Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) (18 page)

I cleared my throat. “So, you dance?” I
asked, remembering what the principal had said about getting Dante onto a topic
he loved.

He flicked his gaze around the class,
mumbling, “Yeah,” his expression turning embarrassed.

“He doesn’t just dance,” Jasper piped up. “He
wipes the floor with everyone’s arses. No one can beat him in a dance off.” A
number of the other students murmured in agreement.

Dante sat up straighter, shedding his
embarrassment.

“Where did you learn to dance, Dante?” I
asked, knowing I shouldn’t be concentrating on him. I just couldn’t make myself
stop.

“On the streets, in the clubs—”

“You’re too young to go to nightclubs.”

“I don’t look it,” he replied, making me
feel vindicated for thinking he could get past bouncers. “I also danced at the
Dali Club when I wuz younger.”

“Why would you go to the Delhi Club?”

“To do cultural shit.”

“You don’t look Indian.”

“That’s cos I’m not,” he replied, looking
at me as though I was stupid.

“Then, why would you go to one of their
clubs?”

“I didn’t say Delhi, I said
Dali
,
as in
Dal
matians from the Croatian coast.”

“Oh, I thought you were Italian or
Brazilian.”

“I already said I wuzn’t Italian when I
mentioned ballet. I’m half Croatian, over a third M
ā
ori, and the rest
Romanian. Though, I do get mistaken for Italian loads of times. I punched Happy
Meal for calling me a wog once. Fuckin’ arsehole told me to go back home, so I
sent
him
home with a busted up nose. That’s why it’s squished.” Looking
pleased with himself, he pumped fists with Jasper, his bad mood clearing a
little.

I shook my head. “Racism is wrong, but I
don’t advocate violence either.”

“Nah, Miss, you hafta stand up for
yourself or cunts like Happy Meal will break your spirit. It’s what’ll get you
through the hard knocks. Without it, your mind will crumble and you’ll end up
in some psyche ward, gettin’ your shoelaces and belt confiscated, cos the
nurses are scared you might hang yourself with ’em.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, wondering
whether he’d been institutionalised before.

He turned his head towards the window,
mumbling, “Just do.”

Afraid I’d overstepped the mark again, I returned
the topic to the musical. “So ... since you supposedly can sing and dance, I
expect to see you at the auditions.”

His gaze returned to me. “There’s no
supposedly
’bout it, I can.”

“Then, prove it.”

He pushed to his feet, looking like he was
going to perform for me on the spot.

“No, I meant at the audition,” I corrected
him.

“I have business then, so I can’t come.”

“What sort of business?”

He sneered at me. “Nuthin’ that concerns
you.”

“Then, don’t come and I’ll think you can’t
sing.”

“But everyone knows I can.”

“I don’t.”

“Which is why I’ll sing now.”

I placed my hands over my ears. “You
either sing at the auditions or not at all.”

“Okay!” he snapped, loud enough for me to
hear. “I’ll do it!”

I
uncovered my ears, happy that I’d finally made a breakthrough.

***

I entered the principal’s office, getting
a bright smile from the big man. His teeth were almost blinding against his iced-chocolate
complexion, perfect and straight, nothing on the man out of place. As usual, he
looked dapper. This time he was dressed in black suit pants and a dark purple
dress-shirt. His tie was also black with a couple shades of purple running
through it, while his suit jacket rested on the back of his chair instead of across
his wide shoulders. He adjusted his silver, anchor-shaped cufflinks and sat
down behind his desk, indicating for me to take a seat too. I was here to tell
him about Dante’s poem after the boy took off without giving me a chance to
bring it up again.

I lowered myself into the chair as
Principal Sao’s phone rang. He looked like he was going to ignore it, but
instead muttered an apology and picked it up. As he talked on the phone, I
glanced around his office, finding it at odds with his larger than life personality
and appearance. It was mundane-looking, more functional than attractive. If
anything, it reminded me of the prison warden’s office in a television drama I watched,
which was an apt analogy, considering how the students acted like they were in
jail.

Largely, the room was filled with dull,
muted colours, only an artwork saving it from being completely gloomy. The
framed print depicted two people wading into water, with just enough colour to
enliven the mostly black and white image. White horizontal lines ran through
the waterscape, reminding me of when the printer ran out of ink, just more aesthetically
pleasing. In comparison, the people were considerably darker than their
surroundings, not that dissimilar to a Rorschach test. It was a fascinating and
unusual depiction, making me wonder who the artist was.

