day for the rest of the week. I walked through the corridors dragging my feet and sighing with each step, the very same thing I found myself doing as I handed over my pink slip to Mr Anderson, the head of the Drama department. He had kind hazel eyes and a salt-and-pepper goatee. He also referred to me by my first name, which made me instantly like him.
‘Take a seat, Lexie. You got stuff to do?’
‘Yeah, some English,’ I said, making my way to the back row, before stopping mid-aisle.
Yeah, that didn’t end so well for me last time.
I about-faced and headed for a middle row near the window. From now on I was going to be a stellar student. I sat down, lifting my chin and straightening my spine. No more crazy, whacky antics daydreaming about surfers or hanging with the cool kids, no more attention-seeking strutting in the schoolyard and playing the new girl card; I mean, it’s not like anyone cared anyway. From now on I would spend my time maturely and patiently, I thought, unzipping my pencil case and lining up my red pen, blue pen, grey pencil, rubber, sharpener on top of the desk. From now on there was going to be no distractions, just hard work that would get me the worldly experience I craved and the grades I wanted.
It was all about focus.
But then a binder and pencil case slammed down next to mine, breaking my focus and causing me to blink in fright. I took in that familiar black Quiksilver pencil case and an exercise book graffitied with blue inked waves.
My heart stopped.
Slowly I lifted my eyes to see Ballantine and Boon standing there looking down at me.
Boon with a boyish grin peeking over Ballantine’s shoulder, not an easy thing to do considering the fact that Ballantine was a good foot taller than him.
‘Bloody hell, new girl. What. Did. You. Do?’ asked Boon, laughing hysterically, as he pulled his chair out, scraping the legs against the floorboards, leaving Ballantine still standing, still looking at me with an amused, curious spark in his eyes, as if he was trying to solve a mystery.
I shifted awkwardly under his watchful scrutiny, straightening my already straight line of pens. ‘I’m not in your seat, am I?’ I asked, cocking my brow and glancing up at him with a challenge.
He tucked in his bottom lip as if to stifle the smile that wanted to come. Instead he shook his head. ‘Not today.’ He pulled out the chair next to me, taking his seat and shifting himself forward, placing his elbows on the table, almost touching mine.
I swallowed. So much for being focused. If anyone had warned me that I would be spending my lunches in Siberia with bad boys from Kirkland, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Never could I have hoped for better; Ballantine sat so close I could sense the rise and fall of his chest in my peripheral vision, actually smell the mind-numbing scent of his aftershave: crisp, clean and mouth-watering.
Oh God, Lexie, get your head together.
Not so easy when I was aware of every single move he made, flicking the pages of his exercise book, the deep sighs, his fingers ruffling through his thick, dishevelled hair, rummaging through his pencil case. Why was he sitting next to me? There were plenty of other seats in the room. Why me?
‘All right, gang, you know how this works. Heads down, zipped lips and best behaviours, yeah?’ Mr Anderson settled in behind his desk stacked with piles of paper, probably using the time to catch up on some marking, I thought, until he pulled a mysterious little ear plug from his top pocket and wedged it in his right ear. Bloody hell, was he looking at a racing guide for the horses?
I couldn’t believe it; nothing like a bit of sly gambling on the side to kill the time. My outrage was short-lived when Ballantine leant over to me, so close I could feel his breath against my earlobe.
‘Can I borrow a pen?’
I flung into action fast, a desperate attempt at aiming to please. ‘Um, yeah, sure,’ I said, almost pushing my
‘Take a seat, Lexie. You got stuff to do?’
‘Yeah, some English,’ I said, making my way to the back row, before stopping mid-aisle.
Yeah, that didn’t end so well for me last time.
I about-faced and headed for a middle row near the window. From now on I was going to be a stellar student. I sat down, lifting my chin and straightening my spine. No more crazy, whacky antics daydreaming about surfers or hanging with the cool kids, no more attention-seeking strutting in the schoolyard and playing the new girl card; I mean, it’s not like anyone cared anyway. From now on I would spend my time maturely and patiently, I thought, unzipping my pencil case and lining up my red pen, blue pen, grey pencil, rubber, sharpener on top of the desk. From now on there was going to be no distractions, just hard work that would get me the worldly experience I craved and the grades I wanted.
It was all about focus.
But then a binder and pencil case slammed down next to mine, breaking my focus and causing me to blink in fright. I took in that familiar black Quiksilver pencil case and an exercise book graffitied with blue inked waves.
My heart stopped.
Slowly I lifted my eyes to see Ballantine and Boon standing there looking down at me.
Boon with a boyish grin peeking over Ballantine’s shoulder, not an easy thing to do considering the fact that Ballantine was a good foot taller than him.
‘Bloody hell, new girl. What. Did. You. Do?’ asked Boon, laughing hysterically, as he pulled his chair out, scraping the legs against the floorboards, leaving Ballantine still standing, still looking at me with an amused, curious spark in his eyes, as if he was trying to solve a mystery.
I shifted awkwardly under his watchful scrutiny, straightening my already straight line of pens. ‘I’m not in your seat, am I?’ I asked, cocking my brow and glancing up at him with a challenge.
He tucked in his bottom lip as if to stifle the smile that wanted to come. Instead he shook his head. ‘Not today.’ He pulled out the chair next to me, taking his seat and shifting himself forward, placing his elbows on the table, almost touching mine.
I swallowed. So much for being focused. If anyone had warned me that I would be spending my lunches in Siberia with bad boys from Kirkland, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Never could I have hoped for better; Ballantine sat so close I could sense the rise and fall of his chest in my peripheral vision, actually smell the mind-numbing scent of his aftershave: crisp, clean and mouth-watering.
Oh God, Lexie, get your head together.
Not so easy when I was aware of every single move he made, flicking the pages of his exercise book, the deep sighs, his fingers ruffling through his thick, dishevelled hair, rummaging through his pencil case. Why was he sitting next to me? There were plenty of other seats in the room. Why me?
‘All right, gang, you know how this works. Heads down, zipped lips and best behaviours, yeah?’ Mr Anderson settled in behind his desk stacked with piles of paper, probably using the time to catch up on some marking, I thought, until he pulled a mysterious little ear plug from his top pocket and wedged it in his right ear. Bloody hell, was he looking at a racing guide for the horses?
I couldn’t believe it; nothing like a bit of sly gambling on the side to kill the time. My outrage was short-lived when Ballantine leant over to me, so close I could feel his breath against my earlobe.
‘Can I borrow a pen?’
I flung into action fast, a desperate attempt at aiming to please. ‘Um, yeah, sure,’ I said, almost pushing my
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