Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) (2 page)

2

DANTE

I glanced back at the teacher, thinking
she was hot as fuck. Just a pity it hurt to look at her, my balls whining like
a bitch. It felt like Happy Meal had left his boot-print on my gonads and all
because I’d been nice to his girlfriend ... by letting her suck my dick. I’d
gate-crashed a party with two of my mates. She’d been there, minus Happy Meal’s
ugly mug. Before I knew what was happening, I had a stomach full of vodka and my
pants around my ankles, with my dick down her throat. I hadn’t even remembered
going into the bedroom with her. If anything, I swear I’d gone in there alone to
sleep. But since she’d already gotten me hard, it was a no brainer to let her
finish the job, plus she was hot.

Just not as much as that M.I.L.F. of a
teacher, that was, if she was even a mother, because that tight little bod
didn’t look like it had shot out any bambinas. I grinned, finding it amusing
she’d gotten all hot and flustered over me. I wondered how old she was. Early
twenties at a guess. I’d cream my pants if she ended up being one of my teachers,
because it would be so much fun to wind her up. But I didn’t get that kind of
luck. I either got old hags, fags, or guys with Hitler complexes, like my drama
teacher.

I pushed through the sickbay door, aware I
could’ve let her bring me here. I just didn’t want to. It was humiliating
enough that she had to save my sorry arse from Happy Meal and his halfwit
friends; I didn’t need anything else from her. I could get to the sickbay all
on my lonesome without some M.I.L.F. holding my hand like I was a primary
school kid.

The nurse looked up from her desk as I
entered the room, disappointment thinning out her lips. She was a large
fifty-something Tongan woman, with a thick head of hair and
čokolada
skin.

“Already, Dante?” she said, slipping out
from behind her desk. “The bell hasn’t even rung.”

I shrugged and lay down on the single bed.
My torso felt like Mike Tyson had used it as a punching bag—with knuckle dusters
on. “Can I have an icepack?”

“Say please.”

“
Pretty
please with whipped cream
and a cherry on top
.
”

Smiling, she grabbed one along with the
first aid box. She passed it over and sat down next to me as the bell rang.
“Why can’t you keep out of fights, Dante?”

“If I did that I wouldn’t get to see your
beautiful face.”

“Shush, Romeo.” She was used to my sweet-talking,
but she still smiled as she cleaned the cut above my eye. I lifted up my shirt
and placed the icepack against my ribs, although I wanted to stuff it down my
pants to take away the ache from Happy Meal’s kick.

The nurse’s eyes widened. “Dante! What on
earth!”

I looked down at my ribs. My torso was
covered with blotchy red marks from Happy Meal’s and his mates’ boots and fists.

“I’ve had worse,” I muttered, laying my
head back down. “And at least my stomach will look pretty in a day or too. I
like purple and yellow.”

Her face hardened. “This isn’t a joking
matter. Who did this to you?”

I shrugged, not interested in dobbing in
Happy Meal again. I shouldn’t have even opened my mouth to the blonde teacher,
but she wouldn’t shut the hell up. She was like a rabid little dog that
wouldn’t stop yapping until I gave her what she wanted. I just hoped she didn’t
blab to the principal, because I didn’t need that do-gooder interfering in my
business. I could deal with Happy Meal all on my own.

“I really wish you would stop fighting,”
the nurse said, cutting through my thoughts. Since I’d started Wera High two
years ago, I’d been in and out of her office more times than I could remember.

She pushed to her feet with the first aid
kit. “Will you be all right to go to class or do you need me to phone your
father?”

“I’ll be fine after a few minutes,” I said,
definitely not wanting the second option. My dad would bitch and whine if the
nurse pulled him out of work, even more so since it was my first day back at
school. Or worse, he’d probably beat the shit out of Happy Meal, which wouldn’t
end well, since the prick’s father was the president of the Devil’s Crew, a
bikers’ club that constantly clashed with my father’s gang.

