Stories under the Velvet Sky

Chapter Three: By Common Sense

Cold brown eyes sitting behind a pair of thick glasses with no-nonsense black frames stared between Sarah and me. They belonged to the Vice-Principal of our ever-so-esteemed school, Mr. Samuel Berkins, also known as the Mr. Jerk-ins behind his back by the majority of the students. He was known for his harsh punishment of bullies, and for suspending students on a whim. Very disciplinarian if you ask me. He practically lived off of making the students the kind of people who would bend under any type of authority, which of course clashed with most, if not all of them.

Including me, "No Mr. Berkins, there isn't. Sarah and I were merely discussing the pros and cons of marking ones territory," I answered demurely, looking towards the cafeteria's yellowing laminate flooring, "nothing unusual."

That was Sarah's cue to speak up apparently, "Yup! We're fine sir, no problem here!" Her voice squeaked nervously, cracking at the end. It was freaking obvious that she'd been up to no good, and Mr. Berkins had probably overheard most of the conversation.

He was just that weird. Absolutely nothing got past him, not even comments muttered under the breaths of students in the hall. It was like his trademark dark brown suit-and-tie combo gave him super hearing to go with his nigh-anal disciplinary tactics. Well, either that or his hearing aids had really good hardware, "Ms. Gladstone, Ms. Lake, and Ms. Notts, come with me to my office, now," he smiled, revealing a set of unnaturally white teeth.

This would probably be a good time to mention that Mr. Berkins was in his seventies, and enjoyed his job a bit too much to retire.

"Would you like me to come as well, sir?" I asked, looking up somewhat baffled. Didn't school policy require that all students involved be punished? He hadn't said my last name at all.

He looked me dead in the eye, the lens flare from the lights above nearly blinding me, "No Ms. Taylor," he stated, promptly turning away and motioning for the other girls to follow him. They did, looking very much embarrassed.

Of course they would, I thought, shaking my head and smiling mischievously, not once have they ever been caught in the act before. This is probably going to go on their records. I giggled and returned to my lunch, which consisted of a dry pepperoni and mayonnaise sandwich with wheat bread buns, and a vanilla Pepsi.

I love carbonated drinks. My favorite kind of carbonated beverage was strawberry Ramune, but not a lot of places carried the Japanese soda. If I wanted the drink, I’d have to go all the way into the city from my small town community. Two hour drive from here to there, by car at least. That wasn’t something I could really afford, given the current price of gas and my lack of a job to pay for car insurance.

I’m sure you’re asking, “Oh but Kathryne, why don’t you’re parents pay for your car insurance?” in a really sweet voice while snacking on a blueberry muffin and drinking a strawberries and cream frappe at Starbucks. Yeah you, I see you. You better not get any of that on the paper! It’s made from trees! I will give you a paper cut!

Anyway, the reason my parents won’t pay for car insurance for my lovely little self is that they can’t. I mean physically cannot pay for it. I’m sure that if they were indeed able to that I’d soon have all sorts of people at my doorstep asking about their sudden resurrection.  Especially men in white polo’s, black suits and ties, and a Bluetooth headset at their ears. I do not like those men very much… They ask too many questions.

I lived with my uncle, a grouchy old bastard who, for the most part, ignored me and had agreed to let me stay with him until I graduated. For that I was grateful, it wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go.

My parents had died during my last year of elementary school, and I’d been shuffled around from relative to relative ever since, only recently having come into my uncle’s care.