CHAPTER TWELVE
❛ the breakfast club. ❜

I SHIFTED UNCOMFORTABLY IN THE PLASTIC CHAIR, THE frontal lobes of my brain clenched in concentration. My eyes bore into the answer I'd scribbled into the small gap given under the question, proofreading again and again. I was especially meticulous today when it came to the accuracy of my answers, as it turns out I'd completely forgotten we even had a text today in the first place.

This was unlike me. I never forgot about a test, and was always the first to be revising efficiently and effectively. Today, however, was different. It wasn't until this morning when I checked my school calendar that I almost keeled over in panic. The past week had been so unprecedentedly time-consuming that it must have gone completely over my head.

     But I'd still had time. It wasn't until third period, so before school and during break I crammed my head with as much knowledge as possible: sat in the library with my nose buried in a textbook, soaking up an abundance of scientific equations and theorems.

     Even if I was a little more unhinged than usual, there was no way I was walking into battle unequipped.

     Up to now, things were going fairly well. I was lucky that I paid attention in class and had a confident understanding of the topics, anyway. Although a couple had tripped me up, I was doing well thus far.

     That is, until...

     "Hey! Hey!"

     A boy sat behind me whisper-yelled, not in my general direction so it wasn't directed at me (thank God), but even then I still sucked in a deep breath through my nose. What made him have the nerve to interrupt during a test? For someone who had good focus, even I was getting distracted by the boy. Namely, it was Stanley Barber. Of course.

     "I need to talk to you." he continued to whisper, to who I presumed was Sydney. I mean, who else could it have been? After last night, it was presumably to apologise for what he'd said about her dad.

     Mr. File, whose feet were propped up on his desk, flopped down his Popular Mechanics magazine with a look of alertness. "Eyes on your tests," he glared just over my shoulder at Stanley. "No talking."

     I shuffled in my chair again, turning the page on my test. My fingertips throbbed from where they'd been clamped around the pen's nib, pink and indented. Habitually, I began nibbling on the pen lid: something my mother had scolded me over for years, but I'd failed to grow out of doing. The black plastic was ragged and uneven from the times I'd bitten it down during exams.

     In my peripheral, I caught Mr. File's scuffed brogues being lifted off his desk, and without moving my head, my eyes were trained on him as he strolled with hands-in-pockets over to a student who I couldn't see from my angle.

"Hey." he deadpanned.

I saw a head shoot up and identified the chiselled jawline, which was currently clenched in unease, to be Bradley's.

"How's it hangin'?"

"It's hangin'," Bradley replied, forcing an innocent smile. "And, uh, how are you today, sir?"

I looked up completely now as Mr. File picked up his test paper and Dina's, who was seated directly next to the culprit for... you guessed it... cheating. He held one in each hand right then, glancing from one to the other in dry, unimpressed boredom.

Dina and Brad exchanged an awkward glance as he let out a dissatisfied hum.

"I-I didn't do anything wrong sir—"

"Wanna try that again?" Mr. File interrogated sternly.

I'd be lying if I said this wasn't amusing. Seeing Bradley Lewis being put in his place was all the entertainment I needed in life, and that counted for all the other jocks and pretentious idiots that he associated himself with, too. Sometimes they were deserving of a good dressing down; make them feel a little small, not so big and proud. Bruise their ego a bit. Character building, right?

"Well, you see, my ankle's been swollen," Brad begun, as Mr. File returned an unsympathetic nod. "And these pain meds I'm on, they've been making it hard for me to focus, and—"

"Detention, after school," he looked to Dina. "Both of you. And you will receive failing grades on this test."

"Seriously?"

An incredulous outcry from the back of the room drew all of the class, including me, to set eyes on a rather unsettled Sydney. Her eyebrows were knitted together in anger, her eyes a harsher blue than ever as they took on a stormy intolerance.

"Excuse me?" Mr. File's voice was firm.

A few seconds passed as a wave of doubt flashed across Sydney's face, her eyes darting uncomfortably to her test, and then over to Dina. But the moment she took in the confused stare of her best friend, her fury was re-kindled. Oh for the love of God, I thought to myself, in a desperate plea. Don't flare up now, please...

