The Black Signature

"The Quarrel is Between Our Masters and Us Their Men"

Damn my alarm clock! Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT! It’s got to be kidding me! I mean, three days! THREE DAYS I’ve been here and already I’m late for English! Geez, why can’t my alarm clock work for once instead of bloody well sitting there all smug and mocking like it is just now, the red numerical LCD screen flashing a time at me that’s five minutes past the start of class. I hate technology! I hate it, I really do. I can’t believe my roommate didn’t even think to wake me when he left for class. That’s just downright selfish, that’s what that is. Geez, that guy could do with some prioritising.

Before I even think about going to class and reach into my bag for my trusty dictionary and let it fall open at a random page. My trained eye automatically zones into an unknown word.
“Bombinate – to buzz, hum, or drone.”

Oh, well that’s going to be difficult, I think. How the hell am I supposed to work this into normal conversation? That’s given the circumstance that I even get the chance to converse with anyone, seeing as I’m the “new kid”.

Okay. So now I’m eventually awake and have got my Word of the Day I can get dressed. I’m thinking black underwear, dark wash jeans, my red shirt, black socks and my trainers. Yeah, that will do. As I get dressed, I wonder about this school. Why had I even decided I wanted to come to Boarding School? Yeah, the leaflet looked nice and everything and I even knew it was façade but still, I wasn’t expecting anything as terrible as this. What is up with Rune as well? Yes, Rune. I actually love that name (not that I’m ever going to tell him that)! I looked it up on the net yesterday. It means “a secret”. In my honest opinion it should mean “a dick”. My new roommate – for that is who Rune is – is the personification of a dick. He’s snide, extremely popular and a jock. Says it all, I know.

09:15

“Crap!” I cursed as I realised I was almost fifteen minutes late for class. I hurried out the door, picking up my English books on the way out, and almost crashed into someone from the next room. Stumbling onwards I carried on through my dorm and rushed out into the cold, crisp, sunny exterior of the school. My watch flashed 09:17. Picking up my pace I hurtled across the grounds, almost tripping on a loose stone on the cobbled path, and hurried into the English Department. Running along to my classroom, E3, I realised something: I was going to English. It was my first class of the year. My favourite subject and I was late for it. What the hell is wrong with me? I shook my head as I finally reached the door of the classroom, paused to catch my breath, and pushed it open.

The clichéd reaction was true of this moment: every single head turned to look at me, seeing who would dare to walk into the classroom unannounced. The classroom itself began to bombinate (oh, yes, I managed to get it in already). Stifled laughter murmured through the room and a shout was forced out: “Nice hair, dude.”

I lifted my hand to my hair and became conscious of the fact that it was sticking up in all direction. Oh, God, this was my nightmare come true. Maybe this was a nightmare! Maybe I was only dreaming that I was late. I slyly pinched myself and then winced in pain as I found that I was, sadly, awake, and living this first-day-of-school nightmare.

“Good, afternoon,” the teacher said, a tag on his chest naming him Jett Cotton. “And you are late because…?”

“Slept through my alarm, Sir. Sorry.” I stammered my words, entirely aware of the fact that all eyes were still on me and my bed-head hair.

And then came the reply. That age-old adage that teachers seemed to use regardless of how many times something would happen. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” And then he nodded towards my seat – three from the back, two from the left. “Take your seat, Mr…Nyx.” He concluded after scanning his register.

I hurried towards my seat, ignoring the eyes that still focused on me. What was this perverse satisfaction that students seemed to get from the ridicule of another pupil? I never understood this. But before I could ponder this query further, a voice whispered out from somewhere nearby.

“Hey, new kid.” There was obviously no doubt that they were talking to me. I braced myself for some snide comment concerning my hair or my lateness but none came. I turned to face the owner of the voice and found a girl smiling at me. She was pretty; I can say that much for her. She had long, dyed-black, layered hair and was staring at me with eyes so dark they were almost black. “Hey,” she said. Her voice was pensive and had a slight Canadian accent to it. “Don’t worry about Cotton: he’s strict but he’s an okay guy most of the time.” She paused before continuing in her faraway voice. “I’m Kiera.”

“Leon,” I replied. I was about to say something else. Ask her something pathetic like how long she’d been here or if she liked the school but didn’t get the chance: Mr. Cotton cleared his throat and silence rippled across the room.

