by I N Foggarty
Matt’s shoulders visibly sighed. “Anna won’t kill me, Dylan,” he said before turning around. “I’ll go talk to her and straighten things out.”
Though Matt gave him a smile, Dylan could tell that his friend laid some of the blame at his feet. Granted it was justified. In fact, scratch that, the whole thing had been his fault. However, Matt did not need, nor should be encouraged, to see it that way. Before Dylan could reply Matt then added, “anyway I’d better go find her. See you at lunch.”
“Be seeing you in lunch,” Dylan replied as he watched Matt leave. Deciding it unwise to linger in the devil's domain, he transcended the same path to freedom.
Outside the classroom, the hallway that housed the English department had become so crowded that there was barely room for anyone to breathe let alone move. Like so many fish in a trawler net, none that were not near the edge would likely escape. For Matt’s sake that would probably be for the best, Dylan mused. He himself had put Anna in a bad enough mood that morning already. Add to that the payload Steven’s had just dumped on top of her and the chances of homicide had probably doubled.
“So, did the condemned have a last request?” Dylan jumped at the sound of the stoic voice from beside him.
He turned and looked the speaker up and down. Taller and broader than most of their year group with short black hair and fierce dark eyes, Mark Hamilton was an imposing sight to behold. A leather jacket and absurdly large biker boots completed the dictionary definition of tough guy. All that augmented by a pair of ripped blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt that proclaimed his liking for something to do with birds and bodily noises; a space-rock band supposedly.
“Just the usual,” Dylan replied, trying to hide the fact that he had once again been startled by his much larger friend. How Mark managed to be that stealthy was beyond him. “That we eat a double cheeseburger and fries with soda in his memory at lunch.”
“That’s your lunch order, Duffus,” a third voice spat harshly.
“Nice to see you too, Nat,” Dylan sniggered. “Please feel free to interrupt my private conversation with Mark.”
The girl, known to most as Natalie, gave him a scowl. “How can you stand there and think about your stomach, when your so-called best friend is out there being slaughtered by that bitch?”
Dylan gave her a speculative look. Today she wore a long-sleeved white top, a short camel coloured skirt that came halfway down her light blue leggings to just above her knee and calf high boots. She’d tied a blue scarf around her neck in a mix of what Dylan could only imagine was either a weird attempt to match Anna’s bandanna or Penelope Pitstop from Wacky Races meets Daphne from Scooby-Doo.
Fashion sense aside why Matt had ever chosen Anna over Natalie he could not fathom. Hell, he might have gone after her himself if the brunet had not been so besotted with his best friend. Though the potentially high maintenance costs were also a factor.
“Because he might have to contemplate the healthy option if Matt doesn’t show,” Mark offered with a grin.
The scowl on Natalie’s face became more twisted and Dylan contemplated stepping sideways to try and distance himself from the potential fallout that would come from the other boy’s direction. Although nowhere near Anna scary, Natalie had bitten his head off on more than one occasion and he would rather not get caught in the blast of her wrath for no good reason. Though against the hulking form of Mark, a dirty look would probably be the best she could muster.
“That’s NOT funny, Mark!” Natalie said hotly. Angrily she swung her shoulder bag in the direction of the broad-shouldered teen. Apparently, he had misjudged the situation, Dylan thought. Facial expressions weren’t her only weap…
“Owww!” Dylan yelled as Mark deftly dodged the bulky blue bag and it came flying round into his right arm. “That hurt, Nat.”
It hadn’t really, of course. Females were inherently weak after all. Besides the bag had lost most of its momentum after it had missed Mark and not been swung with enough force behind it to do any lasting damage; regardless... “Sorry dude,” Mark said unapologetically as he punched Dylan in the exact same spot where the offending weapon had hit moments prior, probably for good measure.
“Damn it, Mark. That hurt too.”
“Oh grow up, Dylan,” Natalie said irritably. “Instead of licking your wounds you should be feeling sorry for Matt who at this very moment is probably…like… being murdered.”
