Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  “I’ve had worse,” I muttered, laying my head back down. “And at least my stomach will look pretty in a day or too. I like purple and yellow.”

  Her face hardened. “This isn’t a joking matter. Who did this to you?”

  I shrugged, not interested in dobbing in Happy Meal again. I shouldn’t have even opened my mouth to the blonde teacher, but she wouldn’t shut the hell up. She was like a rabid little dog that wouldn’t stop yapping until I gave her what she wanted. I just hoped she didn’t blab to the principal, because I didn’t need that do-gooder interfering in my business. I could deal with Happy Meal all on my own.

  “I really wish you would stop fighting,” the nurse said, cutting through my thoughts. Since I’d started Wera High two years ago, I’d been in and out of her office more times than I could remember.

  She pushed to her feet with the first aid kit. “Will you be all right to go to class or do you need me to phone your father?”

  “I’ll be fine after a few minutes,” I said, definitely not wanting the second option. My dad would bitch and whine if the nurse pulled him out of work, even more so since it was my first day back at school. Or worse, he’d probably beat the shit out of Happy Meal, which wouldn’t end well, since the prick’s father was the president of the Devil’s Crew, a bikers’ club that constantly clashed with my father’s gang.

  The bell for the end of tutor class rang, signalling that I needed to get to my first lesson of the day: Drama. I thanked the nurse and left the sickbay, doing my best not to walk like I’d just had my balls crushed. I lifted my chin in friendly hellos at people I knew, giving a couple from my gang handshakes, all the while pretending that I wasn’t hurting like a eunuch who’d just had his nuts waved in his face. I wondered whether word had spread about me losing the fight. It didn’t matter to people that I’d been up against three good fighters or that I’d been sucker-punched from behind. All that mattered was that I’d lost. I just wasn’t willing to act like I had. Get your balls handed to you and you still had to walk like you could crush someone else’s. Appearance was everything where I lived. It wasn’t about fancy labels, it was about putting on a tough front, proving you were worthy of wearing the patch. That was what counted, no matter how much it hurt.

  I stopped outside my drama class and opened the door, just enough to stick my face through. It looked like I was the last one to class. My classmates were sitting in the centre of the floor in front of our drama teacher. We didn’t have desks for drama, only a small stage and props.

  I shouted, “Here’s Johnny!” doing my best Jack Nicholson impersonation.

  Mr. Aston jumped a mile. He spun around, giving me a hundred-watt glare. He had reddish-brown hair and was built like a brick shithouse, with a chimney stack that constantly blew. Though, despite his solid build, he obviously couldn’t fight for shit, since his busted up nose had more curves than Happy Meal’s girlfriend.

  Mr. Aston shouted at me, “Get in class!”

  I didn’t know why he was so angry, considering I was only acting, and it did say ‘Drama’ on the door. I kicked the door open the rest of the way and sauntered in, lifting my chin up at him. “G’day, Mr. Aston, miss me?”

  He continued to glare, looking like he’d pulled the short straw with getting me in his class again. “Cross me and I’ll slap ye with detention for the rest of the week,” he snapped. He sounded like a Scotsman who’d lost his balls to New Zealand, his accent a water-downed version of Billy Connolly’s, minus the sense of humour.

  I resisted the urge to imitate his accent, wondering whether I could get through his class without receiving detention. He probably had a whole bunch of blue slips already printed out with my name on. The guy couldn’t stand me; thought I was an arrogant prick. He was right, but I thought the same of him, just didn’t get all red-faced over it. He really needed to chill the fuck out, because he had some serious anger management issues. If he hated teenagers so much why did he become a teacher? It was like working at a brothel and being allergic to condoms. Or being a nymphomaniac and signing up to a nunnery. Why would you put yourself through that?

  He continued jabbering on about what he expected from me and how important Year Eleven was. I had to bite my tongue to keep a straight face, especially since I could hear my best friend sniggering on the floor behind me.

  Mr. Aston finally finished his lecture. “Now, remove yer shoes and sit down.”

