Goody, Like Two Shoes

"I've had it with you both!" Gerard yelled, tossing two towels in Frank's and my direction, "You're putting me off teaching for good, did you know that?! Right now, I think I'll go into the prison catering industry."

From my seat on the edge of a bed in the teachers' cabin, squashed uncomfortably next to a soaking wet Frank, I glanced up at Gerard to see that he was tugging at his hair frantically, and his face was contorted in what seemed to be a look of agony.

Frank, usually a cocky idiot, nervously squeezed some water from his matted and clumped-together hair, "Uh, Gerard, dude, are you, like, okay?"

Gerard spun around, eyes wide, "No, I'm not okay! Mrs. Jacobs left me in charge, and look at this - I look so professional now, don't I? Yes, she'll congratulate me on having two dipsticks try to drown each other; under my watch! Buggery fuck, I want to murder the both of you."

I tensed up, and I'm sure Frank did too.

"You," he pointed at Frank, "for picking on her, non-stop. And you," his accusatory finger was pointed my way, "for standing up for yourself in the most idiotic way. What if someone would've drowned?!"

His question was more of a rhetorical one, so I kept my mouth shut.

"I feel like some single mother trying to stop her kids from killing each other ... over a packet of sharpies. God, if you were my kids, I'd have topped myself by now; or hung you both from the washing line by your noses."

Gerard stomped his boot clad foot for extra effect.

"I don't know what to do with you..." he stopped his pacing and scratched his chin, eyes narrowed, "But, even though I despise you both for almost giving me a heart attack, I'm going to save you from the wrath of a batty Mrs. Jacobs; for which I hope you'll be thankful for. Now go and pack your shit before she comes back; and before I change my mind."

So, half an hour later, Frank and I were cramped in the back of a rented car that smelt of dead cats.

Gerard had eventually convinced Jeremy to drive Frank and I home because, in his words, "they don't deserve to go unpunished", which was basically his coded way of saying "they shouldn't have to go through the experience of having a mousy, old woman lecturing them about acting like children".

The tension in the car was so thick that you'd probably be able to cut it with a knife, the silence was deafening, and even Frank's glares - whenever we knocked knees when the car drove over a bump - were enough to make a murderer cry.

I dreaded the thought of how the rest of the trip back to Belleville would go; and it looked like it'd be a very long one, thanks to Jeremy's driving.

Maybe it was lucky that Jeremy glanced at us in the rear-view mirror every minute; at least that would stop Frank from disembodying me.
Or so I hoped.

I spent the rest of the early evening staring out of the window until I finally fell to sleep; and, when I woke up, I realised that we were almost home.
We must've stopped somewhere during the night for Jeremy to get some sleep.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes, stretching my legs out as much as the small confines of the car would allow, and that's when I realised that there was something weighing my right shoulder down.

I looked down to see a mess of black hair, and I resisted the urge to hit the owner of the said head that was resting on me.

It was lucky I didn't even just flick him, seeing as he woke up seconds later, grunting and wriggling before squinting up at me with bleary eyes.
It took a moment for his brain to jolt into I-hate-Sasha-mode, and then he sat bolt-upright, scrunching hiscute quite small nose up and moving his attention to the passing buildings.

The next week passed relatively quickly - even though I'd been laden with chores for getting into trouble - and before I knew it, I was back in school.

Engrossed in the calculus lesson, I barely even noticed that I had been called to the principal's office, over the intercom, and it took a nudge in the ribs from Millie to wake me from my trance of staring at the chalkboard.

When I was let into the principal's office, I almost walked straight back out - Frank was sitting in one of the two chairs in front of the oak desk.

"Ms. Rowlands," Mr. Adams, the principal, spoke, and he motioned to the vacant chair, "'Take a seat."

I sat down, adjusting my glasses, and Mr. Adams began to talk.
"I've heard all about your little quarrel, and I'm extremely disappointed in your both. Well..."

He looked like he wanted us to say something.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Adams, nothing like that will never happen again." I managed to squeak out.

Frank said something along the same lines, staring at his sneakers.

"Hm, and I should hope so, too." Mr. Adams gave us an undecipherable look before jumping onto a completely different topic altogether, "Now I'm sure you're both well aware of your results from the summer exams, am I right?"

Two nods.

"And, Mr. Iero, I see that you've failed English lit., correct?"

One nod.

"And you were top of the class, Ms. Rowlands?"

Another nod.

"Right then," and he'd skipped topics again, "So, I won't be punishing you for your escapades, as such, but..."

Frank looked up, ""But" what, sir?"

"Ms. Rowlands, how do you feel about tutoring Frank?"

I looked at Mr. Adams, a blank look on my face, and I heard Frank make a squawking noise.

"I'll take that as a "yes". Thank you. Now that's all; back to classes."

I stood up, feeling like screaming.

"Arrange times for studying, amongst yourselves. Have fun learning, children."

Once the door was closed behind us, Frank began walking one way, I the other, and I could make out a muttered, "That bastard".

"I can't believe it." was all Millie said, once I'd told her what'd happened in Mr. Adams's office, and she continued chewing on an apple.

"Me either," I groaned, peering into my brown paper bag and pulling out a cheese sandwich, "I'm done for."

"Speaking of being done for, Frank-alert at twelve o' clock."

"Shoot me[/i."' I whined under my breath.

It was seconds before a finger poked me in my shoulder, and I looked up slowly.

Frank looked sheepish and embarrassed, "Eh, help me study this weekend?"

I nodded, silent.

"Your place or mine?"

It sounded like we'd be spending a romantic weekend together; and the thought revolted me.

"'Um..."
I had more of a chance of getting murdered at his house; his mother and father were probably Rottweilers that had machetes tucked in their collars.
"Mine." I finally spoke, scribbling my address on a napkin for him.

"Oh, okay. See you then."

Oh. Great.