“I somehow doubt that he will actually be physically killed,” Mark interjected. “Although standing up one's girlfriend is a serious offence, I doubt even Anna would risk spending the rest of her life in orange for just that. Psychological murder maybe but even then I’m sure they’ll have worked things out by the end of the week.”
A joke Dylan thought, running the comment through his Mark humour detector. Or at least he was ninety-nine percent positive… this time. He always seemed to have that problem when it came to Mark and his indifferent tone. On many an occasion, he had misread the meaning of his words and wound up being the butt of some witty remark.
“They always work it out!” Natalie retorted harshly.
It had been no secret to Dylan that Natalie had been crushing on Matt since they first set foot through Woodlake’s heavy front doors; if not before. However, Anna had underhandedly stolen him from her and so the poor girl had kept her feelings bottled up for two whole years. It was unhealthy to bottle up one's feelings Dylan had decided. Therefore it would be in everyone’s best interests that he found a way to remove that particular cork. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, Anna and Matt always seemed to work things out in the end. The apparent strength of their relationship could be sickening at times.
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Natalie?” Mark asked quietly, his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze fixed out into the sea of students, away from the girl.
“I’m not Jealous, Mark. I just think she’s bad for him.” Natalie’s face seethed with rage. “I just want him to see I know what’s best for him and she isn’t it. Besides, I know you all agree with me.”
She glared at Mark then Dylan, the latter’s eyes followed her gaze as she rounded it on a third person, so far happily ignored in the course of the conversation.
“Hey now, whoa… leave Kitty and me out of this,” Dylan said putting an arm around a small mousy haired girl and pulling her in towards him. “I’ve already taken my daily pounding from Anna and don’t want her to associate me with such mutinous talk if it reaches her stupidly sensitive ears.”
“Anna’s always been nice to me,” the girl, who normally went by Kitty, squeaked from beside him. She shifted slightly as if the close proximity of Dylan’s body chaffed on her personal space. Which, if her expression gave any sort of testimonial, it in actual fact did.
The girl’s real name wasn’t actually Kitty. However, they and the collective mass of students at Woodlake had always referred to her by it; even most of the teachers called her that. In fact, come to think of it Dylan couldn’t quite remember when the last time he had heard the girl’s actual forename being used… what was it again?
“Just keep telling yourself that, Nat and maybe someday you’ll believe it.” Dylan glanced up and saw the corners of Mark’s lips curve ever so slightly. Definitely humour this time he thought; no doubt about it. The guy was doing this on purpose now.
“Urgh. Why can’t any of you see how much of a bitch she really is? She’s rude, clearly has no care about her appearance or the impression she gives with how she dresses. It’s like she just sleeps in her clothes, rolls out of bed and turns up for school when she can be bothered. Her grades suck, she smells weird and it’ll rub off on Matt. He won’t get a good scholarship or anything if he’s associated with THAT!” She paused, slightly breathless from her outburst and tried to collect herself. “I mean come on isn’t it obvious that Matt’s going to get seriously hurt by her? Why aren’t you saying something?” she demanded.
“Probably because Anna’s already torn
Dylan’s balls off and despite the ‘smell’ Kitty and I actually like her,” Mark replied again not looking at Natalie.
“Hey my balls are just fine, thank you very much,” Dylan replied hotly, inadvertently squeezing the girl he still had clung to his side tighter.
“Dylan…you’re…squeezing…too…tight…” Kitty squeaked, almost apologetically for having interrupted him.
“Of course they are. Anna’s taking very good care of them and will give them back to you once you stop acting like a moron.” The smug look on Mark’s face made Dylan want to punch him. However, he thought better of it. Doing so would no doubt only break his own knuckles.
A small chuckle escaped from behind Mark’s lips and Dylan swore internally; Bastard. He’d fallen for it yet again. With one tiny jab, his so-called friend had set him on the defensive and then blown him over with a knockout blow…. Rookie mistake.
