Page 6 of Life Lessons

“Will you two shut up arguing! Jethro, that language towards a student is unacceptable, do you understand? And Abigail, I am the one who called your parents. You were kicked out of your class, for whatever reason, and were told to come and see me in the office. But you failed to attend and we had to search for you. That is why you are in so much trouble. I would have probably just given you a slap on the wrist and told you to do better next time, if you had come to me straight away, but now I am giving you two full days of detention on Saturday and Sunday.

“Luckily, for the both of you, it is also Mr Caine’s weekend to oversee the detention. So, whatever is going on here that has got you both behaving unprofessionally, you will get it sorted this weekend. Do you hear me?” He shouts the last bit, having been fairly tame but firm in his delivery previously. He looks between us, waiting for us to acknowledge him and we both grumble and answer him with different versions of the same confirmation. Feeling content that he has sorted out our issues, he says goodbye and heads back into his office.

Mr Caine, who I now know to be the teacher currently standing far too close to me, has a look of pure fury on his face. Like he is mad at me for getting him in trouble. I am the one in the real shit, with my entire life and future on the line. I want to push him away because I can’t breathe with him so close. I can feel his overly minty breath as it hits my cheek and it just feels too intimate, even if he can’t feel it.

Realising I have no other option, I step to the side and take a big deep breath. But that doesn’t help and I can feel myself start to lose it. I try to remember what Jane said I needed to do if I had a panic attack. Luckily, I get distracted by McLazy as he starts chuntering about how he can’t understand the Head’s logic. He knows he doesn’t do weekend detention, and that it was a pathetic punishment. I’m sure I also heard him muttering to himself that he could think of a few better ways to punish me and to make sure I don’t disobey him again.

I can’t help the shocked gasp that comes out of my mouth when hearing that and his head finally snaps up. He really was in his own little world. My mouth hangs open and I physically shudder, but not out of fear. I realise that even though I was never meant to hear the words, and he may not even mean them how I am taking them, they still turn me on. It only lasts for a couple of minutes, because then the real Mr Caine opens his mouth and shouts at me.

“Get to class, before you get us both in even more shit,” he bellows and I’m surprised the Head or some other teachers didn’t come out to see what all the noise was about. But nobody did, which is good because I don’t need more reason to be the centre of attention. So, I quickly take off running in the direction of my history class, deliberately not looking back, and trying my best to forget all the weird feelings I get from being near him. I’m so used to feeling nothing but pain and despair, that small little flicker of heat is something I never expected. I try to push it away, to pretend it didn’t happen. But they say you shouldn’t fan a flame or the fire will engulf you.

Taking the last drag on my cigarette, I flick the cancer stick onto the ground and push my timberland onto it. I don’t smoke often, only when I’m drunk or stressed. Unfortunately, this time, I’m the latter, but that will be amended as soon as I’m freed from this weekend detention. Leaning against my slick black BMW, I check my watch once again and huff. If I’m on time, I sure as shit expect Nightingale to be. She spent the rest of the week scowling at me from the back row, but no more words have been passed between us. Thank God.

“Why didn’t you tell me to meet you out here? I’ve been waiting in your class for the past hour?!” I grin, glad the random lackey I barked at finally got the message to her. Her voice reaches me before I see her, but when I turn around, I wish I hadn’t. She’s ready for war; dressed all in leather, from the tight PVC trousers to the heavy biker style jacket hung over an old t-shirt. Her hair has been thrown into a messy bun on top of her head, a face of simple make-up acting as her war paint. The scowl on her lips deepens as I continue to stare, all insults fleeing me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. Get in the car,” I order whilst opening the back door. She visibly hesitates, her body going rigid at the sight of the vehicle. Does she really think I’d be interested in kidnapping her? I’d pay the ransom myself just to give her straight back. Rolling my eyes, I almost miss the second she twists to make a run for it and catch her around the middle. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Get off of me!” she screams, clawing at my arm as I throw her in the back and slam the door shut. Her boot connects with my window a moment later and I slam my palm on the other side to shout back at her.

“Hey! Break my car and I’ll break you!”

“Everything okay over here, Jethro?” I grimace at the shaky woman’s voice, not needing any more hassle this morning. Ignoring the student screaming ‘fire’ and ‘rape’ in my back seat, I turn to face Irene with a tense smile.

“Nothing to worry about, just another detention.” Her eyes move between me and the car, her eyebrow raising briefly until she smiles deviously.

“You are a good boy. We need someone like you around here to keep the kids in line.” I grimace at the thought of how she keeps the boys ‘in line’ and wonder if the bug tap I overheard Samson Young has planted in her office has paid off yet. Oblivious to my disgust, Irene reaches out a frail hand to stroke my folded arms. “Tough, determined, and strong.”

“Well, had better get on. These kids won’t discipline themselves.” I quickly slide behind the wheel and slam my door shut, shuddering at the woman blowing a kiss at me through the window. It’s not just the fact she’s old enough to be my grandmother, it’s her pale leathery skin and the network of wrinkles surrounding her features which give me the creeps. I’ll be putting myself out of my misery long before I get to that stage.