"Dina's been studying this for weeks, now Brad cheats off her and she has to fail the test? I mean, that is such BULLSHIT!" her hand came down on the desk with a heated thud, like some kind of hidden signal that turned all our heads back to Mr. File, like spectators of a soap opera as we anticipated his next move.

"You can take that language," he poked an accusatory finger in her direction. "Straight to detention!"

Eyes still alive with simmering rage, Sydney fell back in her seat with crossed arms as the chair legs scraped the floor.

"Anyone else?"

Almost immediately, a figure shot up wordlessly behind me. I turned around. Stanley. It became a staring contest that no one had signed up for when we sat down for our Science tests: we stared at Stan. Stan stared at Mr. File. Mr. File stared at Stan. Stan stared at some of us, including me.

There was silence, as he just stood there. It hung in the air like an ellipsis, but not with a lot of suspense. More like when you're watching a movie and it freezes. You sit there, debating whether it's a dramatic pause or whether it's just buffering. Even Mr. File seemed puzzled as he raised an eyebrow a him.

Stan glanced down at his desk, then back up again. With one clean sweep of his arm, his papers and books went flying onto the floor, one of them hitting my heel and startling me. There wasn't even any heat behind his sudden outburst, just an expectant look at our teacher afterwards.

Instead, he was met with a perplexed silence.

We waited again for his next move, me watching him glazing over into a state of internal panic and regret. His tongue rapidly flicked over his lips, and he swallowed down his discomfort at the sudden attention.

"Uhh," he stammered unsurely. "M-motherfucker—"

"Okay, fine, detention for you too, Mr. Barber."

Stan gave a polite, triumphant nod and wordlessly descended back into his seat. With an irritable, slightly baffled shrug of his shoulders, Mr. File returned to his desk. I didn't take my eyes off the boy as he turned to shoot Sydney a dorky thumbs up, before getting back to his test once he'd picked up his books again. Shaking my head, I got back to mine, too.

     Only Stanley Barber would go out of his way to grab any opportunity to talk to someone if it was urgent, even if that meant doing something stupid to warrant getting his first detention.

Right, where was I? Oh yes, the—

My pen jerked across the page in my hand, like a reflex reaction to the gentle kick lodging itself on the leg of my chair. I froze.

     Just ignore it.

     Sighing, I attempted to carry on. I narrowed my eyes at the line graph presented before me, hoping it would take my mind off the sneakers that were now practically stroking the metal chair leg now, begging for attention.

     Just IGNORE it.

     The numbers and labels swam before me, not making any sense. They were just words on a page that didn't mean anything to me, especially not when Stanley Barber's fucking leg was rubbing mine—

     I dropped my pen and tempestuously whipped my head round to face Stanley, blinded with exasperation as I whisper-yelled, "What do you want?"

     "Miss Novak-Miller?"

     My mouth went dry and the irritation was instantly diffused and replaced by shame, as I turned to face an unforgiving Mr. File. Ankles criss-crossed anxiously under the table, I tried to hide the hot flush rising to my cheeks as I felt the entire class's eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.

     "Can your little conversation with Mr. Barber wait?"

     "Y-yes, sir."

     "Good. Then you can finish it in detention."

     DETENTION?

     I could have keeled over right there and then, but instead I sat rigid: too mortified to move, speak, breathe, do anything. I managed to choke out another, "Yes, sir." before burying my head in my work again. And dying inside. And wishing that the ground could swallow me up, digest me, regurgitate me and spit me back out into another life where I didn't feel so awful.

     And considering that Stanley has walked in on me with me menstruating in (what I thought was) the privacy of the bathroom, that's saying something.

     I've never had a detention before. Ever. Hell, I barely even get told off by teachers, let alone punished by them.

I was sat at the front of the class, thank God, so I didn't have to physically see the cruel faces of my classmates. If I could have given Stan my best death stare in that moment I would've, had it not been for the twenty-something other students surrounding me like a claustrophobic cluster.

     Managing to complete the test to a decent standard amidst my consternation, class was soon dismissed and everyone got up to leave, the five new detention-goers trailing not far behind each other. I deliberately took larger steps, avoiding the others as I kept my eyes down to the floor, to people's shoes scuttling along the hallway. It wasn't until I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder that I let myself display any sort of emotion.

