“I know you did not do this homework, Burn,” Mr Soames says. “I want you to tell me who did it or I’m going to double your detention.”
How can I possibly rat on Harjoon, the rebel without an asthma pump? Especially after the grandma incident.
As expected, to my absolute misery, I get double detention. A whole fucking month.
“We’re going to assign you a student who will tutor you in math during your detention,” he goes on to say. “Because you are dishonest and because … yadda! Yadda! Yadda!” He lost me at “double your detention.”
I silently fume at the thought of being cooped up for hours with some nerdy geek who is probably a cross between Harjoon and Fung Chin, trying to drum into my head the Theorem of Pyrethrum. Or is it Theorem of Pyrenees? Pythagoras? Well, whatever – some boring ass theo …whateva!
Or in my case, my 1 x tables.
Armed with M&Ms, I drag myself and my bottom lip to the detention room. There I am met by Mrs. Tyson, a plus-size, no-nonsense bottle-blond. Mrs. Tyson lives a few doors away from me and for some reason she doesn’t like my family. Fuck knows why.
She reads me my rights. “Don’t show up and we extend it by a week. Then suspension. You got that?” She slaps the page into my hand and says, “First door on the right. 17:30, sign the register and leave. Don’t get up to any crap or you’re out the door. Forever. You got that?”
“17:30? That is the entire day gone!”
That ain’t my fucking problem.
With the biggest sulk on my face, I shuffle to the detention room, throw open the door and gasp.
In the room are two guys. Geeky Timothy Coen and – drumroll please – Brody McGraw! Well, well, well, maybe detention won’t suck after all.
“Hey!” I say wishing I had worn something other than ordinary jeans and a baseball jersey.
“Welcome to Sing Sing,” Timothy says.
Brody gives a slight nod, then looks away.
“Sing Sing? Is that like a Glee Club or something?”
“It’s a prison. What you in for?”
“Ah. Well, I beat up a teacher,” I say, as I throw my bag on the ground and flop into a chair.
“What?!” Timothy’s eyes bulge. “Why?”
“She called me ‘Dear’.”
Brody looks up flashes all his beautiful teeth, while Timothy jerks back in his seat.
“How ’bout you guys?”
“Well,” Timothy says, “Assignment …”
“That’s it? You didn’t do …?”
“Times four.”
“Ah.” I shift my gaze to look at handsome. He’s wearing a purple T-shirt, grey ripped jeans, grey cap and sneakers. He’s pretty, but really disheveled and rugged – just the way I like ’em. I mean, I’m not into girly-men who can’t pass a mirror without checking themselves out. That’s my job, know what I mean?
“And you?” I ask handsome.
Assignment not done, failed to turn up for detention twice and things just...
“Let me guess,” I say. “You failed to show up for one detention and things just …”
His eyebrows shoot up at my amazing insight. “Something like that,” he says and clasps his fingers behind his neck. “How long you here for?”
“I got life without the possibility of parole,” I say. “But my peeps, they’re on their way. Bringing a cake with a file in it.”
He chuckles. “Did you really beat up a teacher?”
“Nah, though the thought crossed my mind. Homework, failing to show up for detention … yadda! Yadda! Yadda! Usual shit.”
“So, why did you say …?”
“I wanted to scare the shit out of you guys in case you decided to thumb wrestle me or something.”
His blue eyes crinkle. He’s just so cute.
“Well, I gotta tutor some punk-ass junior who cheated on math big time. That’s my punishment, I guess. My,” he flexes his fingers in the air, “community service.”
I slink back on my chair. Shit! He’s gonna tutor me?
“How they cheat on math?” Timothy asks.
“Got someone else to do his math homework for almost six months.”
He? He said, ‘he’. Maybe I can talk my way out of it? Maybe I can …?
“Six months. Wow, some cheat!” Timothy says.
“For sure.”
I groan inwardly and sink deep into my chair. Shit! Shit! Shit!
Brody drums his fingers on the table. “Where the hell’s this kid?”
After a while, I look at Brody and say, “About that ‘punk-ass junior…”
His eyes open wide. “You? I thought it was a guy.”