Before he even had the chance to get back on his feet, Mark cleared his throat and removing his hands from his pockets landed a metaphorical final blow. “Besides, oh dense and hammy fisted one if I were you I’d loosen up the tension and let Kitty go or her skins going to be bluer than her eyes. Then it’ll be you wearing orange for the rest of your days.”
Dylan turned sharply and realised that he still held the girl close to his side. Instinctively he released his grip and watched her suck in a mouthful of air, casting Mark a grateful look, which was acknowledged with the slightest nod of his head. She smiled sheepishly at Dylan with an ‘I tried to tell you’ look. He had completely forgotten about her. Turning back to face Mark he opened his mouth to try and respond, to claw back some shred of dignity but was quickly cut off.
“Oh, MY GOD! Fine!” Natalie yelled at the two boys. “Worry more about your own balls and your own stupid selves than your so-called friend. But don’t either of you dare look surprised when he shows up at lunch and we have to pick up the pieces of his twisted broken heart and soul!” She took a shaky breath as they stared at her, then her bottom lip trembled. Without another word she turned on her heel and stormed off down the hallway.
“She forgets you’ll see him in phys-ed next period,” Dylan said offhandedly to Mark, hoping the observation might salvage the conversation.
“She also forgets that Anna didn’t steal Matt from her. She had ample opportunity to ask him out before Anna even showed up.”
“I think they’re cute together,” Kitty said in a whispered tone that almost got drowned out by the background chit-chatter.
“Don’t let Nat hear you say that,” Dylan and Mark warned almost simultaneously.
As they spoke both boys closed in to block the small girl from the view of the hallway down which Natalie had stormed, just in case the brunette might somehow overhear and come back to maul her. Catching a glimpse of his wristwatch Dylan sighed. “We should probably head off to class.”
“You’re being overly cautious today. Have another run-in with the housekeeper?”
“Old witch almost had me this time,” he sniggered, recalling the brief glimpse he had caught of the woman’s face when he had thrown the vase into the air. “Luckily she had her hands full with something else and I managed to make an escape.”
“I’m sure she means well.” Kitty’s remark made Dylan want to pat her on the shoulder for her naivety. He always felt sorry that the poor girl held delusions about everyone being a good person deep down inside. Perhaps someday he would be able to help her realise that Mrs Mardle, Anna and many other people in the world were ultimately evil to the core. That day would not be today though as the bell to signal the end of morning break sounded.
With an unspoken agreement to meet up for lunch, like they always did, the remaining members of the group went their separate ways towards their next classes. For Dylan, it was double Chemistry. Time to blow something up before lunch. At the thought of food, his stomach growled angrily like a ravenous wolf. It’s not my fault he tried to tell it as he made his way down the hallway; his stomach disagreed.
By the time he drifted through the doorway of the chemistry class, he had made up his mind. Double cheeseburger with extra fries for lunch. Unless of course, Matt failed to show up… in which case it might be best to steer clear of anything that contained meat.
Social Protocol
The hallways of Woodlake Academy were long, spacious and painted in the sort of neutral colours that highlighted the school as a modern, progressive institute that took itself very seriously. No shred of space was used needlessly. Each and every one of the many posters either conveyed information, dictated a rule or advertised one of the school's many clubs. And all were perfectly squared and properly affixed with tack. Classroom doors were appropriately staggered and lockers located only at appropriate points. Congestion should have been a non-issue. Yet somehow each and every time the traditional metal bells echoed throughout the building the hallways became a minefield of trouble for anyone wishing to traverse them rapidly.
Dodging past a group of Jocks with only a slight nod of his head, Matt cut straight through the middle of a gaggle of chattering cheerleaders. Emerging on the other side he had to immediately spin around a walking stack of books before ducking underneath an outstretched coffee cup. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he could be quite agile. However, when chasing the slippery red-haired teen it failed to be enough. For Anna was the sort of person for whom crowds just seemed to part.