Principal Sao hung up the phone, pulling my
attention back to him. “You wanted to talk to me about Dante?” he asked.

I nodded. “Today I read one of his poems
that I found rather disturbing.”

“Did you bring it with you?”

I shook my head, not needing to, the poem
imprinted upon my brain. “I wasn’t meant to read it. Dante was writing in
class, not paying attention to the lesson, so I looked over his shoulder to see
what he was doing. I must say, I was rather shocked.”

Principal Sao clasped his hands together
and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “What was it about?” he
asked, his expression curious.

“How people are only concerned with his
looks and that they just want him for sex.” I cleared my throat, feeling uncomfortable
saying it out loud. It felt obscene to think that anyone would treat a
fifteen-year-old in that way. But what was even more obscene, was that
I
had looked at him in a sexual manner. I’d even thought of him while having sex,
the
‘they’
in his poem referring to me just as much as anyone else.
Though, in my defence, I hadn’t acted upon my attraction. Plus,
he
was
the one who’d taunted me in the boys’ restroom,
not
the other way round.

I continued, “He called himself a whore
and that he doesn’t have a future, only a past, one with rape and incest in
it.”

Principal Sao’s face turned sad. “He was
referring to his brother.”

I shook my head. “No, the poem was clearly
about him. He was using first person throughout it. He also got really
defensive after he caught me reading it. He looked close to tears.”

Principal Sao leaned back in his chair and
narrowed his eyes at me. There was no malice in them. It looked more like he
was contemplating what I’d said. “I hope that’s not true, but I wouldn’t
discount it, especially considering his family history.” His frown lines deepened.
“Before I divulge more about Dante’s home life, I need your word that you won’t
repeat what I say to anyone.”

I nodded. “Of course you have my word.”

He glanced at the picture I liked. “I know
the Rata family quite well, in particular Dante’s brother Ash.” He pointed at
the picture. “He painted that image.”

I focused on it, rather surprised. “I
thought it was a print.”

“Only because Ash’s work is incredibly precise.
He’s a talented boy—like his brother.” He exhaled softly, an almost silent
lament. “It depicts how Ash tried to commit suicide with—”

My head snapped around to him. “Dante?”

He shook his head. “No, a friend of
Ash’s.”

I frowned, thinking it was a strange gift
to give someone. “If it’s not Dante, why tell me about it?”

His expression turned pained. “Dante’s
brother tried to kill himself because he was raped by his stepfather.”

“Oh...” I said, not having expected to
hear that.

“And Dante walked in on it.”

I stiffened.

“Dante tried to defend his brother, which ended
in his stepfather savagely attacking him and killing his mother.” A veil of
sadness fell over his features. “I tend to tell his teachers about his
background, minus why he was beaten, but I thought you needed to know due to
his poem.”

I shifted in my seat. “So, you think if his
stepfather raped his brother then he could’ve raped Dante too?”

“Although there was nothing in the trial
that suggested it, I wouldn’t discount the possibility.” He opened a drawer and
pulled out a notebook. “I’ll let his counsellor know what you said.” He picked
up a pen and jotted something down. “I just hope he was referring to his
brother and not himself. That poor boy has gone through enough without
something like that happening to him.”

I nodded, hoping so too.

His phone rang again. He excused himself
and answered it, not appearing happy with what he was hearing. “I’ll be there
in a minute,” he said into the receiver. He put it down and pushed out of his
chair. “Looks like I have to cut things short. Some juniors are fighting out
front.”

I followed him out of his office, watching
him take off at a run. I turned in the opposite direction and headed for the
staffroom, finding Beverly sitting in her usual spot. But instead of eating,
she was staring down at her lunchbox, looking lost in thought. She glanced up
at me as I took the seat across from her.

“Everything all right?” I asked, pulling
my lunch out of my satchel.

She shook her head. “Was Dante Rata acting
strange in your class today?”

I nodded. “I just spoke to the principal
about a disturbing poem he wrote.”

“What was it about?”

“I can’t say, sorry.”

“Did it have anything to do with sex?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She pushed out of her chair and walked
around to sit next to me. “After class he came up to me, asking my age. I told
him it was none of his business.” She lowered her voice. “Then he asked if I’d
ever thought about having sex with him.”

“What?”

