The Life and Times of Zac Claxon

Chapter 6 - All over again.

"Zac Claxon is requested at the Prinicpal's office immediately. Zac Claxon to the Prinicipal's office." The crackle of the voice on the PA system interrupted Mr. Wilson halfway through our culinary arts session. I glanced at Hazel, my cooking partner, and she glanced back, her eyes showing that she was thinking the same thing as I was: She was thinking about the club last night.

We had reached the club at 8:30, sneaking home first to change our clothes and hopping onto the bike to get to the club. Hazel had put on an absolutely stunning brown dress, the exact same colour as her hair and eyes. She still had my jacket in her hands, and wrapped it around her when she stepped out of her house. I remember being lost for words when I saw her walk out of her house, looking like a supermodel. "I...you...Hazel?"

"Yeah Zac, it's still me." She had replied, giving me her murderous smile as she hopped on to the back of the bike. I hadn't bothered changing; being a guy noone cared whether I went clubbing in jeans and a top or my birthday suit. I had, however, popped on my leather bikie jacket. I thought it went well with my bald look, if I do say so myself.

In the club, things went well and not so well at the same time. I drank. Alot. And so did Hazel. I think there might even have been some grinding, but I was so wasted by the end that I couldn't even remember what happenned. Not to mention, there were at least three separate drug groups hanging around the corners of the club.

I even remembered something about kissing (proper kissing, not pecking) a girl a few inches shorter than me with brown eyes, who was wearing a brown dress that matched them. I asked Hazel this morning and she vehemently said I hadn't kissed anyone, but she couldn't be sure because she was drunk too. I had a feeling she was hiding something.

I was the designated driver, seeing as I was the one with the bike, but that idea didn't go too well. We were on the way back when I feel asleep while driving, and was only awoken by the thunk of my bike mounting the curb and hitting a wooden fence on the side of a house. We weren't going too fast though, so luckily we were okay. I remember thinking about how nice it felt to have Hazel lying behind me like that, until she told me "Zac. You know whose fence this is?"

Me still being drunk, I replied groggily, "Whose?"

"It's Mr. Gordall's."

"Mr. Gordall?"

"THE FUCKING PRINCIPAL YOU IDIOT! DRIVE!" She seemed to have woken up and in the process split my eardrums too. We drove straight home after that, with Hazel tightening her grip on me every once in a while to make sure I was still awake.

I realised I had spent a good five minutes thinking while washing the flour off my hands when Mr. Wilson cleared his throat behind me. "Isn't there somewhere you should be going?"

I gulped. "Yes sir, right away sir."

Silently, I walked across the classroom towards the door. The rest of the class was in a hushed silence, and I could just imagine the rumours they would make up.

It was like Switch all over again. They'd call me an addict, or a drunkard, and over exaggerate my actions until they were no longer mine. They'd misinterpret everything I drink as alcohol, my usual crazy behaviour as being drunk, and everyone else would never look at me the same way again. Then I'd go and do something absolutely normal, like take a panadol for a headache, and they'd go crazy overboard with that, labelling me as a druggie. Then they'd probably find some way to say I smoke as well, all the while the truth of the matter being I got called to the office just once, only once for being drunk. And they'd probably say I came from a family of alcoholics and pull my mum and dad into it too.

I'd be shunned; turned into a social outcast, my past 'deeds' hanging over my head whenever someone talked to me. I would no longer be able to be myself, I would have to carefully control my behaviour to make sure it couldn't possibly be misinterpreted. I would start justifying my every action, making sure people got the right meaning from my words, and this would kill my social interaction. Awkwardness would kick in; I would never be able to hold a normal conversation.

It was definitely Switch all over again. I could hear the whispers beginning already. "I saw him at the club last night! He was so drunk he fell over his own feet!"

Wow. That's original.

"I saw him with the weed gang! He hand a bong and a cigarette in at the same time!" At this, I turned my head and glared at them in disgust. They probably thought my angry face was a result of last nights supposed weed. It wasn't; I hadn't touched drugs or cigarettes once in my life and wasn't planning to either.

See? I just started justifying.

"Isn't that the guy who always hangs out with that brown haired chick? The spastic one? I saw them last night, they looked soo in love. They even kissed in the middle of the dance floor! I heard she let him bang her the night they met."

That pissed me off. They can make as many rumours as they want about me, but noone talks about Hazel like that. She was the first person to be welcoming and friendly to me in a long time, and I wasn't going to let some rumour-loving bitch mess it up for us. How dare she question Hazels virginity?

I shoved my shoulder into hers as I walked past. "If I hear one more bullshit rumour about me and Hazel, consider yourself dead. How about I go tell your boyfriend you slept with Nichols?" My tone was low and deadly.

I knew she had a boyfriend; I saw them eating each others faces at break. And everyone knew Nichols, he was the school's top jock, not to mention player and big-time sleaze. I doubted if she had ever even talked to him, but her face had "how did you know we make babies every night?" written all over it.

And here I was believing Jessica when she said that life in the US was nothing like 'Secret Life of an American Teenager'. Yeah right.

I stalked out of the room, my face the colour of death. I couldn't believe it; it was happening. All over again; everything I tried to avoid. I should have ignored that girl with the sex remark, now she would probably make some other rumour that I stalk her and watch them pleasuring each other.

Bitch please, I thought, knocking the prinicipal's door mercilessly. Pleasure does NOT come from sex.