by C. J. Duggan
Nope, it never happened.
•
Paradise High was a big enough school to get yourself lost in if you wanted to, and that Thursday was definitely one of those days. But I knew that no matter how much effort I put into avoiding Ballantine, we were always going to be thrust together for detention. At least we didn’t have to talk to each other. This time I made a point of deliberately being several minutes late. My theory: if Ballantine was already seated I could at least choose not to sit next to him. The ploy was really motivated by fear. If I was seated and he came in and chose not to sit near me, well . . . I really didn’t want to have another hole punched through my chest. No, I would definitely give myself the upper hand here. I was a good ten minutes late and I could completely handle the fury of the teacher for the sake of salvaging my pride. When I coyly slid open the classroom door I was met by the steely grey stare of Mr Hooper. His eyes peered over his glasses as he made a point to crane his neck and look at the wall clock, accentuating how late I was.
I winced. ‘Sorry.’
‘Take your seat,’ he said, unenthusiastically.
I made my way fully into the classroom, my eyes flicking across the tables at the few new additions to detention but, rather alarmingly, the lack of a few regulars.
No Boon. No Ballantine.
I made my way slowly to the back of the class, choosing the very last row again.
Maybe their detention had finished? I never actually asked what they had done or how long they were in for. Could there really be a God after all? One that would grant me a reprieve?
A smug smile lined my face as I took my seat, relaxing in a way I hadn’t ever felt in detention. But that was shortlived as the classroom door slid open quickly, and Ballantine stood in the doorway.
Shit.
Mr Hooper did the same routine. Glare, turn to clock, glare.
Ballantine didn’t look sorry though. ‘Daniel Boon is away sick,’ he said, making his way down the aisle.
I focused with all my might on my textbook, reading over the contents again and again before turning the page. I could feel myself holding my breath as I heard his footsteps getting closer. This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I didn’t want him to sit close to me, but I knew that if he chose to sit elsewhere that would be even worse. We would be doomed to ignore each other, with probable awkward exchanges if we ever had to be in close proximity. And as much as last night had initially been amazing, if it meant that, then I wished it had never happened.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when Ballantine slammed his books down.
Next to mine.
I blew out a breath. Shifting in my seat, I could feel relief flood through me in unexpected waves, and I hated that I felt so grateful he didn’t sit anywhere else. His chair scraped along the floorboards as he took his seat. I didn’t look at him, I didn’t acknowledge him. I simply flipped through my textbook, reading but not taking in a single word.
‘Now that’s the last of the stragglers, heads down,’ Mr Hooper said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The room was eerily silent, maybe because Boon wasn’t there to fidget and sigh and throw paper. Instead, all that was really apparent was the slow, agonising sound of the wall clock: tick, tick, ticking each second that passed. That and the scratchings of the pen Ballantine used as he worked on colouring in his mural – the only form of work he tended to do in detention. I wondered if he ever handed in any homework? I couldn’t exactly imagine him sitting down at a desk at home studying by lamplight before sneaking out and knocking on girls’ bedroom windows. Don’t follow through with that thought, Lexie. Ballantine was probably a regular at girls’ windows. He didn’t even come to see you last night. He tagged along with Boon.
He still had my pen – that much I could see in my peripheral vision. It was hard to comprehend that those same hands had touched me so intimately last night. My cheeks flamed at the memory and I forced my eyes forward, studying the wall clock once more.
There were no notes passed this time, no exchanges other than a momentary accidental brush of our legs that caused my heart to jump into my throat. I prayed this torture would be over soon, that the bell would sound and I could walk away, maybe ditch tomorrow’s detention by saying I was sick like Boon had done. Genius.
When the bell did blare through the speakers, Ballantine and I, in synchronised desperation, packed up our things quickly, eager to put an end to what had been a super-awkward detention. One of the certain drawbacks to being at the back of the class was that we were always the last to leave – might have to rethink that next time. And just as I moved to walk behind Ballantine and go our separate ways, the worst thing possible happened.