     "Hey," Calvin said breathlessly, since he'd run after me power-walking away. "So, I was thinking, I'm ready to tell you that thing I mentioned yesterday. You know, the explanation? So if we could just do it after school where no one could h—"

     "Can't," I fired back, annoyed. "I've got detention."

     "Wait, what?"

     I said nothing.

     "You, Hallie Novak-Miller, aka. Teacher's Pet, have got detention?"

     "Yeah, didn't you hear me the first time?"

     "After school?"

     "Yes!"

"From who?"

"Mr. File."

With a loud wheeze he guffawed, and I punched him in the arm. He mumbled apologies through stifled giggles, but even his boyish cheekiness couldn't ultimately change how pissed off I was. What did I do to deserve this?

"It's not fucking funny!" I scolded him bitterly. "It wasn't even my fault. Stanley Barber was kicking my chair during a test, and I turned around to give him a piece of my mind, but I got caught."

"And he gave you after school detention for that?"

"I know!" I exclaimed. Then I groaned, sulking at my best friend. "But, to be fair, I guess he did give out three or four other detentions before me — including Stan — so justice was served. Just not to me."

"To who?" he inquired curiously.

"Brad, Dina, Sydney, Stan and me. There were five of us, but believe me, I was not the worst."

Calvin snorted again, giving me a gladdened pat of disbelief on the shoulder. "Well, good luck, my friend. I guess we'll just have to talk tomorrow... after detention."

Honestly, fuck my life.

***

All day I anticipated after-school detention with dread. If there was anything that could tarnish my reputation, it was this. Not that it mattered as deeply to me as I made out, but the school system has this funny way of placing academic responsibilities on you and making them the epicentre of your life. It wasn't my fault that I became a consistent straight-A student. It kind of just... happened? Without meaning to sound arrogant, of course.

Anyway, Ryder found it very amusing when word got around in German. He, on the other hand, has been in after-school detention before, and knew a thing or two about it. When I asked him what he got in for, he told me he accidentally set off the fire alarm in the Sophomore year because he got into a food fight, and a flying grape somehow managed to break the glass, and the rest was history.

Quite different from my predicament, then.

But he had picked up some useful knowledge from his experience there. For instance, he was the one who broke it to me that, to my utter sorrow, after-school detention actually lasts until 7pm. Which is why he brought up his second point which was, "Bring some snacks. You're gonna get real hungry just skulking around school for four hours, especially if you're not home for dinner."

Not that I was... you know, taking his advice or anything... but I did grab a dry-looking sandwich and an apple from the cafeteria at lunch. I don't know. Just in case.

3pm soon rolled around, and there I was: trudging to what would probably be the most mind-numbing, infuriating, painful hours of my life so far.

"Hey, Hallie!"

I turned around to see Dina jogging towards me as she struggled to lug her bag over her shoulder. "Hey, Dina."

"This sucks, right?" she sighed, falling into step next to me.

Scoffing, I shook my head. "Understatement of the century..."

"Did you know it lasts 'til 7pm?"

"Yup."

"Honestly, it's the worst. I'm guessing you've never been in detention before?"

"No. What about you?"

"Nope. Then I guess that makes the two of us."

We came to the gymnasium doors, and entered with a heavy sigh. The bleachers were empty except for Sydney and Brad, who were sitting far too close for my liking (and Syd's too, it seemed.) No Stanley yet. But mark my words, part of me wanted to slap him silly for getting me into this mess—

"Hallie..."

As if on cue, Stan appeared to the side of me, his hands gripping his satchel strap erratically. "I can't fucking believe this." I grumbled, hoping that would be enough to give him the hint.

"Look, I'm really sorry," he apologised and I stopped walking. "But I actually didn't mean to get you into detention."

"Oh, you didn't?" I pretended to be taken aback, but my words oozed sarcasm.

"No. Well, not really..."

Stan must detected my aggravation as I widened my eyes at him, and he waved his hands in front of his face like he was swatting flies left, right and centre. "Okay, well, I definitely needed to talk to Sydney about... you know what... but since we're kind of in this together, I figured it'd be a good idea to bring you along, too."

