My Rules

rule 9

I halted when I saw Elliott. I couldn't carry on, we'd be walking the same way, and I couldn't go back because that would look more suspicious. So I checked my phone semi casually, hoping she'd just carry on-- which she didn't.

Shebazzle. Or, in the Leeds lingo, shit. This wasn't ideal. Not at all.

"Arren? What are you doing out of lesson?" Her eyes narrowed, out of suspicion or concern I could not tell.

I wasn't sure what to say; would she believe anything I had to offer? I wasn't going to tell her I'd had a panic attack, that was for sure. Right now my mind was blank of all other excuses.

"None of your business," I muttered, defences up. Get ready for a battle Elliott, you big piece of--

"As a teacher in this high school, I am tasked with the safeguarding of the students to an extent, so you'll find it is my business. Now I'll ask you again, why are out out of lesson?" She crossed her black-sleeved arms and waited imposingly for me to answer.

I was sick to death of having one on one chats with teachers. I looked Elliott dead in the eyes and said, "Well now that I'm wearing the school jumper I'm very clearly a student and not a school shooter as my old hoodie indicates, so I thought I'd have a little wander round and see whether I was still seen as a threat. So really, I'm doing you a favour."

Some teachers, when given a snarky speech like that, would snap and start yelling, cause a scene. Others would go loco coco and slam a few doors, or maybe injure a student's eye with a protractor (it didn't help my case that Elliott did indeed have a protractor in her pocket). However, Elliott wasn't that kind of teacher. She did another quiet exhale, an almost-sigh, and once again assigned me a detention "for talking back."

I rolled my eyes, and walked away down the back staircase to avoid the soon-to-be-raving crowd of pupils swarming out of classrooms. 

................................................................................................

Kyle and Nadeem had told me to fuck off the detention, not go to the CDR. Yet I had to do my detention. I had to. My bravado from earlier when I'd backchatted Elliott had drizzled down into a dreary apathy, so I slid into my seat in the detention centre, pulling out a piece of paper and doodling absently, hunched over as if I had a wound. We weren't supposed to draw in detention, but it was Mr Fable supervising us and he still seemed to see me as something of a special case, so he let me. Rule 9-- fuck Mr Fable.

I drew a girl with stripy tights and a pinafore dress. I loved drawing girls. I'd never loved being one, but I'd loved drawing them. the same pose, over and over, a portrait of beauty. I drew more girls, of different races and sizes and styles and temperaments-- from a dominatrix punk girl to a nature-loving redhead.

Glancing up at random, I was startled to see Laura looking at me-- although I didn't show my startledness and she quickly looked away. I was just about to do or say something snarky-- perhaps throw a ball of paper her way as a means of retribution-- when there was a sharp rap at the door.

"Come in!" Mr Fable called, looking up from his sudoku.

Not many people cared to look up at first, until we heard, "I need to borrow Arren." Then, my head rose slowly and I met the ugly vision of Elliott. Fuck no. She was regarding Fable, waiting for his "Okay."

"Okay," he nearly whimpered. Elliott could be intimidating to pupils and teachers alike. She then turned her hawk eye on to me. I rolled my own red kite eyes and stood up, pocketing my drawings and swinging my bag over my shoulder. Laura threw me a mocking look and made a heart shape with her fingers to me as I walked out with Elliott. For a crazy moment I thought she was being flirtatious, but then realised she meant me and Elliott. As I had always done, I ignored her. Her face turned sour. Welcome to the club, blondie.