“Now that we’re all here I think we can get on with these crappy morning announcements.” His eyes examined the bulletin in front of him before he rolled his eyes and began reading. “No phones in class, tryouts for the football team are today during free period, blah, blah, blah, yackety yack. Blah, God, these things are boring, aren’t they? Choir group will meet today after dinner, and that’s all for now, folks.” A couple of scattered laughs trickled from a few people but there wasn’t much more of a reaction than that. Then he took it to the next level. One step too far if you ask me. He raised his hand to his temple in the shape of a gun. Flicking his hand upwards he muttered “Pow!” Everyone laughed. Why me? Why? Why was I in this school? “So, now, let’s get on with the lesson. Leon!” he shouted. “Since you think it’s okay to saunter into my classroom twenty minutes after everyone else why don’t you come up here and help me?”

I sighed and got up from my seat, slowly making my way to the front of the class. What the hell was I in for now? Every eye, once more, was directly on me and I could feel my face going red. I glanced back towards the captivated class and saw Kiera smiling coyly at me, a red tinge blossoming on her cheeks. She really was quite pretty. But there was something about her that was strange. She was attractive, sweet, seemed like a genuinely nice girl, but I wasn’t attracted to her. I can’t quite figure out why.

My attention returned to the class as I reached the front. Many, many strange and exuberant thoughts were going through my head. Was I going to have to do a monologue? A speech on why I shouldn’t be late for class? Was this really a nightmare and I would end up having to take all of my clothes off? Oh, dear God, please let that not be true. I was shaking as I stood up at the front and waited for my instructions, something that would inevitably embarrass me in front of all my peers on my very first day of classes. How humiliating!
But Mr. Cotton just looked at me and turned his back, walking towards the cupboard at the other end of his desk. What was going on? As he walked away I noticed a lump in his back pocket and that he walked strange: a slight limp in his left foot. How strange. I wonder what had happened to him. Maybe he’d been tripped up by some strange, absurdly lifelike tree that had it in for him. Well, maybe not but the idea is amusing. This huge big tree just casually stretching it’s limb and smacking his ankle out from underneath him. Ha! I have to refrain from bursting out laughing as he opens the cupboard with a key that he produces from his back pocket. So that’s what the lump had been. I knew that. I watch in confusion as he pulls out a stack of books and then turns back to face me.

“Get that other pile of books and distribute them to your half of the classroom.” I stood there. What? Was that all? No way! However, I am definitely not complaining. “Well?” he said, some angered surprise in his voice. “Are you going to just stand there and magically will the books to deliver themselves to people? Get to it!” With relieved confusion I walk across to the cupboard and heave out the stack of books. I catch the title of the book on top: “Romeo and Juliet”.

Oh, for God’s sake! How many times had I read this bloody book? ‘Far too’ is the answer to that question. It must have been at least six times. We studied this at my other school (a total of three times. I’m assuming this is because they ran out of reading materials) and I have it at home. It’s funny, though: I actually understand that old Shakespearean language. It’s quite simple really. Or, at least, it is for me. Regardless of the fact that I have read it so many times I still love it. Although it can't beat A Midsummer Night's Dream, I think. That play is a work of genius.

And so I began to hand them out to the class. People smirked and laughed at me left, right and centre as I did so and I could feel my face burning up, turning a deep shade of red that was a familiar trait with my family. As I passed Kiera she smiled at me. A genuinely nice gesture but the movement sent a strange – a not a nice kind of strange – tremors through me. Again, that something resided there under the surface that made me feel slightly repelled by her.

Three rows and twenty books later I was finally finished and went back to my seat, ready to get on with the lesson. When I took my seat a feeling of relief bubbled up inside me. Maybe Cotton wasn't as bad as he first seemed. Maybe he just didn't like the fact that I had turned up so late. I probably deserved the small punishment of handing out books. Heck, I probably deserved worse.

And worse is what I got.

“Mr, Nyx, could you please explain to me what it is that you think you're doing?”
Confusion fluctuated through me.

“I finished, handing out the books,” I replied hesitantly. Then I remembered to add, “Sir.”
“And did I ask you to take your seat after you had finished this mundane task?”

Sniggers could be heard across the room. Obviously the other students were getting some more of that perverse joy out of seeing someone else being picked on, perhaps pacified in the knowledge that it wasn't them being humiliated.

“Well?”

I hate this man. I take back what I said, He really is as bad as I initially thought he was.