I shrug, a more than sheepish smile on my face.
He shakes his head. “Well, then, I guess we’d better get into it, punk-ass Burn,” Brody says.
“You two know each other?” Timothy asks.
“Yeah, I’ve seen Burn around,” Brody says.
OMG! He knows my name, he’s seen me around. Did you hear that? Did you hear that? Omigod! Wait till I tell the girls. I should twitter this! No Facebook. YouTube! No Facebook, Twitter and YouTube it. It’s newsworthy for sure.
“He looks familiar,” I say, trying to act cool. “Barney, is it?”
“Eh,” he gives an embarrassed chuckle and shakes his head.
“Oh yeah, Barney is … sorry, it’s the purple…” I point to his T-shirt.
“It’s aubergine,” he corrects, with a smile on his face.
“Oh, nice to meet you, Aubergine.”
With a huge grin, he moves to the corner of the room and I follow. He takes out all his math books and adopts a teacher’s disposition and I think to myself, what a waste of an awesome piece of eye-candy.
“Let’s start off with what you know,” he says.
“Well … I know my … 1 x tables.”
His eyes twinkle. “We’re gonna need more than that.”
“Did I mention I suffer from amnesia? It comes and goes and whenever I’m stressed, my memory, it like goes –” I click my fingers, “AWOL. Seriously. I take pills for it.” I pull out my M&Ms and hold it up. “See?”
He smiles and puts down his pen. You’re cute.
Ohmigod! He called me cute. Ohmigod! Oh…mi…
Pity she’s so dumb.
What?! Sonovabitch! Calling me dumb.
He tests me on various aspects of math, giving me a hangover-type headache. A mother of a headache.
“How come you’re sporty and smart?” I ask. Not to mention sooo good-looking and downright …
“Whaddyamean?”
“Aren’t you athletes supposed to be dumb as hell?”
You mean as dumb as you? “Are we?”
Oh man, you’re lucky your eyes are so blue or I’d stick my pencil in them and give you Edward Cullen fucking eyes.
Superbitch pops her head into the class and yells, “17:30!”
“What? Already? But I thought they said 17:30 AM?”
“Out!” detention lady who doesn’t make the rules, snarls.
Man, why couldn’t detention be longer? I need to be punished till at least 18:30.
Of course, I conference my peeps right away to share the news. “Imagine he knew my name?!”
“Wow!” Tina says.
“Wow!” Laurie says.
“Yeah, and you know what? He said, ‘I’ve seen her around.’ How’s that? He’s seen me around. Can you believe it?”
“Wow!” Sultana says.
I hang up and shiver with delight. I just can’t wait for detention tomorrow. Humming, I wash my hair, exfoliate my face with sugar and olive oil, paint my nails, brush my teeth twice and pinch perfume from Lanie, all in preparation for my date tomorrow.
Okay, so it’s not a date – a girl can wish, can’t she?
****
We’re at the library and my girls are helping me choose books.
“How ’bout this?” Tina holds up Twilight.
“It has to be impressive, Tina,” I say, my voice filled with stress. “He thinks I’m dumb, so if I show him that I’m kinda literary and good at other shit, then he won’t think I’m that dumb.”
“Okay, how ’bout this?” Sultana says and holds up A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream and Julius Caesar.”
I peer at the book. “Man, I hate Shakespeare.”
“Me too,” they chorus. “Don’t know why we must learn from a guy we’re never gonna speak like or write like.”
“Or dress like,” Laura says.
“Yeah, he’s wordy and drags on and there are sooo many interesting modern day movies and stories and plays we could learn from, instead of trying to understand what the fuck he’s saying,” Tina says.
“Yeah, like Real Housewives,” I say. “We can learn a shitload of stuff from them. I mean they got a reality show and they are now famous.”
“Family Guy,” Tina says. “It teaches us that being dumb and even stoopid is not half bad.”
“Jersey Shore!” Sultana cries. “I mean, Snookie is as thick as wood and look at her – she’s a goddamn celebrity now.”
