Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) (6 page)

A car pulled into Jasper’s driveway, my mate
living across the road from me. He and his auntie emerged from her banged up
blue Ford. Beyond relieved to see them, I yelled at Jasper and cut across the
road. His eyes widened as Happy Meal punched the back of my head. I went flying
onto the front lawn of Jasper’s property, hollering in pain as I hit the ground
hard.

Yelling started up in surround sound, Happy
Meal’s voice the loudest. He was shouting at Jasper, “No, man, don’t do it. Don’t!”

I looked up, shocked to see Jasper pointing
a gun at Happy Meal. His eyes were blazing hellfire, while Happy Meal was holding
his hands out in front of him, fear twisting his hard features. His mate was
standing a few feet behind him, looking like he was considering turning and
running.

Jasper advanced on Happy Meal. “I should kill
you!”

Happy Meal stumbled back. “This ain’t my
fault, man,” he pushed out, his breathing ragged from a combination of fear and
exhaustion. “He slept with my woman! He deserves everything he gets.”

“No,
you
deserve to get shot in the
fuckin’ head!” Jasper yelled back, his hand shaking with anger.

His auntie moved to his side, her face
filled with worry. She looked like Jasper, just a skinnier, female version in
her late thirties. “Lower the gun, Jasper,” she said, her eyes flittering around
with worry. Across the road, one of our neighbours was peering through their
window, the flutter of their curtains not caused by the breeze.

I pushed into a sitting position, wincing
at the pain. “Back up, Jasper,” I panted, my lungs still burning from the
chase. “We don’t want the cops showing up here.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” he spat, not
taking his eyes off Happy Meal. “He’ll keep comin’ after you.”

“His dad will put a hit on you if you
shoot the bastard.”

“Our gang can take his dad out before he
finds out.”

“Which will result in a full-out gang war,”
I replied. “If that happens, there’ll be deaths on both sides. Are you willing
to risk our dads’ lives over this?”

Jasper swallowed, his expression now
worried. He lowered the gun a fraction, though he didn’t take his eyes off
Happy Meal. “Stay away from my mate and no one will get killed,” he said,
lowering the gun further.

“Deal.” Happy Meal spun around and took
off with his mate.

I watched them disappear down the road,
the bastards fast. I was shocked that I had managed to make it this far, but
then again, when you were running for your life adrenalin gave you an extra
burst.

The sound of a siren in the distance
jolted me.

“Get rid of the gun, Jasper,” his auntie barked.

As he disappeared around the side of his
house, I slipped my bag off and slumped onto the ground, lying flat on my back,
so exhausted I didn’t even want to twitch.

Jasper’s auntie bobbed down next to me.
“You all right, gorgeous?” she asked, brushing my hair off my forehead.

I swatted her hand away, the woman giving
me the creeps. “Don’t touch me.”

“I wuz just asking how you were.”

“You can do that without touching me.”

“How ’bout you come inside. I’ll get you
some food and drink.”

“That’s what the wicked witch said to
Hansel and Gretel.”

She scowled at me. “Stop bein’ horrible,
Dante.”

“I will once you stop eye-raping me.”

Her face dropped. “Dante! How could you
say that?”

“Easy. So fuck off.”

Jasper reappeared from around the side of
his house, causing his auntie to push up. I wondered whether he’d heard me
insult her, and even if he had, I was too exhausted to care. He stopped next to
her, giving me a look that said he had.

“Go inside, auntie,” he said, not taking
his eyes off me.

She headed for the house. As soon as she
was inside, Jasper kicked my leg. “Get up, you prick.”

I winced. “I’m already in pain, you don’t
needa add to it.”

“Then don’t insult my auntie!”

“Not my fault she always eye-fucks me. She
creeps me out majorly.”

“She has no interest in you; she’s like
twice our age.”

“Guess you’re gonna fail Year Eleven maths
again, you dumb cunt.”

He bobbed down and smacked me across the
head.

“Hey!” I yelled, pushing up. “Stop adding
to my bruises.”

“Then stop insulting people and get off
your arse.”

I grumbled, grabbed my bag and pushed to
my feet, hurting like hell. “I’d like to see you run across half the
neighbourhood and be sunshine and roses.” I headed for the road.