"Right," I began walking again, and he struggled to catch up. "Because that just makes me feel so much better."

It was alarming how much I wanted to slap him right now, considering how well we'd been getting along yesterday. But as we took a seat on the bleachers, I realised he did have a point. Anything related to Syd's powers, I was sure going to be there for. I wasn't confident that I could trust Stanley alone with my cousin and her kinetic powers, because God only knows what stupid comic book solutions he'd feed her.

The doors swung open, and in stormed Jenny Tuffield. Oh, brilliant.

I should have known she'd be in detention — although, really, she shouldn't have been in school at all right now, since I could've sworn she was put into rehab for alcoholism by her mother. She was an alarming doppelgänger of Megan Fox, with her straightened brown hair and her cloudy blue eyes. Her black leather boots stomped against the student-trodden, wooden floor, metal chains and silver biker jacket's zips tinkling like aggressive wind chimes with every step. She landed on one of the lower bleachers, huffing as she stared up at us from below.

"Jenny. You got detention too?" Brad looked her up and down. I didn't like that look at all.

"Got caught vaping in the teacher's lounge," she rolled her eyes melodramatically. "This place is like a goddamn monastery."

Yeah, because I think we all like having a quick joint on school property? I thought in disapproval. I felt like I had been thrown into jail, declared as guilty for a crime I didn't commit, and these were the vagabonds I had to spend my four-hour prison sentence with. But it was as if Jenny seemed to read my mind, because she caught my eye and I squirmed. Then she laughed; an annoying cackle that pierced my ears.

"Hallie Novak-Miller's in detention? God, what did you do, get lower than an A in your test or something?" she retorted. I let out an unenthusiastic half-chuckle, and Mr. Whitaker walked in.

"All right everyone, take a seat now. Hurry."

Just to make myself feel a little safer, I moved up one or two seats, so that I was closer to Sydney and Stan. I wasn't intimidated by Brad or Jenny, but frankly I didn't want to get all comfy and cosy with them, either.

Mr. Whitaker had a clipboard in hand, and he took a moment to stare each one of us in the eye: ashamed of our presence here in this punishment session. And, again, I thought to myself, Why am I here? I shouldn't be here!

"Now, you six students are here for one thing: disrespect," he began. "You have disrespected this fine institution, and in doing so, you have disrespected yourselves. Five of you I've never even seen in detention before..."

I took the opportunity whilst he paused to peer back at Stan, and I mouthed a "Thanks for that..." to him, to which he replied with a sincere "Sorry!"

"... I want you to take the next few hours and think about your mistakes," Mr. Whitaker said. I spotted Jenny had begun to scratch her nose with her middle finger, a subtle act of rebellion. "And carve out in your mind a plan for change. Determine how to improve yourself —" now he'd seemed to notice her too, and she threw him off task for a beat or two. "— define what the word respect means to you."

A plan for change. Self-improvement. Well, I think the list goes on, so I'd had better start thinking.

He gestured to our surroundings, the air still laced vaguely with body odour from a day of sweaty teens running around in here. "Now, you can start by respecting this beautiful gymnasium. Between now and 7pm, you're gonna scrape up every goddamn piece of gum from the bleachers. Get started."

I suppressed a gag at the idea of scraping gum. I found enough of that disgusting shit underneath the school tables, but I supposed I had no choice in this matter. Stanley's hand shot up.

     "Um, Mr. Whitaker, sir," he lowered his hand once he had his attention. "Um... will there be a break for snacks or dinner?"

     After getting no response apart from a look that just seemed to say "Really?" he mumbled, "Okay..." and we watched Mr. Whitaker hastily walk away. The gymnasium door swung open and shut with a painfully prolonged squeak, and once it clicked shut, we were left alone.

Stan leaned in to Sydney and whispered, "Hey, I'm really sorry about last night—"

     "No. I'm not talking to you, okay?" she replied stubbornly.

As I looked around at the six of us, I suddenly had a bizarre thought: this was strangely reminiscent to The Breakfast Club. Sydney was Allison, Stanley was Brian, Brad was Andrew, Dina was Claire, and Jenny was Bender...