“Fifty Shades of Grey!” I say. “I mean, if you can bag a billionaire like that chick did, who needs to learn anything? How is math, history, science and all that crap helping her? Who needs tutoring and homework?”
That we all agree on.
“The possibilities are endless!” someone says.
“Yeah, but just remember,” Laura says, “that there are a lot of Snookies out there who are unemployed or earning minimum wage. Some of those Snookies are in their forties. You don’t want to be like that now, do you?”
We all glare at Laura for being the voice of reason.
Laura shrugs. “And that chick from Fifty Shades – when he gets tired of her and finds another weak-willed chick to take her place, she’s gonna have to go back to her job, then what?”
Nobody answers her.
I shake my head and head towards detention.
First stop - the bathroom, where I fix my make-up and change into my ‘date’ clothes. I’m wearing Lanie’s black skirt (bandage of course), Daisy’s white sweater with wooden beads on the neckline and her white stilettos with the spikes. I add some gloss to my lips, a dust of bronzer to my face, spray on Lanie’s perfume and I’m ready. I smile at myself in the mirror, blow myself a kiss, grab the attaché case I borrowed from Tina’s mom, sling my bag over my shoulder, and totter out of the bathroom.
In my bag I have a pair of jeans and a sweater which I will change into before I go home. Can’t let Lanie or Daisy see me wearing their stuff. They’ll have mini strokes – both of them.
“Hey,” I say and place the attaché case on my desk. Can’t risk him not seeing it.
“Hey,” he says, looking cool in a dark blue Tee that makes his eyes look even bluer and a pair of blue Levis.
Nice.
I allow myself an internal smirk at his compliment.
“Excuse the way I’m dressed,” I say. “Just came from a job interview.”
“Oh, really?” Kudos to me – he looks impressed. “What’s the position?”
“Position?” Is that a sexual remark? The jerk!
“Yeah, the job? What position are you applying for?”
“Oh, the jooob! Oh, eh …” I never thought he’d ask me that. Why didn’t high-IQ-Laura warn me about such a possible question? I’m gonna fire her as my co-conspirator. “Eh, lawyer,” I finally say.
“Lawyer?” He jerks back and squints at me. “How does that work?”
“No, no, no. It’s at a lawyer’s office. Part time, assistant to …”
“Ah, now I get it. Great.”
Whew! That was close.
“Did you get it?”
“Yes, but I’m not taking it. Environment too stiff for me.”
“Ah.”
“Hey, I thought I could spend some time catching up with my English reading before we start math. That okay with you?”
“Yeah, sure,” he says. “I’ll catch up with reading too. What you reading?”
The question I was waiting for. With great ceremony, I remove my book from my bag and hand it to him.
“Just some light reading,” I add in a casual voice. Impressed much, handsome?
Brody looks at the book and nods. “Othello, huh? I didn’t know you were into Shakespeare.”
I shrug and open the book to the pre-inserted bookmarker in the middle of the book. Thanks to Laura’s ingeniousness. I try to read.
“…In following him I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, but seeming so for my peculiar end. For when my outward action doth demonstrate the native act and figure of my heart in compliment extern, ’tis not long…”
What the fuuuuuuuck?! Was Shakespeare on acid when he wrote this?
I have a good mind to shut the book, but I continue to speed read. Well, not really speed read but I look for pictures. I’m big into images as I do believe that they are worth a thousand words.
Brody smiles and says, “Trifles light as air, are to the jealous confirmations strong, as proofs of holy writ.”
“Huh?”
He points to my book. “A quote from Othello. One of the many quotes on jealousy. What’s your favorite?”
What is wrong with this guy? He’s too good-looking to be speaking in tongues.
“Eh … ‘It wasn’t me’ by Shaggy.”
He laughs.
My laugh borders hysteria. Quickly, I remove the bookmarker and slip it under my issue of Cosmopolitan.
Handsome resumes his reading and takes notes as he reads.
Not to be outdone by him, I also ‘take notes.’ Except that my note taking, is me signing my name one hundred or more times – Mrs. Burn McGraw.
Whaaaaat? I’m just practicing. You never know when you’ll need it.
