Paradise City (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Mercifully I found the principal’s door open and Mr Fitzgibbons on the phone.

I tiptoed into his office and placed the folded-up orange vest on his desk, ready to sidestep away, all until his finger lifted up and he mouthed: ‘Wait’.

My insides screamed.

No-no-no-no . . .

Mr Fitzgibbons nodded thoughtfully, his expression grim with concentration. He was probably speaking to the department about some government grant, or maybe child services about little Robbie Robinson and his poorly chosen name. I bit my lip, trying to think of something else before I lost it. Mr Fitzgibbons scribbled down something on his notepad before speaking.

‘Yep, twelve potato cakes, eight pieces of flake, two lamb souvlaki, five dollars worth of chips, and half a dozen dim sims.’ He crossed off his list.

Was he for real?

‘Yep, great, how long will that be, Connie? Right, excellent! Thanks for that.’ He put down the phone, jotting another note on his list.

He glanced up, pausing as if he had forgotten I was there.

‘Ah, Atkinson.’

Was this how it was going to be now? My criminal activity would have the principal forever referring to me as Atkinson, just like all the other rule breakers. I had only ever heard Boon or Ballantine referred to by their last names, and they were the resident school delinquents.

He followed my eyeline.

‘Oh, yeah, it’s a Special Lunch Day,’ he said sheepishly. ‘A few of the staff chip in and we lash out on some takeaway.’

More images of the teachers charging out the doors of their classrooms, pushing students out of the way. No wonder Mr Branson had been so crabby in the corridor: he was thinking ‘Hurry up! Hurry up! It’s Special Lunch Day!’

‘So how did you go?’ he asked, reclining lazily in his chair.

‘Yeah, good. The yard’s clean.’ I nodded.

‘Hmm, for now it is,’ he said, glaring out the window at the screaming basketballers. I kind of wondered if Mr Fitzgibbons was really suited to working with teenagers.

‘Now, I have had a talk with some of the other teachers and I think we have all come to the same conclusion about you, Lexie, about the best way to deal with this situation.’

‘Oh?’ I said, feeling rather concerned that I was deemed a ‘situation’.

‘Yes, I’m afraid we believe there is only one way to deal with your actions.’

Oh God, they’re going to tell my parents.

I could feel my stomach churning, the seventies wood-panelled walls were closing in on me, heat flooding my cheeks as the deafening thrums of my heart made it difficult to concentrate.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you to Siberia.’

Wait, what?

I blinked. ‘Sorry?’

Mr Fitzgibbons’ face crinkled with confusion. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Siberia is what we call detention. We are sending you to detention.’

‘Oh.’ I blew out the word in relief. Hang on a minute: detention? My relief was short-lived.

Mr Fitzgibbons pulled a pink slip out of his top drawer. He scribbled his unreadable handwriting across it. ‘Hand this slip to Mr Anderson in room C3; I believe he is running Siberia today.’ He handed me the slip. ‘You are to present yourself every lunchtime for the rest of the week. I suggest you make full use of your time, Miss Atkinson.’ He reached for a manila folder in his in-tray. ‘Miss Smith asked me to give this to you – this was what was covered in today’s lesson.’

‘Thanks,’ I managed rather unenthusiastically.

His cool grey eyes looked at me with no kindness, until they dipped to his wristwatch – then they lit up. ‘Anyway, best get going, I have things to do.’

Pfft, yeah, wouldn’t want your fish ’n’ chips to get cold.

•

My lunchtime pass had gone from a forged note of freedom to a pink slip pass to Siberia.

Life was wicked and cruel sometimes; my mind flashed to Amanda who was probably sitting on the beach watching Boon and Ballantine slicing up the waves. Ballantine’s bronzed skin, iridescent droplets of water cascading over his toned stomach as he wedged his board in the sand and towel dried his torso in slow motion. I blinked. . . . almost walking into a rubbish bin.

‘Wake up, Lexie!’ Mr Branson called. He was still standing in the hall barking orders at people, probably dreaming of his cold dim sims.

Would every day be like this? How had I managed to stuff up so badly and it was only my second week? I was now going to be imprisoned in a classroom all day for the rest of the week. I walked through the corridors dragging my feet and sighing with each step, the very same thing I found myself doing as I handed over my pink slip to Mr Anderson, the head of the Drama department. He had kind hazel eyes and a salt-and-pepper goatee. He also referred to me by my first name, which made me instantly like him.

‘Take a seat, Lexie. You got stuff to do?’

‘Yeah, some English,’ I said, making my way to the back row, before stopping mid-aisle.

Yeah, that didn’t end so well for me last time.