Then I was disappointed by my own 'smart' analogy, as I realised I didn't fit into this at all. There was no sixth character that fit me properly. Forever the third wheel. Unless I was the janitor, perhaps? He was nothing short of an iconic character, didn't take anyone's bullshit, and also had some words of wisdom to offer when asked nicely. I liked to think that was me.

Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.

     Dina stood up all of a sudden, although nothing about her manner was ever sudden. She always seemed so graceful, like she just glided through life. Even when getting detention today, she seemed so... noble about it? Me, on the other hand...

     "Okay, I know none of us wanna be here right now, but I was thinking," she announced, fiddling with the ends of her pink sweater sleeves. "If we divide and conquer the bleachers, maybe we could be done before seven and Whitaker will let us out early, so..."

     Any plan was a good plan to me, if it meant getting out of here faster. I had a ruler in my pencil case (as well as about four or five spares, just in case) that I could've used to scrape off the gum, and I was just about to zip open my bag to get it when Jenny Tuffield began clapping and whooping with a superficial nature to it.

     "Woo!" she whooped, and punched the air. "Go team!"

     "I'm not a cheerleader." Dina mumbled, sitting back down.

     "Maybe you should be."

     "Maybe you should be in prison."

     "Ooh, that's my wet dream." Jenny grinned and ran her tongue provocatively over her teeth. Naturally, I grimaced at her gesture.

     "I dunno guys," Brad shrugged carelessly. "This gum's been here for decades. I don't think Whitaker actually checks."

     Oh yeah, I fired back in my head. Because that's DEFINITELY the top of his to-do list, and he doesn't have better things to do than go on a chewing gum scavenger hunt.

     "It's just a social experiment, like a simulation." Stanley announced matter-of-factly, with an odd sweetness about it.

     Brad just blinked at him, and shook his head. "Oh. Well, someone's been smoking their supply."

     Suddenly my desire to punch someone wasn't directed at Stan anymore, as I glared at the self-absorbed jock sitting a metre away. If these four hours were going to be this gruelling, then I couldn't cope. Dina's plan was better than nothing.

     "Right, does anyone want a ruler?" I announced, opening my bag and reaching in. "The sooner this is done, the better."

     She smiled at me, seeming relieved that someone had listened to her. "Yeah, good idea—"

     "— Or," Jenny interjected. "We could play a game of..." she looked to Stan, "Fuck," then to Brad, "Marry," and then to Sydney. "Kill."

     Very original.

     "But so interesting, wouldn't you agree?" she responded, spinning around on her butt so she was now facing us properly.

     Shit. Did I say that out loud?

     "So, who goes first?" she scanned over all of us, taking each of our appearances in. I hated this. Fuck, Marry, Kill was the kind of game played by people who just wanted to start scandal, along with Spin The Bottle and Seven Minutes In Heaven. So premature and stupid. And, as my chosen T-shirt of today's slogan said quite rightly, "Stop making drama. You're not Shakespeare."

     "Eenie, meenie, miney, Brad."

     "Well," he leaned his elbows on his knees. "Guess if I had to—"

     "No. Not another word." Jenny raised her hand in disgust, whilst Brad suppressed a smug smirk. There was definitely something going on here that I didn't know about. Or, more importantly, Dina didn't know about. "Oh, what about you, Miss Goody-Goody? Or are you too afraid to play?"

     "Why would I be afraid?" Dina rebuked, unfazed.

     "Cool, then. Fuck, Marry, Kill," she took a moment to make her choice. "Stanley Barber... Mr. Whitaker... and Syd."

     "Well, clearly I'm going to kill Whitaker."

     "So are you going to fuck Syd or marry her?"

     God, the way she grilled her about it sounded so stupid when you thought of the context it was put in. Nevertheless, Dina leaned over to peer at Sydney, who seemed bored beyond belief but also a tad intrigued. Her friend's lips curled into a soft smile. "Total life goal to marry your best friend," she decided. "If Syd'll have me."

     Going off the way Sydney practically glowed after she said that, I'm assuming it was an overwhelming yes.

     "Oh, so then it's you and Stan in an all-day bone sesh," Jenny grinned. Stan and I shuddered in unison — not at Dina, but the game master's perverted comments throughout. "Ugh. You little slut. How does that make you feel, Bradley?"