The bell for the end of tutor class rang,
signalling that I needed to get to my first lesson of the day: Drama. I thanked
the nurse and left the sickbay, doing my best not to walk like I’d just had my
balls crushed. I lifted my chin in friendly hellos at people I knew, giving a
couple from my gang handshakes, all the while pretending that I wasn’t hurting like
a eunuch who’d just had his nuts waved in his face. I wondered whether word had
spread about me losing the fight. It didn’t matter to people that I’d been up
against three good fighters or that I’d been sucker-punched from behind. All
that mattered was that
I’d lost.
I just wasn’t willing to act like I
had. Get your balls handed to you and you still had to walk like you could
crush someone else’s. Appearance was everything where I lived. It wasn’t about
fancy labels, it was about putting on a tough front, proving you were worthy of
wearing the patch.
That
was what counted, no matter how much it hurt.

I stopped outside my drama class and opened
the door, just enough to stick my face through. It looked like I was the last
one to class. My classmates were sitting in the centre of the floor in front of
our drama teacher. We didn’t have desks for drama, only a small stage and
props.

I shouted, “Here’s Johnny!” doing my best
Jack Nicholson impersonation.

Mr. Aston jumped a mile. He spun around,
giving me a hundred-watt glare. He had reddish-brown hair and was built like a brick
shithouse, with a chimney stack that constantly blew. Though, despite his solid
build, he obviously couldn’t fight for shit, since his busted up nose had more
curves than Happy Meal’s girlfriend.

Mr. Aston shouted at me, “Get in class!”

I didn’t know why he was so angry,
considering I was only acting, and it did say ‘Drama’ on the door. I kicked the
door open the rest of the way and sauntered in, lifting my chin up at him.
“G’day, Mr. Aston, miss me?”

He continued to glare, looking like he’d
pulled the short straw with getting me in his class again. “Cross me and I’ll
slap ye with detention for the rest of the week,” he snapped. He sounded like a
Scotsman who’d lost his balls to New Zealand, his accent a water-downed version
of Billy Connolly’s, minus the sense of humour.

I resisted the urge to imitate his accent,
wondering whether I could get through his class without receiving detention. He
probably had a whole bunch of blue slips already printed out with my name on. The
guy couldn’t stand me; thought I was an arrogant prick. He was right, but I
thought the same of him, just didn’t get all red-faced over it. He really
needed to chill the fuck out, because he had some serious anger management
issues. If he hated teenagers so much why did he become a teacher? It was like
working at a brothel and being allergic to condoms. Or being a nymphomaniac and
signing up to a nunnery. Why would you put yourself through that?

He continued jabbering on about what he
expected from me and how important Year Eleven was. I had to bite my tongue to keep
a straight face, especially since I could hear my best friend sniggering on the
floor behind me.

Mr. Aston finally finished his lecture. “Now,
remove yer shoes and sit down.”

I kicked off my boots, sending them flying
to where everyone else’s was. The array of black shoes and sandals were spread
out next to the door, the drama teacher preferring the rank smell of foot odour
to a little dirt on the carpet.

I sat down on the carpet by my best friend.
Jasper was as tall as Happy Meal, just fat, the dude always smelling of meat
pies and Coke.

Jasper held out his hand. I grabbed it and
did a fancy two-tiered handshake, pumping our fists together at the end, our gang’s
full greeting. We’d been best mates since we were little kids, going to the
same kindergarten, primary, intermediate, and now high school, minus the short
period of time when I got expelled and was forced to go to Claydon High. After
that dive expelled me too, I headed right back here, the principal making an
exception for me. I knew why he let me back in. It was because he felt like he
owed my family since he’d done fuck all for my oldest brother, who’d almost killed
himself in a suicide pact while he’d been going here.

Mr. Aston’s voice cut through my thoughts
about my brother. He’d started calling the roll. When he got to my name, I held
back from being a smart cunt and just answered with a “Here.” In return, I got surprised
looks from half the class. They’d probably expected me to say something stupid,
but I didn’t feel like it right now, my aching balls still distracting me.