  I kicked off my boots, sending them flying to where everyone else’s was. The array of black shoes and sandals were spread out next to the door, the drama teacher preferring the rank smell of foot odour to a little dirt on the carpet.

  I sat down on the carpet by my best friend. Jasper was as tall as Happy Meal, just fat, the dude always smelling of meat pies and Coke.

  Jasper held out his hand. I grabbed it and did a fancy two-tiered handshake, pumping our fists together at the end, our gang’s full greeting. We’d been best mates since we were little kids, going to the same kindergarten, primary, intermediate, and now high school, minus the short period of time when I got expelled and was forced to go to Claydon High. After that dive expelled me too, I headed right back here, the principal making an exception for me. I knew why he let me back in. It was because he felt like he owed my family since he’d done fuck all for my oldest brother, who’d almost killed himself in a suicide pact while he’d been going here.

  Mr. Aston’s voice cut through my thoughts about my brother. He’d started calling the roll. When he got to my name, I held back from being a smart cunt and just answered with a “Here.” In return, I got surprised looks from half the class. They’d probably expected me to say something stupid, but I didn’t feel like it right now, my aching balls still distracting me.

  I gently adjusted my crotch, noticing Phelia Lamar, a.k.a. Happy Meal’s girlfriend, ogling what I was doing. She was a Māori chick with the coolest afro hair, which was all fuzzed out in the old seventies style. She also had big tits and the shiniest, juiciest mouth that was made for sucking cock. Just a pity she didn’t know how to use it well, because she sucked in more ways than one.

  She sidled up next to me. “Hi, Dante, you wanna come over to my house after school?”

  I gave her an Are you fucking kidding me? look, definitely not interested. I didn’t care how hot she was. There were plenty of other good-looking chicks I could get without having to deal with jealous boyfriends.

  She screwed up her nose, probably realising why. “What Ronnie did to you wuzn’t my fault.” Her gaze moved to my brow. “And you only got a scratch,” she said, reaching out to touch the bandage.

  I jerked my head away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Oh, c’mon, babe, don’t be angry with me. We had fun, didn’t we?”

  “We had fun. Past tense.”

  She pouted at me. “It doesn’t hafta end. I’ve broken up with Ronnie.”

  “He doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “Well, I have. I wanna be with you.”

  I went to tell her that I didn’t feel the same way, but got cut off by Mr. Aston.

  “One more peep oot of you, Dante, and I’ll slap ye with detention so fast ye won’t know what hit ye,” he said.

  I shot Phelia a glare, annoyed that she’d caused me more trouble. She gave me an apologetic look.

  Mr. Aston resumed what he’d been talking about before Phelia had interrupted him. “We’re going to start off doing Space Jump,” he announced, which was an improv game. “Ye’re going to act oot a scene from something ye did during yer holiday break. Ye’ll get a minute each. So, everyone up.”

  All the students pushed to their feet. Half the class who knew the game froze into a pose. I was tempted to face Phelia and freeze doing a cock-sucking action, but decided not to antagonise Mr. Aston further, because I kind of liked this game.

  “Phelia,” Mr. Aston called out, “go first.”

  Within seconds, she was dancing around me, which was what she’d been doing at the party before she
’d sucked me off.

  Mr. Aston finally called out another name, stopping Phelia in her tracks. She froze in a dance pose, allowing Mr. Aston’s niece to take over. The red-headed girl started pretending to swim. She had so many freckles on her face I had the urge to get a pen and play dot-to-dot. I smiled, wondering whether her body was covered with them too. I could spend a whole afternoon joining them together, then have a different kind of fun afterwards. Her eyes flicked over to me, giving me the same look the hot blonde teacher had. I winked at her, causing her face to go bright red. She quickly looked away and continued with her act until her annoyed-looking uncle called out my name, probably noticing his niece was eyeing me up.

  Jasper started sniggering, fully aware of what I’d done over the summer holidays: selling drugs for my cousin and getting laid continuously. Though, I did visit my grandparents for Christmas, where I went surfing with my oldest brother and uncle. But pretending to surf for the drama class was lame in comparison to imitating sex, which... Fuck it, it was worth getting detention just to see the look on Mr. Aston’s face.

