All the more thankful that New Haven’s curriculum was a bit behind schedule from my former school, I silently rejoiced in the fact that I had already read the book sophomore year.
“Instead, each day we will all discuss our opinions on the portion assigned the night before and the book in its entirety,” said Miss Tipton, opening up a cabinet door where dozens of paperbacks sat neatly stacked inside.
She continued with our lesson plan after handing out the novels. We were given a chance at the end of class to start quietly working on our homework, which naturally brought a hushed chorus of mingling whispers from gossipy classmates.
“Hey, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but could you tell me where the biology lab is?”
I looked up from my book, whose contents I was in fact only pretending to read, to see Jackson Matthews looking right back at me with a crooked grin under a surprisingly friendly stare.
“The office gave me a photocopied map of the school, but you can’t really read it,” he said, showing me the paper full of indistinguishable black splotches of what was supposed to pass as writing labeled across a vague blueprint.
“Yeah, I got that my first day too,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they’re still using the same printer they bought back in the ’60s.”
“You’re new here, too?”
“Fairly. I transferred before the new school year. You’re gonna want to head upstairs to the east wing,” I said, pointing to the map. “The lab’s right on the corner of the hall.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeesh...” I said, taking notice to his schedule. “You’ve got P.E. right after Bio. That’s not good.”
He looked at me rather bemusedly. “I’m sorry? Is that like taboo or something? Cause you say that like it’s swimming after eating.”
“No,” I laughed. “It’s just that they’re at two totally opposite sides of the school, and Mr. Rothenberg, the biology teacher, really gets longwinded and loves to hear himself speak. So word from the wise, try to get out of the classroom as quickly as you can upon dismissal. Otherwise, he’ll force you to stay so he can gab your ear off, and then release you with no time at all to get to your next class. And he never gives out hall passes. Since you’re new, I’m gonna bet he’ll ask you to stay after class just to give you one of his speeches.”
“So you’re saying I’m doomed no matter what? Very comforting,” he replied, his grin growing thicker across his face.
“That’s the fortunate thing about being new. You can always just use the excuse that you got lost. It works for at least the first few days.”
“Any other pointers?”
“Try sitting in the middle of the rows during Math, preferably close to the sides. Mr. Hopkins calls on students randomly who are sitting in his ‘hot-zones,’ which means the people directly in the front and the troublemakers tucked away in back who are trying to go unnoticed. Here, raise your hand every so often, so that Miss Tipton knows you’re at least paying attention. This way, on the days when you’re not, she’ll take it fairly easy on you. P.E. is pretty self-explanatory. Just don’t try to show off too much at first, like when running your first clocked mile. You’ll be expected to beat that time at the end of the semester in order to get a passing grade, so everyone takes it rather lackadaisically the first time around. And Study Hall, don’t chew gum. Mr. Randall despises it. Other than that, you’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He extended his hand to me. “Jack.”
“I caught that,” I said, shaking his hand just as the bell rang for dismissal. I grabbed my books and slid out of my seat.
Jack remained at his desk, looking up at me with a curious grin. “Do I get a name?”
“Good luck in Bio,” I replied. “Better get a move on. You’ve got a long ways to go to the east wing.”
The brush-off could very well have come off as poor manners, but the inexplicable desire to give him a sportive grin upon my departure secured a certain flirtation, leaving me purely dumbfounded by such an uncommon action. I was more likely to get an acceptance letter from Hogwarts than be caught dabbling in the art of seduction. Maybe I was ill. Flu? Food poisoning? Host to an alien parasite, perhaps? Whatever it was, I had to admit, I sort of enjoyed stepping outside of my introverted mindset.
I managed to dodge Gwen between the ten minute break, but that didn’t save me from her interrogation the moment I walked into the gymnasium for P.E. following Trigonometry.
She practically tackled me with her eagerness bursting from the seams. “Tell me everything! What’s he like? Is he really hot, or was Trish just pulling my leg? Spill!”
