Paper Hearts (boyxboy)

Detention

The bell dismissing school rings loudly through the auditorium, cutting off my theater teacher in the middle of his rant about passionate performance. The class of twelve scatter immediately and are out the doors within thirty seconds. I alone am left there sitting, anything but eager to get to detention.

Andrew surely hates me for getting him into this. His second day at school, and he's already in trouble. How would he ever want to be friends now? We didn't exchange a word after Mrs. Perry gave us our sentence this morning, in fact the entire class was afraid to make a sound. All day I kept thinking how dumb I was to say something. I could have minded my own business and gone to my locker like I was supposed to. Instead I had to butt in and defend him, only to make it worse. Surely, surely he hates me.

"Noah, you alright?" I hear Mr. Afable ask from the stage. I look up and meet his eye. He's bent over, picking up the rough drafts of our plays we were supposed to put at the corner. I nod, smiling in discomfort.

"Sorry, guess I'm a little tired. 'Ought to get home now." I stand up quickly and throw my bag over my shoulder. "Have a good one," I wave as I strut out, before he can respond with anything. The thing about Afable is that he doesn't buy half the bullshit other teachers will. This is nice when you want to talk to him, but not ideal when you're trying to get one by on him. For instance, when I have this class again tomorrow and I give him my excuse for why our group hasn't written the rough play yet, he'll certainly narrow his eyes in disbelief. In fact I would bank on it. It's a special trait not uncommon with actors, a deeper understanding of human interactions.

I wonder, does Andrew act? He seems like the kind of person that would be set apart from others, the way actors are. Like a special kind of intelligent. I think he'd like Afable.

My mind strays on this thought, a decorative notion of the two characters acting out Shakespeare amuses me as I walk through the quickly clearing hallway. Many of the people passing me nod their heads in recognition or wave, and I consciously ignore them.

"'Ey Danton!" One yells out.

The new kid might really fill out a Lady Macbeth costume.

"You comin' to practice?" The second-string linebacker on the team asks me in passing.

Afable is so theatrical, the whole audience would be believing he was dead.

"Watch it!" A burnout hisses as we collide shoulders.

Maybe I could be Romeo.

In an instant I find myself already standing at the entrance of the library, where detention is held Tuesdays and Thursdays. I've only ever been in detention once before. It was Freshman year, when my friends and I found ourselves in trouble all the time, but always with an excuse. Most teachers liked us, especially the male ones. You can't help but notice that pattern with football players, how every male staff member acts like they're best buds with any first-string athlete. Anyway, a couple of other guys and I came playfully into the bathroom after school, talking smack about who was the toughest. As weird as it seems now, we started wrestling on the ground like lunatics, laughing and pushing each other in a giant heap. One of us, though, happened to look over and spot an extra pair of shoes in one of the stalls. In fact, a pair of shoes with the soles facing him. Girl's shoes. Like an idiot, he reached out and poked the girl's foot, and she sprang up off her knees and the pair behind the crème colored door sprinted out of the bathroom in a hot minute. We were all silent for a moment, laying there and staring at the door. Then, in one obnoxious ensemble, we absolutely lost it. We laughed for what seemed like hours before the gym coach came in and yelled at us for "roughhousing." We were laughing so hard though, we couldn't even speak coherently enough to get out of the trouble. I sat in detention that day thinking how he could have missed a girl leaving the boy's bathroom, and how insane it was that we ended up in trouble, but damn, was it worth it. Things then were much easier going. I smile now, missing that feeling of boyish fun.