After a while, we put down our pens, shut our books, and chat about music and other stuff. To my utter disappointment, we have completely different tastes. I like Rihanna, Eminem, Pink and Beyoncé (Okay, I admit, I like Beyoncé and I love her music.); he likes Linkin Park, Fall Out Boy, Coldplay and Tim McGraw. And no, there’s no relation to Tim McGraw. I already asked him, in case he could get me Faith Hill’s autograph for Carlene. She’s such a fan.
I have to change him - his taste in music, his clothes, his fondness for aubergine...
So much to do on him.
Another day of detention passes all too quickly and we have to part ways. Parting is truly sweet sorrow for me. (Hey, that’s Shakespeare, right? I’m getting smart by association!)
These days, I really look forward to detention.
You can’t believe I’m saying that? Hell, I can’t believe I’m saying that either!
****
After a week of attempting to tutor me, a ton of empty “huh huhs” from me, and “You sure none of your teachers covered this with you, because it’s pretty basic stuff?” from him, I seize control of the situation.
“Look, Aubergine,” I say, “I don’t think anyone’s gonna monitor how well I do with this tutoring thing, so how ’bout we go easy on it, huh? Make your life easy and my life easy. In return …” I reach into my bag and take out a packet of M&Ms, “I will give you all the blue M&M’s in here. Fair trade, right?”
He smiles and shakes his head.
“There’s green ones if you don’t like blue?”
He sits back in his chair, clasps his hands behind his neck and grins at me.
“I don’t eat M&Ms but,” he leans towards me and looks me in the eye, “I would probably like the brown ones.”
“R … re …ally? I thought …” I wriggle my nose at him and grin, “… I thought you liked the white ones? I swear I saw you with white before.”
He looks to the left, looks to the right, then says, “I may have, but I secretly like the black-brown ones.”
Secretly. “I … I see.”
We grin bashfully at each other.
“Are we still talking M&Ms?” Timothy asks.
“Of course!” we chorus.
I thrust my packet of M&Ms at him. With his eyes locked on mine, he deliberately brushes my hand with his, then accepts a brown one and pops it into his mouth. Just one.
I turn scarlet at his touch. Wish he’d do it again.
“So, do you have a bumper sticker?” I ask touching the spot his hand touched mine.
“A what?”
“A bumper sticker?”
“I might have.” He cocks his head to one side. “Why?”
“Honk if you’re KKK?”
He smiles and shakes his head.
“Hey, you’re Bud’s cousin– bet you own a collection of white hoodies too.”
He slaps the desk. “You’re unfuckingbelievable! You know that?”
I look behind me, then point to my chest. “Me?”
He responds by picking an M&M and throwing it at me. It falls into my cleavage and we both burst into fits of giggles.
As we end our day, he says, “Where you going after this?”
“To get high,” I answer truthfully. Just got a text from Laura to say her parents are out for the evening and she’s got some Kush-bush.
He laughs. “You serious?”
“I sure am. Do you?”
“Nope. I’m an athlete. Need to be focused.”
“Yeah, I forget athletes don’t do drugs. Ever!”
“Well, I don’t. Anyway, enjoy,” he says as we part company.
I can’t wait to tell my girls about our little tete-a-tete.
“And he said he likes brown M&Ms. Browns. Ha!”
“Wow!” Tina says.
“Secretly likes the brown ones …”
“Wow!” Sultana says.
“And he said I was ‘unfuckingbelievable.’ Used that exact word.”
“Wow!” Laura says.
Okay, so I’m padding the truth here. I can’t help it – I’m on a roll.
Guess I so much want to be in love and be loved. I’ve never even been kissed. I so much want to experience what other girls experience when they are in love, like heartache and pining and break-ups and make-ups – bring it all on. I’m so ready for all of that.
I wanna be able to change my status on Facebook to ‘In a Relationship’ and then post a photo of my boyfriend and me as my profile picture.
I wanna be able to say, “Meet my boyfriend.” I wanna be able to say, “We thought …” and “We didn’t care for …” and “We’d love to …”
A delicious shudder runs through me at the thought of me becoming a ‘we’.