Book of Dark #1: Always Stand Up
Page 8
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“But it’s so unfair!”
The outburst almost made Tristan drop his sandwich.
Mr. Tristan Green, or ‘Greenster’ as Keane liked to call him, was Keane’s favorite teacher. They were sitting in the bleachers which overlooked the football field and the outdoor basketball courts at the rear of the school grounds, and had been watching students shoot hoops while having their lunch in silence. Before Keane’s abrupt eruption had interrupted the peace, that is.
“Keane, have we not just been through this?” asked Tristan, whose tone was soothing despite the stern words.
“But, a month of detention?” Keane asked, determined to finish the rant he’d restarted. “I mean, I’m the one with the bleeding nose here!”
The calming vision of the new girl had long since faded and sitting in classrooms all day mulling over the events of that morning had only allowed his anger to build again.
It wasn’t so much that Mr. Smith had more than quadrupled Grouchina’s punishment by giving him and Brok a whole month of detention. That bit was actually entirely unsurprising given the Red Face of Multiplication Mr. Smith had flashed them beforehand. No, what had really been getting to Keane was that no one else wanted to see just how flawed the system really was.
“Life is not usually fair, Keane,” said Tristan, returning to his sandwich.
Keane stared at his sandwich defiantly. It was clear that no one, not even Greenster, was going to get it. The last thing Keane needed right now was another lecture on life and its unfairness. He was an orphan; his own experiences had only too readily exemplified exactly how unfair life could be.
But he couldn’t afford to alienate the one and only faculty member who actually seemed to care about him.
“Well, then, that just sucks,” he said quietly, taking a bite.
“You know, you could go some way toward rectifying the situation. Perhaps if you got serious about school work…”
Keane didn’t reply, electing to stare blankly ahead lest his anger return, but Tristan seemed to mistake his silence for lack of comprehension.
“I’m talking about possibly working toward bringing up your grades…”
Keane snapped. “Look, I’m trying, okay? And trying hard!” Keane threw his hands into the air, spraying the bleachers with breadcrumbs. “But it’s hard to try hard!”
There was so much wrong with that sentence that Tristan turned to Keane with half a mind to correct him, but then let it slide, almost purely, Keane suspected, out of pity.
They continued to eat in silence for a while.
One of the older boys on the court sunk a basket. “Nice one, Derek,” Tristan called out.
The teacher sported a crewcut and had a scar over his left eye. Keane often joked that that’s what happened when you lost a fight to a gerbil. In fact, the animal in question shrunk in size with every retelling. Of course, even Keane was smart enough to know that whatever creature had inflicted a gash that deep had to have been bigger—much bigger.
Despite being one of the youngest-looking faculty members of John Atkins High, Tristan had weary, old eyes that looked like they’d seen things. Terrible things. He also possessed the odd, Zen-like calm of an ancient monk, and students would often catch glimpses of him meditating at his desk during recess. Mostly, though, he taught chemistry.
Tristan studied his sandwich for a few moments before he turned to Keane.
“Er, can I ask you something?” he asked, gingerly.
“Oh, really, Greenster?” asked Keane, raising his eyebrows. “You’re gonna ask me for advice now?”
When they’d first met, Keane had been suspicious of Tristan’s helpfulness; in his experience, no one was ever nice to little orphans without ulterior motives. Over the years, though, the advice Tristan had dispensed—from tips on handling homework, to juggling Orphanage rotas, to keeping Grouchina at bay, and generally avoiding trouble, both at school and outside—had proved to be indispensable. The man was so full of wisdom that Keane had come to assume there was nothing he didn’t know, which is why it was ludicrous that the teacher now had a question for him. But, in the end, curiosity got the better of him.
“Sure,” he said, with a shrug, “Fire away.”
“Have you heard any of the students talking about any, er… ‘odd’ occurrences that they might have seen today?” Tristan was choosing his words very carefully. “Has anyone mentioned anything strange happening around school?”
The question caught Keane by surprise. “Me? Strange? No,” he blurted, suddenly guarded. Mindful that he may have replied a little too quickly, which he knew to be a sure sign of guilt, he added, “I mean, what exactly do you mean by ‘strange’?”
“Oh, you know. Anything unusual. Out of the ordinary. Bizarre…” Tristan was now looking straight at Keane, who held his breath as the teacher drew in closer and whispered, “Supernatural, even?”
“Nothing. Nope. Not-a-one. Nuh-uh. Why? You hearded something—heard? What did you hear…? Something?”
Keane cursed himself. These word vomit bursts always made him look guilty, even when he wasn’t. Of course, in this instance he couldn’t exactly say that he was innocent, what with the strange dream, and the glowing hands, and the subsequent fight with Randy. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to stop babbling like that going forward, and tried hard to look normal for Tristan and his over-attentive eye.
“Never mind,” the teacher sighed, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.
Then, Keane grew suspicious; Greenster, who knew him best of all the teachers, asking him about supernatural occurrences on the very day his powers had reactivated started to seem like a bit too much to be mere coincidence. Even Selfie Girl and her paparazzi colleagues who’d actually been present at the fight (and, Keane noted bitterly, had already uploaded the pictures they’d taken) had completely missed the green sparks from earlier.
Was Greenster on to him? Could this seemingly innocent teacher, now quietly nibbling on his ham and cheese, know more than he let on? Could he know about the strange forest, or the grimy ball of electricity, or the supernatural warriors, or even the dragon?
Keane noticed that Tristan was now watching him just as intently. For a moment, the two of them sat motionless, each unblinkingly scrutinizing the other, each attempting to peer into the evasive depth of the other’s mind.
Then they shook their heads and turned away.
Keane laughed at himself as he realized how absurd these thoughts were.
Deciding to dismiss them, he turned back to watch the basketball players. He noticed that Tristan did the same. And together, student and teacher carried on eating their sandwiches in silence.