Status: Slow updates (Don't kill me I'm lazy)
Revenge and Its Thrills
Chapter Sixteen: Satanic Mustard
Jack’s POV
I awoke to my alarm blaring Guns ‘N Roses at 5:30 Monday morning. Not the worst way to wake up, but so. Fucking. Early. But did school care? No. All our teachers save one got to lie in, since we only needed one bus driver.
Vic had insisted on sleeping in my bed with me last night - “Ew Jack, that’s gay!” “But Vic has a boyfriend!” Shut the fuck up. We’re best friends, we do whatever the fuck we like. And in case you haven’t noticed, I am fucking gay.
Waking up this early puts me in really shitty moods.
Just as I was nudging Vic awake - he was such a heavy sleeper, even a hurricane wouldn’t wake him up - Frank threw a pillow at me and demanded I turn my alarm off before he “fucking smashed it.” Wow, what happened to being the ‘quiet kid?’
Nevertheless, I switched off the alarm on my phone and groggily forced myself out of bed. I stumbled on the way to the bathroom and ended up on my face, earning a snicker from a still half-asleep Vic.
“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered, picking myself up and continuing on my way.
Brushing my teeth woke me up a little more. When I got out the bathroom Vic and Frank were waiting outside the door. Vic looked asleep on his feet, whilst Frank had the worst bed head ever and a murderous expression. I didn’t blame him - waking up this early always made me feel like going on a killing spree, too.
Alex and Oli were still passed out. Whether they were still asleep or awake and just being stubborn, I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t exactly care either. Alex may have had the idea to ‘help’ me yesterday, but he still practically killed my sister.
Still, I wasn’t exactly much better than them if I deliberately made them late for the first day of school. So I threw my shoe at Alex and demanded he get up.
He swore at me, but I ignored him and started to get dressed. The up side of not permanently attending King Richard School was that we didn’t have to wear the ugly uniform - which, by the way, was a disgusting maroon colour. Who the fuck even likes maroon?
So I tugged on a pair of black skinny jeans and a black Green Day shirt, accidentally putting my converse on the wrong feet. Green Day were a band that Mr Armstrong used to be in - the Millburn rector may be harsh and angry sometimes, but the rest of the time he was a pretty awesome guy.
Breakfast wasn’t great - it was hard to enjoy bacon and eggs at six in the morning. Especially since, still half asleep, I put mustard on the plate instead of ketchup. Mustard was Satan’s punishment to man. Instead of flooding everything and making some poor guy build an ark, like God so lovingly did, Satan just decided on mustard.
I’m not a very religious person. Which probably explains why, in P7 (A/N Year 7 in England, no clue about America), I thought it would be a brilliant to write a JesusXHitler love story for my English assignment.
The teacher was not impressed.
She’d phoned my mum.
My mum was not impressed.
At least May appreciated it - she’d cracked up, ignoring the disapproving looks mum sent her way.
Mr Armstrong walked over to my breakfast table. It looked like he was going to be the one driving our bus, since he was the only teacher here. I swear, this trip was only thought up so the teachers could get a free holiday in Cyprus.
He grinned at me. Someone’s a morning person.
“Nice shirt!” He complimented, holding his hand up for a high five. Even in my foul, tired mood, I accepted the high five, because one of the worst things in the world was to be left with your hand awkwardly hanging mid air whilst the other person stares at you like you need Jesus.
Mr Armstrong was an outgoing, awesome dude. He may be a rector, but he still wore his black hair spiked up and rimmed his eyes with eyeliner. He was - dare I say it? - pretty fly, for a white guy.
I can’t believe I just did that.
However, if you get on Mr Armstrong’s bad side, he can - and will - make your school life a living hell. So, as I make sure to carefully advise any new kid, if you want to pass school, do not fuck with him.
The bus journey to King Richard School took about half an hour. I sat next to Vic - well, more like led next to Vic. I’d turned sideways and lounged so that the back of my head was in his lap, and my legs were resting on the window. I didn’t get told off though.