     "Whatever, Jenny."

"Why don't you play, Jenny?" Sydney asked, getting as fed up as I was.

"Well actually, I thought you should go next, Syd," she replied with a faux sugariness. "Then I remembered that no one in their right mind would realistically have sex with you, so—"

"Hey!" Sydney, Stanley and I exclaimed, all three of us equally offended.

"What? Is it not true? Does Syd Novak not have some high fuckability score, and I just don't see it?"

     Leaning in and glaring sceptically at the girl, he whispered in Syd's ear, "Just don't listen to her."

     With a huff, Sydney got up and brushed down her jeans, swiftly stepping down off the bleachers and charging out of the gymnasium, Jenny's echoing laughter following behind her like an annoying mosquito that you just couldn't get rid of. It was probably for the best — as much as Jenny Tuffield made me uncomfortable, I didn't want my cousin to scramble her like she did with poor Banana. At least she could have some time alone, then.

     "This game is so stupid." I muttered, picking at a lump of cello tape I'd just noticed was stuck under my shoe.

     Jenny looked me up and down, her lipstick-tainted dark lips contorting into a pout. "Alright then, Lindsay Lohan. It's your turn."

"Oh no," I ripped off the cello tape with one tug. "I'm not playing."

"C'mon, it's for research!" she chirped, and gestured to the remaining three surrounding us. "I think we're all curious."

"About what?"

Jenny walked up a few steps, and sat herself down next to me. Her breath was rank with the stench of alcohol and nicotine, and it caught at the back of my throat. "Things. Like, what are the sexual fantasies inside the head of that perfect, know-it-all, budding musician, who's only friends are her unfuckable cousin and the chubby art geek?"

     My stomach flipped in an uneasy way, and my palms began to sweat. Don't let it get to you, Hallie. It's just a stupid game. Yeah, but it's not so stupid when you have Jenny Tuffield scooting up next to you and breathing down your neck. The answers aren't real. It's all hypothetical. Exactly. And sometimes a hypothesis can be accurate. It's not like you'd go out of your way to marry Bradley Lewis if there was a better option.

     "Bradley Lewis, Stanley Barber and Calvin Simpson," Jenny proposed. I heard Stan mumble something behind me, along the lines of why it always him being picked for this. "Who to wed... who to bed... and who to dead?"

     "Pretty sure that last part wasn't proper English—"

     "Answer the question, Lindsay Lohan."

     God, I hated that nickname. It had come around once people noticed the funny coincidence that I resembled Lohan's characters in The Parent Trap, and people started teasing me about it. It didn't make it any better that Sydney and I used to be mistaken for sisters, or even twins, and that we were both redheads. A pretty harmless nickname, I know. But try having that running joke follow you for the majority of your life — then it's not so fun anymore.

Fuck, Marry, Kill...

What is my life coming to? How did I end up here?

Quite obviously I knew who I was going to kill, but it was just about the other two. A week ago my answer may have been different, but in recent days my life had changed in ways I'd never imagined possible. I'd spent time with people I wouldn't have usually chosen to, done things I wouldn't have normally done, felt betrayed by people I'd usually gravitate to or have trust in. So, taking that all into account left me with my final answer:

"Fine, just... Fuck Calvin, Marry Stan and Kill Brad." I blurted out in one stream of consciousness, not daring to look any of them in the eye. Part of me would have felt a little better if Calvin was here, because he'd probably have cracked some joke about him being irresistible to lighten the mood.

Jenny gasped, and leaned to her side to look at the person behind me. "Did you hear that, Stan? Shit, your Middle School days must be flooding back to you."

"I'm sorry, what?" I retorted. What the hell was she talking about?

"Oh, you didn't know?"

"Jenny, stop—" I heard Stan plead behind me, but she cut him off.

"Stanley Barber, ladies and gentlemen, was smitten with Novak-Miller here in the Sixth Grade. At least someone is interested in the poor girl..."

I laughed. For the first time in that detention, I actually laughed — it didn't come from my chest, more like a sour "Ha!" from my throat. Was she delusional? There was no way in hell Stan liked me! He was obsessed with Sydney; always had been, from the moment she moved to Brownsville. She was all he ever talked to me about for many months.

