Sequel: Infidelity. ›
Juvenile.
8 o'clock, Monday night and I'm waitin'
She sat at the back of the class room, on her own. Playing with her lighter, not caring what anyone will say, not caring what the teacher was droneing on about.
“If you not going to do anything at least make it look like you are.” The teacher, Miss Neil, flung an algebra text book in front of her. She flipped through the pages signing her name where appropriate. She ripped out a page at random, page 66. She wondered weather it was just a coincidence it didn’t have a question 6. So many options. Paper plane? Nah, too cliché. She looked at the lighter, then to the torn piece of paper, then back to the lighter. Fire? Surely that’s more original. She lit the corner and watched the orangey-yellow flame; funnel into a soot coloured stream of smoke. Within seconds Miss Neil was at her desk putting out the flame with a fire extinguisher. “Office now!” Miss Neill seethed, holding eye contact.
“Ahh thanks Miss! I haven’t been to Mr. A’s office in what,” She looked at the clock on the wall. “A whole hour! I’m sure he’ll be glad to see me.” She retorted, earning a few snickers from the rest of the class.
“It’s Mr. Atkinson, but just get the hell out of here!” Miss Neill yelled pointing a long spindly finger towards the door.
So here she was again, sitting alone. But this time it was in the waiting room outside the principal’s office, weaving her index finger in and out of the holes in her fishnets.
“Mr. Atkinson will see you now Miss Fawcett.” The old receptionist, Mrs Parker, called over the intercom. She was a lovely woman, believed the ‘bad kids’ were just misguided and misunderstood.
She walked into the beige and brown, bland office and slumped into a brown leather chair staring at the older man on the other side of the neat mahogany desk.
“Setting text books alight? Nikki, what are we going to do about you?” Mr. Atkinson said in a drowsy monotone voice.
“I'm guessing, either put me on report or put me in withdrawal for like, a week?” she said noticing a new hole in her misfits’ shirt.
“And that smart-ass attitude is doing you no favours. I’ll think up a more creative punishment for tomorrows, uh, appointment. Do you have any idea when that may be?”
“I don’t know what I’ve got first two periods.”
“Let me bring your schedule up on screen.” A few clicks of his PC’s mouse. “Gym then science.”
“Ahh, well I have gym with a bunch of slutty whores so I’m guessing then, but if none of them decide to make me want to strangle them with my shoe lace,” she took a breath. “Then science.”
“You will have your punishment tomorrow then, for now just go back to class and try not to scar any more teachers for life.”
“Okay Mr. A. Whatever you say just don’t make me show some skanky prep around or clean the toilets or anything like that.” She said standing up and pulling her tartan mini skirt down so it wasn’t so short.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Nikki, no sooner!”
“Bye Mr. A.” She left and strolled back to her math class, her deep purple Doc. Martens scuffing against the walls occasionally. She wondered what punishment the big hearted, old principal who always saw the best in her could dream up.
“If you not going to do anything at least make it look like you are.” The teacher, Miss Neil, flung an algebra text book in front of her. She flipped through the pages signing her name where appropriate. She ripped out a page at random, page 66. She wondered weather it was just a coincidence it didn’t have a question 6. So many options. Paper plane? Nah, too cliché. She looked at the lighter, then to the torn piece of paper, then back to the lighter. Fire? Surely that’s more original. She lit the corner and watched the orangey-yellow flame; funnel into a soot coloured stream of smoke. Within seconds Miss Neil was at her desk putting out the flame with a fire extinguisher. “Office now!” Miss Neill seethed, holding eye contact.
“Ahh thanks Miss! I haven’t been to Mr. A’s office in what,” She looked at the clock on the wall. “A whole hour! I’m sure he’ll be glad to see me.” She retorted, earning a few snickers from the rest of the class.
“It’s Mr. Atkinson, but just get the hell out of here!” Miss Neill yelled pointing a long spindly finger towards the door.
So here she was again, sitting alone. But this time it was in the waiting room outside the principal’s office, weaving her index finger in and out of the holes in her fishnets.
“Mr. Atkinson will see you now Miss Fawcett.” The old receptionist, Mrs Parker, called over the intercom. She was a lovely woman, believed the ‘bad kids’ were just misguided and misunderstood.
She walked into the beige and brown, bland office and slumped into a brown leather chair staring at the older man on the other side of the neat mahogany desk.
“Setting text books alight? Nikki, what are we going to do about you?” Mr. Atkinson said in a drowsy monotone voice.
“I'm guessing, either put me on report or put me in withdrawal for like, a week?” she said noticing a new hole in her misfits’ shirt.
“And that smart-ass attitude is doing you no favours. I’ll think up a more creative punishment for tomorrows, uh, appointment. Do you have any idea when that may be?”
“I don’t know what I’ve got first two periods.”
“Let me bring your schedule up on screen.” A few clicks of his PC’s mouse. “Gym then science.”
“Ahh, well I have gym with a bunch of slutty whores so I’m guessing then, but if none of them decide to make me want to strangle them with my shoe lace,” she took a breath. “Then science.”
“You will have your punishment tomorrow then, for now just go back to class and try not to scar any more teachers for life.”
“Okay Mr. A. Whatever you say just don’t make me show some skanky prep around or clean the toilets or anything like that.” She said standing up and pulling her tartan mini skirt down so it wasn’t so short.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Nikki, no sooner!”
“Bye Mr. A.” She left and strolled back to her math class, her deep purple Doc. Martens scuffing against the walls occasionally. She wondered what punishment the big hearted, old principal who always saw the best in her could dream up.