Mr Armstrong had to show an ID card to get the bus on camp, and then we drove up a small winding hill. Past a cinema, past a gym, past some freaky looking dude with peeling red skin - Satan, is that you? - and then finally found the school on the right.
We pulled into the car park. It didn’t look like an overly massive school. There were several buildings on different sides of a small road. On the right was a low, one level building, with ‘King Richard School’ written in funky lettering above a glass door. That was where we headed once everyone had filed off the bus.
There was a short corridor inside that ended in an entrance to a massive P.E hall. On our left was a reception. Mr Armstrong went into the reception and emerged a few minutes later with a grinning lady. She had curly brown hair, tanned skin and smiling brown eyes.
“Hi everyone!” She greeted cheerily. Not put out by the non-committal grunts we gave in reply, she continued. “Welcome to King Richard School! I’m Maria, the head receptionist. I’m going to give you a tour of KRS this morning.”
Silence greeted her enthusiastic words. A quick survey of the sea of faces surrounding me showed me that, if we got all technical and started using graphs and percentages, 309.2% of us couldn’t give a fuck. If that was how percentages worked. Which I was pretty sure it wasn’t, but hey.
Maria frowned a little. Probably she was expecting more - bouncy, enthusiastic kids who just loved learning and didn’t have anything better to do with their lives! But no. She got stuck with Millburn Academy - the school of sometimes nice kids who apparently couldn’t be fucked with life when forced to get out of bed at Satanic hours in the morning; and Inverness Royal Academy - the so called ‘school’ that ‘educated’ countless fuck ups, assholes and druggies. Wow. Lucky Maria. (A/N I GOT YOUR PICTURE I’M COMING WITH YOU! But no seriously, the receptionist at KRS is actually a lovely lady called Maria. Or she was when I attended about a year and a bit ago.)
“Well, let’s get going then,” Maria told us, swivelling around and starting down the corridor. Her high heels made a cheerful clopping sound with every step she took, and I resisted the urge to shoot her. She seemed like a lovely person, but those shoes were giving me a migraine already.
The two guest schools trailed miserably behind her as she hurried around school, pointing out the different classrooms and where the Tuck Shop was, etcetera etcetera. During the half hour tour, a steady amount of KRS students started arriving. A few ogled at us, but most just glanced once and went back to doing whatever they were doing.
We stopped at some concrete stairs just outside the Tuck Shop. The stairs lead down to a football field, and I mentally groaned when Maria told us brightly that we would have to cross the field twice a week to get to our Art, Music and D+T classes. Seriously, what was the point in that? Couldn’t those classes just be in the main building, like in a normal school, instead of having them in a stupid fucking annex at the other side of a fucking football field? Hah hah, no, of course not! Don’t be so stupid, Jack! KRS, a normal school? Ridiculous!
Wow, early mornings put me in really shitty moods.
Maria took us to a big car park next to the PE room. While we waited for whatever it was we were waiting for, Maria decided to give us a lecture of the school’s history. I didn’t really concentrate much, but a few bits caught my attention. Such as, apparently King Richard School was extremely famous for producing successful bands - such as Metallica, Nirvana, Aerosmith and the likes. I was actually pretty impressed. Those were a few of my favourite bands, and now I was at the school they attended?
She also told us that they currently had a young rock band attending KRS. Their name was Black Veil Brides, and so far they were only famous around the local area, but, as Maria put it, ‘They’re going big places!’
Finally a big bus arrived, and Maria explained that this bus carried all the local students from Dhekelia Garrison. The Garrison must be pretty big, if the residents needed to travel by bus to school.
I didn’t pay much attention to the bus until Vic nudged me and pointed at the stream of students emerging from it. “Isn’t he that Craig guy?”
I followed his finger and saw Craig getting off the bus with some tough looking girl. They were joking about something, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Craig’s eyes lit up as he laughed.
No. No, no, no. Stop right there, Jack Bassam Barakat. Don’t you dare even think about getting a crush on this guy.
Vic gave me a knowing look. “He’s pretty hot,” He teased.
