The Decameron 2.0

Day 2.9 Betrayal - FAKE SAVIOURS in the 1980s KLCandela

It was period two Geography class when Jason remembered the unfinished Math assignment. Sprawled across his graffiti etched desk, Jason pressed his nose into his forearm. The classroom air was tainted with the piney, hormonal stench of Johnnie Trevett who was declining to use deodorant due to the aluminum.

Mr. Scholz, the Geography teacher was exhausted from a night in with Ms. Daw, the Biology teacher. Scrambling in the morning with no lesson plan, Mr. Scholz had thrown on a documentary about acid rain and Jason was bored out of his mind. Instead of watching the screen Jason's eyes followed the blue light from the television up onto the ceiling tile where he eyed ancient spitballs with suspicion. The spitballs stuck there tenuously, like stunted stalactites in a cave.

Jason was stressed about his math assignment because Ms. Larabie, the Math teacher was scary. He couldn't help thinking she looked like Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane with her drawn in lips, lopsided years ago from a mini-stroke, and the matte red lipstick that melted down her chin like wax. Also, she was pitiless toward slackers who did not do back flips over the beauty of mathematics and Jason was a math slacker.

Maybe I can sneak out and get the assignment and finish it here?

He considered this as the documentary droned on about acidic lakes that looked crystal clean. Deception, deception, the scientist said. It was easy to be tricked by the clear, clean-looking water but with acid rain it became vinegar to lake life.

Sliding back his chair, Jason stood up and walked to Mr. Scholz.

-- Can I go to the bathroom?

He danced a little to make it look urgent. Mr. Scholz sighed but rose and opened the classroom door for him. Jason glanced backwards to see Mr. Scholz waving the door back and forth, trying to fan out Trevett's stink.

Once clear Jason hustled. The high school band played disharmoniously down the hall drowning out his footsteps. He rushed up the staircase to his locker on the second floor.

Fiddling with the lock, Jason glanced at the sound of a click from the east end doorway. Two people entered the corridor. One was tall and one quite small and in seconds Jason recognized them.

-- Shit.

Sighing into his locker he was filled with agitation. Jason hadn't spoken to Chris Wells in over four years and there he was, recently transferred from another high school. Chris's arms were wrapped around Tara McCullough's abnormal twenty-two inch waist. Jason wasn't in the headspace for this.

He became self-conscious of his hair, questioning his morning decision to spray it up like a shark fin. Deep wrinkles formed between his brows as he searched through his math binder. Can't find the damned assignment, Jesus!

Armpits sweating through his white t-shirt, Jason slipped his hands in and out of binder pockets and in the frenzy he knocked a Joy Division cassette tape into the air. It skidded across the hallway right to Chris's foot.

Point A to point B. There was no escaping the reunion now.

Chris picked up the tape and looked at it and then at Jason. A smile unfolded across his face like a theatre curtain opening. Chris patted the cassette against his hand. The sound of the hard plastic and the ribbon wheels of the cassette filled the hallway.

-- You don't listen to this shit, do you?

Chris's Van Halen t-shirt advertised his distinct musical preference. He tossed the cassette to Jason who turned and reacted quickly to catch it.

Jason knew seeing Chris would be awkward, but now he felt it was like science fiction, as if Chris and him had once inhabited a naïve, peaceful planet far, far away and now they had time traveled to this planet which was potentially lethal.