Page 39 of Life Lessons

Jackson: Real sorry about what Harriett did. That was beyond not cool. We are on your side and have demanded she be suspended. I can’t believe they haven’t already kicked her out.

Trixie: What do you mean? I thought she got suspended pending investigation.

Harley: Yeah, I don’t exactly know what happened, only that Harriett’s dad got involved, and she is no longer suspended. She has been let off.

Trixie: What the fuck? That explains the security. They must know I am going to fucking kill her pasty white ass.

Jackson: No, the security is about a different matter.

Harley: Yeah, a guy from the football team just saw them carrying Mr Caine’s things off the premises.

Trixie: What? Why?

Harley: All I know is that Harriett had some dirt on him that she used to save herself. Looks like it worked.

Jackson: They heard Mr Caine say that he hated all the fucking rich students at this school and he will be glad to never step another foot onto the grounds again.

Harley: Some stuck up woman was with him, too. No idea what else.

I sit there, completely lost and not entirely sure what to do next. Has he really gone? Would he have left me so quickly and so easily mere hours after declaring our love for each other. I want to think that he wouldn’t, but doubt is starting to creep in. I feel the buzzing of more texts appearing.

Jackson: I bet she is the bird he has been fucking. It’s obvious he has been getting his dick wet recently cos he’s been in a much better mood.

Trixie: Language! There are ladies present. And we have no idea that Mr Caine had a girlfriend, or if this woman he left campus with was indeed her. So stop speculating.

Harley: Sorry, Trix. Jackson’s not used to talking to girls! But I do know for a fact that Mr Caine has a girlfriend. I heard him in his classroom once. It was the end of the call and I didn’t hear a name, but she was definitely real. But I agree with you, I don’t see him with some stuck up rich bitch.

Jackson: I’m kinda sad to see him go though. He may have been a moody bastard, but he was a fucking great teacher.

The phrase Moody Bastard echoes through my mind and I feel like my heart is breaking. He can’t be gone.

Throwing the phone onto my bed, I decide I have to know. I run out of my room and down the stairs. Two large, bulky men, wearing security across their t-shirts, are standing outside Jett’s door. I pull myself up, looking like I have way more confidence than I actually do, and I walk towards them. I barely make it a few steps before the bald one on the left holds out his arm.

“Woah, lassie, you can’t come in here,” he says with what sounds like a broad Scottish accent.

“I am looking for Mr Caine,” I say with confidence, hating the way his teacher’s name sounds on my tongue. He is my Jett and I shouldn’t have to hide that.

Before the Scottish security man has a chance to answer, a very tired and frazzled looking Mr Thornton comes wobbling out of the door. He runs his fingers through his hair, before roughly taking hold of my arm and dragging me into the hallway. I try to protest, but the murderous look on his face silences me.

“Miss. Night, I know why you are here, but unfortunately Mr Caine has made the decision to terminate his post here, effective immediately. He did not want to draw this whole process out by saying goodbye to his students. As you well know, he has become rather indifferent to teaching as of late. He did, however, leave this note for you. I do not know why he only left one for you, nor do I want to know. I think it would be best given all the drama that you have caused as of late, Miss Night, that you keep your head down,” he says, eyes piercing into mine with each word. Does he know?

I decide to try and change direction, away from the subject of myself and Jett. “I would hardly say I’m responsible for Harriett breaking into your office, illegally using your sound system, and then announcing scandalous things about me to the whole school and the visiting families,” I state, trying to hold my body up and show as much resolve as possible. Only, inside I am crumbling.

“Yes, well…I have spoken to your mother regarding this matter. It would appear Miss Longstaff had her reasons for what happened. Your mother has made it quite clear that she does not want any punishment to fall on Harriett, and she has asked that we consider this matter closed. I believe she said she doesn’t want you to bring any more shame to her family.”

Every word is like a little blade to my already cracked heart. Nobody even cares that I was the injured party, the one who had her world turned on it’s axis. Whatever Harriett has on this lot, it must be good.

I don’t even have anything to say, so I simply snatch the letter out of Mr Thornton’s hand and run back to my room. Throwing the door shut, and locking it, I can’t help but lean against the door as I try to catch my breath. I feel an overwhelming sense of panic gripping hold of me and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it.

Sliding my back down the door, I sit right there with my back against it and my arms hugging my knees. I look over the front of the envelope and see that the text is not handwritten as I was expecting, and has instead been typed and printed from a computer. A part of me can’t get over how strange that is, that Jett didn’t have time to say goodbye in person, yet he had time to load a computer, type out the letter, print it, and give it to Thornton. Then of course there’s the other, dark side of my brain that said he had all the time in the world if he planned this. Maybe he got scared of how serious we were getting? Maybe he just said what I wanted to hear? Maybe I really was just a fling on the side while he was getting serious with some posh woman? I have no idea, but I know the only way to get answers straight from the horse’s mouth is to open the note. Why am I so scared?

Taking a few deep breaths, I rip open the letter, take the cold, crisp piece of paper and straighten it out in my hands before finally looking at the printed text. I can’t get over how impersonal it is, not Jett at all. He has always hated technology and has left me handwritten notes on more than one occasion. But I guess when you are breaking someone’s heart, there’s no need to be nice about it.

It doesn’t matter how many times I read the letter, each time it never gets easier. It’s like a knife to my heart. With every re-read, I try to analyse the words to find a hidden meaning. This can’t be how it ends between us. It’s so impersonal and cold, not at all what I am used to. No Little Bird references, no telling me how he feels. Fuck, he doesn’t even say he’s sorry. Just that it was a bit of fun for him. Well, it wasn’t just fucking fun for me.

I feel the tears streaming down my face and I can’t stop them, the sob in my throat catches up soon after. I sit there, grasping the note, sobbing for all that I have lost. My heart physically aches and my body is wracked with each cry.

I cry and cry until I can’t any more, my throat is hoarse and my eyes red and sore. My body aches from shaking with each sob, and I can’t even find the energy to get up. Slowly, I lower myself to the floor, remaining curled up in a ball, grasping at my legs. I lay there and close my tired, raw eyes, letting sleep take me.

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