“I will, the moment you decide to take a breath.”
“Sorry,” she said, trying to calmly inhale. “I’m just dying to know.”
“As far as looks go, you can see for yourself,” I said, spinning her around.
“In the name of all that is holy!” Gwen blurted, watching Jack saunter in from the other side of the gym just as the attendance bell sounded off.
“Girls, start getting ready,” called out Coach Whitmore, donned in his usual windbreaker apparel.
“Excuse me for savoring the sweet flavor of some adorable eye candy,” whispered Gwen as he turned his back to us.
“Well, the faster you get changed, the sooner you can come out and gawk,” I said, pulling her into the locker room.
Gwen made sure to apply a fresh layer of lip gloss before reentering the gymnasium with her usual workout uniform that was just a bit too tight to be comfortable, while I wore a fitted (but breathable) purple, school-issued New Haven Knights athletic shirt and black track pants. We parked ourselves seats in the bleachers as Gwen waited in anticipation for Jack to emerge from the locker room as well.
“Is this the only time all day that you vaguely resemble anything normal?” Gwen asked Ian as he came up to join us, giving a quick once-over at his clothes.
“If you mean ‘vaguely resembling the mandatory implementation of becoming an archetype during the duration of gym class,’ then yes,” he replied, looking down at his outfit.
Even with Coach Whitmore’s strict dress code in place, Ian still managed to hold onto his rebellious style with his endless collection of defiantly catch-phrased t-shirts. Today’s read: “WHEN DID THE VILLAGE CHANGE ITS RULE? BECAUSE I SEE IDIOTS EVERYWHERE!” Coach wasn’t particularly pleased with his sense of expression, but since Ian was a good student and wasn’t technically breaking the dress code, he cut him some slack.
When Ian parked a seat beside me, he picked a pencil off the floor of the bleachers. “Wanna see a trick?”
“Absolutely,” I said, always eager to see what he had up his sleeves for a sense of entertainment.
“You’re not gonna stab someone, right?” said Gwen.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” laughed Ian.
“Pity.”
He put his left hand out flat in front of him with the inside facing upward. He then took the tip of the pencil and placed it in the center of his palm, releasing his grip on it to have it balance in place on its own.
“Okay, this is already creepy,” commented Gwen.
“Ready?” he said, resting the palm of his other hand firmly over the top of the pencil. He suddenly drove his right hand down, and Gwen and I jumped, expecting to see a pencil drive through the middle of his left palm. But his hands clapped together with the pencil nowhere in sight.
“What the hell?” I laughed, seeing him reach over to pull the pencil out from behind my ear on his opposing side. “How did you do that?”
He shrugged whimsically.
“And you wonder why people are afraid of you,” remarked Gwen.
“I love it,” I said. “It’s nice being stumped every now and again.”
“Look at that,” said Gwen, gaping at Jack the moment he stepped into the gym. “I’ve seen statues of Greek gods less perfect than him. And he’s coming this way!”
&nbs
p; “I take it that’s the new guy?” said Ian. “Not to mention Meyer’s future husband.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Gwen, seeing Jack’s eyes pinpointing me out.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said on arrival, looking up at me with his seductive grin.
“Indeed it is,” I replied. “I had my doubts you’d survive Mr. Rothenberg’s speeches.”
“As they say, ‘What doesn’t kill you... may still leave you perpetually bored.’ I did manage to escape nevertheless.”
Gwen bumped my arm, urging me into an introduction.
“This is Gwen,” I said, motioning to her, “and this is Ian. Guys, this is Jack.”
They all exchanged greetings, Gwen barely managing to compose herself as she shook his hand.
“So, Rumpelstiltskin, will I ever get the pleasure of knowing your name?” asked Jack, his stare penetrating straight through me with a surging endorphin rush.
“Cassie.”
“That short for Cassandra?”
I nodded.
“Beautiful name. Suits you.”
