“It’s more extreme at Wera.”
“Report ’em to the principal or punish ’em with detention. They’ll soon learn that it’s not appropriate behaviour. After all, that’s why you’re there: to educate the kids.”
“In literature.”
He shook his head. “You also need to teach ’em how to behave.”
Markus was a gym teacher as well as the swimming coach at a prestigious boys’ school in London. Or had been, since he was now here.
I exhaled loudly. “I don’t think some of these kids even know what behave means. I really feel like I’m wasting my time there,” which was partially true, since the kids at Wera were a handful.
“If you’re wasting your time, then why did that girl ace that test you emailed me?” he replied.
I had gushed about Lindy, finding her a dream to teach. She was like a sponge, soaking up everything I said, unlike the rest of the class, who looked like they were biding their time until the bell rang.
He continued, “She got every question right, not only that, she went into depth with her answers. She obviously loves your class; otherwise she wouldn’t ’ave done so well.”
A small smile broke through my upset.
“Now, that’s what I want to see,” he said, brushing a kiss over my smile. He pulled back a fraction, his blue eyes staring into mine. “It’s those kinds of kids that will get ya through the day, making the hard times worthwhile. Also, it’s even more rewarding when you manage to capture the attention of the wayward ones. Don’t you wanna make ’em fall in love with literature like you did?”
“Yes, more than anything.”
“Then work for it, ’cause with children like that it’ll require a lot of work. And if you manage to succeed, it could be the difference between ’em ending up in jail or going on to higher education.”
“I guess so,” I answered, his pronunciation of them, or in particular ’em, sounding like he was saying him. It made me think he was referring to Dante, the real subject of the conversation.
“I know so,” he replied. “You ’ave the chance to change lives in Wera, be a real inspiration for those kids. I can just imagine the type of lives some of ’em lead. You see it on the telly all the time: kids tagging, stealing, being sent to borstals, getting abused by their loved ones, going hungry, dying...”
He continued talking, making me think about what Dante had experienced. A different kind of guilt wormed its way into my mind, opening my eyes to what I’d been neglecting. I’d been so caught up with his looks that I’d ignored the fact I was meant to teach him. I needed to quash my disturbing thoughts and concentrate on the job I was paid for, which was to instil a passion for literature inside of Dante, to the point that he could progress to the next year, learning more and more, giving him a chance for a better life or a means of escape from his current one.
“So, do ya still wanna quit?” Markus asked.
I shook my head, determined to make things right.
15
DANTE
I stopped to unlock my gate as Jasper headed across the road, bouncing the basketball we’d been playing with after school. I slipped inside my property, quickly locking it before my dogs could escape. Bob and Marley came bounding over, trying to get me to pick them up, their excited barks filling the air. I went to my knees to give them a cuddle, almost getting knocked down.
“Easy, guys,” I laughed, wrapping my arms around the excited dogs. “You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in weeks.”
Bob barked while Marley gave me a big lick up the side of my face.
I laughed again and wiped my cheek. “You’re a way better kisser than Phelia, Marley. You should give her lessons.”
Marley barked and sprinted for the door, probably hoping I’d let her inside, while Bob ran after his mate. I followed them, pushing past the two dogs. “Back up,” I said in a stern voice.
They did what they were told, giving me room to unlock the door. I went to do just that, but it swung open before I could get my key in. I jumped, not having expected anyone home, since my dad’s motorbike wasn’t in the driveway.
“Hello, Dante,” Jasper’s auntie said, smiling at me from inside the house. Ngaire had her long, thick brown hair tied back into a ponytail. She was dressed in Daisy Dukes and a black crop top, giving me an eyeful of skin I’d much rather not have seen. Although she was okay looking, she still creeped me out. Prior to my growth spurt, I’d thought she was nice. But now her smiles were more lewd than friendly. She was just lucky my dad was too stupid to notice, because she wouldn’t have any teeth left to smile at me with if he had.