I gently adjusted my crotch, noticing Phelia
Lamar, a.k.a. Happy Meal’s girlfriend, ogling what I was doing. She was a M
ā
ori chick
with the coolest afro hair, which was all fuzzed out in the old seventies
style. She also had big tits and the shiniest, juiciest mouth that was made for
sucking cock. Just a pity she didn’t know how to use it well, because she
sucked in more ways than one.

She sidled up next to me. “Hi, Dante, you wanna
come over to my house after school?”

I gave her an
Are you fucking kidding
me?
look, definitely not interested. I didn’t care how hot she was. There
were plenty of other good-looking chicks I could get without having to deal
with jealous boyfriends.

She screwed up her nose, probably
realising why. “What Ronnie did to you wuzn’t my fault.” Her gaze moved to my
brow. “And you only got a scratch,” she said, reaching out to touch the
bandage.

I jerked my head away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, c’mon, babe, don’t be angry with me.
We had fun, didn’t we?”

“We
had
fun. Past tense.”

She pouted at me. “It doesn’t hafta end.
I’ve broken up with Ronnie.”

“He doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Well, I
have.
I wanna be with
you.”

I went to tell her that I didn’t feel the
same way, but got cut off by Mr. Aston.

“One more peep oot of
you
, Dante,
and I’ll slap ye with detention so fast ye won’t know what hit ye,” he said.

I shot Phelia a glare, annoyed that she’d
caused me more trouble. She gave me an apologetic look.

Mr. Aston resumed what he’d been talking
about before
Phelia
had interrupted him. “We’re going to start off doing
Space Jump,” he announced, which was an improv game. “Ye’re going to act oot a
scene from something ye did during yer holiday break. Ye’ll get a minute each. So,
everyone up.”

All the students pushed to their feet. Half
the class who knew the game froze into a pose. I was tempted to face Phelia and
freeze doing a cock-sucking action, but decided not to antagonise Mr. Aston
further, because I kind of liked this game.

“Phelia,” Mr. Aston called out, “go
first.”

Within seconds, she was dancing around me,
which was what she’d been doing at the party before she’d sucked me off.

Mr. Aston finally called out another name,
stopping Phelia in her tracks. She froze in a dance pose, allowing Mr. Aston’s
niece to take over. The red-headed girl started pretending to swim. She had so
many freckles on her face I had the urge to get a pen and play dot-to-dot. I
smiled, wondering whether her body was covered with them too. I could spend a
whole afternoon joining them together, then have a different kind of fun
afterwards. Her eyes flicked over to me, giving me the same look the hot blonde
teacher had. I winked at her, causing her face to go bright red. She quickly looked
away and continued with her act until her annoyed-looking uncle called out my
name, probably noticing his niece was eyeing me up.

Jasper started sniggering, fully aware of
what I’d done over the summer holidays: selling drugs for my cousin and getting
laid continuously. Though, I did visit my grandparents for Christmas, where I
went surfing with my oldest brother and uncle. But pretending to surf for the
drama class was lame in comparison to imitating sex, which... Fuck it, it was worth
getting detention just to see the look on Mr. Aston’s face.

I cupped my hands in front of me,
pretending to hold someone’s head and started moving my crotch back and forth,
going, “Yeah, baby, take that cock. You know you want it. Yeah, yeah, ye—”

Before I could get the last
yeah
out, Mr. Aston grabbed me by the neck and hauled me to the door. He yanked it
open and shoved me into the corridor, yelling, “Detention for the rest of the
week!”

The door slammed in my face. I stood in my
socks, listening to the class erupt into a fit of laughter on the other side of
the door, Jasper’s laugh the loudest. Next thing, the door burst open and Mr.
Aston threw my boots and bag at me, thankfully not hitting me in the balls in
the process. Everything landed at my feet with a resounding thud.

“Principal’s office. Now!” he roared,
slamming the door in my face once again. On the other side he boomed at the
class, “Be quiet!”