‘Hold on a minute, you two.’
Mr Hooper finished up packing his papers and putting them in his briefcase, something I didn’t know people used anymore. Most teachers opted for man bags, but Mr Hooper was old school.
Ballantine and I paused in the doorway, glancing at each other briefly before stepping back into the classroom.
‘Seeing as running on time for detention isn’t such a priority for you both, maybe you could practise showing up on time at, say, 3.30 p.m. after school.’
‘Sir?’ Ballantine queried.
‘You heard me, don’t be late,’ he said, snapping his briefcase shut with an air of finality as he picked it up and left us standing there in stunned silence.
•
For the second time that week I found Amanda leaning up against my locker at home time.
Unlike last time when she’d seemed her usual bitter self, today she looked, well, to put it bluntly . . . like death. And it wasn’t just because of the heavy, black eyeliner.
I approached her with guarded interest, falling short just before my locker. ‘You okay? You don’t look so good.’
‘Of course I’m okay,’ she snapped, her brows etched in the grim-grey canvas of her clammy skin, her tired eyes painting the real story of fatigue. Her usual slick, straightened hair looked dishevelled and dull. Amanda folded her arms across her chest as if to ward off a chill, a chill that didn’t exist in the stuffy, overcrowded hallway. She was obviously in denial.
‘So, what do you know?’ I reached past her, dialling the combination of my lock, only getting her to move reluctantly once I pulled at the door.
‘Boon didn’t come to school today,’ she pouted.
‘Too many late nights, maybe?’ I tried to lighten the mood but there was nothing that was going to obliterate the dark cloud that had settled over Amanda. I only hoped she wasn’t slipping into her old hateful ways. I didn’t know if I could bear that. Having my old cousin back felt really good. I hadn’t felt so alone.
‘Worst. Day. Ever,’ she said, thudding her head on my neighbour’s locker door.
‘Tell me about it, I have after-school detention.’
‘What? What have you done now? You are out of control.’
‘I guess so. Hey, can you tell Aunty Karen that I have some kind of practice after school or something?’
‘Practice? Like what? Basketball, netball, band? Because I don’t think they’re going to buy it.’
‘Okay, fair point. How about I’m using the library to study?’
‘That’s far more believable.’
‘Cool, wish me luck,’ I said, grabbing some books.
‘Hang on a sec, you didn’t tell me what you did.’
I sighed. ‘Ballantine and I were late to detention. Mr Hooper’s teaching us a lesson on punctuality.’
Amanda cocked her eyebrow. ‘You and Ballantine, huh? Quite the partners in crime.’
Oh God, no I didn’t want her to look at me like that, to read something into it. I could barely meet her eyes as it was.
‘I’m going to have to get you to stop hanging out with him; he’s a bad influence on you.’
I smiled weakly, turning to head towards my ominous after-school detention, thinking, If only she knew.
‘Well, if
Ballantine drove in, at least get him to drop you home,’ Amanda called after me.
‘I’ll be right, I’ll just walk.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, he has to go that way anyway.’
I paused by the locker room door, confused.
Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Trust me, you wouldn’t be putting him out, he lives around the corner from us.’
For the second time that day I stood in stunned silence.
‘Around the corner?’
Amanda shrugged. ‘On Sherwin Drive. You can literally rock his roof from our balcony.’
Ballantine had been this close all along and I had no idea. I’d just assumed that a delinquent troublemaker would live on the wrong side of town, that he was tortured in some way and was therefore rebelling against the clutches of civilised society; and yet, here he was. Poor little rich boy with a concrete driveway and an automatic garage door.
‘Promise you’ll get a lift, it’s too far to walk,’ said Amanda, the light of genuine concern in her bloodshot eyes.
‘Sure,’ I said sweetly. ‘After all, it’s the neighbourly thing to do, right?’