I about-faced and headed for a middle row near the window. From now on I was going to be a stellar student. I sat down, lifting my chin and straightening my spine. No more crazy, whacky antics daydreaming about surfers or hanging with the cool kids, no more attention-seeking strutting in the schoolyard and playing the new girl card; I mean, it’s not like anyone cared anyway. From now on I would spend my time maturely and patiently, I thought, unzipping my pencil case and lining up my red pen, blue pen, grey pencil, rubber, sharpener on top of the desk. From now on there was going to be no distractions, just hard work that would get me the worldly experience I craved and the grades I wanted.

It was all about focus.

But then a binder and pencil case slammed down next to mine, breaking my focus and causing me to blink in fright. I took in that familiar black Quiksilver pencil case and an exercise book graffitied with blue inked waves.

My heart stopped.

Slowly I lifted my eyes to see Ballantine and Boon standing there looking down at me.

Boon with a boyish grin peeking over Ballantine’s shoulder, not an easy thing to do considering the fact that Ballantine was a good foot taller than him.

‘Bloody hell, new girl. What. Did. You. Do?’ asked Boon, laughing hysterically, as he pulled his chair out, scraping the legs against the floorboards, leaving Ballantine still standing, still looking at me with an amused, curious spark in his eyes, as if he was trying to solve a mystery.

I shifted awkwardly under his watchful scrutiny, straightening my already straight line of pens. ‘I’m not in your seat, am I?’ I asked, cocking my brow and glancing up at him with a challenge.

He tucked in his bottom lip as if to stifle the smile that wanted to come. Instead he shook his head. ‘Not today.’ He pulled out the chair next to me, taking his seat and shifting himself forward, placing his elbows on the table, almost touching mine.

I swallowed. So much for being focused. If anyone had warned me that I would be spending my lunches in Siberia with bad boys from Kirkland, I wouldn’t have believed them.

Never could I have hoped for better; Ballantine sat so close I could sense the rise and fall of his chest in my peripheral vision, actually smell the mind-numbing scent of his aftershave: crisp, clean and mouth-watering.

Oh God, Lexie, get your head together.

Not so easy when I was aware of every single move he made, flicking the pages of his exercise book, the deep sighs, his fingers ruffling through his thick, dishevelled hair, rummaging through his pencil case. Why was he sitting next to me? There were plenty of other seats in the room. Why me?

‘All right, gang, you know how this works. Heads down, zipped lips and best behaviours, yeah?’ Mr Anderson settled in behind his desk stacked with piles of paper, probably using the time to catch up on some marking, I thought, until he pulled a mysterious little ear plug from his top pocket and wedged it in his right ear. Bloody hell, was he looking at a racing guide for the horses?

I couldn’t believe it; nothing like a bit of sly gambling on the side to kill the time. My outrage was short-lived when Ballantine leant over to me, so close I could feel his breath against my earlobe.

‘Can I borrow a pen?’

I flung into action fast, a desperate attempt at aiming to please. ‘Um, yeah, sure,’ I said, almost pushing my pencil case off the edge of the desk, catching it just before it fell and pens clattered everywhere. I breathed a big sigh of relief as I pulled the pencil case into my lap, smiling a small smile at Ballantine, who was waiting with amused interest. I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as I delved into the recess of my case, hunting for the best pen I could find. I opted for a black ink ballpoint with a retractable clicker.

Nice.

I held it out to him, my heart rate spiking as he took it from my clasp, his finger once again brushing against me in the simplest and briefest touch, but it was enough to have me replaying and analysing every aspect of it for the rest of the day.

‘Thanks,’ he whispered, with a crooked smile.

I had an image of me fainting at the sight of that devilish smile, eyes rolling to the back of my head, sliding under the desk unconscious. Instead, I cleared my throat and faced forward, glancing around the room. It suddenly occurred to me that either Paradise City had a school full of impeccably behaved students or we were just the really bad ones, segregated from the rest of the school, kind of maximum security, or maybe this was just the section for seniors? I was dying to know but didn’t dare ask. Not that I minded sharing detention solely with Ballantine and Boon. And the fact that, even with a massive empty classroom, they opted to sit next to me was a rather dramatic change after the seating fiasco of my first day.

I pulled out what looked like an English assignment and read through the bullet points of the criteria, trying to focus my mind. Not so easily achievable when a triangular piece of paper flicked into my temple and landed on the back of my hand. I slowly shifted my eyes to the two other students in the class. They sported excellent poker faces, looking down at their books with deep, intense interest.

I glanced up to Mr Anderson, who was intently studying his racing form and pressing in the earbud; it must have been mid-race because he was sitting on the edge of his seat mouthing ‘Come on, come on’ under his breath. I took the moment of his distraction to slide the paper into my lap and unfold it carefully to read:

Seriously, what did you do?

It was Boon. I knew this much because it was scrawled in blue ink, not the black I had given Ballantine.