Jasper followed me across it. “Aren’t you
even gonna thank me for saving your worthless arse?”

“Thank you for saving my pretty arse,” I
muttered, unlocking my gate.

We entered my property, my two pit bulls
rushing for me. “Back off, Bob and Marley,” I said, not in the mood to play
with them.

They turned to Jasper. He picked up Marley
and gave her a kiss on the head. She started licking his face, Jasper calling
her a beautiful dog. Jealous, Bob jumped around his legs, barking for
attention.

I pulled my key out and unlocked the front
door. “Put Marley down and come inside,” I said, glancing at the road as the
siren grew closer.

He put the dog down and followed me inside
the house. I snapped at Bob and Marley to back up, then closed the door, locking
them out. I turned around, my gaze landing on Jasper. “Why the hell do ya have
a gun?” I asked.

“For times like these,” he replied,
looking at me like I was dumb.

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Ray Bradbury,” he said, mentioning the biker
who dealt with weapons. “You should get one too.”

“Hell, no, I don’t do guns.”

“You still needa get one. I’ll take ya out
to the shooting range, help ya practice.”

I shook my head. “Guns are more trouble
than their worth.”

“If I didn’t have one, you would’ve been
toast.”

“No, you would’ve fought Happy Meal. You’re
a match for him.”

“And what about his mate? You could barely
get up off the ground. I would’ve had to fight both of them. Also, what about when
they come after you again? Happy Meal won’t let this drop. Maybe the next time
he’ll
be packing and you’ll end up with a bullet between your eyes.” He ran a
hand through his thick brown hair, his expression worried. “We hafta put a hit
out on him before it’s too late.”

My eyes widened. “What the fuck? No! We
don’t kill people.”

“He fuckin’ deserves it!” Jasper yelled,
spit spraying from his mouth. “He won’t stop comin’ after you, and you know it.
I should’ve killed the fucker.”

“Then you would’ve gone to jail.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care!” he yelled,
gesticulating wildly. “Cos at least you’d be safe.”

I went silent for a moment, moved by his
need to protect me. “You still can’t shoot him,” I finally said. “His gang will
come after you in jail.”

“
Our
gang will protect me.”

“Stop talkin’ like you’re gonna do it,” I said,
now worried.

He ran a hand over his face. “It’s just...
I couldn’t take it if he killed you.”

“He won’t, so chill,” I said, walking up
to him. “Plus, I’ll be more careful.”

Jasper let out a burst of laughter, the
sound devoid of humour. “You don’t know the meaning of that word, so don’t make
me laugh. Just skip school for the rest of the week. Hopefully, he’ll have
calmed down by next week. I’ll tell school you’re sick.”

“What ’bout my dad?”

“Like I said, pretend you’re sick. You’re
great at acting.”

I nodded, knowing I could use that time to
sell the drugs.

Jasper continued, “I’ll also get Julio and
some of the bros to intimidate Happy Meal’s mates so they don’t back him up
next time.”

“Good, cos I don’t think I can take
another day like this one. I feel fucked.” I slumped down onto my leather couch
and leaned my head back, closing my eyes.

“You don’t look so good, man.”

“I don’t feel good.” I opened my eyes.
“Get me a drink, will ya.” I nodded at my father’s booze cabinet. “Whiskey or
vodka, don’t care which.”

Jasper walked over to the cabinet.
“There’s a lock on here.”

My head snapped around. “What?”

“Your dad’s put a bolt on the cabinet.”

“The bastard!” I pushed up and walked
over, glaring at the lock. “That’ll take a bit to pick.” I stuffed my hand into
my pocket and pulled out a metal pick, stopping at the sound of a siren heading
down our road.

Jasper rushed over to the blinds and
peeked through them, his shoulders tense. The sirens moved past the house,
sounding like they were heading someplace out. Jasper exhaled loudly. “I
thought they were comin’ for me.”

“Our neighbours aren’t stupid enough to
rat us out,” I said, sticking the pick into the keyhole. I wriggled it about,
adjusting it this way and that way, then yelled out in victory as the bolt came
apart quicker than expected. I pulled it off and opened the cabinet, grabbing
the vodka. I uncapped it and took a swig, not even caring as it burned the back
of my throat, the price worth it.

