Try To Change Me

Chapter 3

Young Mr. Irving with the receding hairline pursed his lips as he strode down the corridor. He’d volunteered to deliver the slip to Finnegan, wanting to check on the boy, but he’d been saddled with another delivery; to the Queen Bee. Mr. Irving slipped between students, catching a glimpse of the disappearing Carissa Faulk. A pair of seniors playing tonsil hockey against a group of lockers sailed into his visoion and he stopped, torn.

He raised a finger at the pair, “that is inappropriate…” they ignored him and he shrugged, “uh, whatever. Enjoy young love.” He made to take a step but then paused, “but keep it safe,” he added before darting off into the bustle in search of his irritating quarry.

Mr. Irving eventually caught up with the Carissa before she entered the math class.

With a smug grin, Carissa said, “yes coach?”

Narrowing his eyes, Mr. Irving held out the slip, “Detention Miss Faulk.” Mr. Irving couldn’t deny it gave him some pleasure to sentence this cocky girl to an hour of boredom.

Carissa rocked onto one foot, tugging the note from his hand with dainty fingers, “I can’t come. I have a mani-pedi on Friday.”

“you should really consider how well you know the exact day and time of detention, Miss Faulk,” Mr. Irving said, crossing his arms, “but this school caters for all. There’s an extra detention running this afternoon for the few unable to make Friday’s session. Same time and place, Miss Faulk, just a different day.” Mr. Irving turned away from her, striding away.

“But Coach!” was all Carissa managed to get out before Mr. Irving was out of hearing.

Glancing at the note on his hand, Mr. Irving navigated the halls. This slip brought him little joy. He liked Finnegan. Except for when he fought, or when he tried to, he was a good kid. Sad story and with no apparent reason for Mr. Irving’s good opinion, but all the same, there was something about him. It was like Mr. Irving’s mother used to say:

“Anthony, there’s an instinct in everyone. Yours is good. When someone gives you that funny feeling, where they don’t seem quite right, they’re the ones you got to distance yourself from. When they give you a smile, without trying, and you can see a light in them, then they’re the type you smile back at. And if they give you a fuzzy feeling, that nearly stops your breath…they’re the keepers.”

Mr. Irving couldn’t have said it better himself, though he’d said it many times since, and given the types names. Long-Distance, Smileys and Keepers. Finnegan was a Smiley. Carissa was a Long-Distance.

Mr. Irving caught sight of a speck of blood on the back of a uniform and called out,“Mr. Watt?”

Finnegan kept walking, his hands buried in his pockets, “Mr. Watt? Finnegan!” jerking back to reality, Finnegan stopped, looking back over his shoulder curiously.

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Watt,” Mr. Irving shook his head, “this is for you.”

He handed Finnegan the slip, clapping him on the shoulder. Finnegan looked at the thick red text stamped across the front, much like confidential in good conspiracy movies. This word was much less exciting.

“Detention?” he asked with a wince.

Mr. Irving shrugged, “sorry Finn.”

“But Mr. Irving,” a pained expression engulfed Finnegan’s face, “My Aunt and I are going to the cemetery on Friday and…”

Mr. Irving interrupted clapping him on the shoulder, “your Aunt told the office when they rang to notify your uncle. You’re on detention this afternoon instead.”