My nerves had already formed a knot in my stomach the size of a golf ball when I first saw him coming over to us, but talking with him left me feeling as if I had swallowed a softball. Being that I’ve always had a predisposition towards shyness around unfamiliar people, I had assumed I knew all there was to know about nerves. This, though, was not timidity. I wasn’t tongue-tied, just on edge. Like the dreadful, yet exhilarating rush you get when the cart of the rollercoaster stops at the top, leaving you in anticipation just before the drop.
Or perhaps the dread was really in seeing Stacy heading out of the locker room with her salacious gaze homing in on Jack like a cheetah preparing to take down an antelope.
“Well, what do we have here?” she said as she came over to his side, running her acrylic nailed fingertips down his shoulder to his sculpted bicep.
“Nothing that concerns you,” said Gwen.
“Don’t be rude in the presence of company. Very unbecoming of you,” Stacy said, giving Jack her free hand. “Stacy MacArthur. And might I say, as student body vice president and head varsity cheerleader, it is my duty to welcome all new students to New Haven High, and I take my duties very seriously. So if there’s anything, and I mean anything you need, I’m your go-to girl.”
My gag reflex was nearly tested as Jack smiled back all too pleasantly.
“Aren’t you an accommodating creature?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” she said, hooking her arm around his. “Please, let me introduce you to some of our more-worthwhile classmates.”
“I’ll see you guys later,” Jack said to us without so much as a glance back in our general direction.
“That was fun while it lasted,” I said after they were out of hearing distance, turning my attention to fixing my ponytail.
“Can you believe her?” Gwen hissed, watching Stacy put her hands all too generously on every part of Jack that she could. “Does she have any shame?”
“No, but that is that,” I said.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had already talked to him? You can tell he likes you,” said Gwen. “And I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to actually respond to him the same.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s got his hands full right now, and if not, then it’s only a matter of time before he does,” I replied, pointing to nearly every other girl in the gym whose fullest attention was centered on Jack.
“Come on, he can do better than Stacy MacArthur. Go over there and teach her a lesson,” said Gwen, pushing me forward.
“Sorry, but I really don’t feel like demeaning myself in the same way that Stacy has. If getting a guy’s attention means having to publicly play doctor with him, I’m gonna have to pass. I can do better than that.”
“Good for you,” said Ian. “It’s nice to see a girl with dignity around here.”
Gwen reached across me and slapped him in the shoulder. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re kidding, right? Everyone here resorts to throwing themselves at whoever their crush of the moment is with the slightest hope that their affections will be reciprocated.”
“Reciprocated? Who talks like that?” cracked Gwen.
“It’s called a vocabulary. Maybe if you picked up a real dictionary instead of one for text messaging acronyms, then maybe you could keep up,” Ian quipped.
“Ha-ha, why don’t you go tell that one to your girlfriend? Oh, wait, that’s right. You’ve never had one,” Gwen countered.
“Yeah, and that’s called having standards. Pardon me for not having any interest in being in a relationship with someone who's already been passed around through half of the guys in our class.”
“That’s sexist!” snapped Gwen.
“How?”
“Because, guys like you make women feel inferior. And that standard is complete horse pucky! If a man has countless partners, he’s honored with the distinguished label of ‘Casanova,’ but if a woman has even a quarter of those encounters, she’s immediately deemed as an ‘Untouchable.’”
“She’s got a point,” I interjected.
“Yeah, and if I was in your position, I wouldn’t give Casanova a second thought, either,” clarified Ian. “Sorry, but I don’t want to waste my time and affections in a relationship that has a shorter shelf life than sushi. Everybody’s in this fast-food nation mindset where they need immediate satisfaction, and when things hit a rough patch or just become boring, they simply pack up and move on in the hopes of finding something different that’s more fulfilling and exciting.”
“So I’m not allowed to test out the waters to see what agrees with me and what doesn’t?” asked Gwen, even more perturbed at his blatant offense aimed at people like herself. “Sometimes it takes trial and error.”