I bit my lip.

What did I do?

In any case, honesty was always the best policy, right? Plus, there was a little part of me – okay, a huge part of me – that wanted to see his reaction.

Mr Anderson fist-pumped the air, well and truly distracted, as I jotted down my response.

I got caught breaking into the staff room :(

I thought the sad face was a nice little touch. I refolded the note and tugged gently on Ballantine’s shirt, motioning for the pass down. His head snapped around in surprise as he eyed the piece of paper with interest, taking it from me and discreetly passing it to Boon.

Boon slowly unfolded it much like I had, with an ever-watchful gaze on Mr Anderson. When his serious blue eyes lowered, to tick over my response, the instantaneous rise of both his brows was priceless; I had to force myself not to laugh. Ballantine’s interest piqued, he grabbed the note from Boon and a small smile creased the corner of his mouth, his brow kinking in surprise. He glanced my way as if gauging whether I was telling the truth or not.

I merely shrugged, as if to say ‘What’s a girl to do?’ As I returned to study my English assignment I could still feel the full weight of Ballantine’s eyes on me, but I just straightened my spine and read on in confidence. I would leave the details up to their imaginations, let them wonder what would possess a new girl to act in such a way, allow myself a certain amount of mystery, I thought. In actual fact, there was more mystery surrounding Ballantine than there was me. Everyone would know by now that I was Amanda’s country bumpkin cousin from Hicksville. They would know that there was obviously no love lost between us. I was inducted into the Gilmore brainiacs and was rebelling mere days after starting here.

But what of Ballantine? Why was he here? Why was it that mostly every time I came into contact with him it was to do with some kind of trouble? He was sporty, a surfer – a good one or bad one I was yet to find out. He had an annoying tendency to click the top of his biro while flicking it through his fingers. Actually, that was kind of hot. As was the thick leather bracelet he wore on his right wrist, accompanied by several smaller leather bands, intricately braided in different colours. I wondered what the story was behind them.

His hands were the only thing I could risk a partial glance at, being so close. But they were beautiful hands, so tanned. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows – a trait quite common among the sporty boys, even their ties were often loose and skew-whiff, no doubt choking from the restrictions of conformity. While I had welcomed a uniform with open arms and loved how it made me feel, I’m sure the same could not be said about Ballantine.

I wanted to write my own note to ask a million questions. What had they done? How long were they destined to be in Siberia for? Had they worn the orange vest of shame too? Were they going to the beach after school?

Okay, no need to be a creeper, Lexie.

Chapter Fifteen

By the time the bell sounded I had only managed to write my name on the top right-hand corner of my English homework.

Awesome.

Instead of turning over a new leaf and becoming the model student, I had spent every moment of the detention pretending to read while ogling Ballantine in my peripheral vision.

Ballantine frowning while reading.

Ballantine chewing on the end of his pen. MY pen.

Ballantine stretching in his chair.

Ballantine yawning, sighing and just being generally dreamy by doing the simplest things.

The bell had woken us all up. Jumping into action, the three of us packed up our books with enthusiasm.

Mr Anderson pulled out the earbud and quickly folded and wedged his newspaper in between his textbooks.

‘You are free,’ he announced.

Free as in ‘go to your next holding cell’.

I grabbed my pencil case to find Ballantine holding my pen out in front of me.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

Amazing how such a simple word could make my stomach flutter. ‘Aren’t you going to need it?’ I asked.

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Not for PE I won’t.’ He smiled. It wasn’t the teeth-exposing kind, but it didn’t matter. It was the dimple-dipping kind and that was the one I lived for. I knew my whimsical thoughts were ridiculous but there was just something about what Luke Ballantine did to me. Maybe I’d been isolated for far too long, sheltered from the reality of the world, but when I took the pen from him there was an insane stalker in me that wanted to encase the pen in a glass shrine simply because he had touched it. Mental thoughts like that made me want to run to Amanda and squeal. Yeah, well, that wasn’t going to happen. Laura? Boon’s sister: the link was too close and I didn’t really know her.

‘See ya round, Lex,’ Ballantine said, backing away a few cool steps before turning.

‘Yeah, and for Christ’s sake, behave,’ Boon said, laughing as they walked out of Siberia. It was then I realised the weight that was on me. I had no-one to talk to, no-one I could trust, no-one to confide in.

There was just me and my lustful thoughts about this mysterious Bad Boy Ballantine.

•

There were many things that surprised me lately. One of them was waiting by my locker at home time.

Amanda leant against the wall, her arms folded. I could never tell if she was actually ever in a good mood because her heavy eye makeup always made her look sullen. Maybe she was just always miserable. Who knew? All I knew was she was definitely the last person I wanted to see.