“No,” I conceded, “No, you didn't, Sir”

“Well then,” he said, a smirk trickling maliciously onto his face. “We can't be having that, can we? Come to the front of the class, Mr. Nyx, and bring your copy of Romeo and Juliet with you. Scarcelli, you too.”

Scarcelli? Who is that?

I rose from my seat, clutching the book tightly in my hand, and scanned the class, waiting for someone else to stand up and walk to the front. And, to my dismay, the person I saw smiling and rising from their seat was...yes, you guessed it...Rune.

Just.

My.

Luck.

Could this day get any freaking worse?

With a barely audible sigh I started towards the front of the room. The rest of the pupils had stopped giggling to my incredible relief. Three rows left until I was at the front but the walk seemed to be taking forever. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, willing me to move faster, to get to the front so they didn't have to wait as long to deride me.

They wouldn't have to wait long.

As soon as I started speaking they would be laughing their heads off, the laughs amalgamating into something grossly opprobrious that would more than likely result in me fleeing to the toilets to throw up whatever food may still be in my stomach from last night.

I reached the front of the class.

Rune was there before me and was standing waiting, an annoyingly patient and kind smile on his face. This coming from the guy who didn't even think to wake me this morning. I wasn't buying it.

Then Cotton smiled at me. What I wouldn't give to punch this guy and wipe that superfluous smirk off his face.

“Rune, I would like you to turn to the end of Act 1 in your script and you will speak for Romeo. Leon,” there was that smile again; that snide curling of his lip that was far too perfect. I knew what was coming. He wasn't going to do this was he? He was. I just knew it. “You can read for Juliet.”

Asshole!

Seriously? What the hell was he playing at?! I hate him. I really do hate him. This was my first day of classes and already he was making an ass of me! I hate Leaderton. I wish I had never even toyed with the idea of Boarding School. This is probably the worst decision I've made in all of my time here.

This day definitely couldn't get any worse.

“From 'If I profane with my unworthiest hand' Rune. Off you go,” Cotton directed.

Rune flicked through the pages until he found it. I was already there. I knew the play like the back of my hand. Then he began to read. His oratory skills were distressingly impressive. He read with a passion and grace that I had never heard before from someone so young.

And especially from a jock.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a gentle kiss.”

I hesitated. I was awestruck. He was phenomenal. I couldn't match that. No way. How was I going to manage to do this? I have a huge fear of standing up and speaking in front of people. What was that old piece of advice about public speaking?

Picture the audience naked.

Ew.

I heaved a great big sigh and then got on with it.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss.”

That was strange: for some reason I didn't freeze up. The words flowed from between my lips with what seemed like a well-practised rhythm. I let slip a small smile which faded almost instantly as I saw Cotton shaking his head.

Rune carried on.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”
“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

His words were flawless. Each was pronounced perfectly and sounded genuinely Shakespearean.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake”
“Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”

Both of us, at precisely the same moment, looked at Cotton. This was, in the play, where Romeo and Juliet kissed for the first time. What was he going to make us do?

His reply was one that filled me with relief.

“That's all for now, I think,” He paused slightly before continuing. “Rune, excellent. Perfect reading. Only thing I would say is that you need to gesture more. Your body language is very restricted when you read. Leon.”

Shit. Here we go. What was he going to say.

“That was...not bad. However, you need to pronounce the words more accurately and with more feeling: you say them very blandly and without much emotion. You also speak too quietly. Raise your voice, don't be scared of what people think. Another thing: don't show off.”

What did he mean by that?

“I know you may know this play very well but you will understand it more and be able to be more emotive if you actually read from the book. I am aware that you didn't look at the book once and that you didn't make one mistake. But no one likes a show off, I'm afraid. Please return to your seats.”

I was fuming. How dare he claim I was showing off? Just because I knew that part of the script? I don't even know how to put how angry I am into words. I went back to my seat without saying a word, a mix of emotions circling furiously around my head.

I remained like this for the rest of the period, even as we were sorted into groups of four – my group was Kiera, Willow, Shaun and myself – and had to take turns reading out parts of the play. Thankfully the girls wanted to be the female characters so that meant I didn't have to humiliate myself further. Cotton kept coming across to hear me read and would slip advice to me every single time. Every time there was something wrong with my speech.
The bell signalling the end of the lesson was the best thing I had heard in a while. Cotton said “You're dismissed” and I packed my bag.

I was gone before anyone else had even left their seat.