     "Well, that's just a lie," I snorted, swivelling around to him. "Am I right Sta—"

     However, I fell short when I saw his face: it had been in his hands when I was turning, but immediately shot up to meet mine. He didn't appear to know where to look, avoiding eye contact wherever possible, and he gulped boorishly. More than anything, he seemed genuinely embarrassed. I turned back, now feeling rather confused.

     A seed of doubt was planted in my mind. Stanley would never act this strained over some weird rumour, he was simply too at peace with himself to be that insecure. So, did that mean...?

     No, no way. There's no way! He likes Sydney, not you. He's just weirded out by Jenny right now, like you are.

     "Come on, guys," Jenny stood, pulling out a stick of gum from her pocket and placing it in her mouth. "I think we should leave these two alone, so they can get over some obvious sexual tension."

     Sexual tension? Obvious? This girl was nuts. I felt nothing of the sort between us. Brad and Dina walked down the bleachers hand-in-hand, shooting us an awkward look (well, Bradley was suppressing a grin, but we've already established that he's a dick and that needs no further evidence) before following after Jenny.

     It was just me and Stan. Stan and me. Me, myself and Stanley Barber... and a very awkward silence that I really didn't like.

"Well," I mumbled, once I was sure the others were far enough away. "That was awkward."

"Yeah."

I got up and went over to where he was sat, falling graciously down next to him. He still wouldn't look at me. Because of his alleged crush on you. Stop it! He's just feeling super uncomfortable about all of this, just like me. But what if he did? He doesn't. What would you do then? He doesn't. He doesn't. He doesn't.

Stan pulled out a Rubik's cube from his bag, and I instantaneously relaxed. Finally! A distraction.

"Rubik's cube, huh?" I nodded towards it.

He finally looked me in the eye again, seeming to be as relieved as I was about a change of subject. "Yeah," he smiled. "I can solve it pretty fast, actually."

"How fast?"

"Exceptionally fast."

"I bet I can do it faster."

Raising his eyebrows at me, Stanley juggled the cube from palm to palm. "Oh, really?"

I held out my hand, and he placed the Rubik's cube in my hand, our fingertips brushing as he let go of it. "Just watch this..." I smirked, focusing on the task at hand. As I twisted and turned various blocks of the cube, he observed me closely and carefully. Our shoulders rubbed at one point, and I heard Jenny make a judgemental noise from the other side of the gymnasium. Was it really going to have to be like this for the rest of detention now? It seemed that every little friendly gesture I made towards Stanley was now going to be marked down as something more, and vice versa.

     Just over a minute later, I placed the solved Rubik's cube next to Stan's thigh and clasped my hands together victoriously. "Right," I sighed, satisfied at the way he gazed blankly at it. "I'm gonna go find Syd."

     Not only was it an excuse to get away from the others for a while, but she'd also been gone for a little too long and I was beginning to worry. If she was worked up about Jenny, I didn't want her doing anything that would require paying for damage.

     I scanned the hallways for any teachers, but the coast was clear. I stepped out, and began to stroll down with my arms folded across my chest.

     "Syd? Sydney?" I called out, but not too loud so no teachers could hear me. No reply. She couldn't have gone far, right? Maybe the girl's bathroom? That's apparently where she went yesterday: she told me whilst I recovered from my episode that she'd had a freakout that day, and had run straight out of class and into a cubicle where it had started rumbling.

     I was on my way there when I spotted something. Intermittent burst of light poured out from doors left ajar, a pool of bright strobing that made my eyes hurt. It was coming from the Library. As I approached it further, I began to hear the buzzing, the crackling of lightbulbs. There was something eerie about it all, the way it kept stuttering into darkness.

     "Sydney?" This time my voice was riddled with anxiety, which surprised myself with how suddenly overcome I'd felt by the dark atmosphere.

     Finally I reached the doorway, and stood with my feet planted firmly between it. The flickering was so rapid that there was more darkness than light, casting ghastly shadows on the floor, on the walls, and by the windows. It no longer felt like an electricity supply in need of repairing, but something bigger that I couldn't explain.

     In the brief illuminations I saw Sydney's face, distorted by fear, her chest rising and falling in a hyperventilating frenzy. I wanted to say something, do something to help, but what?

