They can cross that bridge when they get to it.
“I think Frank Iero plays drums,” Mikey mentions at lunch one day.
“Who?” Ray asks.
“A kid in Mikey’s grade,” Illi supplies.
“Yeah,” Mikey says. “He said something today about how his dad and his grandpa both play drums, and I think he said something about being a musician himself.”
Ray puts a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “You know what you have to do.”
Mikey makes a face. “I can try to ask him. I’m not really persuasive at that kind of thing.”
“Hm. Let Illi do the talking.”
“I don’t know if Frank would want to be in a band with me,” Illi dismisses. A flying piece of bread hits them in the back of the head. All they can do is sigh while Ray flips off whoever it was. Illi doesn’t turn around because it’s always better not to look.
“Why not?” Ray asks,
“I kind of indirectly got him into detention once,” Illi says.
Mikey rolls his eyes. “That was so not your fault, dude. And he was probably going to end up in there anyway.”
“He looked at me like it was my fault,” Illi says. “Just ask him if he’s into the idea of being in a band. If he’s desperate enough, maybe it won’t matter.”
“I’ll try,” Mikey mumbles.
The next day, Mikey sits down with Illi and Ray at lunch and says, “Frank plays guitar.”
“Aw, man,” Ray whines.
Illi shrugs. “I mean, is he good? If he’s better than me, I could just stick to singing and he could do rhythm guitar.”
It’s not a question anymore if Toro is the right choice for lead guitar. You know how people are like, “that person’s got it” in show business? Toro’s got it. Some kind of magic.
“Should I ask him to come practice with us?” Mikey asks.
“Ask him to sit with us tomorrow and if he likes us he can come to practice after school.” Illi looks over at Ray. “Does that sound reasonable?”
“Yeah, that’s cool,” Ray says.
“I’ll ask him,” Mikey says.
The day after that, when Mikey shows up to the steps, he’s got Frank trailing behind him like a gloomy duckling, hands shoved into the pockets that are too big on him. The two of them sit down with Illi and Ray and it’s quiet for a moment.
“Do you like Star Wars?” Ray asks.
Frank blinks at him a few times. “Yeah. It’s not my area of expertise, but it’s pretty cool.”
“What is?” Ray asks.
“Lord of the Rings, I guess,” Frank says.
Mikey and Illi share a smile.
Lord of the Rings it is. They’re all big enough nerds that the conversation is easy and it’s a good way to get to know Frank. He talks about Lord of the Rings like he’s never done it out loud before. He doesn’t seem to hate Illi, she even gets him to laugh once or twice.
Around the end of the lunch period, Illi asks, “You play guitar, right?”
“Yeah,” Frank says.
“Cool. We have band practice after school if you wanna jam with us. It’s really casual,” Illi offers. It’s not casual in Illi’s heart. It is the biggest deal ever. Illi wants to have a cool band so badly.
“I have detention after school today,” Frank says. Oh, right.
“You could come by after that,” Illi says. “We hang around for a while.”
“Yeah, sure,” Frank says.
Ray gets a napkin out of his lunchbox and finds a pen so he can write his address down for Frank. The two of them next to each other is quite a sight. Ray and his large frame and large hair, hunched over with a soft smile as he scribbles on the napkin while Frank watches, about half Ray’s size, jet black and gelled hair, pierced face, relaxed eyes. They’ll make a great pair of guitar players, Illi is sure.
Frank shows up to practice. He actually shows up! He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie. That suits the whole “pierced face” look a bit more. Illi has always wondered how that kid got away with all the metal in his face. Frank’s also got a guitar case and a timid sort of smile.
“Hi!” Ray greets with a big wave.
“Hi,” Frank says. The first thing he asks is, “You guys still don’t have a drummer?”
“We’re working on it,” Mikey says. They’re really not. They’ll cross the bridge when they get to it.
Illi grabs their notebook of chords and puts it in front of Frank while he’s getting set up. “All the songs we know are in here in case you need the chords.”
“Do… you need it?” Frank asks, tilting his head.
