"I think she's overreacting right now."
Mandy Wiles is dazzling in her blue training outfit. Mandy Wiles is a gust of autumn wind and burning cold when she's in the gym. She breaks out in the dance, waving her arms and smiling brightly, though she doesn't want to smile. Mandy flies to the bottom. Metaphorically. Mandy scowls like she's mad. She stays put, looks for a long time.
"What are you doing, Constantinos, oh my God, you have to lift Pinky up! L-i-f-t her!" she's angry.
Constantinos's chest collapses, bursts at the seams and falls to pieces, when along with Mandy Wiles all the cheerleaders start looking at him very reproachfully. Christy Martin rolls her eyes — she's the one who told him not to agree to help Mandy with her performance, but of course he agreed. Pinky Gauthier will be there. Pinky Gauthier, who looks at him with such degrading eyes that Christy even gets embarrassed.
He turns his head, swings from side to side, and hides his hands in his pockets.
"Okay," Mandy exhales when Christy decides to put her hand on her shoulder in support. "One more try."
And then she turns around, making the two girls almost jump up.
"Mandy, what about..."
"And you two can't even hit the beat," she throws in their direction. "If you are late this time, consider this your last training with the Bullworth team and your last week as my assistants. That's it. Go on. Christy," she calls, "stop making eyes at me and help Angie."
Christy touches her red hair, freezing for an instant as the cheerleading practice resumes. She exhales through her lips. Heavily. She's tired.
Mandy gesticulates, dispensing her commands, but the door opens abruptly and lets the draught into the gym. The draught touches their hair, the fabric of their blue outfits.
Mandy looks at the entering prefect and how "attentively" the greasers listen to his indignation. Ricky Puccino, Norton Williams and Johnny Vincent. Well, of course.
Mandy nods only to him, but she better not doing that.
Her cheerleader uniform and his sweater are the same colour.
Constantinos grabs Pinky into his arms and lifts her up — quickly, even too easily, he's not even shaking. Pinky sees the gym in the smallest details. It's blue. And only a little dark.
In Johnny Vincent.
She doesn't notice anything else.
And even at first she doesn't hear what Constantinos has just said:
"Bullworth Day is soon."
Pinky doesn't respond. Only then, after a few moments, asks half-turned:
"So?"
Constantinos seems to be numb, like motionless statue, and at first it even hurts to move. He thinks he might be saying too much right now, and thoughts like that are kicking him. But the guys were cheering him up, especially Christy. Probably to laugh later.
It's good that Constantinos doesn't care about Christy Martin.
"Do you want to come with me?" he's literally breathless.
Pinky turns to him and says:
"You're asking me now?"
Seriously?
He suddenly wants to run away. Once again. However, this is already becoming the norm for him.
"You're so funny," Pinky says with her cute-charming-expensive laugh.
Constantinos becomes tensed, smiles quickly, hides his hands behind his back and tries to get taller — to be confident. Yeah.
Confident.
His eye twitches a little, in fact.
"Very funny," she kills him with that phrase, and looks only one way.
Pinky exhales and turns away completely, and Johnny looks at her immediately. It's not clear what his look means, but Christy Martin is sniggering snidely:
"What did you say to Const?" and laughing. "He's almost green!"
"I'm not green!" Constantinos growls back with his nasty nasal voice. He rubs his nose and closes his eyes for a second so as not to see how all the girls look at him. Even Mandy looks at him. Stunningly nervous, stunningly irritated. And slightly smiling, yes.
His smile slides down, his look becomes pale, Constantinos doesn't want to be with them.
Pinky turns away, listening to the established silence.
Silence?
She blinks several times, her palm takes tiredness off her face, and she touches the fabric of her sports dress. Johnny catches this move with his attentive look and purses his lips. Pinky exhales because she needs to come to senses. She gets hot.
She doesn't notice Constantinos and the others present here.
Pinky looks at Johnny, but loses herself.