And of course, I couldn’t do anything but agree.
I awoke to my alarm blaring Guns ‘N Roses at 5:30 Monday morning. Not the worst way to wake up, but so. Fucking. Early. But did school care? No. All our teachers save one got to lie in, since we only needed one bus driver.
Vic had insisted on sleeping in my bed with me last night - “Ew Jack, that’s gay!” “But Vic has a boyfriend!” Shut the fuck up. We’re best friends, we do whatever the fuck we like. And in case you haven’t noticed, I am fucking gay.
Waking up this early puts me in really shitty moods.
Just as I was nudging Vic awake - he was such a heavy sleeper, even a hurricane wouldn’t wake him up - Frank threw a pillow at me and demanded I turn my alarm off before he “fucking smashed it.” Wow, what happened to being the ‘quiet kid?’
Nevertheless, I switched off the alarm on my phone and groggily forced myself out of bed. I stumbled on the way to the bathroom and ended up on my face, earning a snicker from a still half-asleep Vic.
“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered, picking myself up and continuing on my way.
Brushing my teeth woke me up a little more. When I got out the bathroom Vic and Frank were waiting outside the door. Vic looked asleep on his feet, whilst Frank had the worst bed head ever and a murderous expression. I didn’t blame him - waking up this early always made me feel like going on a killing spree, too.
Alex and Oli were still passed out. Whether they were still asleep or awake and just being stubborn, I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t exactly care either. Alex may have had the idea to ‘help’ me yesterday, but he still practically killed my sister.
Still, I wasn’t exactly much better than them if I deliberately made them late for the first day of school. So I threw my shoe at Alex and demanded he get up.
He swore at me, but I ignored him and started to get dressed. The up side of not permanently attending King Richard School was that we didn’t have to wear the ugly uniform - which, by the way, was a disgusting maroon colour. Who the fuck even likes maroon?
So I tugged on a pair of black skinny jeans and a black Green Day shirt, accidentally putting my converse on the wrong feet. Green Day were a band that Mr Armstrong used to be in - the Millburn rector may be harsh and angry sometimes, but the rest of the time he was a pretty awesome guy.
Breakfast wasn’t great - it was hard to enjoy bacon and eggs at six in the morning. Especially since, still half asleep, I put mustard on the plate instead of ketchup. Mustard was Satan’s punishment to man. Instead of flooding everything and making some poor guy build an ark, like God so lovingly did, Satan just decided on mustard.
I’m not a very religious person. Which probably explains why, in P7 (A/N Year 7 in England, no clue about America), I thought it would be a brilliant to write a JesusXHitler love story for my English assignment.
The teacher was not impressed.
She’d phoned my mum.
My mum was not impressed.
At least May appreciated it - she’d cracked up, ignoring the disapproving looks mum sent her way.
Mr Armstrong walked over to my breakfast table. It looked like he was going to be the one driving our bus, since he was the only teacher here. I swear, this trip was only thought up so the teachers could get a free holiday in Cyprus.
He grinned at me. Someone’s a morning person.
“Nice shirt!” He complimented, holding his hand up for a high five. Even in my foul, tired mood, I accepted the high five, because one of the worst things in the world was to be left with your hand awkwardly hanging mid air whilst the other person stares at you like you need Jesus.
Mr Armstrong was an outgoing, awesome dude. He may be a rector, but he still wore his black hair spiked up and rimmed his eyes with eyeliner. He was - dare I say it? - pretty fly, for a white guy.
I can’t believe I just did that.
However, if you get on Mr Armstrong’s bad side, he can - and will - make your school life a living hell. So, as I make sure to carefully advise any new kid, if you want to pass school, do not fuck with him.
The bus journey to King Richard School took about half an hour. I sat next to Vic - well, more like led next to Vic. I’d turned sideways and lounged so that the back of my head was in his lap, and my legs were resting on the window. I didn’t get told off though.
Mr Armstrong had to show an ID card to get the bus on camp, and then we drove up a small winding hill. Past a cinema, past a gym, past some freaky looking dude with peeling red skin - Satan, is that you? - and then finally found the school on the right.