“How’d you get in ’ere?” I asked, the bird ruining my mood. “Is my dad home?”
“No. He gave me a key.”
“What for?” I said, hoping like hell he didn’t rent out the spare room to her.
“He’s payin’ me to clean your house. You’re a really messy boy, Dante. Your room wuz a pigsty.”
I pushed past her. “You’re not allowed in my room,” I said, heading for it. “And my dad won’t be payin’ you shit; he has no money.”
She followed me down the passage. “I know, he pays me in booze. He’s givin’ me a bottle of vodka today, while the day you passed out drunk I got some gin in exchange for washing and ironing your clothes.”
I spun around. “You did that?”
She nodded, her eyes twinkling at me. “You look so beautiful when you sleep.”
My eyes widened. “You fuckin’ creeper!”
She scowled at me. “That’s not anyway to talk to your auntie.”
“You’re not my auntie, your Jasper’s, so fuck off.” I entered my room, the place spotless, even my bed was made. “And let the door hit your arse on the way out.” I slammed it in her face, both grossed out and pissed off. I just hoped she hadn’t found my stash of drugs under the floorboards. I went to check, but stopped as my door creaked opened.
“Fuck off!” I yelled, furious she wouldn’t leave.
She stepped inside my room. “I would if I didn’t want sumpthin’ from you.” She glanced at my bed, making it crystal clear what she was after.
I screwed up my face in disgust. “You have gotta be kidding me? You’re even older than my dad.”
“But in good nick.”
“Only according to you, and I’m underage. You could go to jail for fucking me.”
“So could your clients, but I don’t think you’ll tell anyone ’bout them, will you?”
I froze. “My clients?”
She dug my phone out of her pocket.
Shit!
I snatched it out of her hand. “What the fuck are you doin’ with my phone?!”
“I found it in the pocket of your dirty school pants, so I had a looksie.” Her smile widened. “You really shouldn’t make your password so easy to crack. I got it on the fourth go. Sixteen for your birthday and eleven for the month you were born.”
Realising she’d checked my messages, I quickly turned on my phone. My heart pounded as I read Mason’s texts, Ngaire obviously having opened them. They were all about Mason wanting to buy coke and weed, leaving no doubt that I was his dealer.
“You have some very interesting text messages,” she said. “But none of them could compare to your voicemail. Who’s Sierra?”
My hands started to shake. Praying Sierra hadn’t left anything incriminating, I opened up my voicemail, listening to the first message.
Sierra’s voice came over the line: “I know you’re upset that I paid you for sex, but you shouldn’t be. You made me and Camie very happy. You were worth every cent, cutie pie, if not more. How about you shelve those morals of yours and meet up with me on Friday night; same place, same time. I’m a very rich woman, gorgeous. It would be silly to turn me down. I could make your life a whole lot better. So, call me.”
I deleted the message, along with Mason’s texts. “This isn’t what it sounds like,” I said, looking back up, scared she was going to tell my dad. �
��Sierra got the wrong end of the stick.”
Ngaire snorted out a laugh. “Or more likely she got the right end of your dick.”
“I didn’t fuck her for money; I wanted to fuck her and her friend. It’s not my fault the morons assumed I wuz a whore.”
“You can deny it all you want, baby boy, but as far as I see it, you took money for sex, not to mention you’re selling drugs. And I’d bet it’s Hunter who’s supplying you. I wonder what your father would say if he knew. Hmmm...” She stroked her chin, making out like she was thinking, although I knew she wasn’t. The bitch obviously had this whole scenario planned out.
“You have no proof,” I snapped, knowing my dad would beat Hunter to a pulp.
“Your messages are enough proof.”
“I deleted them, so take your skank-ho arse the fuck outta my house and don’t come back.”
She smiled. “I took photos of your texts and recorded the voice message on your home phone as well as mine.”