You drive me home. I wasn't expecting it.
You just kissed me. I can't help but give a lift after this.
Pinky closes her eyes. He often gives her a lift, she likes that trait in him. Too gentlemanly. Too not in his style. As she once thought. And keeps thinking, of course.
She thinks for so long that she doesn't even notice how gently and politely Mandy greets the greasers (Johnny especially, yes-yes) and how Christy giggles nearby and how she notes softly:
"He greeted everyone except you, Pinky."
"Well, that's expected," Mandy shrugs, letting the girls take a little break and go outside.
Pinky even wants to be indignant, but Mandy is right. Pinky said too many terrible things to them all.
"Hey, you know what I'm gonna do if you don't shut up? I'll make sure you all end up unemployed!"
So Mandy's even more than right, and that's the first time Pinky's not feeling well because of it. No, not because Mandy's right — she's often right, everybody's used to it. Pinky's not feeling well in general — she feels badly at the mere thought that she has told them (him) so much over the years at Bullworth Academy.
Not good, unpleasant, ashamed? It's so stupid to think about it, but Pinky does it and continues to feel like this discontent accumulates inside her body for the rest of the training. Everything freaks her out: Constantinos, the shouting girls from the team, these stupid footballers' catchphrases in their direction and the laughter of Christy Martin, who doesn't take Pinky's crazy side seriously at all. At some point, Pinky even gives Mandy an angry look, but the training ends later in the evening, when even the football team go to their dorm rooms. It's getting dark outside, she can see it through the gym windows.
The lights begin brighter at Bullworth Academy as Pinky wears her plaid skirt and a perfectly ironed white blouse. Pinky is the last one to leave the girls' locker room and she's a little lazy, but still elegantly adjusts his makeup — pale pink lipstick, a few more strokes and done. Still the same makeup. Classy. Her own private academy style.
Heel shoes (which, by the way, are forbidden to wear, but she's from Old Bullworth Vale, so everything is allowed to her, ha-ha-ha), a pair of earrings, a bracelet of white gold on her thin wrist and a small handbag that does't fit textbooks at all — just cosmetics and a couple of pens. So Pinky takes textbooks in geography, grammar, math, and biology into her hands — very uncomfortable, very difficult, and she even now regrets that the guys don't meet her. It has always been like that — usually Gord, Bryce, Tad and sometimes Chad. Parker, of course. He could. He knows she's got evening practice, so where is he? He texted her before he went to the gym, and today what?
Pinky somehow remembers that this morning he didn't call her. And all day he was somewhere else.
She could've asked Bryce about Parker. But Bryce has too much on his mind, or they are busy boxing right now, so why bother? It's them who should be writing to her! It's certainly not Pinky doing this, although she thought, really thought about it six times today. But it's not like those thoughts are going to come together and turn into Parker. He doesn't have to be there every time, right? He can have his own business.
Pinky's either bipolar or she's just thinking too much. Because of all this, at some moment she just doesn't notice the last step of the stairs and stumbles. The fall doesn't give any pain, more resentment, because all of her textbooks fly away and even cosmetics fall out of her purse, but there is no one here. No one at all. It's empty. Only someone left a black sports bag in the boys' locker room and that's it.
At some point, Pinky notices that her heel is broken.
God.
At least these football players could be here! They would help, they would throw some stupid jokes in her direction, but they would help! And now she has to do it all by herself — pick up these damn textbooks, crawl after her makeup purse and somehow get to the benches to rest for at least three minutes. She still has to get to the girls' dorm, and it's a long way, it's the whole territory to pass and there's no short way there!
Pinky throws off her textbooks. Takes off her shoes and throws them at the same direction.