  I cupped my hands in front of me, pretending to hold someone’s head and started moving my crotch back and forth, going, “Yeah, baby, take that cock. You know you want it. Yeah, yeah, ye—”

  Before I could get the last yeah out, Mr. Aston grabbed me by the neck and hauled me to the door. He yanked it open and shoved me into the corridor, yelling, “Detention for the rest of the week!”

  The door slammed in my face. I stood in my socks, listening to the class erupt into a fit of laughter on the other side of the door, Jasper’s laugh the loudest. Next thing, the door burst open and Mr. Aston threw my boots and bag at me, thankfully not hitting me in the balls in the process. Everything landed at my feet with a resounding thud.

  “Principal’s office. Now!” he roared, slamming the door in my face once again. On the other side he boomed at the class, “Be quiet!”

  I smiled and shoved my feet into my boots, not needing to fix the shoelaces since I never undid them. Instead of heading for the principal’s office, I aimed for the exit, intending on sitting out the back of the gym until the bell went. Mr. Aston never checked to see if I’d gone to the office, something I’d discovered last year. He probably didn’t care if I went or not, just that I was out of his class.

  As I passed another classroom, a loud wolf whistle pierced my ear. I backed up and looked through the small square window in the door, instantly recognising the hot blonde teacher. She was standing in front of a class of Year Tens. One of the boys was whistling at her while his mates sniggered next to him. She fired back a retort I couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, it shut the boy up faster than my cock in Phelia’s mouth. A second later, I realised she’d be taking my English class.

  A big smile spread across my face, the day suddenly getting a whole lot more interesting. I resumed walking down the corridor, looking forward to English for the first time ever.

  ***

  After the bell had rung, I headed to my maths class, one of my least favourite subjects. As soon as I entered the room, the teacher told me that the principal wanted to see me. I trudged to Principal Sao’s office, annoyed that Mr. Aston had finally checked up on me. I wondered whether it was one of his New Year resolutions to make my life miserable.

  At the end of the corridor, I turned right and entered the reception area, taking a seat on the navy-blue vinyl couch. The secretary looked over her desk at me with a slight shake of her head. She was an old bird in her sixties, with dyed blonde hair and a lady-boner for pearls. She gave me one of her disappointed looks, like she’d expected better of me, which always floored me, since I spent half my time here.

  She indicated for me to go into the office. “He’s expecting you.”

  I pushed up from the couch. “I bet he is,” I mumbled under my breath, again cursing Mr. Aston for finally doing his job.

  I opened the door and entered the bland room, ignoring the painting on the wall, knowing it off by heart. It depicted two boys walking into the sea, one of them my brother—who’d painted it. It always reminded me of that fucked up year Ash had tried to kill himself, a year I wished I could wipe from my memory.

  “Please take a seat, Dante,” Principal Sao said, indicating to the chair in front of his desk.

  He was sitting in a swivel chair, looking at me with a serious expression, probably wondering how he could save me from myself. I slumped down into the cushioned seat and looked out his window, wishing I’d stayed in bed.

  Principal Sao pushed out of his chair and walked around to me, seating himself on the edge of his desk, blocking my view of the window. He was a big Samoan man who had a penchant for smart suits. Right now he was wearing a navy-blue one, with a purple and white striped tie over a white button-down shirt.

  He started talking, making me think of the actor who did Darth Vader’s voice, just without the breathing problem. “I was very disappointed to find out you were fighting with Ronald again,” he said.

  Surprised by his words, I didn’t reply, all thoughts about Mr. Aston ratting me out gone. How’d he know? It hit me a second later. The blonde teacher had dobbed me in. I grimaced, now annoyed with myself for giving her my name, not to mention Happy Meal’s.

  The principal continued, “It’s the first day of school and you two are already at it. I told you last year I won’t stand for this nonsense anymore. If I have to, I will suspend you, Dante, regardless of the connection I have with your family.”