I leaned back so that I was resting against the row behind us, giving the two the opportunity to be face-to-face for their war of words, in the hopes that I wouldn’t be dragged in to settle the score. Oh, wishful thinking.
“Okay, Cassie, how many guys have you dated?” asked Gwen.
I shrugged.
“Seriously, how many?”
“I don’t know,” I said, seeing the answer would not suffice. “Two.”
“And did you get anything out of them?”
“Other than free dinners and trips to the theater?” I joked lightly.
“Exactly,” said Ian, eyeing me rather surreptitiously.
“What about Minnie?” suggested Gwen, turning to Ian. “She’s had her eye on you for some time now. What’s wrong with her?”
I couldn’t wait for his response. I immediately laughed. “Sorry, but... Minnie? Really?”
“What?”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “Can you honestly picture those two together?”
“Thank you,” said Ian, relieved. “Talk about as far from my type as humanly possible.”
“What? She’s cute... in a kind of, um, understated way,” Gwen replied.
I laughed again. Minnie wasn’t unattractive, but considering her exceptionally short and rather stout frame that garnered clothes similar to that of a bag lady’s, Ian would look like a ridiculously well-dressed beanpole beside her. “Gwen, I can assure you that matchmaking is not your forte.”
“Not to mention that Minnie’s a gossipmonger. That’s the last thing I need,” clarified Ian.
“She is not,” rebutted Gwen.
“Seriously?” I cracked. “She works with Trish and you for the school paper. The three of you together are a deadly combination of scandalous skills.”
“Yow, look at those muscles!” exclaimed Gwen suddenly, seeing Jeff Mundy shooting baskets at the free throw line in a fitted wife-beater shirt.
He looked our way and cast a smile at her as he took the next shot. Nothing by net.
“Damn, he’s fine,” she growled delightfully, taking in his firm, toned, towering build and messy, textured cropped blonde hair.<
br />
“I swear, she has the attention span of a hummingbird,” Ian laughed.
“I’ll be outside,” I said to Gwen as the locker room began to fill with a surplus of toxic perfume combinations.
I headed out into the gym and took a place by the main doors, seeing Ian exit from the locker room as well.
“Hey,” he said on arrival, “Coach Whitmore asked if he could speak with you. He said he’d be out in a minute.”
“Oh, great,” I deflated, shuffling back across the gym. “Now what?”
I took a seat at the bottom of the bleachers just outside the guys’ locker room, praying that Coach would make it fast. I had lunch next, and my stomach was growling.
“So what do you think of New Haven’s stock of chicks? Happy hunting grounds, or what?” echoed a voice from inside the locker room. It was Luke Briar, a total hothead and lady-hunter.
“I don’t think our man here has to do any hunting himself. Seems dinner and dessert have served themselves. Watch out for Stacy though. She’s a total man-eater,” said another, who I assumed was his friend, Nate.
“Since when was no-strings attached ever a bad thing? She’s hot.”
“No way in hell she gives it for free. She’ll have you on your knees begging for mercy by the time she cuts you loose. Remember Ken Higgins? That poor guy hasn’t recovered from her wrath, and it’s been a year.”
“What about Cassie?” asked another voice.
I immediately recognized it. Jack.
“Foster?” laughed Luke. “You’re really barkin’ up the wrong tree there, Matthews.”
“Seriously? Like playing-for-the-other-team wrong?”
“Nah, but no one here has had any luck with her.”
“Doesn’t look much like a prig to me,” replied Jack.
“Good luck with that then,” said Nate. “It’s still a wonder how the hell Callaghan got with that.”
“What? The magician? Are they a thing?”
“Who knows? My guess, probably not. But they’re pretty chummy.”
“No way she’s with him. Cassie’s more spirited than she may seem. Give it time,” said Jack. “She’s a tease if anything, which is always more promising than a pure prude.”
Divine Vices Page 3