Aquaberry makes quality shoes, she thinks, they can be fixed. This is her favorite model from the Autumn Limited Collection, the second pair cannot be bought anywhere else. Pinky props her head with her hand, her heart becomes so heavy that even the thought of Constantinos lagging behind in practice doesn't stress her so much. She doesn't understand how they will perform at the upcoming match, if he can't lift her properly during already the third training in a row. He can't look her in the eye; his voice shakes when she's around, and then Mandy still pairs them up? To embarrass himself? Or is Mandy just thinking about something else (someone) every time they're on practice?
"So the mascot is quite weak?"
Pinky looks up — shoes, ordinary school slacks, an untucked white shirt and a black bag over his shoulder. It's the one from the boys' locker room. A light half smile, a ring earring in his left ear. When Pinky looks at him, she seems too sad even for herself.
"Hey," the sole creaks at the parquet, and her heart also creaks, "you all right?"
Pinky's got a lazy grin.
All right?
"Unless you count everything that's going on," she shrugs her shoulders, but her heart keeps beating like crazy, "well, you were at practice, you know... it all won't work, in general," she shrugs again, just because she doesn't know what to do with herself.
Because she probably looks too embarrassing and killed. Not in her way.
"Then why," Johnny comes a little closer, "why did they pair you with such a loser?" and he stops, looks a little distant, but so serious. He looks into Pinky's eyes, which deepen with tears.
The heart skips a beat.
Don't look at her lips.
Don't look.
But Pinky touches her lower lip. Fluently, barely noticeable, but to make herself feel comfortable. The plaids on her skirt are straight, with dark blue lines.
Johnny's gaze is piercing through. He looks like a black cloud, even when he's just standing here. It's a restless feeling. It shouldn't be like that. Not now.
Johnny's just silent.
"Could you..." Pinky's stuttering because she doesn't know how to say it. "Okay, fine. You couldn't."
He frowns too much, even for himself. Pinky knows that the phrase she said is too strange, and in general... sighs loudly and leans back on the benches.
It doesn't get any easier, but Pinky feels much more comfortable. Almost.
Don't stare at him like that, dummy.
"Fine, doll, I've got stuff to do."
"I've got flats in my dorm room."
Pinky's phrase is a little bit confusing; she says is as fast as she shoots out every word. The fingers scratch the surface of the bench. They are pale, tremble so much that Pinky even turns away.
And then everything turns quiet somehow.
"So what?" Johnny smiles crookedly; his voice is husky, like he's been smoking for five days straight. Like it's not true.
"Bring them to me," Pinky says, and of course he winces. Her inability to ask politely amazes him. "Well, I mean..."
He's not even surprised.
"Yeah, right", he almost swears. "Not gonna do anything when you're like that," and then he scowls.
Pinky's got her lips pressed. She squeezes the hem of her skirt. Her hands hardly listen to her, but the heartbeat compresses the nerves from the inside, and Pinky feels quite (not)much guilty.
"I-I mean, could you?" she blushes. It's like it's not her voice. "I... I can't walk on my own, but it takes a long time to get to the dorm and..."
She coughs.
Her voice stops shaking, becomes sadder and weaker, as if Pinky Gauthier is about to cry with resentment.
Johnny shakes his head.
Yeah, Pinky's sure he doesn't care — she just wants to know if there's a line between a greaser and a real gentleman.
She realizes it when Johnny leaves, but then he comes back. With the usual black sneakers. Pinky doesn't see that line until he sits next to her. Until the clasp of the broken shoe doesn't make a click. Her heart beats too loud and clearly, hitting a flat rhythm like a small hammer.
His hand makes her skin cold, and everything inside becomes numb. The distance between them is so unbearably small, the air is electrocuted, and Pinky decides to look left to catch his eye.
Johnny unzips the other shoe, winks, and Pinky almost falls. Not really, of course.
Perhaps she looks too miserable and sad now, in this cold and state of surprise, because despair and resentment fade away as Johnny ties his black sneakers on her leg. He is so warm, she even can feel it through his white shirt with the Bullworth Academy crest. Pinky shudders and tries to look away, but doesn't want to. Thoughts turn into a whirlwind of cotton candy.
