Goody, Like Two Shoes

The bus wasn't even half full; there were only fifteen students and three supervisors going on the trip to Ontario; and not even half way there, Frank Iero and his cronies had started a riot from the back seats of the bus.

First, it had been a spelling competition of obscene words, now it was some disgraceful song that they'd written in under five minutes - with Frank's guitar for extra effect.

It seemed that two of our supervisors, Mrs. Jacobs - the home economics teacher -, and Jeremy - the caretaker -, were too old to hear - or understand - half of the things that the boys were singing about, but they seemed happy about the "lads' good, ol' traditional sing-song".
Mr. Way, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, smirking childishly every time the delinquents got to the verse about "having nookie on the kitchen counter"... whatever the hell "nookie" meant.

The bus was hurtling down a winding road, surrounded by fields and hedges on both sides, and it seemed that the road was full of potholes; unluckily for me - I'd never been the best one for traveling long distances.

I stood up and maneuvered past Millie - who was talking with the girls behind us, Mabel and Annie - and I scooted into the aisle, making a beeline for Mr. Way.

The song from the back of the bus ceased for a moment and a bottle cap came flying my way, the yellow plastic bouncing off my nose and to the floor with a soft 'plink'.
Right on cue came Frank Iero's aggravating, trademark giggling.

Too nauseous to even blush, I tapped Mr. Way on the shoulder.

Before I had a chance to speak, he stood up, holding onto the back of the seat to stop himself from falling over, "Are you okay? You don't look too good, there."

"I need fresh air," I whispered, "now."

He carefully pushed me into the vacated seat next to him, "If I'm right, there's a service station five minutes from here. Hang on."

And, for the next seven minutes and twenty eight seconds, Mr. Way kept a watchful eye on me, brown paper bag in hand in case of an "emergency"; until finally I was let off the bus, Millie and Mr. Way in tow, and the other students headed off to the small shop, in search of refreshments.

"Are you okay now?" Mr. Way asked, patting my shoulder as I breathed in deeply, trying to rid myself of the intense stomach pain.

"I'll be okay." I replied, leaning against Millie for support.

"Good, good." he smiled, "Now, if you're in need of my assistance no longer, I'm going to go and hide behind a tree to enjoy a long awaited cigarette - but you don't know that of course."

After Mr. Way had disappeared into some shrubbery - and Millie had regained her senses - she linked her arm in mine, tugging me towards a small, white building where the bathrooms were situated.

We wrinkled up our noses in disgust as we realised that the bathroom was for both men and women, and we stepped inside warily, hearing the door swing shut behind us.

The faint sound of chattering could be heard, and we rounded the corner, only to see Frank and his friend, John, perched on the sinks, cigarettes between their lips.

"Well, look who we have here; it's el dork-o!" Frank snorted, his voice drawling as he took a puff from the cigarette, and he faked sympathy, "Feeling sick, my little friend? Oh, what a darn shame, that is."

I tried my best to ignore him as Millie linked her arm in mine, defensive, and led me to the one and only unoccupied sink, that just so happened to be right in between Frank and John.

I unhooked my arm from Millie's to turn the faucet on, and I cupped my hands under the slow trickle of water, splashing my warm face with the cool liquid when I had a fair amount.

While trying to cool myself down, I felt Frank and John's gaze on me - which was [strike]a little[/strike] extremely unnerving, and the scene felt like something from the Discovery Channel : two lions about to pounce on their prey under the hot, desert sun.

Frank and John began muttering to each other, sniggering at intervals, and Millie reached for my arm, and quietly said, "Come on, Sasha, let's go."

I nodded a silent approval, turning the faucet off, and, suddenly, there was a loud clinking in the pipes under the sinks and a stream of cold water, along with pieces of grime, spurted out from the faucet ... spraying everywhere, but aimed mostly at Frank.

Just my luck.

I stepped back hastily, stumbling into Millie who hit her side against the hand dryers due to the force of our collision, and, quietly, so only I could hear, she mumbled, "Oh, sweet Mother of God, help us, we're - excuse me - fucked."

Millie made it a habit to never - and I mean never - swear. Now I knew that we - or, more likely me - were done for.

"Why, you little--!" Frank began, looking furious as he jumped down from the countertop, his blue jeans now stained a darker blue at the crotch.

His black, shabby Converse squealed against the tiles as he stepped towards me, his cigarette secured between his left thumb and middle finger, "You did it on purpose didn't you?!"

I wondered why he thought Iwas the one who'd done it.
I mean, I hadn't gone down on my knees, monkey wrench in hand, to tinker around with the rusty pipes, had I?
They were old and dented in a few places; it had been, obviously, a matter of time before that had happened.

I couldn't answer him, no matter how hard I tried to force my brain into gear. I was scared - afraid of him - and he knew it, he'd known it all along.

"Well?" he snapped, still cornering me against the grubby walls, "Didn't you?"

Frank was right up in my face now, his nose almost flat against mine, and I could feel his breath, coming in short, warm bursts against my cheek, and I could smell the smoke that still lingered around him, making me gag a little.

He stared into my eyes, a furious look on his face, "Answer me, Rowlands. Now."

And his cigarette, which was now almost a mere stump, was back between his lips as he took a drag, blowing a lungful of smoke into my face, making my eyes water and my nose sting.

I could feel my stomach churn, the nausea was returning, and I could almost imagine bile rising from my stomach, up my throat, out of my mouth and splattering onto Frank's beloved sneakers and the longer, straggly parts of his jeans that dragged across the floor when he walked.

I didn't really need to imagine it happening, because - with my luck - it happened

For the rest of our journey, Frank was a mere twenty seats behind me, cradling a plastic bag that held his Converse - which Jeremy had conveniently cleaned in a river that ran by the service station - probably still as intent on murdering me as he had been five hours ago.

I was still as sickly pale as I had been after the vomiting incident, but at least I felt better, and I was now sharing Millie's grandmother's homemade, lemon and ginger cookies.

"I think he'll stab me in my sleep." I told Millie as I brushed a few stray crumbs from my top, "Really."

Millie tittered nervously and she replied with a quiet, yet unsure "No, he won't."

I sighed a little, "I hope that you're right."

With that, the bus came to a stop at the top of a hill, and Mrs. Jacobs stood up, telling us, in her quiet, mousy voice, that we'd arrived.

Once outside in the early evening sunshine, the crunch of shoes against gravel could be heard as the group of fifteen gathered around the two park rangers, Bill and Sally.

"Alright, guys, we'll show you to your cabins," Bill said, beckoning us all with a flick of his wrist, "Right this way."

We all followed them, Millie, Mabel, Annie and I keeping close by Mr. Way just in case Frank attempted to ambush us, machetes in his grasp.

After walking for ten minutes through the forest, on the gravel pathway that, at intervals, was marked with signposts, and steadily lead downwards, we came to a large lake that had a small wooden pier at one edge, and at least five wooden cabins a few hundred meters from the shore.

Later that evening, after unpacking our belongings in our cabins, we gathered around a small camp fire, each of us tucking into charred sausages - apart from the vegetarians of the group - and marshmallows, darkness surrounding us.

"Isn't this just fun?" Millie asked, smiling, nudging me to get my attention.

"Yes, it is." I replied weakly, my eyes glued to the pair that stared right back, twinkling maliciously in the light of the embers.

Frank.