All Good Children - Catherine Austen [39]
A vision of a silent gray tent leaps before my eyes: square canvas walls, flat roof, closed flaps hiding the interior. “I was going to cut it into canvases, but maybe I shouldn’t.” I see the tent walls blossom in graffiti—messy tags, shocking stencils, some masterpiece I can’t yet picture. I rise to my feet and pace, wagging my finger at Dallas. “A tent to represent the school. I have enough paint to do all four walls.”
He shakes his head. “You know what you should do with that paint.”
“No way. I might get caught giving it back. I’d be expelled for something like that.”
“You should be expelled for something like that.”
I’d argue with him but I’m too excited by my vision.
“Let’s get going,” he mutters. He won’t look me in the eye but at least he stops shaking his head.
We arrive at school sullen and late. The principal catches us outside the front gate when the bell rings. “Detention!” he shouts. “Connors! Richmond! Three thirty today in detention hall!” That’s all he says. His main qualification for the job is an uncanny ability to remember names.
Mr. Reese is on his weekly stress leave from history class.
In his place is my least favorite substitute, Mr. Warton. We call him Werewolf because of his excessive body hair. Back of his neck, back of his hands, everywhere from cheekbones to toenails, he’s a blanket of fur. “Oh joy, oh bliss,” he says when Dallas and I enter the room. We gave him a razor for Christmas last year and he hasn’t forgotten our thoughtfulness.
I sit behind Pepper’s empty desk.
“Pepper hurt her ankle in dance practice,” Xavier tells me.
“Her father picked her up and took her to the hospital.”
“Are you serious?”
He nods. “I saw him. He’s bald.”
“White or black?”
“In between.”
“Shaved head or naturally bald?”
“Detention!” Werewolf howls at me. “You too!” he tells Xavier. “Three thirty in the blue room for talking out of turn.”
“But I never get detention,” Xavier says.
“You do today,” Werewolf snarls.
I make a big deal of it, pleading and whining, saying I’ll be kicked off the football team if I don’t make practice, my girlfriend will quit me if I leave the team, and my adolescence will be ruined. Eventually Werewolf gives in just to shut me up. “All right,” he says. “But keep quiet for the rest of class.”
“You mean it?” I jump out of my seat and shout, “Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Warton.” Then I sit back down and say, “Nah, wait. Actually I already have detention for being late. But thanks anyway, man.”
The class bursts into laughter. Werewolf turns purple. “It was a good effort,” I tell him.
Dallas cracks up, cackling like a witch.
Werewolf turns on him. “Detention!”
“But—”
“Not one word!”
“But I already have detention,” Dallas squeaks.
The class laughs along with him.
“You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough,” Werewolf snarls.
Dallas and I start to hum quietly.
The detention room buzzes with Freakshow gossip. Kids spin in their chairs, stick their legs in the aisles, hug their seat backs and chat to neighbors. There’s no supervisor yet. The teachers are probably in the lounge, drawing straws.
Xavier docks his RIG at the desk in front of me and hacks through Blackboard to change his science grade. “I deserve an A,” he says in explanation.
The kid kills me.
I groan when the teacher finally shows up. It’s Werewolf again. When he calls the roll and I answer, “Here,” he tells me to shut up. He files the attendance list and paces the aisles. He rests a butt cheek on my desk and smirks at me and Dallas, who sits next to me in the back row. “You’ll be getting a little present in a minute. Something your parents will thank us for.”
“What kind of present?” Xavier asks. “Is the present for everyone or just for Max?”
Werewolf snickers. He walks to the front of the room and announces, “Your classes are having their vaccinations tomorrow, but you people are getting yours early. We know that some of you detention types like to skip out on lunch, and we certainly don’t want to miss you.”
“Shit,