Frank was in awe of Mikey Way. Mikey would show up at a bar with his retro band t-shirt, scene hair, and fake ID that wasn't fooling anyone, sit on a couch in the corner of the room, and minutes later he'd be surrounded by High School kids of both genders. Without playing in a band, without working for a venue, and without exerting any effort whatsoever, Mikey was a celebrity. He was the indifferent god of the Jersey music scene, and Frank was amazed by him.

It was nearly a month after first noticing him that Frank spoke to Mikey, and then it was only because Mikey spoke to him first. Frank was walking out to the van, carrying his guitar, when Mikey called out, "Hey,Pencey Prep!"

Frank turned to see Mikey standing just outside the door, smoking a cigarette, surrounded by his usual legion of scene kids.

"It's not actually my name," Frank said. "I mean, it's the band's name."

"But I don't know your name," Mikey said, his face expressionless.

"Oh, right," Frank said.

Mikey stared at him.

"Oh, right," Frank said. "I'm Frank."

Mikey stuck out his hand, his elbow bent awkwardly, as if they were in a business meeting and not standing in the rain outside a dive bar at two in the morning. "Mikey Way," he said.

Frank stopped himself from saying "I know".

Over the six months, Frank's band became successful by local music standards, Mikey got a job with Eyeball Records that somehow consisted of continuing to hang around clubs and look bored, and the two became friends. They started meeting after every Pency Prep show and drink beer until they were so wasted and tired that they'd fall asleep on the cab ride home. Mikey spent many nights crashed out on the floor in Frank's bedroom. One particularly chilly winter night, Frank awoke to see Mikey lying in bed next to him, staring at him intently.

Frank started, but Mikey's face didn't betray any emotion, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Then Mikey said, "Feel how cold my hands are," and slid both hands up the front of Frank's shirt.

Frank screamed, waking up both his parents, and he and Mikey wrestled until they fell on the floor and his mother came in to sternly remind them of the time. Frank invited Mikey back into the bed, and then pulled the covers over both their heads. They spent the rest of the night sharing secrets, mostly about how much Frank was secretly in love with one of the girls at Eyeball who worked with Mikey.

"Maybe I should ask her out by tattooing her name on myself," Frank suggested.

Mikey paused to consider this. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's a colossally bad idea."

One night a few weeks later, as Frank sat at the bar of the club he was playing later that evening and sipped a beer, Mikey slid onto the stool beside him, gave him a patented bored Mikeyway expression, and said, "So I might be in a band."

Frank took a sip of his beer. "Do you play an instrument?"

Mikey blinked. "No."

"Mm hm," Frank said. "So who else is in this band? Please tell me it's not those tenth-graders from Newark who follow you around."

"No, it's my brother's band."

"Your brother?" Frank asked. "Your weird brother who draws pictures of vampires and doesn't leave the basement?"

Mikey just nodded. "Yeah, him. And two of his friends."

Frank took a big gulp of his beer and then set it down on the bar. "So let me get this straight. Your subterranean brother and his wacky vampire pals are starting a band, and you're going to be in it, but you're not going to play anything."

Mikey reached out to steal Frank's beer. "When you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad-ass, doesn't it?"

Frank laughed.

Mikey finished the beer in one long swig. "Don't worry. My brother's really talented."

"He plays guitar?"

"No," Mikey said. "But he's really talented at drawing."

Frank motioned to the bartender. "This is going to end horribly," he said. "Just so you know."

Frank put his arm around Mikey's shoulder and ordered two more drafts.