CHAPTER LIV
"I'm leaving," Irvin announced impassively, expression apathetic, a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He blew out greyish-white smoke, hooded golden-brown eyes squinted against the sudden appearance of a bright sun. With a hand attempting to tame his curly locks, he explained. "I'm returning home on Friday. Taking a flight back to the U.K." He angled away from a passing teacher with her attention on a defective tablet, holding the smoke in until she was some distance away before exhaling through his nose as if she couldn't smell the acrid scent on our clothes and in the stained air.
"Why are you leaving?"
He smiled slightly, amused with a joke only he knew, and said with a careless shrug. "It's time to move on."
"You asked me to the winter formal and now you're bailing on me? You suck ass. I won't be able to find another date in time."
"I've got you covered. I have a friend, Marvin Junior. He goes to Squirrel High. He needs a date, I'll give you his number and you should give him a call. Come on," he stomped on his cigarette as the bell for the afternoon classes rang out, "we should head in. It's so cold. I hate this weather." He grumbled to himself, rubbing his hands together. "I don't know how I'm going to survive in England's miserable wet weather. I'm a summer lovin' baby."
We joined the masses of students traipsing along the corridors to their classrooms. As Irvin babbled on about his crush on Meredith from Grey's Anatomy, I allowed my attention to rove the hallways, past the students with their heads in their lockers, over the bickering group of jocks, around the two trainee teachers gossiping about whatever the hell someone's boyfriend did last night, and straying on an unhappy Rodger. We caught up with him as he slammed his locker door shut, pushing his textbook into his backpack and slinging his backpack across his shoulder. "Hi." Rodger greeted rather angrily and uncharacteristically so. He always was civil and courteous.
"What's the matter, tubby?" Irvin asked.
"This," he gestured to his Harambe t-shirt, "is apparently offensive! Can you believe it!?"
I heaved the longest sigh in the world.
He continued on his rant, passionate and infuriated. "I have to go to the principal's office during my lunch break and my parents have been told to come in to discuss my behavior. I'm being persecuted. It's an outrage. It's a crime against humanity, against free speech."
Irvin and I shared a glance.
"Well," I began, glancing at his chest. "It does say 'Dicks Out For Harambe',"
"You're wearing a picture with a pink dick on it." Irvin cut to the chase. "Twitter retweets are not worth it, tubby. See you guys later."
"I'm exercising my right to protest against the unjust treatment of animals." Rodger continued on saying after Irvin abandoned me. "I want to hold a march outside the school grounds. We could call the newspapers and make headlines and get the principle fired."
"Rodger, it was just a gorilla. Can we talk about something else? Something that matters?"
"Like what?" he said bitterly. "How To Get Away With Murder: Cop Edition? I turn on the TV and it's not the ABC programme with Annalise Keating, it's the news with racist reporters and justifications of the murder of black people. It's another day of another execution of a child and there are people arguing and defending another trigger-happy cop and plastering stories of how the cops were afraid for their lives from a child. I see articles of Trayvon Martin's killer enjoying life and bragging of his crime. There are rapists in jail for mere months while those with lesser offences sit for years awaiting trail behind bars. The KKK will hide behind their white cloths with the protection of the police but if there were a gathering of people with my skin tone or yours, it'd be a riot and the cops would charge at us. I fear for the safety of my family, for my younger siblings and my parents. If they were executed, they'd be dehumanized and painted in the wrong light. I cannot protect them. The flag cannot protect us. This land is blood-stained. Fuck America. So yeah, I'd rather talk about a fucking gorilla than the depressing reality of what's happening around us."
I didn't expect his outburst. Rather awkwardly and without tact, I patted his shoulder and I said. "We're going to be late to class. I'll buy you a packet of peanut M&Ms along the way to cheer you up, buddy."
His shoulders deflated like the fight had left him. Nodding, he said tiredly. "Yeah. Alright. Whatever." The conversation came to an end.
***
I wiped the sweat from my brow and threw the basketball to the coach. I was breathing hard and with my hands on my hips in sweat-drenched clothes, I listened to Coach Mendez as she told the class of a tournament that was going to be held at the end of November. "Come and find me in the office and be sure to hand in your confirmation slips by the end of this week. It'll be a fantastic opportunity and those participating will be able to collect a reference from me for your college applications. That'll be all, girls. Grab a quick shower and head to your next class. Hopefully, I'll see you all next week."
With the dismissal, I followed the rest of the sweat-soaked gym rats across the court, through the double doors and along the corridor to the changing rooms. Uncapping my water bottle, I tilted the bottle into my mouth and habitually, held the door open for the girl behind me. I paused halfway to my bench and locker, noticing the scrunched up faces of classmates and more importantly, my gasoline-soaked clothes and textbooks on the floor in a corner. "Son of a fucking bitch," I cursed lowly. Angrily, I hurled my bottle towards the trash can and turned on my heel, exiting the room full of confused stares and murmurs.
"Is everything OK?" Coach Mendez had walked out of the court, carrying a mesh sports bag of basketballs over her shoulder, taunt hand closed around the drawstrings. "Cleo?" she insisted for my attention, touching my shoulder.