Jasper snatched the bottle out of my hand
and started guzzling the clear liquid. He could drink all of our mates under
the table and still look like he could go another few rounds without batting an
eye.

He handed the bottle back with a loud sigh
of satisfaction. “Your dad always gets the best booze.”

“Only cos he spends all our money on it
instead of food.” I placed the bottle to my lips and skulled even more than
Jasper. I wanted to blot out today and vodka always worked a treat, rocking me
to sleep in its sweet, sweet arms.

A happy haze fell over my mind, making my
body’s aches disappear. I capped what was left and put the bottle away, closing
the cabinet up and reattaching the bolt.

I turned back to Jasper. “Let yourself
out, I’m gonna crash.”

He nodded, closing the door behind him,
the lock clicking automatically. I swiped up my bag and headed for my bedroom,
intent on stashing the drugs under my floorboards. Once they were secure, I
flopped onto my bed, thinking about everything that had happened: from my
run-ins with Happy Meal and the principal, to Jasper’s gun and the hot English teacher.
I closed my eyes, wishing it was Mrs. Hatton who’d blown me instead of Phelia.
I smiled, imagining the woman’s lips wrapped around my...

I fell asleep, Mrs. Hatton following me
into my dreams.

6

CLARA

To my relief, Dante didn’t show up for English
the following day. Though, Jasper did.
Unfortunately.

“Dante’s sick as a motherfuckin’ crack
whore with morning sickness,” he said, after I’d called out Dante’s name during
roll call.

“
Jasper
, watch your language,” I
admonished him, still surprised at how easy profanity rolled off his tongue.
And it wasn’t just him. Beverly had been right.
Again.
The
c
,
f
,
m
, and
s
words were used as much as
is
and
was
,
or more accurately
wuz
, which was the way half of the juvie class pronounced
the word. At times, I wondered whether the kids from South Auckland had their
own dialect, a broken form of English that didn’t quite match how everyone else
spoke.

Looking unconcerned with being told off,
Jasper ran a hand over his stubbly jaw, giving it a scratch. I’d found out that
he was sixteen going on seventeen, the boy having failed the previous year. I’d
secretly prayed that Dante was the same age, so I could feel better about
finding him attractive, but unfortunately he wasn’t, his sixteenth birthday a
while away.

“You shouldn’t give me flack, Mrs. H,”
Jasper said, his expression serious. “I’m just gettin’ into this jizz like a
wizz.”

“What on earth are you on about?” I asked,
the boy harder to understand than Snoop Dog.

Lindy sniggered from the front of the
class. “He said that Dante has diarrhoea.”

“I did not!” Jasper barked, looking even
more annoyed when the class burst out laughing. “He’s upchucking, cos he got
food poisoning from eating bad pork, you stupid twat.”

“
Jasper
,” I growled. “Don’t insult,
Lindy.”

“She insulted Dante first.”

“No, she misunderstood you, which is easy
enough to do, considering I don’t understand half of what you say.”

“That’s cos you’re white suburbia, while
I’m ghetto cool.”

He flicked his shirt collar up and lifted
his chin at Phelia Lamar, the Maori girl who’d been dancing on his desk the day
before. He looked like he was trying to impress her, but was failing miserably
at it, his expression more comical than cool. I covered my mouth to hide my
smile, while Phelia sniggered, along with her friends. Jasper sunk into his
seat, deflating from her reaction. Then a sneer formed on his round face. He
flicked his middle finger at her. Phelia flipped him off in return, poking her
tongue out as well.

“Yeah, baby, I know what you can do with that
tongue,” he said, and waggled his at her.

“Jasper!” I snapped. “No more talking.”

His gaze moved to me, all humour gone, his
expression freezing over. I moved my attention away from him, feeling a chill run
down my spine, fear prickling my skin.

“Pull out your pads,” I said to the class,
hiding the fact he’d rattled me.

Once their pads were out, I asked the
students to write down what they wanted to do after they left school. The kids settled
down after that, with only the sound of pens scraping across paper and the
occasional whisper going around the room. The remainder of the lesson went
well, along with the rest of the day, with only a few minor incidents, which I handled
without much trouble.

