The Jock Trap

Chapter 2

Finn was late.

Apparently, this was a habit not limited to biology class, but every other compulsory aspect of school: classes, detention, and probably everything except swim practice. If he had to be there, he would be, but you could guarantee he’d put off attending for as long as possible, showing up only at the moment it became entirely necessary. Just before he got himself into actual trouble.

It wasn’t like he even materialized in a rush, like he’d actually put some effort into getting there. Most of the time, he strolled into the room with an irritatingly confident swagger, shooting a smile at the teacher as if he wasn’t supposed to have been there ten minutes ago. It was that same sense of entitlement again: the one that told him he could get away with anything, provided he kept up the confidence.

If he had known anything about getting back on my good side, he would’ve been on time for our first day of detention.

But, of course, Finn didn’t know me at all. And that was why he probably couldn’t decipher the look on my face when he strode into the classroom fifteen minutes late - the look that probably gave way too much away about how much I wanted to punch his stupid smirk in.

Stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by several overturned desks, my arms folded over my chest. I was well aware my hair was sticking up in all directions after spending the last fifteen minutes bent over, and my face was flushed from restrained anger, but I was past the point of caring. “And what time do you call this?”

Our eyes met somewhere across the space, and he stopped in the doorway, gauging my tone and stance. Like he was working out exactly how pissed I was, and what he needed to do to weasel his way out. “Oh, come on,” he said eventually, crossing the threshold and dumping his bag on a spare desk. “I showed up, didn’t I? You’ve got to give me credit for that.”

It took all I had not to give him a sarcastic clap. “Oh, well done,” I told him, loud and exaggerated. “Would you like a medal for that, Finn? Showing up for a detention that was your fault in the first place?”

As the question trailed off, I shook my head, deciding I could no longer be bothered to argue. Instead, I gestured half-heartedly toward the upturned desks. “We’re scraping gum,” I said. “A classroom per day. And Mr. Huber said if we miss any, we’ll be made to check them all again.”

“What a dick,” Finn muttered, but he at least moved forward to take a scraper.

I kind of wanted to point out it was hardly unreasonable after being caught cheating, but I bit my tongue. No amount of arguing was ever going to make Finn admit to being wrong, so there wasn’t any point in trying.

Instead, I turned my back on him. The sight of his wet hair and new swim team jersey was already irritating me to no end. Beginning to scrape at the next desk, I tried to push the thought of him from my mind, but the act of gum removal hardly made for a better distraction. The work was tedious and exhausting; if one thing was clear, it was that we were in for a long four weeks.

Several minutes passed in which we worked in silence. I was perfectly content in doing so; it meant at least I didn’t have to restrain my exasperation long enough to speak to Finn. There may have been few things worse than scraping gum from the bottom of dozens of desks, but one of them happened to be doing so while enduring a conversation with North Valley’s most brainless jock.

I thought I might have gotten away with it. But five minutes in, he ruined things.

“For the record,” he started suddenly, in a tone already too sure of himself for my liking, “when you say this was all my fault, you’re exaggerating a little.”