Amanda looked at me with guarded interest as if she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason behind my crazy eyes. Had she been feeling one hundred per cent she probably would’ve quizzed me, but she didn’t, and I took the opportunity to make a run for it.
‘See you later,’ I said quickly, spinning on my heel with a new determination and a clear-cut thought.
I did not want to be late!
•
After-school detention seemed a lot more casual. I had guessed as much the moment I walked into the classroom and spotted Ballantine lying on a tabletop, hands casually clasped over his stomach, eyes closed as if he was in a meditative state. My eyes shifted to the vacant teacher’s desk, wondering what the penalty for a late teacher would be.
I slowly and quietly made my way to stand beside Ballantine, staring down on his rested face, his dark hair in its usual tousled mess. I desperately wanted to reach out and brush a curl from his forehead but thought better of it. He looked so peaceful, so serene, hardly the appearance of someone who was hanging out in detention or worried about some teacher walking through the door at any second. I took the uninterrupted moment to look at Ballantine – really look at him. He seemed so young, like a little angel who could do no wrong. You would never guess that he was actually the devil. And then of course one eye opened, and he caught me standing there gawking at him. An infuriating smirk pinched the corner of his mouth. I wanted to push him off the table and might have done so if he hadn’t interrupted my thoughts.
‘Anyone tell you it’s rude to stare?’ he said, closing his eye again and folding his hands behind his head.
My brow curved incredulously. ‘Social etiquette? I hardly think you’re an authority on the subject.’
Ballantine’s smile broadened across his face. ‘Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty.’
I sighed. He was so bloody confusing. He had gone from flirting, to silent, to a smart-arse again. Moving across to the middle table and taking my seat, I said, ‘I wouldn’t get too comfy if I were you, Mr Hooper can’t be too far away.’
Ballantine sat upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. ‘You think this is my first stint in after-school detention?’ He shook his head. ‘Ye of little faith.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it’s not, but if you want to be in a state of perpetual detention, go for it.’
Ballantine laughed. ‘Perpetual detention? You’re a Gilmore girl through and through, aren’t you?’
‘And you’re a Kirkland meathead,’ I snapped, hating how I was letting him bait me, hating how right he was in pointing out how nerdy I truly was.
Instead of taking offence, Ballantine appeared to be openly delighted about me snapping back, raising his brows in intrigue. ‘Wow, kitty got claws.’
I sighed, canting my head at him. ‘Please shut up.’
‘Shut up?’
‘Yes, shut up.’
‘You want me to stop?’
‘Yes, just stop.’
‘That’s not what you said last night.’
My eyes snapped up. I could barely contain my anger. My frustration was palpable and he bloody knew it. If this was some kind of cute game he was playing then it was wearing very thin. My eyes flicked impatiently to the door, willing Mr Hooper to step inside and force silence upon us. Ballantine followed my eyeline.
‘He’s not coming.’
‘What?’
‘They’re not as vigilant after school as they are during lunchtime. Trust me, that’s a good thing.’
At this point in time, stranded in a class with Ballantine and no supervision, I wasn’t so sure about that. I straightened my spine. ‘So how long are we expected to be here for? Seeing as you’re the expert.’
Ballantine rolled his shoulder in a devil-may-care shrug. ‘Halfer? I take the cleaner coming in lifting chairs up as a sign that God wants us to move on.’
My eyes flicked over Ballantine; a small smile tugged my lips as I took in the boy before me. Now I no longer saw the wrong-side-of-the-tracks, hard-done-by misfit. No, now I took in the white, crisp, ironed shirt, his dark cargo shorts, and navy Converse shoes. Definitely a well-kept rich kid from the coastal suburbs, probably a mummy’s boy, too.
He looked back at me, matching my stare. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, you just don’t strike me as the religious type, is all.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s safe to say I moved heaven and earth last night.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh puh-lease! Spare me the caveman innuendo. You don’t have to big note, there is no-one here to listen.’
‘You’re here,’ he said, a devious sparkle in his eyes, causing heat to flush my cheeks.
