Page 9 of Life Lessons

“But then I wouldn’t be around to be your worst nightmare, would I? Someone has to make your life the hell you deserve. So, guess what, detention’s back on.” When I push away from the wall, she tries to follow me but I hold her back with a hand on her slender shoulder.

“Wait, but it’s already—” I cut her off, ignoring her, and returning to the open doorway. I pull my keys out of my pocket and hang them delicately on the handle before facing inside.

“Musgrove, you’re in detention too, for trespassing. The two of you can start with my laundry and take out the trash. Then, you’ll scrub my apartment from top to bottom with the spare toothbrushes under the sink. Come find me in my classroom when it’s done and I’ll consider signing your form.” I walk away with their protests filling the hall behind me, not caring if it’ll take all night. Little Bird will learn quickly enough not to mess with a big dog like me, if she wants to get through the rest of this year unscathed.

Striding out of the staff residence, I head across campus to the serenity of my classroom. There’s no one else around except the cleaners who let me in, which was lucky considering I just left my keys behind. I did not want to walk all the way back just to see Nightingale in my personal space. Amongst my stuff, maybe changing my sheets. I wonder if her smell will be left behind once she’s done. Goddammit, what’s wrong with me? Possibly I’m still drunk from the night before, yeah that must be it because sober me would never spend so much time thinking about a student the way I do her.

Flicking on the lights, I cross the room and drop into my leather chair. There’s a post-it note on my desk from Thornton, informing me about a series of walkarounds happening this week for potential investors, so I need to be on my best behaviour. I shake my head, knowing the Headteacher purposely didn’t email me so I’d find this note first thing on Monday morning when it’s too late to argue. Ripping the post-it into tiny shreds and sprinkling it into the trash can beside me, I pull out my 1972 vintage bourbon from the bottom drawer.

My generous paycheck allows for luxuries like this, although I rarely spend money. With my board and meals provided, and the horny women at the bars buying my drinks, I only spurge out once in a while on a new car, gadget, or expensive alcohol. There’s nothing else in life that really matters.

Taking a long swig from the glass bottle, I lean back to put my feet up and open the TikTok app on my phone. I’ll only watch a few and then I’ll have a brief look through the workbooks for what I’m going to set this week.

A knock at my door stops me mid-laugh at an aggressive Emu attacking its owner, drawing my attention to the sweaty pair in my doorway. I look beyond them to the night’s sky visible through the hallway windows, a frown pulling at my lips. Where the fuck did the time go? Nightingale walks in without being invited, her face looking grubby and hair dishevelled. She slams her detention form and my keys onto my desk, a challenge blazing in her eyes.

“Do you need help finding the recycling or…” I manage to keep a straight face, just about. But inside, I’m kicking myself with laughter. There’s a tightening between her eyebrows as I predicted and she leans forward on her arms to try to scare me. However, thanks to the empty bottle of bourbon sitting in my lap, all I’m really doing is screaming at myself not to look at her ample cleavage. Ahh fuck, I looked.

“You said you’d sign it.”

“No, I said I’d consider it and I have.” Picking up the crumpled piece of paper, I make a show of dropping into the can by my desk, along with Thornton’s message. “Consider it trash. Just. Like. You.” Ignoring the fact I sound like a petty teenage girl, I’m happy with how un-slurred my words are and how Nightingale bristles. Musgrove doesn’t appear impressed either, but she isn’t throwing me daggers like her friend. Nightingale leans forward even more, her lips captivating my attention.

“You think you’re better than me because you drink your demons away. Well, I face mine. I’m stronger than you, so if you want to start a war then so be it. Trust me when I say, I’ll come out on top.” She storms away, her hips swinging with each step. I hate her. I hate the way she sees straight through me, how she knows exactly how to anger me, and how my dick jumps to attention each time she does.

Ican’t believe that asshole actually went and gave me and Trix detention after he cancelled it to start with. He’s such a dick, and I have an overwhelming urge, as I stomp back into his apartment carrying the necessary cleaning supplies, to throat punch him if I do see him again tonight. A loud huff draws me back to Trix, and the look on her face has me doubled over. You would think that this place is a walking germ lab with the amount of protective equipment, rubber gloves, aprons, hairnets, and God knows what else she is wearing. This place doesn’t even look that untidy.

“Oh my God, why are you dressed like that?” I can’t help but ask.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me. If I catch some disgusting disease whilst doing manual labour, I will blame you,” she says as she pouts, cocking her hip for effect. Instead, all it does is cause her heavy apron to flap, making a very strange farting noise, which makes Trix look even more silly and makes me laugh even more.

“Let me guess, Trix, you have never had to clean anything before, have you?” I ask with a smile on my face, already knowing the answer. Trix might be down to earth and a lot of fun, but it’s easy to forget that nearly everyone at this school grew up with a silver spoon in their mouth, or, in my case, a golden spoon. Hell, a year ago, I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea on where to start with a task like this, which I’m guessing is why McLazy set me the challenge.