She held out a hand, indicating for me to
lower my voice. “I don’t think he was asking for sex, just wanted an answer. I
told him no. He asked why and I said because he’s a kid.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He muttered that I was in the minority and
left. Do you think I should report this to the principal?”

I nodded, feeling even more worried about
Dante.

A woman started laughing loudly, snapping
Beverly’s attention away from me. A sneer jerked up her top lip, her expression
filling out with hatred. I turned to look at who she was venomously glaring at.
My eyebrows rose, surprised to see Helen standing in front of Paul, touching
his arm affectionately, especially after what she’d said about him in the pub’s
restroom.

“I wish that bitch would leave him the
hell alone,” Beverly muttered angrily. “One second she hates him, the next second
she wants him back.”

I refocused on Beverly. “They were
together?”

“
Unfortunately
. She’s his ex-wife,
and it looks like she’s sticking her talons into him again, and the idiot’s
letting her.” Beverly pushed out of her seat and stormed out of the staffroom,
leaving her lunch behind.

I looked over at Paul, his gaze following Beverly.
Helen grabbed his face and yanked it towards her. Paul pulled free and ran
after Beverly. I turned my attention to Helen, who was glaring at the doorway.
Her focus shifted to me, giving me the impression she was thinking about coming
over. I grabbed my satchel and pushed to my feet, not wanting to get mixed up
with anyone else’s drama, having enough of my own to contend with.

I exited the staffroom, almost getting
bowled over by Ronald. The boy was sprinting down the corridor with an
expression even more venomous than Beverly’s. If looks could kill, the person
he was after would already be dead.

17

DANTE

I headed out of school with Jasper on my
heels. “Stop walking so fast, Dante!” he wheezed. I kept up my pace, wishing
he’d get the picture I didn’t want to talk to him. I’d ignored him for most of
the day and now he was on a mission to find out why. I felt bad about it, but couldn’t
help myself. Looking at him reminded me of what his auntie had done, and
although I knew it wasn’t his fault, I just couldn’t deal with it right now. I
should’ve skipped school, but had stupidly thought it would distract me, but
even music was a chore, while English... Despite the part where we talked about
dance, it had been intensely uncomfortable, especially when the teacher had
read my poem. I knew she meant well, but fuck, I didn’t even let my counsellor
see that part of me. It was private,
intensely
private, something no one
had a right to read.

I shouldered past a senior, getting a
“Whatcha do that for, fucker!” in return, but instead of turning around and
getting in his face for insulting me, I continued through the crowd of students,
desperate to get away from Jasper. As I reached the footpath, a blue Ford
pulled up to the kerb. It stopped next to me, making me tense.

Jasper’s auntie poked her head out of the
driver’s window. “Want a lift?” she asked, smiling up at me

“Fuck yeah!” Jasper said, finally catching
up. He rounded the car, yelling, “Thanks, auntie.” He squeezed his bulk into
the front passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

His auntie normally told him off for that,
but instead, she kept her gaze trained on me. “You comin’?” She grinned, the
bitch probably thinking her wording was funny.

I flicked her the finger and headed away
from the car, not willing to be in the same space as her again. I stopped several
paces away from the Ford at the sight of Mrs. Hatton. She was unlocking a
yellow Volkswagen in the teachers’ car park. Looking frazzled, she slid a box
into the car, then wiped her brow, sweet patches discolouring her blue blouse. It
made her look more real, her appearance not faked to attract a guy. This was
her, not a superficial exterior like Phelia put on. I wondered whether that was
what I didn’t like about Phelia. She was just so fake—unlike Mrs. Hatton.

She closed the door and moved to the
driver’s side, stopping as she noticed me staring at her. I didn’t look away,
not caring that she’d caught me out. She dropped her gaze for a moment,
focusing on the satchel slung around her body. She looked back up at me,
probably perplexed as to why I was still staring at her. I didn’t know why I
was doing it either, but for some reason her presence had pushed away the anger
that had risen from seeing Jasper’s auntie. Or maybe it was because she was the
polar opposite of that creepy opportunistic bitch. She cared about what I
thought instead of what I could do for her, or more accurately, how I could do
her.

“Dante,” Jasper called out. “What the fuck
are you doin’? Get in the car!”

I glanced back at him. He’d gotten out of
his auntie’s car and was staring at me over the roof, appearing just as perplexed
as Mrs. Hatton. I wondered what my expression looked like to them. Probably
blank, because my features felt frozen.