  Pissed off he was blaming me, I sneered at him, wanting to tell him he had no connection to my whānau. He wasn’t family, he wasn’t even Māori. He probably thought that since he was Polynesian he could identify with me. He couldn’t identify shit, because he hadn’t pissed blood from being beaten so hard, hadn’t had to deal drugs just to pay the bills, or gone hungry because his father took too many sick days due to being mentally ill. Instead, he was what my Tongan mate called a Pālangi Poly—a white Polynesian, who’d probably grown up in East Auckland instead of Wera’s streets.

  He shook his head at me. “I wish you would stop fighting everyone, Dante. You need to learn to walk away.”

  I remained silent, wondering how the hell he expected me to walk away from being jumped from behind. Then again, he was probably trying to get me to blurt out it wasn’t my fault, twisting things to get me to talk.

  He narrowed his eyes at me, giving me one of his this-is-serious faces. But it wasn’t a serious matter to me. The beating Happy Meal and his mates had handed out was nothing in comparison to what my stepfather had done to me. This was no more than a paper cut, something I’d forget about once the bruises disappeared. But what my stepfather had done ... I could never forget that. I just wished I could.

  Principal Sao sighed. “I can’t help you, Dante, if you don’t talk to me.”

  “I don’t need your help,” I finally said. “I need to be in class,” because it’s better than being here.

  He indicated to the door. “Okay. Go.”

  I pushed up and headed for the door.

  “Dante,” he said.

  I placed a hand on the door handle and looked back at him, waiting for him to get whatever he wanted to say off his chest.

  He pushed up from the desk, giving me one of his soulful stares, something that I felt he’d copyrighted just for me. He knew too much about my family, things I didn’t want anyone to know. It just made me feel even more uncomfortable around him.

  “I know you believe that everyone thinks you’re a bad kid, someone who’ll end up in jail,” he said, “but you’re not. Deep down inside you’re a good kid, who would do really well if you just applied yourself instead of creating your own personal warzone.”

  I snorted out a laugh.

  “This isn’t a joking matter, Dante. This year is important and I want you to treat it as such. Stop looking for fights and concentrate on your school work, because if you applied yourself you’d pass.”

  I snorted out another lau
gh. “I’m gonna flunk. All my teachers know it.”

  “It’s only you who thinks that.”

  “Tell Mr. Aston that.”

  “Okay, he’s the exception. But if you just concentrated you’d do well, especially in English and Music. You have a stunning voice and are great on the guitar and drums. You’re also a wonderful poet. You could get into university if—”

  “I’m not goin’ to university,” I cut him off, not interested in his fantasies.

  His shoulders slumped, the man appearing to deflate at my words. I didn’t know what he expected from me, especially since he knew no one in my family had ever amounted to anything, other than ending up in the newspapers for committing some sort of crime. Or worse, being a statistic like my mother, my stepfather having murdered her.

  Wishing I wasn’t his pet project, I disappeared out his door and headed back to my maths class. As I walked down the corridor, my mind shifted to the English teacher, angry with her for ratting me out. I’d planned on going light on her, just a bit of teasing and flirting, nothing serious, since I liked the idea of having something pretty to look at during class. But now there was no way I was going to play nice. And like with any other rat, she was going to get what was coming to her.

  3

  CLARA

  The staffroom at lunchtime was considerably quieter than the outside mayhem of the school grounds, a caffeinated oasis devoid of teenagers. Although I’d managed to get through my first classes without too much trouble, it had been hard work. Some of the students had taken it upon themselves to see how far they could push me. I had to tell off quite a few, mostly boys, whose wolf whistles and comments about my looks weren’t appreciated.

  I glanced to my right as I poured a cup of coffee, noticing two male teachers eyeing me up, their gazes not that dissimilar to the male students. I knew what they saw: a good-looking woman in her early twenties, with defined cheekbones and full lips. The only thing I lacked was height, which they didn’t appear to care about. The shorter of the two dropped his gaze as soon as he noticed me looking, while the other one continued to stare, seemingly unconcerned he’d been caught out.