Chapter Text
“Ughhhh.”
“Hannah, come on, it’ll only be for a few hours.” Hannah’s dad insisted, his fingers working out knots in her hair as she, very dramatically, pushed her face into the passenger dashboard.
“Eight hours, daddy. Eight hours.” Her words were muffled due to her face being smashed up, and she groaned. Again.
“I know, but that’s what happens when you get caught skipping school, hon.” His voice is soft and low.
Hannah whipped her head upwards, knocking her dad’s hand away, and she stared at his face with betrayal. “You said you forgave me for that!”
“Well sure, I did, but the school didn’t.” He retorted. Hannah whined into her hands. “Quit whining like a little baby, you’re here basically every day, why is this any different?”
“It’s totally different! I’ll only be allowed to stay in one room for a million years, and I’ll have to eat in there too, and I’ll be surrounded by degenerates who probably tried to, like, knife their teachers ‘cause they think they’re so cool. Oh- and- Ms. Shirley, the detention lady, is a big creep who has more lipstick on her teeth than on her mouth, and she wears this god-awful purple tracksuit all the time!” Hannah’s hands left her face and gestured out in front of her as she ranted.
“Han, come on—”
“Like, you can’t just wear the same thing every day! She probably stinks so bad, and I’ll have to be stuck in a room with her, while she’s watching my every move. No-freaking-thanks. And what if–”
“Enough, Hannah!” Hannah’s jaw snapped upwards. Her dad very rarely raised his voice at her, and it always made her heart drop when he did.
He looked a little guilty when he said, “I’m sorry, but I really have to go to work soon, and you need to get your butt in there before you get in even more trouble. I did not raise you to be late or disrespectful.”
Hannah crossed her arms, similar to a petulant child.
“...Even if the teacher smells like B.O.” Her dad lightly joked, a weak attempt to soften the mood. She sighed and uncrossed her arms, looking up at her father through her lashes in what was an attempted glare. Her father just smiled exasperatedly and pulled her in for a hug.
“Dad!” she protested, drawing out the a-sound, so it was more like a whiny Da-a-a-ad. She squirmed in her seat, trying to throw him off. He released her with a smile on his face.
“Now get out of the car before you give me a goddamn heart attack.” He said, then patted her cheek.
Hannah grumbled under her breath as she fixed her skirt and grabbed her lunch box. She threw out a quick “Love you.” to her father, and stepped out of the car.
In her head, she wondered how much trouble she would get in if she just skipped this thing all together.
Hannah sighed.
—---------------------------------------------------------
Berto’s car is dirty and hot, which is annoying on a good day, but today is not a good day, so its infuriating. Will squeezed his eyes shut.
“Berto, I am going to kill myself.” Will remarked. He opened his eyes to look at Berto.
“Sorry dude.” Berto, a man of many words, responded. Will just rolled his eyes.
“Maybe you can sneak your phone in there,” Berto says, trying to lift his friend's spirits. It doesn't work.
“No way. Ms. Shirley’s probably going to pat me down for my phone if I don’t give it up. Maybe I’ll keep a gun in my shorts so I can kill her and then everyone else and then myself.” Will grumbled.
“It cannot be that bad.”
“How would you know, you’ve never gotten detention at this school before. It’s eight hours of nothing but writing an essay, or staring at the wall if Ms. Shirley’s feeling nice enough to pretend she doesn't have any pencils left.” Will says, swiping through his notifications on his homescreen. “And I was supposed to hang out with my girlfriend today.”
“Well Ms. Shirley can be your girlfriend for the day.” Berto quipped, and then snickered at his own joke.
“I hate you. Thanks for the ride.” Will said. He got out of the toaster oven that is Berto’s car.
“You’re welcome.” Berto said.
Then, Will sighed.
—---------------------------------------------------------
The air blasting out of the AC was about twenty degrees cooler than it should be. Maybe his mom was just really hot, or maybe she is trying to kill him by freezing him to death. This wouldn’t surprise Coy in the slightest, because (and no pun intended) she had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since she woke him up at six fifteen on a Saturday. His mother valued her weekends, but especially her Saturdays, as it was the only day she was allowed to sleep in. Every Sunday, she woke up at seven in the morning to drag her husband and kids to the church up the road, and on weekdays, she woke up just as early to be able to drive the two hours it took to get to her office job. So yes, Coy’s mom was definitely upset with him, however, he had a suspicion that waking up early was just the tip of the iceberg that was her anger.
They sat in silence for a few moments, long enough for the announcer on the radio to talk about an anecdote from his Friday night, before seamlessly introducing the next Christian pop song that would be played next. Without looking at her, Coy grabbed his lunch bag and turned to open the door, taking the hint that his mother wasn’t going to wish him a good day, or even say anything to him at all. He sighed, and fumbled with the lock, flicking it to the unlock setting, before it quickly snapped back to locked again. His mother took a deep breath behind him.