Pinky feels unbearably good.
.
.
.
Parker walks past Ricky, trying not to say "get out of my way, you greaseball" or something. Ricky doesn't frown, clench his fists or sigh.
"It's kinda weird to see that preppy boy here," Lucky chuckles, continuing the monotonous throwing of darts.
"Wanna teach him a lesson?" Larry asks when Parker disappears on a staircase leading somewhere down. "By the way, I saw him with Omar the other day," and he adds whispering: "The townie".
"Oh," Ricky's voice is raspy a little. "you watching him?" he's grinning, looking at his friend attentively. "Very interesting."
Larry shakes his head as Lucky throws another dart and turns to them.
"I didn't think you'd rush into a fight with Taylor."
"Did you?" Ricky chuckles, pushing him in the shoulder. "And I remember you talking about it all day."
Lucky laughs back.
"I'm just proud of you."
"Yeah, man."
They see Johnny twenty minutes later. He doesn't smile at all, and he looks kind of gloomy, like he's thinking about something — it's weird, it's stressful, it makes them look at him silently.
"Well?" Larry asks first, nodding at the bar and handing him a bottle of beer. "They still made you clean the gym?"
"Yeah."
"How you feel?" Ricky asks immediately.
"You know," Johnny takes a sip right away. "That's fine."
"Really?"
"No. I'm gonna go kill somebody."
"Jeez, Johnny," Larry shakes his head, touching his friend's shoulder, "you don't wanna get into the "Happy Volts"?"
"The same thing happened when he broke up with Lola."
Johnny looks unhappy over his shoulder, trying to see Ricky's face. But conscience does not allow to spit some nasty rude thing in his direction — they are friends after all.
Well, practically.
"And how long exactly you gonna blame me for Lola?"
"Come on, man. It's been normal that every time you and Lola just sleep," not only humor, but also Lucky is on fire today.
Larry gives him a strict look.
"It's not normal," Johnny says.
"Agree," Ricky nods.
"Just what's wrong with you, guys?" Lucky throws a dart again and doesn't even get close to the center. "Consider it compensation for moral damage."
Johnny is focused and angry, missing his word, and counting the number of people in this bar. He doesn't like to sit tight and doesn't like to think about what Lucky is talking about. Because very often Lucky just talks trash. It's better to ignore him. Johnny does, by the way, when they, all three, leave. Larry stops near him, slaps his shoulder and says something about smoking outside, but Johnny shakes his head negatively. He's collapsed in his head — he just helped Pinky Gauthier sincerely and it was so gentlemanly that it didn't fit in with his world picture. Not that Johnny couldn't be a gentleman — he could be, of course! He could! But not with that girl.
When a table creaks and someone sits down, Johnny immediately realizes what it means. He doesn't hold back:
"All the rabble is allowed in here now?"
Edgar Munsen turns to him with a slight smirk.
"Pretty boy," he says, "They call me much worse."
Johnny is frowning, closing his eyes. Counts to three to calm down. But the wrath of a sharp shrub grows in burnt lungs.
"So you don't give up," Edgar leans on the bar, staring at Johnny Vincent.
"Stop hanging around the school," Johnny shrugs his shoulders, takes a sip. "And there will be no more conflict."
"You're pretty naive for a kid from New Coventry," Edgar's looking at him. "Since you're telling me that like it's an order."
Johnny is staring into the crack on the window. There is drizzle, small droplets run through the glass - a strong wind rises.
"What can I do?" Johnny just takes another sip. "There's no other way."
Edgar grins. Shakes his head and snaps his fingers to the beat of the music playing here.
Rusty shutters creak on the right, someone's muffled voices are heard. And a scream.
Johnny closes his eyes to avoid the evening sounds of New Coventry, to which he has long been accustomed.
And he doesn't think he's naive, even if he did help a girl from Old Bullworth Vale.