Dante didn’t show on Wednesday either.
Without his presence, things continued to run smoothly in the juvie class ...
to
an extent,
because they were still a rowdy bunch of misfits, his friends
the worst offenders. But unlike Dante, the threat of detention
mostly
got them to be quiet, to a point where I could start teaching them about the
book
Animal Farm
, which was one of my childhood favourites.

Before I knew it, Friday came round, with
only the student I.D. photos left to do before the bell rang. It was being held
in the school hall, a large expanse filled with tanned hues and fluorescent
lighting. I leaned back into my seat, watching the photographer snap a picture
of one of my students. They were up on the large stage, with a blue backdrop
behind the girl. She was smiling wide, her face a minefield of acne. A few other
students were waiting in the wing for their turn, while more were seated in front
of me. After a couple of minutes, they started growing restless, their chatter turning
up too many notches.

“Quieten down,” I called out. “Unless you
want detention after school.”
Detention
had become my favourite word,
the only thing, along with
suspension
,
that
usually
shut
them up. I smiled, wondering whether I’d be mean enough to throw
expulsion
into
my vocabulary.

They went quiet. I continued to watch the
students smile for their pictures, a few of the girls taking longer than was
necessary, Phelia the worst offender. The pretty Maori girl was standing a few
feet away from the backdrop, too busy dolling up her heart-shaped face to realise
it was her turn. She was holding a compact mirror and applying gloss over her
recently painted red lips, the rest of her face already made up.

“Phelia, you’re next,” I called out, not surprised
she was holding up the queue, the girl incredibly vain. Not only that, she
wasn’t meant to be wearing makeup. Though, a lot of the kids in the juvie class
didn’t do what they were meant to. “Just smile and move along,” I added,
looking forward to the weekend, minus the fact my husband still hadn’t arrived
from England, his documentation taking forever.

Phelia popped the compact and lip-gloss
back into her bag and moved in front of the blue screen, giving the
photographer what appeared to be a well-rehearsed smile. I could imagine her
practicing it in front of a mirror at home, pretending she was smiling for the
paparazzi, like some diva she’d seen on TV.

Eventually
,
she moved along, allowing the rest of the class to get their pictures done. As
the last photo was taken, I stood up with my own camera, ready to tell the
students to get into a group. I didn’t want to wait for the official class photo
to be taken, since it was over a month away. I wanted my own copy, so I could
send it to my husband, keen to show him
my
students.

A loud bang came from the back of the hall.
I glanced over my shoulder, surprised to see Dante lumbering down the aisle,
since he was still supposed to be sick—which he didn’t look. All he looked was
out of breath and windswept. As he passed me, I refrained from saying anything,
not risking him disrupting the last minutes of school.

He headed for the photographer, who was
packing up his gear. “Hold up,” he called out. “I’m next.”

The photographer stopped packing and glanced
down from the stage, looking like he was about to say no, but instead clamped
his mouth shut. He watched as Dante climbed the stairs to the stage, blatantly
staring at him.

Dante stopped in front of the blue screen.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he said snidely, causing his classmates to
laugh.

 The photographer grimaced. “I was only
assessing you for professional purposes,” he retorted, his tone snooty. He was
a mildly attractive man in his early thirties, with slicked-back brown hair and
an effeminate voice.

“I don’t give a shit,” Dante replied, “just
take my damn picture.”

“
Dante
,” I said in a warning tone.
“Apologise or no I.D.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m
real
sorry,” he
said, batting his eyelashes at the photographer mockingly.

The photographer opened his mouth as
though he was going to tell him off too, but instead reattached his camera to
the tripod, instructing Dante to lift his chin up. Dante did what he was told, flicking
his gaze to me as he did it, giving me a look I couldn’t decipher. He refocused
on the camera as the photographer chimed, “Smile!” The man took the picture,
but instead of finishing, he continued ordering Dante to turn his head this way
and that way, taking shots that weren’t needed for an I.D.

I went to question what he was doing, but
Dante beat me to the mark. “I’m not here for a fuckin’ fashion shoot,” he growled.
“I just want a bloody I.D. so I can get some free and cheap shit.”

