Because this book is now published, content stops after chapter twenty. Please proceed with this information in mind.
T w o
You would have thought I was a prisoner who just broke out of jail when I picked up a boulder and threw it across the principal's office. Okay, maybe it wasn't a boulder. More like a rock. A sugar rock. Fine, it was a purple jellybean! And even though it bounced off the wall and smacked me in the forehead, I still proved my point about my frustration.
"What do you mean you can't find the key?" I repeated, my blood boiling in fury.
"We did not lose the key. It's just been temporarily misplaced," Officer Brandy corrected me for the seventh time, running a hand through his thick, brown hair. "We have a search party on the case."
In other words, Officer Garret was searching the police car while a few extra staff swept through the auditorium. I had been stuck with Ryder all afternoon and we were seconds away from the final school bell. And though I was standing there, hand on my hips and glaring at the adults in outrage, Ryder was comfortably cosy in the leather chair sitting in the corner. He had his third can of orange soda in his hands; complimentary from the police department because of the inconvenience.
"Listen here, Donut Dude," I growled, pointing an accusing finger at him like a scowling mother. "I am chained to Ryder Collins. We have a past."
Mrs. Westfield, the principal, slid her cat-eye glasses up her nose and narrowed her eyes at me. "Miss Montgomery," she warned, "watch how you address your elders."
Officer Brandy seemed more interested in what I had said, rather than what I had called him. His caterpillar eyebrows rose up to his hairline. "A past?" he questioned, eyes flicking from Ryder to me and back. "Bad relationship?"
I shivered in disgust and Ryder choked on his drink. Wiping his mouth from the orange splutter on his lips, he said, "As if I'd date anything that ugly."
My eyes met his raging blue eyes and I gave him a look that could kill. Before I could snap back a witty remark, the door to the principal's office swung open. Officer Garret looked flustered. His cheeks had bloomed into a rosy pink and his hair was tousled from the winter wind outside. He looked at us all, pulled his sagging trousers over his beer belly and marched into the room. My stomach tightened as I held my breath and waited to listen for the search update.
"I've thoroughly examined the police cruiser and there was no sign of the keys," he announced grimly.
I clenched my fists and narrowed my eyes at the officers. This was ridiculous. What kind of policemen were they? They couldn't even keep track of a key! Anger boiled inside me as I grinded my teeth together, trying to compress harsh words threatening to slip out.
Mrs. Westfield's red lips pursed into a tight line as she exchanged quick glances with the police officers. Placing her hands on the mahogany desk in front of her, she pushed back the leather office chair and paced around the small space of her office.
There was a knock on the door at that moment and in came a happy little boy. He wore a Thomas the Tank Engine backpack and was carrying a little box filled with green tick tacks. It was Sam, Mrs. Westfield's nephew. He was cute in a way, other than that time he licked me because my ice-cream had dribbled onto my leg. It was both weird and creepy.
The principal smiled tightly at Sam. His mother constantly dropped him off for play dates and he was around the school a lot, usually accompanying Mrs. Westfield while she roamed the school halls in search for some reasons to give out detention slips.
"Any suggestions on how to carry out the situation?" Mrs Westfield asked the policemen.
While the adults were talking strategies, Sam galloped –and, yes, I mean galloped- over to us. He had this obsession with horses and sometimes he'd even visit the school with a tail. The little boy tilted his head at us, then without warning, decided to start furiously neighing at us.
"Oh, look, Ryder," I smirked, "I think he's trying to communicate with you. You come from a family of animals, don't you?"
He lowered the can of citrus fizz and raised an eyebrow at me. "Gee, Nora, that's rich, coming from the bitch of the pack."
And that's when the claws came out. We snapped and hissed at each other, growling out insults and witty remarks. Ryder's denim eyes seemed to darken; intense fury stirring up like a stormy sea within his blue irises. And I guess we were so distracted, we didn't realise Sam trying to get our attention. Well, that's until he decided to bite Ryder's leg. I guess it was horse for 'hello.'
"God," Ryder growled, grabbing Sam by the shoulder and pushing him away. "Dude, what's wrong with you? I'm gonna have to get a tetanus shot now."
"Be a man and suck it up, Ryder." I rolled my eyes. "It's a kid that bit you, not a squirrel."
He narrowed his eyes at me and glared, shooting me with a look that could kill. "A weird kid. Man, he probably has rabies or something."
"He's five years old," I argued. "He's just being imaginative."