What he doesn’t know is that for the last few months I have needed to keep busy somehow, so I followed the staff in our house. I learnt to clean, cook, and even landscape, just to keep my mind at bay. Trixie, however, is looking at the hoover like it is an alien device that she is suddenly questioning the use of.

I quickly give her a run down on all the equipment and all the jobs that need to be done. I allocated her the kitchen because with the exception of a few glasses and the odd empty takeaway container, it’s not too bad. I instruct her on how to rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher, and then how to wipe down all the surfaces and mop the floor. I decide that since she is still picking everything up with her thumb and forefinger, like it might be nuclear waste, it will be quicker if I clean everywhere else. I also don’t want to admit that there is a part of me that feels a bit jealous over the idea of Trixie being in his bedroom. I decide to tackle that room first because if she does, by some miracle get finished early, then I can allocate her a new room, but it sure as hell won’t be this one.

Walking into his bedroom, I’m bombarded by the scent that is all Mr Caine. The deep woodsy smell that seems to always envelope him, along with the tangy smell of alcohol that he rarely seems to be without. A part of me wonders why he is so alcohol dependent, I think maybe if I knew why, I would want to help him. The idea of more lives being ruined by drink just kills me. As I’m cleaning, I find a black old 80s band t-shirt crumpled up half under the bed, and as I pick it up I can’t help pulling it to my chest. The smell hits me, but not in a bad way. The woodsy scent is accompanied by a very slight peppermint scent and I can’t help but smile because I know this is his natural scent, not marred by booze or sex. What is it about this asshole? He treats me like shit, like I’m someone that he despises, and yet here I am like a fucking lovestruck teenager, smelling his t-shirt. But because it doesn’t have his usual cloud of alcohol surrounding it, this scent is all him and that’s what I want to hold on to.

Cleaning the rest of the flat as quickly as possible, and helping Trixie to finish off the kitchen as she still hadn’t done it by the time I had finished everything else. When I said we were done she practically ran out of the room, shivering and shaking, like she could feel the manual labour having an effect on her. I laugh but she doesn’t. She runs off shouting about needing a shower or three and that she will see me tomorrow. Well, that is until I remind her we need to get the detention slip signed.

Locking the door, we head to his classroom. The run-in doesn’t exactly go as I planned. Pompous asshole wouldn’t sign my detention slip. I should have fucking known. If he thinks he can take me on, he is very fucking wrong. This girl is starting to get her fight back, and it’s all aimed at Mr Caine.

When I finally go back to my room, chuntering to myself about the war I have started with my Maths teacher, I am pleased that the weekend is done, but very unsure about what the future will bring. Particularly with my unsigned detention slip. I shower quickly before getting ready for bed. It’s not until I am cuddled up in bed wearing the Metallica t-shirt that I stole from my teacher’s room that I start to wonder if I made the right decision when I cancelled the therapy sessions I was having.

The next day,I head down to Maths as usual and I find there is a sign up sheet on my desk basically informing me that I have been given detention every night this week. I look up at Mr Caine with a look of pure fury on my face, then I falter for a second. Does he know I stole from him? Is that why he is putting me in detention because if that’s the reason then I kinda do deserve it. But given the smug grin on his face as he lounges back in his chair, while he rests his feet on his own desk, I can tell this isn’t about the t-shirt.

Picking up the detention signature slip, I walk to the front of the room and slam it down on his desk. He drops his foot off his desk before standing quickly so that we are face-to-face. Well…we would be if he wasn’t almost a foot taller than my measly five foot three frame. I also note that we’re probably closer than we should be given we have a full classroom watching.

“What do you think you are doing, Little Bird?” he leans down and whispers in my ear.

“I am giving you back this detention sheet. I have done nothing to warrant a week of after school detention,” I say, louder than his whisper, but probably still not loud enough for everyone to hear.

“If you had read the note, you will see that I did not issue you the detention. It comes from the Head. It turns out that you failed to hand in the weekend’s signed detention slip proving that you attended. The rule is that unless he sees the paper before school starts then you get a week of detention, and he hasn’t seen the paperwork,” he says with a grin, and I know that this time it was loud enough for those in the first row to hear. A red mist descends and I am furious. Not only did I waste all my weekend doing the same detention, it’s his fault I couldn’t hand the damn slip in. I knew this week was going to be a shit show, but I hadn’t realised it was going to be this bad.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You refused to sign it. Did you do it just to get me in more trouble?” I shout, but I realise now that Mr Caine is no longer smiling. In fact he is holding his hands up in defence, like he is trying to calm down a wild animal.

“Newbie, calm down. I actually did sign it and handed it in this morning. I don’t wish to spend any more time hosting detention than I have to. You can discuss this with the Head after class if need be, but for now sit down so we can get this shit show going?” he says, as his arm directs me to my seat. Too damn right we will be bringing this up with the Head. I can’t be stuck here all week, not this week. It will drive me mad.

As I am walking past the students, I try not to pay them any attention but Harriett’s little chuckle grates on the very few nerves I have left. I take a deep breath until I hear her start talking to her friend.

---