“I don’t want a ride,” I said.

“Well, you’re gettin’ one,” Jasper
replied, “so stop bein’ a twat and get in.”

The sound of high heels clopping against
the footpath pulled my attention away from him. I turned to see Mrs. Hatton approaching
me. She was clutching a piece of paper in her hand, looking nervous. Again, the
memory of her reading my poem came back. I hoped like hell she wasn’t going to
bring it up, because there was no way I was discussing it with her.

She stopped in front of me and held out
the paper. “This is for you.”

I looked down at it, the word
SLAM
capturing my attention.
I took the flyer, giving it a quick onceover.
It was advertising a slam poetry club.

I held it out for her to take back. “I
don’t do slam.”

Her arms stayed by her sides. “Why not?
Your poetry is great.” Her eyes widened as if she’d said the wrong thing. “I
was referring to the
Unhappily-Ever-After
one, not the
My Looks
poem,
although that was cleverly written too,” she babbled, her face growing redder
by the second. “But I still shouldn’t have read it, I just didn’t realise you
were writing something so personal. Regardless, I’m really sorry and wanted to
tell you that you had every right to be angry with me, so let’s forget I ever
saw it, and get back to the fact that you’re an incredibly talented poet—”

“No, I’m not,” I cut her off.

“Yes, you are. Your
Unhappily-Ever-After
poem was—”

“Good, but not great, and you can’t judge
whether I’m talented after only reading one or two of my poems.”

“I’m not just basing it on your writing. The
way you speak can be poetic too, like when you were talking about how New
Zealand’s urban dance is different from America’s. The adding and subtracting
part was really clever.”

I blinked, not used to people calling me
clever. People called me dumb, stupid, obnoxious, arrogant, but never clever.

She tapped the flyer. “So, give it a try,
you might like the club, might even win some competitions.”

A beep came from behind me, followed by
Jasper yelling at me to get in the car again, the bastard not giving up. Sometimes
it was a battle between us, neither one willing to back down, no matter how big
or small the situation was. I glanced over my shoulder, about to swear at him,
but instead my gaze landed on his auntie. She was glaring at Mrs. Hatton with a
jealous scowl.

I flicked her the finger again, mouthing
‘Fuck off’ to the bitch.

Jasper yelled, “Well, fuck you too!”
probably thinking I’d done it to him.

For a moment, I considered telling him it
wasn’t directed at him, but decided against it, because at least it would get
him off my back.

I turned back to Mrs. Hatton as Jasper’s
auntie finally drove off, the screech of her tyres cringeworthy.

Mrs. Hatton dropped her gaze, looking
embarrassed. “I’m also sorry about what happened yesterday,” she said, her
voice almost a whisper. “I shouldn’t have done what I did or gotten angry with
you when you pointed it out. I deserved everything you threw at me. It was
wrong,
I
was wrong. Please forgive me,” she said, looking back up.

A second later it dawned on me that she
was talking about watching me getting a blowjob.

“Why are you apologising?” I asked,
thinking she had nothing to be sorry for. “I loved what you did, unlike...” I
closed my eyes for a moment, a sudden rage bubbling up out of nowhere, angry at
both myself and Jasper’s auntie. And Jasper too. I wanted to yell at him even
though he wasn’t the one who’d fucked me over. Still, I’d told him that his
auntie was creeping on me, yet he didn’t believe me, going to
her
defence instead of mine. And if I admitted to what she’d done yesterday, he’d
probably call me a liar. Some fucking friend he was.

I balled my hands into fists, the memory
of his auntie touching me working me up even more. Another memory sprung up in
its place, of someone else touching me. I felt like screaming, lashing out, doing
something—anything—to let the rage escape, but instead I shoved the memory down,
burying it deep, telling myself it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream. Maybe
I could do the same with what Jasper’s auntie had done, burying it so deep I’d
barely remember it.

“Unlike,
what?
” a soft voice asked.

I opened my eyes, seeing Mrs. Hatton
staring at me with concern.

“Are you still upset with me for reading
your poem?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Then, what’s upsetting you?”

I didn’t reply. Couldn’t reply.

She touched my arm. “Please tell me.”

I
jerked my arm away from her touch, saying the first thing that came to mind. “I’m
not interested in slam.” I shoved the flyer at her, not caring as it fluttered
away before she could take it. I took off down the road, knowing I couldn’t
tell her—
or anyone
. I would deal with it on my own, like I always did.