Ryder opened his mouth to shoot back a rude remark, but Mrs. Westfield beat him to it. "We're just going to have to pick the lock," she announced, rummaging around through her drawers.
She pulled out two little screwdrivers. The metal was long and thin with Barbie pink handles. Handing one over to each of the policemen, they examined the tools sceptically, doubt filling their eyes. Officer Brandy exchanged a look with his partner and shrugged. Together they headed over to us.
Sam had trotted over to the bookshelf, innocently gazing up at the dark tower of novels. The half-empty box of tick tacks stayed in his tightly curled fingers.
Drawing my attention back to the police officers, I said, "How long will this take?"
"Not long, Miss Montgomery," Officer Brandy answered, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than me. "Just be patient."
I said nothing more as I watched him kneel down in front of me, taking the tiny handle of the tool in his big hand and wedging it into the keyhole. Well, at least, he tried to. Frowning, he attempted a second time to push it in, but still, something was blocking him off.
Tossing the screwdriver onto the coffee table, he leaned in and squinted at the keyhole. Instantly, I felt uncomfortable with how close his face was to my hand. I mean, what if my wrist smelt like cheese or something? What if he was secretly some weirdo with a wrist fetish? It started creeping me out.
"There seems to be something wedged inside here," Officer Brandy called to his partner, scratching his head in confusion.
"Looks like something green," Officer Garret piped in.
I bet they're Ryder's boogers.
"Sam," Officer Garret called, "are these your tick tacks?"
Sam looked up with wide Bambi eyes. He was as still as an animal in the headlights. Garret walked over and knelt down in front of him, looking at him with kind eyes, trying to silently convince him to 'fess up.
"Yes," Sam finally admitted, looking down as he gave a little nod.
"Great." Ryder tipped his can back and let the last bubbling bead of liquid drop onto his tongue. "We finally get a decent plan going, and horse-kid over here decides to shove tick tacks in there."
He shook his wrist in attempt to let them drop out, but they were jammed in pretty deep.
"I'm not happy about this either, Ryder, but being a chicken doodle isn't going to make this better," I warned.
"You're such a nun sometimes. Swear once in a while. We're teenagers; it's like our language," Ryder snorted in response. Tossing the can into the little bin in the corner, he added, "Speaking of language, I think the toilet is calling to me."
My eyes widened. "No! You can't go to the bathroom!" I shrieked in horror. "Cross your legs!"
He gave me an exasperated look. "I'm a dude, Nora. Crossing my legs does nothing."
"Then pinch your ding-dong or whatever it is you guys do. I am not going into the bathroom with you."
~♥♥♥~
I ended up going to the men's bathroom with him. It's not like I had a choice or anything. He half dragged me there by the handcuffs until I was breathing in the stuffy, clogged air of the room. The toxic stench hit my nose and suffocated me with its foul odour, making my throat close up and splutter for oxygen.
Ryder marched over to one of the urinals while I reluctantly followed. Then came the awkwardness. Once he had picked the urinal in the left corner, he turned and just stared at me. At first, I didn't meet his eyes. I looked around uncomfortably. But then I realised he was staring at me so I'd look away.
"Oh," I said, finally understanding, "right, I'll just... go over here."
I took a step away and turned in the opposite direction so my back was towards him. We were still chained together so that gave me limited escape space. There were a few seconds of silence before Ryder's zipper being pulled down broke through the silence like a fart. Even though I wasn't watching, I still felt extremely awkward.
And I suddenly had the urge to talk or laugh or burp. Anything to distract me.
"So, like, why did the chicken cross the road?"
"Nora, I'm busy right now," he responded. "Can you annoy me with your pathetic jokes when I'm done?"
I opened my mouth to shoot back a reply when the sound of Ryder's pee spraying into the urinal made me stop. It was so loud in the deserted bathroom and I was going crazy; desperately needing a distraction. Shifting nervously, I did the first thing that came to me.
I broke out into a Hannah Montana song.
"A true friend!" I sung at the top of my lungs. "You're here 'till the end!"
I continued to belt out the lyrics until Ryder zipped up his pants again. Suddenly, I felt like singing the Hallelujah. His zipper being pulled up sounded like a harp's beautiful melody. When I didn't instantly stop singing, Ryder smacked me on the arm.
"You can't sing, Nora," he complained. "You never could, so shut up."
I gladly stopped singing and followed him towards the sinks. As he turned on the taps and washed his hands, I realised being handcuffed to Ryder wouldn't just be a pain in the ass, but would cause a whole lot of awkward situations, especially within the bathroom.
Now I was scared to pee.