The Unknown

Currency

Julie's pov

I'm currently sitting in Mr. Dick Kemp's class serving my detention, when in walks the Grim Reaper himself, we call him Shane for short. After giving me a look so cold I literally shiver, Shane and my least favorite teacher head to his office to discuss the precipitating factors which culminated into this afterschool pow-wow.

Approximately twelve minutes thirty-four seconds later, they emerge from his office. Mr. Kemp has that smug smirk on his face that makes me want to slap the shit out of his bitch face and Shane appears ready to reap my soul.

"You're free to go, Julie. I'll see you tomorrow and please come prepared this time by completing the required reading prior to the beginning of class, instead of during."

Wow, thanks for that added pinch of salt in my open wound, Dick, 'preciate it. Seriously could slap the shit out of this man, then slap him again, then go back in time once the time machine's invented and sterilize his parents before killing Hitler, then come back and throw a rager to celebrate. Unbeknownst to me, that fantasy left a smile on my face which unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by Shane.

"I don't find any of this the slightest bit amusing, young lady," Shane hisses, roughly grabbing my arm to drag me out of Mr. Kemp's class. As soon as we're in the hall, he takes the opportunity to slap my bottom hard enough for anyone still in the school to hear I'm sure. The sound echoed loudly off the lockers and low ceilings. I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing out loud due to the sting his powerful hand left on my backside and the fact that I'm pissed Mr. Kemp no doubt knows what that sound was from and is probably smirking his sickening smug grin right now at my expense.

Shane doesn't loosen his painful grip on my bicep until he not so gently deposits me into the passenger seat of his car as he continues to lecture me en route to home.

"Honestly, Julie, do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than retrieve your troublemaking behind from detention, yet again?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Kemp interrupted high tea but I don't see why you're blaming me for that," I say rather haughtily, of course using an awful British accent when saying high tea.

"It would be afternoon tea at this hour, not high tea..." Shane states, the perfectionist in him unable to let the irrelevant distinction between the two go uncorrected, "...and that's besides the point anyway." Now he's annoyed and flustered. "I'm referring to the fact that I shouldn't have to leave work early to fetch you."

"I didn't ask you to FETCH me. I could've taken the late bus home," I say completely unconcerned, as I stare out the window, leaning to avoid putting pressure on my recently assaulted left buttcheek. Shit, the Admiral hits hard when he's pissed.

"Your teacher called me to request I come in person so we could have a chat about your behavior and this isn't the first time, mind you." Shane's becoming more annoyed with me by the minute.

"Again, not my problem," I say flatly, still gazing out the window, oblivious to the soon to be irate man sitting less than two feet away from me. I am soon to become acutely aware, however, as Shane pulls the car over on the side of the road, puts the hazards on, engages the child safety locks and turns to me with fire in his eyes.

Starting to realize the error of my ways, I push my wide eyed self back against the door in a futile attempt to circumvent Shane.

Shane grips my jaw tightly.

"I have had more than enough of your flippant, disrespectful mouth now. You will remain silent for the remainder of the ride home then you will go straight to my room, sit in the chair by my door and without moving a muscle, wait for me to return to discipline you, which I will do after I've had sufficient time to calm down."