Illi shakes their head. “Nah, I’m just singin’. You’re my replacement.”
Frank throws his head back with a laugh. “Alright.”
The unnamed band has gotten better since they started. Ray is growing into a great guitar player and Mikey is getting less self conscious about existing. If Illi doesn’t have to keep pretending he knows how the fuck to play the devious F chord, this group might be unstoppable.
Frank is great, by the way. He can play the fuck out of an F chord. Variations of it and everything. They’re going to be unstoppable. They just need a drummer.
After just a few weeks, Frank has carved his own little place into the group. He doesn’t even start a fight when Mikey calls him out at lunch for getting caught in class with a notebook full of heart doodles with the letter J, he just lowers his head and covers his face while his friends laugh and make kissy noises at him.
“Who’s the unlucky lady?” Ray asks, nudging Frank’s arm.
“Nobody,” Frank insists. After a second, he sighs and gives in. “It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t even know I exist.”
“What’s her name, Frankie?” Illi asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” Frank groans.
“It’s Jamia,” Mikey says.
Frank goes red and shoves Mikey. “Dude!”
Mikey’s torso is so similar to a piece of plywood that the push nearly knocks him all the way down as he laughs. “What? It’s not like we’re gonna tell anyone.”
Frank groans into his hands.
“You’ll get her,” Ray says. “Chicks dig musicians.”
Frank looks up with a half-glare. “You gettin’ a lot of chicks I don’t know about, Toro?”
“Well. No, but in theory—”
“Thought so,” Frank says.
“Don’t sass me.”
Illi loves these idiots.
By spring, they’re a decent band. They still don’t have a name or a drummer, but they have a lot of fun, and they must be doing something right because Frank doesn’t get detention anymore. Illi has been learning how to write lyrics. She’s amazed to have found multiple people who care about this band as much as she does. They’ve all been writing songs together. They’re a real band.
Star Wars Episode III comes out the week before Ray and Illi graduate. The group goes out to see it on premier night. It’s a Thursday, if you were wondering, and that’s fucking stupid.
When the movie is over, and the guys’ large sodas have all been drained, and they’re discussing the film, all piled into Toro’s ‘95 Honda Civic that amazingly still runs, Frank goes, “I’m really gonna miss you guys.”
Illi’s heart sinks a little. Their black-feathered little duckling is the first to mention it all night. If Illi didn’t know any better, they’d say it sounds like Frank is about to cry. They turn around to face the backseat fully. Frank is frowning, glossy-eyed while Mikey looks at him with a worried face.
“Aw, dude,” Ray says, “it’s not gonna be that different.”
He and Illi are both staying local for college, so it’s not like the band is going to fall apart. It’s just that it won’t be every day anymore. No more sticking together at lunch and getting pelted with popular kids’ food in solidarity. It’ll just be Frank and Mikey.
“I know,” Frank says, blinking his tears away. “Sorry for being such a fucking girl.”
“Me too,” Illi says. That gets a laugh out of everyone, and it makes Frank look a little more okay.
“We’ll still have practice,” Ray says. “Trust me, you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
“Good,” Frank says.
Mikey adds, “Even if they abandon us forever, you still have me.”
“Thanks, Mikey, that’s such a comforting thing to say,” Illi drones.
“I’m being realistic!”
Illi reaches over the back of his seat to swat at Mikey while Frank joins in on the roughhousing for pure love of the game. Yes, these are Illi’s idiots.
They finally find a drummer over the summer. He’s a cool guy and good at staying in time even without a metronome, which Toro thinks is so impressive like he isn’t some kind of guitar god. They find a name and find their own sound. They play a few shows and they stay together even through college.
Oh, and by the way, Frank marries that girl he thought would never know his name. Years and years down the line, he credits that to Mikey for giving him the nudge to finally talk to Jamia after class. Illi likes to give herself the indirect credit since she gave Mikey the nudge to talk to Frank. Ray thinks the argument is stupid and pointless. These guys never agree on anything. At least they have a drummer.