Pushing my foot down on the accelerator, the car flies forward after a quick wheel spin. Nightingale squeals in the backseat, a laugh rumbling out of me. I don’t drive much since I can rarely depend on myself to be sober enough to drive back home, and fuck hunting for my car when I can barely remember my own name half the time. Although now I’m back in the plush leather seat, I wonder why I stayed away from the staff’s parking garage for so long.

Gliding along the smooth tarmac cutting through the centre of campus, I pull to a swift halt and wait for the tall iron gates to be opened for me. The guards don’t bat an eye at the hostage in the back banging on the window and pleading for help; they’re used to my detention weekends by now. As soon as the gates are clear, I skid out into the main road and swerve an oncoming vehicle with a ‘whoop’.

“P-please, Mr Caine, I won’t give you any more attitude. You win. Just let me out and we’ll call it quits, yeah?” Looking in my rear view mirror, I don’t miss Nightingale’s white knuckles clutching onto her fastened seat belt. I temporarily slow, narrowing my eyes at her. Is she genuinely scared or just trying to fool me? Her track record says it’s an act, this girl is fearless. Authority means nothing to her, so a little speed won’t either. Throwing my BMW into fifth gear, the tyres eat up the road all the way into town.

I don’t slow until we are almost at the turning for the supermarket, taking the corner sharply enough to burn a rubber mark into the road. Now that there are others around, I ease to a creeping pace and stop at each crossing to let shoppers over safely. I’m nice like that. I pick a parking space by the front, giving me a clear view of the checkouts through the window panes.

“Here.” I grab the sealed white envelope from my glove box and toss it over my shoulder to her. She’s suspiciously quiet, her eyebrows creasing at the shopping list scrawled across the front and back of the envelope. Inside is the exact amount of notes she’ll need to checkout and not a cent more. This isn’t my first detention. “Well, go on then.”

“This is my detention? Doing your shopping?” I drop my seat back to recline, her ass just scooting out the way in time so I don’t crush her.

“For starters, yeah.” Cleverly, she takes my closed eyes as a sign this conversation is over and huffs out of the car. I peek to watch her grab a shopping cart and salute the employee greeting people at the automatic doors. She’s a strange one for sure, possibly being the richest heiress in the state yet is strolling around like that doesn’t matter. It matters to all the other students at Willowmead who outranks who in their pointless society rankings, so why not her? What is it that makes her different, that makes me equally want to never see her face again yet keep her close enough to unravel all of her secrets?

By the time my trunk pops open, I jerk to realize I had dozed off, though I hadn’t actually meant to. Nightingale loads the bags before returning the cart, dropping into my backseat and handing me the thirty-seven cents, or should I say pence, change. I still haven’t got used to the British Pound.

“Where’s the other fifty pence?” I ask, having calculated exactly how much my entire shop would cost beforehand. Leaning forward between the seats, she blows a large bubble of pink gum next to my ear and pops it loudly. Very cute, I muse to myself. The next stop on today’s agenda is the barbers, where I make her sit and watch me get a full face mask, shave, and fresh trim on my brown locks. If Thornton thinks for one second my weekends to oversee detention will impact my usual errands, he’s a fool.

After the barbers, I head back to my car whilst sending Nightingale to fetch my dry cleaning and a coffee. From the town’s only supermarket, I head across town to a little parking lot facing my favourite tattoo shop. It’s so popular that people travel from all over the country to tattooed here. The artist who has done all of my work spots me across the street and beckons me inside through the glass but I decline. I’m itching to get more ink embedded into my skin but now isn’t the time, not with the spoiled brat who will be re-joining me soon.

Pulling another cigarette out of the pack, I sit on the hood of the BMW and watch Mike get to work on his current client. He’s probably one of the best tattooists in the country, and I’m lucky to have had him do all my art. The soothing sound of the tattoo gun leaks out of the shop each time the door is opened, prickling at my skin as if I’m being worked on myself.

After the longest time, Gothic Barbie finally finds me, using the map on her phone to guide her to the place where I said I’d wait. I catch the way she casts a somber glance over at the tattoo parlour, but I choose to ignore it. She hands me a cold coffee and shoves my dry cleaning in the back without caring about creasing it all again. Slamming the door, she throws herself back against my car with her arms crossed. I suppose running errands is a novelty for her, something she didn’t realize people had to do...wait for it…for themselves.

I huff out a laugh, knowing her family name all too well. After all, her dad’s photo is in the office’s prestigious glass cabinet alongside my father’s. But, whereas my dad had to work his ass off to get anywhere in life, Robert Nightingale inherited it. And that’s the difference between us and them, we understand the core values one should live by. They do not.

“Better get used to this if you mouth off during my lessons. Welcome to the real world. There’s no butlers or chauffeurs to help you out here.”

“I’m not the helpless girl you think I am. And I’m done with your shit for today.” She tries to storm past me, her eyes set on the tattoo parlour when I slide off the hood and snatch her wrist.

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