"I'd like to see the security cameras for the changing room,"
Her eyebrows knitted. "There are no security cameras fitted in the–"
"Vice Principle Cotton would never pass up the chance to sneak a peek at a prepubescent body so quit the crap, will you?"
"CLEO!" she admonished furiously, astonished by the quick change in my mood. "What you're saying is a very serious accusation. And statements without evidence can ruin a career."
I didn't care for her perspective of the truth – or the truth for that matter. With a heavy brow and a chest that was bursting with rage, I back-stepped, saying rather insincerely. "I apologise, I didn't mean to say that."
"What happened, Cleo?" she implored for the reason behind my temper, concerned. "You can talk to me."
"No, I can't," I scoffed softly, shrugging her hand away. "Forget it."
A passing classmate with her nostrils pinched said, voice nasally. "Someone drowned Cleo's clothes in gasoline, coach. It smells bad in there."
"You and your fat mouth, Martha," I snarled, throwing her a dirty glower. "Why can't you ever shut the hell up?"
"It is a criminal offence to damage another's property. You can file a report, Cleo. The matter will be taken very seriously and–"
"No, thanks. I'm not a snitch and I don't have plans to be a social outcast." I ignored her calls as I marched away.
The bell for fifth period rang. I found Leif with his nose in a chemistry textbook, coming out of the library. I asked him if I could borrow his gym clothes. He had asthma and had two left feet, a dweeby looking boy. Coaches always told him to sit out and read a book or count the seconds in an hour rather than allow him to participate. He handed his duffel bag over and I changed in the ladies' bathroom. "Goddammit," I stared at my reflection over a running sink. I tied my hair up into a messy bun and pulled a few locks out to curl around my finger in the hopes that it looked like I had, at the very least, some pride in my appearance. Leif's gym clothes consisted of a crumpled white tee and orange shorts that were too small for my thighs. Aside from parading around in my underwear, I had no other choice but to show up to biology looking like I had blindly sifted through a thrift shop.
Velvet snorted in amusement as soon as she laid her eyes on me. She popped her green sucker out of her mouth and grinned at me. "Your legs look like raw cookie dough straining to come out of the package."
"I hope your parents find out you like to lick the juices from a folded pair of lips and send you back to live with your grandmother in Shanghai."
She paused. "That's kind of harsh, Cleo. Damn. Who hurt you?"
"That bitch," I accused maliciously, leaning forward in my seat and following Oran who had entered the classroom. My eyes narrowed into slits and I turned slightly, watching her take her seat.
Velvet followed my gaze. "She creeps me out."
Intending to have a polite conversation with the twin, I shot upright just as Mr. Rider ambled into the classroom, briefcase and coffee cup in hand. He raised his eyebrows at me. "What the hell are you wearing, Cleo? You're dressed worse than Velvet."
Velvet took offence, "Hey!" she glanced down at her outfit – a silky nightgown, a choker and grey ankle boots – and glared at him. "I'm dressed as art not that you would understand, sir."
"You dress worse than Macklemore," he responded, "if it's not jeans with your ass cheeks hanging out, it's Lady Gaga inspired meat costumes. I'm surprised no one has flagged this up with you before, put the vogue magazine down. This isn't a runway, it's a school. You're here to get an education, not attention."
"You're as bitter as your coffee, huh, sir?" Velvet flung back with ease. "Perhaps you should take less interest in the bodies of your students and more in teaching. Half of the class is failing, I wonder why."
Half the class inhaled sharply. I looked down at her with surprise and praised. "I'm proud of you. That was beautiful, V." I wiped an imaginary tear away.
"I'll write you a letter of recommendation to the Special Needs class. You'll attend on Tuesdays and on Thursdays for detention for the rest of the term." Mr. Rider smiled brightly, green eyes slanted and cruel. "Is anyone else failing? No?" he perched on the edge of his desk, rubbed a hand across his bristly jaw. "I thought so. Clear your desks. You have a pop quiz. You can thank Velvet for that. Sit down, Cleo. Shut the door, Christopher."
I slid down onto my seat and shot Velvet a grimace as the class groaned and groused, shooting her irritated looks. "Sucks," I leaned over to whisper.
She sighed, closing her eyes temporarily. "Shut up, Cleo."
"Sorry."
"Where's Huehnergard, Baggins?" Mr. Rider asked as he handed out the test papers.
I threw a look behind my shoulder. "No idea, sir. I haven't seen her in over a week."
As he wondered aloud about calling her parents to find out where she was, I sat quietly with a troubled tilt to my mouth. I had been occupied with Frank and avoiding Zeus that I hadn't taken the time to check on Winnie. Matter of fact now that I thought about it, Eton had been uncharacteristically cheery whenever I saw him lately, grabbing a piece of toast during breakfast or quickly finishing his dinner before heading back up to his room. I could only imagine the horrors that lay hidden in his bedroom and the grief that it would cause me. I just hoped that Winnie was alive for both our sake...
***
caption this