Straightening, the photographer removed a
card from his smart charcoal trousers. “I do some work for a modelling agency,”
he said, holding the card out for Dante to take. “If you want extra cash, get
one of your parents to give me a call and I’ll arrange an interview with the
agency.”

Dante’s eyebrows shot up into his unruly mop
of black hair. “You’re pulling my chain?”

The man shook his head.

“Cool,” Dante said, taking the card. “How
much will I get paid?”

“You’ll have to discuss that with the
agency, but they usually pay handsomely.”

“How soon can I get paid?”

The photographer shrugged. “Depends upon what
campaigns they have on. Though, you’ll suit the one they’re doing for a popular
menswear’s store.”

“When will that one pay?”

The photographer laughed. “It’s all about
the money for you, isn’t it?”

“When will they pay me?”

The photographer laughed again. “They
usually pay by the end of the month, but this campaign’s pay-out will probably
be at the end of March.”

Dante’s face fell.

“But, they may have something sooner for
you. Just get a parent to call that number so they can get back to you quick.”

Dante’s smile reappeared. “Thanks, man.”
He stuffed the card into his back pocket, looking a lot happier.

The photographer nodded at him and resumed
packing. I called out to my class, instructing them to get on the stage for the
informal photo. They all headed up there, a number of the boys climbing onto
the stage instead of taking the stairs. As the photographer left, I arranged
the kids into three rows. I indicated for the girls in the first row to sit
down, then arranged the shorter boys and girls into the second row. The tallest
kids sidled up behind them, with Lindy in the middle of a line of boys. She
looked even thinner next to their sturdy frames, almost emaciated in
comparison. On her left, Jasper and Dante were talking animatedly. Jasper was
teasing Dante about the modelling offer, working him up. Dante’s hands were
already balling into fists, Jasper playing with fire.

I switched on my camera. “Jasper, stop annoying
Dante and face the front.”

Jasper did as he was told, although Dante
was still glaring at him.

“Dante, face the front,” I said, lining up
the shot.

As he turned to the camera, I called out,
“Say cheese!” The kids yelled out a plethora of words, most of them rude. I
took the picture just as Dante raised his hand, flicking me the finger.

I lowered the camera and scowled at him, “
Dante!
”

“What?” he said, as though butter wouldn’t
melt in his wicked mouth.

“Smile and keep your hands to your side.”

“Not unless you’re gonna pay me.” He turned
to Jasper and punched his arm. “Call me a ponce again and I’ll smash your face
in, you prick.”

“I wuz just joking, bro,” Jasper said, following
Dante down the stairs, rubbing his arm where he’d been punched. Phelia ran
after the boys, the terrible trio disappearing out the main entrance.

I turned back to the class, dismissing
them, no longer interested in taking another photo. The end of day bell rang as
I put my camera back into my satchel. Once secured, I slipped the strap over my
head and headed out of the hall, following the remaining students into the
corridor. More students were pouring out of their classrooms, their voices
loud, the space alive with activity and noise. I went with the flow, getting
the occasional bump from an overly enthusiastic student keen to escape school.

As I passed my classroom a rugby ball
sailed over my head. The boy who’d beaten up Dante caught it several metres in
front of me. Ronald raised the ball above his head, looking like he was about to
throw it back. I went to yell out for him to stop, but a booming voice beat me
to it, hollering, “No throwing balls in the hallway!”

Paul Aston was standing in a doorway, glaring
at the McDonald kid as though he was the resident evil. I questioned how I ever
thought the man resembled Liam Neeson. His face was much harder than the
actor’s, while his nose was crooked, suggesting it had been broken at least
once. He also had a scar through his right eyebrow and a buzz cut. I wondered
whether he’d served in the military, especially with the way he barked out orders
like a sergeant major.

The infamous Happy Meal ignored Paul and threw
the ball anyway, taking off as soon as it had left his hand. The ball flew over
my head, twisting in the air. I turned to see one of Ronald’s friends catching
it. Grinning, the boy tucked the ball under his arm and ran in the opposite
direction as Paul headed for him, Ronald already long gone.

Paul came to a sudden halt when he saw me,
his angry visage instantly morphing into a smile. It made him appear less harsh,
the man actually attractive without his scowl.