“Anna!” Matt yelled. He dodged the protruding handle of some sort of racquet from an unknown girl’s bag. Damn it, she had turned a corner without even giving him a first glance let alone a second.
As the assembled student body closed in around him, cutting off his escape routes Matt cursed internally. How on earth does she do that? Both awe and annoyance filled him at the thought. Either she hadn’t heard him, had deliberately chosen to avoid him, or the inhabitants of Woodlake were actually trying their utmost to stave off his execution until lunchtime. Perhaps, like Dylan had suggested, they too feared finding bits of him in their meals.
Reaching the end of the hallway he turned right and caught his first real slice of luck since the sun had come up; Anna had entered an empty stairwell. Taking the stairs three at a time Matt burst out into what must surely have, at this time of day, been the only empty hallway in the whole school. Pure coincidence? Or had the rest of the staff and student body scarpered when Anna had made her stand. Like an old west gunfighter, she stood halfway along the hallway with her back to the stairs. He realised then it was no chance encounter, she had led him here, then stopped and waited for him to catch up. Either wanting to ensure some privacy or to spare the bystanders from both the spectacle and the bloodbath. He was about to find out which.
“Anna…” his word hung in the air between them as he waited for some sort of response. For every second that she remained silent, the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck straightened further.
“Do you know what day it was on Saturday?” Anna’s words were soft and lacking the cutting edge that Matt had anticipated. However, for some reason, his brain chose to ignore this observation and blurted out a reply.
“Umm…Saturday?” he blinked stupidly.
“Maybe I should have been more specific and asked you what date it was.” Anna had still not turned around. With trepidation, Matt raised one foot. “The eleventh. Not that it really matters now.” His foot hung in the air much like Anna’s words. What had been so special about the eleventh? Hastily Matt cycled through important dates in his head, ruling out her birthday, April seventeenth, his own and their anniversary on December eighteenth.
“If you’re done cycling through dates you can put your foot down.”
The sole of Matt’s trainer clumsily met the well-polished floor and he realised that it had remained frozen mid-step. Shifting his body weight in order to maintain his balance his eyes fixed themselves on the back of Anna’s crimson hair. Four weeks ago he had been stumped on what to buy her for a birthday present so he had asked her what
she would like. Of all the responses she could have given red hair had not been one he would ever have expected. Then again such unpredictability played a part in why he loved her. Like right now for instance. By this point, the flayed remains of his carcass should have been on their way down to the kitchens.
“Three years ago last Saturday, you decided to dedicate yourself to making the ice hockey team,” Anna said softly, barely a breath, she sounded tired.
Matt’s face fell, realisation hitting him in the gut as though she had punched him, and he had seen first-hand what one of her punches could do.
“You’ve come a long way since then. Not only did you make the team but you’re now captain. I thought you might have wanted to celebrate.”
Anna’s tone held a deep sadness that made Matt wish that she had actually punched him. Or shouted at him, shouting would have been better. Though focusing solely on his role in events, the brief history lesson did enough to remind Matt of the whole story. The day in question three years ago had also been the day on which the pair had first spoken to each other in almost six years.
It had been by pure coincidence that Anna had been in earshot while he laid out his plans for after finals. However, it had been her that had initiated the conversation that would ultimately change his life. After he had received a mixture of well-meant comments of backing from Natalie and urging from Dylan to forget the whole thing and join his newly formed deathmatch squad, Anna’s voice had cut through both and offered him actual help.
As the memory of the event washed over him, like being doused with a water bottle full of guilt, any thoughts of making an excuse or trying to rationalise his mistake died and turned to ash in his mouth. Though she would never admit it, he could tell by her tone that in some way Anna felt hurt. To think he had spent the entire morning feeling sorry for himself and his fate… Never once did he contemplate that she might actually be upset, not angry.