I rushed past her, running to the landline in the lounge. I grabbed the phone off the shelf and pressed for the messages. I gripped the receiver as Sierra’s voice came over the line faint, but still clear enough to hear every word. I quickly deleted it, then rushed back into my room, where Jasper’s auntie was sitting on my bed, minus her top, the woman not wearing a bra.
I swiped her top off the floor and threw it at her face. “Delete the message off your phone. Now!”
“It can wait.”
“No, it can’t! Your brother could hear it.”
“Stop stressing. It’s on my personal phone, which is in my bedroom. He won’t listen to it unless I play it for him.”
“You can’t do that; he’ll tell my dad!”
“I won’t tell him.”
I breathed out.
“But...”
I sucked in another breath.
“...my silence comes with a price.”
“How much?” I asked, upset that the first time I had money I was going to lose it. Although I’d bought food and paid for the power, I’d planned on using the remaining cash for some upcoming bills. My dad didn’t earn enough to cover everything, which was partially due to the fact he didn’t always turn up to work.
Her smile widened. “I don’t want your money, darling,” she said, dropping her gaze to my crotch.
“Hell, no!” I backed up. “I’m not fucking you.”
“You already whored yourself at least once.” She pushed up off the bed and took a step closer to me. “What’s one more time?”
I took another step back. “No!”
“O-kay. Let’s see what your dad says when he finds out you’re dealing and whoring.”
I raked a hand through my hair, not knowing what to do. “Please, you can’t do this to me.”
“I won’t as long as you...” She reached out, cupping my crotch.
I smacked her hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
Her expression darkened, her brown eyes blazing. “You let those women touch you.”
“Cos I liked them.”
Her expression darkened further. “Well, start liking me fast before I go home and play that message for my brother.”
She yanked her top on and went for the door. I reached past her, slamming it shut before she could get through. She spun around, looking startled over what I’d done. Knowing I had to intimidate her into silence, I hit the door next to her head, causing her to jump.
Putting on a vicious expression, I lowered my face to hers. “You say one word and I’ll see it’s you who’ll end up in the hospital,” I lied, “not my cousin.”
“Is that so?” she said, not looking the least bit intimidated.
“Yes,” I gritted out, moving my hand to her throat.
A shudder went through her body, but not from fear, her expression turned on. Grossed out, I let go of her and stepped back.
She smiled at me. “I’ve had much bigger and rougher men than you put their hands around my neck, gripping so tight I couldn’t breathe. They wanted to hurt me, but you, sweet pea, are all pretence. What you did might intimidate a young girl, but not me. And I highly doubt you’d harm me, especially knowing what it would do to Jasper. You saw how he reacted when you were rude to me. He’s protective of me, boy, which means if you truly wanna hurt me, be prepared to lose your best friend, once you’ve lost your teeth, that is.”
“You’re a bitch.”
“True, but I’m one who knows what she wants, and that’s you. So, what will it be, Dante?” Her eyebrows rose. “Your father finding out what you’ve been up to or you doin’ this one small favour for me?”
I didn’t reply, knowing she had me by the balls.
“Don’t look so scared, sweet pea. You’ll love what I’ve got planned for you.” She grabbed my waistband and yanked me to her.
16
CLARA
I went to school the following day, all fired up and positive that I could turn my bad situation into a good one. As I walked into my classroom, my mood was further lifted at seeing Dante. He was sitting behind his desk, not causing any trouble. Instead, he was hunched forward and writing something in a book, his full attention on what he was doing ... unlike his friends, who were busy being loud as usual.
I walked over to my desk, getting “Hello, Miss!” from half the class. I replied back with a “Hi,” my gaze flicking to Dante once more. He was still wrapped up in his book, his face a mask of concentration. I wondered whether he was writing another urban poem, my curiosity piqued after the last one he’d written, the boy truly talented.
I rounded my desk and grabbed the roll to mark off attendance. When I came to Dante’s name, he didn’t respond. I called out his name one more time, getting a “Yeah, you see me, so don’t ask again.”