‘So, you don’t have to relive the moment with smart-arse insinuations. Save it for your mates,’ I scoffed, knowing that he had probably already relayed the mortifying details of last night. It was no doubt a rite of passage for most girls to at least be humiliated in some way, with nothing being sacred, not even late-night fumblings with a hot boy, but I had desperately wanted to relay the news to Amanda myself. I know I was all about experiencing things I had never done before, but somehow being the butt of the Kirkland boys’ jokes at the bus shelter was not one of the experiences I was after.
I could feel myself getting angry thinking back to the way I had felt the night before: from sky-high elation and disbelief that a sex-god surfer had kissed me, wanted me, when he could have chosen anyone in this school and the next; to the embarrassing humiliation of nearly being caught, then blatantly cast off. Yet, he could have forced one of his mates to accompany him to knock on Lucy Fell’s window, but instead he chose to tag along with Boon. Probably as a way of distracting the mousy cousin while Boon wooed her cousin. Oh shit. The thought slammed into me; the very foundation of the prospect twisting my gut in a way that made it hard to breathe. Ballantine must have noticed the workings of my mind, his interest showing as he watched me in stony silence.
‘Was I the decoy?’
‘What?’ he asked quickly.
‘You know, the girl you had to distract while your mate hooked up with her friend.’
Or cousin.
Ballantine looked genuinely shocked. ‘Where did you get that idea?’
I read it in a Cleo magazine, but I wasn’t about to reveal my sources. I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to look him dead in the eyes. ‘Was I?’
Ballantine obviously didn’t like what he was hearing, he looked so mad I almost broke eye contact. But I didn’t. No matter how much I wanted to. Instead, I lifted my chin, challenging his stare yet dreading the answer.
Ballantine shook his head, lifted himself off the table, and headed for the door. ‘I’m out of here,’ he scoffed.
I stared incredulously at his retreating back. ‘Coward.’ I said the word mainly to myself, but Ballantine had most certainly heard me;
I knew that the second he paused, turned towards me, and shot death-ray beams at me.
I swallowed, almost wanting to slide under my desk at such a look. Then he stalked his way, in a long, determined line towards me, rested his knuckles on the surface leaning over, and looked down at me with a wicked spark in his eyes.
‘Coward?’ he repeated.
My eyes burned into his. ‘You heard me,’ I said coolly. ‘Avoid the question if you want, I know the truth.’ I looked away, feigning boredom when all I really wanted was to disguise the raw emotions I felt – the hurt.
My moment of interest in my textbook was cut short by sudden and unexpected laughter from Ballantine. My eyes flicked up, troubled as I took in the mad man before me, trying not to be wooed by that bloody heartbreaking dimple that flashed as he laughed.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You want to know the truth?’ he asked.
I didn’t respond, I couldn’t. Who wanted to know it? I sure didn’t.
All humour fell away from Ballantine, disappearing as quickly as the laughter had come. He leant forward, lowering himself to lean on his elbows, yet maintaining his intimidating stance. ‘The truth is, if I’m with a girl, in the sea, in the car, in a bed or on a beach,’ he said, a wicked grin flashing, ‘it’s because I choose to be. Trust me, Lex, if my hands are on you, or inside you, it’s because I want them to be.’
‘But you could be with anyone.’ The words tumbled from my mouth without thinking, and I wanted to slap myself for letting them out. They hung between us in the awkward silence, a long, lingering silence until he spoke.
‘And, Lex? I wanted you.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
My head was spinning.
I could almost feel it rotating three-sixty degrees on my shoulders while my mind screamed: HOLY SHIT!
There was nothing to be said, no time to do anything other than openly gape at him and observe his devilish smirk. He had meant it. I knew beyond all else that he had. And even if he didn’t, it meant little right at that moment because he had delivered his words with such conviction. The directness of them sparked the same fire inside me . . . and the smug bastard knew as much. It was infuriating, and so very, very hot.