***

I opened the gate to my place, setting my
dogs off. Bob and Marley started barking and jumping all around me, excited to
see me home. I smiled for the first time today, happy to see them too, my dogs
always cheering me up. They didn’t judge me or get angry with me, only wanting
my love and attention.

I locked the gate behind me and headed
across my front lawn. Marley started butting her head against my leg. I stopped
and looked down at her. “You want a cuddle, girl?”

She barked an affirmative. Smiling, I sat
down in the middle of the lawn and held my arms out for her. She leapt at me,
knocking me onto my back. She was a large girl, her fondness for food giving
her a much bigger belly than Bob.

I laughed as she started licking my face.
Bob tried to get some licks in too, both of them fighting for my attention. I turned
my face towards the ground, but it just encouraged them more. They nudged it
with their noses, trying to get me to turn my head back around. I started laughing
manically, which only excited them more, causing them to jump on and over me.
Without warning, my laughter hiccupped into a sob. It quickly turned into full-out
sobbing, an overwhelming sadness descending over me, soaking into my bones,
miring me down. My nose started to clog up, but I was unable to stop,
everything bad all of a sudden hitting me, even the things I’d thought I’d
gotten control over.

It had all began when my father started
using meth five years ago. His anger had escalated to the point he became
unrecognisable, a different person inhabiting his body. He’d lashed out at my
mother and older brother, the drugs causing him to lose his mind, a mind that
was already unstable from being bipolar. The police had to taser him more than
once, the meth working through his blood making him inhuman. Then they’d locked
him away for almost three years, leaving me and my family on our own. My
brother had been happy, his connection to our father damaged beyond repair. But
me. I’d missed him every day.

Then my mother met my stepfather...

I gripped onto my head, muttering that what
the bastard had done to me hadn’t happened, because if it had, I would’ve told
someone,
anyone
, no matter how ashamed and disgusted I’d felt,
did
feel
, which meant my brother wouldn’t have gotten raped
too
. My
mother would also be alive if I’d spoken out. She’d tried to protect me and Ash.
I wanted her to protect me now, for her to hug and tell me everything would be
all right. But nothing would ever be right again. There would always be people
like my stepdad and Jasper’s auntie dragging me down, making me wish I’d died
instead of my mother.

I brought my knees to my chest, curling
up. My dogs stopped trying to climb over me. One of them started whimpering,
while the other one nudged me gently as though he knew I was upset.

“Retard, what are you doin’ lying on the
ground!” a voice yelled.

I uncovered my face and turned over,
seeing Happy Meal glaring at me through my fence. Behind him, a car idled. One of
his friends was sitting in the driver’s seat, also staring at me, but with
curiosity rather than loathing.

I turned my head away and wiped my face,
then pushed to my feet, yelling, “Fuck off!”

His eyebrows rose. “Have you been crying?”

“No!”

He laughed. “Looks like it to me. Fuck,
you’re a reject. You can’t even get inside the house before you burst into
tears like a li’l girl.”

I stormed over to the fence, gripping onto
the wire meshing, yelling, “Fuck you!” into his face.

He sniffed derisively. “How ’bout you go
fuck yourself, gay boy.”

“I’m not gay!”

He slammed his hand against the fence
where my face was, pushing the wire into my flesh. I jerked my head back as my
dogs went wild. Both Bob and Marley lunged at him, trying to attack Happy Meal
through the fence.

He stepped back and pointed two fingers at
Marley, cocking them up like a gun. He did the same to Bob. Then he moved them to
me. “Stay away from my chick, Rata,” he said, firing his imaginary gun, “or the
next time it won’t be my fingers I’ll be pointing at you.”

A yell came from across the road, causing
Happy Meal to spin around. Jasper was lumbering across his front lawn as fast
as he could move. Happy Meal jumped back into his friend’s car and slammed his
door shut, yelling, “Go!” The heap of junk took off, its exhaust pipe backfiring,
leaving behind a smelly plume of smoke.

Jasper approached the gate, his gaze furious.
“What did that bastard say to you?”

I didn’t reply, concerned he’d go after
Happy Meal.

He unlocked the gate, closing it behind
him. Ignoring Bob and Marley, he strode towards me, stopping in his tracks as
he drew closer. “Have you been crying?” he asked, looking surprised.