Eleven: Villains Get Detention Too

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 “See, Mr. Smith, I was just feeling bad so I—“

         “So you feel bad every single day in school?”

         “No, sir. It’s just because I—“

         “You think I’m not getting enough of you?”

         “No, sir. Look, I’m really sorry. I promise not to--“

         “You are going to get detention, Mr. Dermott. I need no explanation.”

         “But, sir, I am—“

         “Detention. Now.”

         “Fuck you.”

         “What was it, Mr. Dermott?”

         “Nothing, sir.”

         “Good, now come with me.”

         I heave a deep sigh of surrender, throwing him the dirtiest look ever possible. There’s no point on arguing with this man, he obviously would not give up on throwing me to detention. How could he possibly accept the fact that I do not want to attend his class on account of its absurdness? No, he could never.

         I follow him down to the second building next to us—where someone stupid placed our high school detention-slash-briefing room at, desperately trying not to get seen by stupid kids so that they won’t give me stares as if I killed somebody which I didn’t. When we arrive in front of the detention room, he opens the door with a sign that says ‘knock first, please’ without waiting for anyone to say anything or even knock for permission. He barges in and looks at me with a look that says ‘get the fuck in”, so I do. I could not help but to think that this guy is taking me to a detention room for my lack of mannerswhen in fact he is the one who needs it more than I do.

          We are greeted by your typical grumpy looking woman that looks like a math teacher, only I have never seen her in any math classes. So I’m going to stop being stupid pretending that I don’t know she’s the detention officer and instantly assume she’s even worse than Mr. Smith.

         She gives Mr. Smith a warm smile causing her eyes to induce wrinkles and weird lines all over her aging face. Mr. Smith walks on the other side of the room and the old lady follows him, leaving me standing on the counter. From where I am standing, I could not eavesdrop their damn conversation so I couldn’t know whether or not Mr. Smith is ruining my reputation or is worsening my offense. The lady slowly nods to me while Mr. Smith is still rambling on about probably me, so I have no choice but to nod back at and actually fake a smile. After a while, he leaves the room, so now it’s just me and this lady. As Mr. Smith has fully left the room, she walks to me, smiling. I freeze and just look at her, enduring this awkward silence and the fact that she’s still staring at me with that creepy face. I shift on my position and cough.

         She walks past me and enters her division, beckoning me to come in, so I do. As soon as I get in, she sits on her desk and crosses her arms, her head tilted to her left shoulder. On the top of her desk is a name plate with the name Marcella Svolak written in gold letters. She definitely is foreign to this godforsaken country.

          “Good morning, Mr. Liam Dermott!” She says in a thin Russian accent (knew it!), her eyes still glued to mine. I think she expects a response, but instead I just yawn. She raises her eyebrow. “My name is Marcella Slovak, but you can call me, Miss Mars.”

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