     A pulse of energy ripped through the library, much like the one I felt with the trees, the force of it dragging down rows of shelving and stacked books with a deafening CRASH. The wooden furniture fell like stacks of dominoes, one knocking the other over, except they more or less flew into each other.

     The lights buzzed one last time, before returning to their normal state and shining a light on the damage: my cousin, standing in a sea of splintered wood and battered books. She was well and truly spooked this time.

     It only took one wordless, bewildered exchange before I knew what to do next. "I'll, uh," I trailed off for a moment, taking in the wreckage. "I'll go get Stanley then?"

     "Yep. Good idea." Sydney nodded curtly, not seeming to want to say any more.

     It was no time running aimlessly down the halls before I skidded to a halt at the gymnasium. Pushing open the doors, I peered in: Jenny sat against the wall twirling a wad of gum around her finger, Dina and Brad were kissing in the corner (ew), and Stan was lying on the bleachers, his features hardened with concentration as he stared intensely at his Rubik's cube.

     "Stan..." I whispered, poking my head in. "Psst! Stan!"

     I finally managed to grab his attention, and I waved him over frantically. The hysterical approach seemed to do the trick, as he dropped his cube and practically came running. Once he was out, I gently shut the door behind him, secretly wishing he hadn't made himself so obvious for the sake of being saved from more of Jenny's ridicule.

     "Everything okay?" he asked, speed-walking alongside me as I powered down the hallway.

     "No," I replied bluntly. "Syd needs you."

     He huffed passive-aggressively, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so now she wants to talk to me?"

     "With good reason, too. Just wait 'til we get there."

     "Get where?"

     "Here." I stopped in front of the library doorway, and simply held my hands out to the mess in there whilst watching his face fall in astonishment.

It took a full minute of him walking around amongst the wreck, almost tripping over piles of books and taking it all in, before he finally uttered a very suitable, "Holy shit. What the hell happened here?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." she muttered.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't!"

Stan furrowed his eyebrows. "Okay?"

"Syd, look around you," I spread my hands out, stepping over a large plank of wood which had once been a shelf. "You can't just drop this bomb on us and expect us not to want some kind of explanation."

Her voice cracked, and she mumbled, "I can't even explain it myself. That's the problem..."

I spotted a book amidst the many others, and stopped to pick it up. It was an annual for classical music lovers, the book cover plastered with profiles of the likes of Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and others, and I inspected it curiously. That is, until my gaze drifted upwards and caught Sydney's deathly glare — now is not the time, it said — to which I responded by letting it drop back to the floor, before uttering a shameful "Sorry..." under my breath.

"So," she implored. "Are you guys gonna help me or not?"

Stan chuckled, although he was still taken aback by just the impact she'd had in here. "Well, we'd need a carpenter or a miracle." he joked.

"I don't care about fixing it, I care about that."

She flippantly pointed up to the corner of the room, and my heart sank straight to the core of the Earth. Because right there, tucked in nice and subtly but also poised proudly like a poignant middle finger, was a surveillance camera. I looked back from Sydney, to the camera, and back to Sydney, and back to the camera. Each look made me regret everything more and more.

"Well. Shit." I sighed. It was all I could think of in the end.

"You're telling me..."

"Yeah."

"We need that footage?" Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's in Dawson's office?"

"Yeah," she kicked the ground with her Doc Martens. "How much detention do you think they'd give for breaking into the Principal's office?"

"Uh, a lifetime's worth!" I cried in dismay.

"Doesn't matter," Stanley corrected me. "'Cause we're not gonna get caught."

________________________

A/N:

PART 1 OF THE DETENTION SHENANIGANS!

what do you think is going on with what jenny said about stan and hallie? 🤭 s u s p e n s e . . .

also, fun fact: the grape story with ryder is based off true events, literally we had to stand outside in the cold in a fire drill bECAUSE OF A FOOD FIGHT, I—

anyway, i'm tired because i wrote this chapter really late, so peace out my dudes... stay safe 💖

song of the chapter: 'don't you (forget about me)' - simple minds
(the six troublemakers walk into detention... also, what a bop)

published: 13th may, 2020