“Can I trust you, Coy?” his mother asked, in a tone that held nothing for Coy to decode. He turned his head to face his mother, to see she was staring straight ahead, her hands perfectly on the 2 o’clock and 10 o’clock position, and nails digging into the leather steering wheel cover.
Coy paused. “What?”
“Can I trust you to go in there and reflect on what you have done?” She uttered.
He clenched his jaw and unlocked the door for the second time, rushing out of the car before his mother had a chance to lock him in again.
Coy sighed as he stood in front of his school entrance. She was still sitting there when Coy walked through the door.
—---------------------------------------------------------
Anthony sat on a concrete ledge, picking at the nail polish on his thumb nail. He’d been here since before the school had even opened. An hour ago, he had watched the sun rise while sucking down two cigarettes and drinking a monster. Breakfast for the day.
Anthony didn’t know why he liked watching the sun rise from his school parking lot so much, but it became almost a weekly tradition. Most Saturdays, he was here, procrastinating going inside and facing Ms. Shirley’s wrath, watching the other poor souls hop out of their parents car and shuffle their feet over to the front doors.
Today was no different. He watched a girl with brown and blonde hair throw her cardigan over her shoulder and slam her parents car door closed, and then he watched a boy wearing a purple sweater sigh extremely dramatically and give the finger to his driver.
Anthony was a bit surprised, though, to see Coy Piso, the school’s resident theater geek, here of all places. He had the most miserable look on his face. For some reason, it made Anthony smile.
He looked down at his watch; seven o' six. Fashionably late, he supposed. Whoops.
Anthony sighed, then stood up.
—---------------------------------------------------------
“Alright.” Ms. Shirley cleared her throat. “My name is Ms. Shirley, some of you probably already know me,” She glanced at the boy in the purple. He looked away.
“And some of you definitely already know me.” Her next glance, which was more of a glare, was sent to Anthony. He smiled condescendingly at her, which she rolled her eyes at.
There were six tables, set in two rows, each with three seats at them. The purple-sweater-guy sat at the very front on the left, and the girl sat at the same spot, only on the right. Coy was a table behind purple-sweater-guy, and Anthony, of course, was sitting all the way in the back right, farthest away from Shirley.
“You will be expected to write an essay on why you’re here, what went wrong, and how you’ll change in the future. Absolutely no cheating, texting, talking, or even looking at each other.” She paused, “Oh, and no napping. Capiche? C’mon, come turn in your phones and devices up here please. I need one from each of you.” Shirley said, holding out a white wicker basket and waving it in front of the girl’s face.
This blows. So bad. Like genuinely, so bad. Despite the fact that Anthony arrives early every detention does not mean he enjoys being here, even in the slightest. He’d rather be out, doing anything else. Golfing. He’d rather be doing that. Or maybe kicking an anthill. Stealing some ketchup from a local diner. Anything.
“Anthony.” Shirley called out, and suddenly she was in front of him.
“What?”
“Phone.”
Reluctantly, he fished his phone out of his pocket, held it up with two fingers, and smiled sarcastically at the older woman. She snatched it from his fingers and abruptly turned her body around, nearly smacking him in the face with her scraggly long black hair. She handed out pencils and paper, and then made her way to the front of the room.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the ladies room. Behave, there are cameras.” Anthony watched as Coy suddenly lifted his head up from where he was staring at his lap to scan the room for security cameras. He caught Anthony’s eye while doing this, and then quickly yanked his eyes away.
Shirley is gone, and it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
And then, “Wait, so she can just leave now?” Anthony heard the purple-sweater-guy say.
Anthony stretched his arms across the desk in front of him, perhaps in the way a cat would, accidentally knocking his pencil down onto the floor. That’s fine, he was not planning on writing this essay anyway.
“I don’t know, I thought she was supposed to stay in here the whole time.” Coy murmured.
Anthony rested his head between his arms, and faced Coy. “Sometimes she just hides in the bathroom the whole time. The first time she did it, I was tempted to just walk out.”
Coy looked shocked at being addressed, and slowly turned to face Anthony. Anthony smirked at him, and Coy pursed his lips together and crossed his fingers in front of him. “But you didn’t, right? ‘Cause of the cameras.” Coy said.
“The cameras are bullshit, they don’t work.” Coy raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t know, maybe they do,” Anthony backtracked, “But either way, there’s no one in the office right now looking at us. Technically we could strip naked and run around in here like psychos and no one would know.” Anthony replied. Coy’s lips lifted in disgust, and he turned away from Anthony.
“I’m assuming by that reaction that you’re not up for it?” Anthony teased. Coy kept his head forward and grabbed his pencil. Shame, Anthony kinda missed those bright green eyes.
“We’re not even supposed to be talking right now.”
Anthony snickered, and kept his gaze on the back of the boy’s head, until he heard a faint humming from the girl in the first row. Anthony groaned at this.
He could already feel the irritation seep into his bones, and impulsively slammed his head against his desk, enough to hurt. And then he did it again.
The humming stopped.
He hoped that this day would pass very, very, fast.