We pulled into the car park. It didn’t look like an overly massive school. There were several buildings on different sides of a small road. On the right was a low, one level building, with ‘King Richard School’ written in funky lettering above a glass door. That was where we headed once everyone had filed off the bus.
There was a short corridor inside that ended in an entrance to a massive P.E hall. On our left was a reception. Mr Armstrong went into the reception and emerged a few minutes later with a grinning lady. She had curly brown hair, tanned skin and smiling brown eyes.
“Hi everyone!” She greeted cheerily. Not put out by the non-committal grunts we gave in reply, she continued. “Welcome to King Richard School! I’m Maria, the head receptionist. I’m going to give you a tour of KRS this morning.”
Silence greeted her enthusiastic words. A quick survey of the sea of faces surrounding me showed me that, if we got all technical and started using graphs and percentages, 309.2% of us couldn’t give a fuck. If that was how percentages worked. Which I was pretty sure it wasn’t, but hey.
Maria frowned a little. Probably she was expecting more - bouncy, enthusiastic kids who just loved learning and didn’t have anything better to do with their lives! But no. She got stuck with Millburn Academy - the school of sometimes nice kids who apparently couldn’t be fucked with life when forced to get out of bed at Satanic hours in the morning; and Inverness Royal Academy - the so called ‘school’ that ‘educated’ countless fuck ups, assholes and druggies. Wow. Lucky Maria. (A/N I GOT YOUR PICTURE I’M COMING WITH YOU! But no seriously, the receptionist at KRS is actually a lovely lady called Maria. Or she was when I attended about a year and a bit ago.)
“Well, let’s get going then,” Maria told us, swivelling around and starting down the corridor. Her high heels made a cheerful clopping sound with every step she took, and I resisted the urge to shoot her. She seemed like a lovely person, but those shoes were giving me a migraine already.
The two guest schools trailed miserably behind her as she hurried around school, pointing out the different classrooms and where the Tuck Shop was, etcetera etcetera. During the half hour tour, a steady amount of KRS students started arriving. A few ogled at us, but most just glanced once and went back to doing whatever they were doing.
We stopped at some concrete stairs just outside the Tuck Shop. The stairs lead down to a football field, and I mentally groaned when Maria told us brightly that we would have to cross the field twice a week to get to our Art, Music and D+T classes. Seriously, what was the point in that? Couldn’t those classes just be in the main building, like in a normal school, instead of having them in a stupid fucking annex at the other side of a fucking football field? Hah hah, no, of course not! Don’t be so stupid, Jack! KRS, a normal school? Ridiculous!
Wow, early mornings put me in really shitty moods.
Maria took us to a big car park next to the PE room. While we waited for whatever it was we were waiting for, Maria decided to give us a lecture of the school’s history. I didn’t really concentrate much, but a few bits caught my attention. Such as, apparently King Richard School was extremely famous for producing successful bands - such as Metallica, Nirvana, Aerosmith and the likes. I was actually pretty impressed. Those were a few of my favourite bands, and now I was at the school they attended?
She also told us that they currently had a young rock band attending KRS. Their name was Black Veil Brides, and so far they were only famous around the local area, but, as Maria put it, ‘They’re going big places!’
Finally a big bus arrived, and Maria explained that this bus carried all the local students from Dhekelia Garrison. The Garrison must be pretty big, if the residents needed to travel by bus to school.
I didn’t pay much attention to the bus until Vic nudged me and pointed at the stream of students emerging from it. “Isn’t he that Craig guy?”
I followed his finger and saw Craig getting off the bus with some tough looking girl. They were joking about something, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Craig’s eyes lit up as he laughed.
No. No, no, no. Stop right there, Jack Bassam Barakat. Don’t you dare even think about getting a crush on this guy.
Vic gave me a knowing look. “He’s pretty hot,” He teased.
And of course, I couldn’t do anything but agree.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm going to post the next eight chapters right now, just so that I can catch up with how I've been posting them on Wattpad. Enjoy!