She stood to attention when she saw me closing in, pushing off my locker and standing aside for me to put my books away.

‘Hey,’ she said, adjusting the weight of her backpack over her shoulder.

‘Hey,’ I managed, not even bothering to look her way.

She stepped closer, tilting her head to the side, trying to get my attention. ‘What did you do?’ she asked in a low voice.

I slammed my locker shut hard, causing her to blink in surprise as I turned my darkened gaze on her.

‘Really? I mean, REALLY?’ I scoffed.

‘You were only supposed to stick your head through the door,’ she said, almost as if she was trying to blame me.

‘Well, I didn’t, and you know what? It wasn’t the Year Twelve common room. In fact, there was no rainforest wallpaper in sight, but you know what was in sight? What I was faced with once I had made my way through the window? What I saw right after I face-planted into the carpet? What I saw was a table full of pissed-off teachers who wanted to chase me with sticks of fire,’ I all but yelled.

Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’

My mouth gaped. ‘Dramatic? I had to wear the vest of shame and spent most of my day picking up rubbish and chilling in Siberia with the Kirkland boys.’

Amanda’s eyes flashed with interest. I stilled long enough to notice the definite change in her expression, the one thing that I could see had an effect on her. I, of course, recalled the one very interesting piece of information that I’d thought to file away for later, and now I was so mad and she was so dismissive, I couldn’t think of a more perfect opportunity for me to use it.

I shrugged. ‘Lucky I had Boon to keep me company.’

Amanda’s eyes widened.

Bingo!

‘Boon?’

I smiled dreamily to myself. ‘If it wasn’t for the notes he was passing me in detention, I think I would’ve died of boredom,’ I said matter-of-factly, before shouldering my bag and walking off with a knowing grin. I didn’t need eyes in the back of my head to know that what I had just said would’ve hit a nerve, and although there was a small part of me that felt kind of bad, there was also another part of me that thought very loud and clear:

Good!

•

True to form, Amanda went back to her snappy, snarly self. Maybe it was as a direct result of my casual name-drop of Boon, but there was no real way of knowing. From the day I’d arrived, she had displayed all the symptoms of Mad Cow Disease. I sat in the stuffy little alcove in our bedroom after dinner, attempting to finish off the English homework I had so miserably failed to complete during detention. If it wasn’t the infuriating dancing bug that kept headbutting against the bulb of the desk lamp, it was the heavy banging and slamming of drawers, doors, basically anything Amanda could get her hands on as she pottered around the bedroom.

I ignored her.

I hoped by doing so the old adage of ‘if you ignore it, it will go away’ would come true. Well, not Amanda. Once she had finished loudly rearranging her CD collection, she obviously thought now was as good a time as any to put one on, turning the volume up so loud the bookshelves above my desk vibrated.

I clenched my jaw and continued to ignore her, hoping that Aunty Karen or Uncle Peter would come and intervene, but then considering they were probably tucked away in their insulated parents’ retreat, they probably couldn’t hear a thing. Instead, with no likely rescue in sight I focused all my energy on reading my paperwork, finally getting to the last page. I gathered up the pieces of paper, only to find a yellow sheet underneath the stash. An A4 leaflet that had been tucked into my folder from English. My eyes narrowed to see the bold heading: Paradise High Newsletter. With today’s date in the corner. My head was pounding from the music I was so desperately trying to ignore, but as I lazily read down the columns of the newsletter, stifling a yawn, I froze. Right there in another bold heading: ‘School Social’.

I read on. Was it too early to start planning my outfit? I couldn’t pinpoint the date – maybe this headache was a lot more serious than I thought. My heart sunk as I stared at the yellow leaflet; taking in the date my eyes had now found. Maybe it was some horrid mistake, but the school social – a real school social – was weeks away. I turned, hooking my arm around the back of my chair, yelling above the music.

‘Is there really a school social at the end of term?’

Amanda was lying on her back, her legs pressed up against her bedhead, jigging to the beat of the music. Her eyes strained upside down to look at me. ‘Why? Can’t you dance?’

‘Of course I can,’ I defended a bit too quickly.

I had visions of me doing the ‘Time Warp’ only to be shunned by the cool kids and their disgusted, cringing stares.

A shiver ran down my spine, the thought far more humiliating than any vest of shame. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; with each passing day came a new obstacle, a new dilemma, but of all the things I had been faced with, this was by far the most terrifying. I could now see that having been isolated from a normal teenage population for so long had done damage. Hopefully it wasn’t irreparable. I felt out of my depth in all social interactions, and didn’t understand the rules of teenage interchange. I felt angry. Angry at who, though? My parents for their choice to live in such a remote place? Amanda for being such a bitch? Myself for not realising life in Paradise City could be so complex? It was just so confusing.