I willed myself not to snap at his rudeness. I had to remind myself that he was a troubled young man, someone who needed my help, not more detention. Also, knowing him, he’d probably accumulated enough blue slips to colour the sky a different shade of blue—and I wasn’t going to add to it.
I resumed calling the roll, feeling proud that I didn’t react. When I’d finished, I sat down on the corner of my desk, sweeping my gaze over the class. I had some exciting news I wanted to tell them about, the music teacher’s email coming at the perfect time. Mr. Grey was definitely not a vindictive person, the man extremely nice.
“This morning I was asked to help with the auditions for the school performance,” I said.
“What play will it be?” Lindy piped up, the girl appearing eager, along with a few other students. It was the first time I’d seen them react so enthusiastically, which was a pleasant surprise.
“Othello.”
Lindy let out a shrill squeal of delight. “I want to be in it!”
I smiled at her. “Then try out for a part. The auditions will be held tomorrow at lunchtime in the main hall. I, along with Mr. Aston and Mr. Grey, will be deciding who’ll get the roles,” I said, wishing it was Beverly and not Paul working with me. I still couldn’t stand the man, even more so since he continued to stare at me. The only difference now, was he gave me a grimace instead of a smile when I caught him looking.
Lindy’s forehead furrowed. “Why would you need the music teacher? It’s a play not a musical.”
“Not in this instance. It’s been adapted into a contemporary musical—”
“Othello can’t be a musical!” she cut me off, her expression horrified. “That’s sacrilegious.”
“I disagree,” I replied, keen on getting Shakespeare out to a new audience. “In fact, I think it’s a wonderful idea. Can you sing?”
She shook her head. “No one can in here, except for Phelia and the walking cock in the back row.”
The class burst out laughing, everyone knowing who she was talking about. Dante’s friends let out hoots of agreement that he was indeed a walking cock. But unlike everyone else, Dante didn’t make a peep, just kept on scribbling in his book. Though, his posture looked more rigid
, giving me the impression Lindy’s comment had angered him.
Sniggering at what Lindy had said, Jasper nudged him. Dante growled something too low for me to decipher, wiping away Jasper’s smile. I frowned, now wondering what was wrong, since he would normally gloat about something like that, not get upset.
“Dante!” I called out. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m a walking fuckin’ cock,” he spat, still not looking up, his tone dripping with contempt.
I shifted my gaze back to Lindy. “Apologise to Dante, Lindy.”
She rolled her eyes. “God, the guys in this class get so butt-hurt.”
“You still have to apologise.”
“I’m so sorry, Dante,” she said, sounding insincere.
I looked back at Dante, who still had his nose stuck in the book. Wanting to get him involved in the conversation in a positive way, I asked, “So, since you can sing, Dante, I expect to see you at the auditions.”
His head snapped up, his eyes looking pitch black from where I was sitting. “Like hell! I ain’t singing no gay shit,” he spat.
I didn’t reply straight away, wondering why he was acting so aggressively. “Othello’s not gay,” I finally said, “and don’t use that word as an insult.”
“Whatever.” He looked back down.
“Are you writing a new poem?” I asked. “Maybe you could read it out for the class. I was impressed with the one you wrote for Mr. Grey.”
“No.”
I sighed, knowing I couldn’t make him. Not only that, I had other students who needed my attention, which I couldn’t give if I was focusing on him.
Forcing myself to look away from Dante, I instructed the class to write down everything they knew about Othello. After a few minutes, I made my way between the desks, stopping next to Phelia. Rather than doing her work, the girl was telling her friend about dumping Happy Meal’s ‘stalker arse’, her words peppered with expletives.
I tapped her desk to get her attention. “More writing and less talking.”
She pulled a face and picked up her pen. I continued down the aisle, glancing at the students’ books to make sure they were doing what I’d asked. As I neared the back of the room, I spotted Jasper playing a game under his desk instead of writing. I went to tell him off, but instead clamped my mouth shut, seeing an opportunity to peek at what Dante was writing.
Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) Page 14