Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  I passed the pink monstrosity. A woman stopped pushing her pram as I neared her, her scared gaze fixated on my pursuers. I glanced behind me yet again, relieved that this time they’d slowed down enough to stop gaining on me. Unfortunately, my glance seemed to light a grill under Happy Meal’s buns. He picked up speed, the bastard once again gaining on me, the bag on my back slowing me down. But there was no way I was tossing away three grand’s worth of coke. If Happy Meal didn’t kill me, my cousin’s boss would.

  I gritted my teeth and put in a final burst of speed, hoping I could unlock my gate before he reached me. But, from the sound of pounding boots behind me, I knew I wasn’t going to make it in time for my dogs to take them out. And there was no way I could climb my wire fence, since it was sky high and topped with barbed wire, something my father had been ordered to take down since it was illegal.

  A car pulled into Jasper’s driveway, my mate living across the road from me. He and his auntie emerged from her banged up blue Ford. Beyond relieved to see them, I yelled at Jasper and cut across the road. His eyes widened as Happy Meal punched the back of my head. I went flying onto the front lawn of Jasper’s property, hollering in pain as I hit the ground hard.

  Yelling started up in surround sound, Happy Meal’s voice the loudest. He was shouting at Jasper, “No, man, don’t do it. Don’t!”

  I looked up, shocked to see Jasper pointing a gun at Happy Meal. His eyes were blazing hellfire, while Happy Meal was holding his hands out in front of him, fear twisting his hard features. His mate was standing a few feet behind him, looking like he was considering turning and running.

  Jasper advanced on Happy Meal. “I should kill you!”

  Happy Meal stumbled back. “This ain’t my fault, man,” he pushed out, his breathing ragged from a combination of fear and exhaustion. “He slept with my woman! He deserves everything he gets.”

  “No, you deserve to get shot in the fuckin’ head!” Jasper yelled back, his hand shaking with anger.

  His auntie moved to his side, her face filled with worry. She looked like Jasper, just a skinnier, female version in her late thirties. “Lower the gun, Jasper,” she said, her eyes flittering around with worry. Across the road, one of our neighbours was peering through their window, the flutter of their curtains not caused by the breeze.

  I pushed into a sitting position, wincing at the pain. “Back up, Jasper,” I panted, my lungs still burning from the chase. “We don’t want the cops showing up here.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ care,” he spat, not taking his eyes off Happy Meal. “He’ll keep comin’ after you.”

  “His dad will put a hit on you if you shoot the bastard.”

  “Our gang can take his dad out before he finds out.”

  “Which will result in a full-out gang war,” I replied. “If that happens, there’ll be deaths on both sides. Are you willing to risk our dads’ lives over this?”

  Jasper swallowed, his expression now worried. He lowered the gun a fraction, though he didn’t take his eyes off Happy Meal. “Stay away from my mate and no one will get killed,” he said, lowering the gun further.

  “Deal.” Happy Meal spun around and took off with his mate.

  I watched them disappear down the road, the bastards fast. I was shocked that I had managed to make it this far, but then again, when you were running for your life adrenalin gave you an extra burst.

  The sound of a siren in the distance jolted me.

  “Get rid of the gun, Jasper,” his auntie barked.

  As he disappeared around the side of his house, I slipped my bag off and slumped onto the ground, lying flat on my back, so exhausted I didn’t even want to twitch.

  Jasper’s auntie bobbed down next to me. “You all right, gorgeous?” she asked, brushing my hair off my forehead.

  I swatted her hand away, the woman giving me the creeps. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I wuz just asking how you were.”

  “You can do that without touching me.”

  “How ’bout you come inside. I’ll get you some food and drink.”

  “That’s what the wicked witch said to Hansel and Gretel.”

  She scowled at me. “Stop bein’ horrible, Dante.”

  “I will once you stop eye-raping me.”

  Her face dropped. “Dante! How could you say that?”

  “Easy. So fuck off.”

  Jasper reappeared from around the side of his house, causing his auntie to push up. I wondered whether he’d heard me insult her, and even if he had, I was too exhausted to care. He stopped next to her, giving me a look that said he had.

  “Go inside, auntie,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.

  She headed for the house. As soon as she was inside, Jasper kicked my leg. “Get up, you prick.”

  I winced. “I’m already in pain, you don’t needa add to it.”

  “Then don’t insult my auntie!”

  “Not my fault she always eye-fucks me. She creeps me out majorly.”

  “She has no interest in you; she’s like twice our age.”

  “Guess you’re gonna fail Year Eleven maths again, you dumb cunt.”

  He bobbed down and smacked me across the head.

  “Hey!” I yelled, pushing up. “Stop adding to my bruises.”

  “Then stop insulting people and get off your arse.”

  I grumbled, grabbed my bag and pushed to my feet, hurting like hell. “I’d like to see you run across half the neighbourhood and be sunshine and roses.” I headed for the road.

  Jasper followed me across it. “Aren’t you even gonna thank me for saving your worthless arse?”

  “Thank you for saving my pretty arse,” I muttered, unlocking my gate.

  We entered my property, my two pit bulls rushing for me. “Back off, Bob and Marley,” I said, not in the mood to play with them.

  They turned to Jasper. He picked up Marley and gave her a kiss on the head. She started licking his face, Jasper calling her a beautiful dog. Jealous, Bob jumped around his legs, barking for attention.

  I pulled my key out and unlocked the front door. “Put Marley down and come inside,” I said, glancing at the road as the siren grew closer.

  He put the dog down and followed me inside the house. I snapped at Bob and Marley to back up, then closed the door, locking them out. I turned around, my gaze landing on Jasper. “Why the hell do ya have a gun?” I asked.

  “For times like these,” he replied, looking at me like I was dumb.

  “Where’d you get it from?”

  “Ray Bradbury,” he said, mentioning the biker who dealt with weapons. “You should get one too.”

  “Hell, no, I don’t do guns.”

  “You still needa get one. I’ll take ya out to the shooting range, help ya practice.”

  I shook my head. “Guns are more trouble than their worth.”

  “If I didn’t have one, you would’ve been toast.”

  “No, you would’ve fought Happy Meal. You’re a match for him.”

  “And what about his mate? You could barely get up off the ground. I would’ve had to fight both of them. Also, what about when they come after you again? Happy Meal won’t let this drop. Maybe the next time he’ll be packing and you’ll end up with a bullet between your eyes.” He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, his expression worried. “We hafta put a hit out on him before it’s too late.”

  My eyes widened. “What the fuck? No! We don’t kill people.”

  “He fuckin’ deserves it!” Jasper yelled, spit spraying from his mouth. “He won’t stop comin’ after you, and you know it. I should’ve killed the fucker.”

  “Then you would’ve gone to jail.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ care!” he yelled, gesticulating wildly. “Cos at least you’d be safe.”

  I went silent for a moment, moved by his need to protect me. “You still can’t shoot him,” I finally said. “His gang will come after you in jail.”

  “Our gang will protect me.”

&
nbsp; “Stop talkin’ like you’re gonna do it,” I said, now worried.

  He ran a hand over his face. “It’s just... I couldn’t take it if he killed you.”

  “He won’t, so chill,” I said, walking up to him. “Plus, I’ll be more careful.”

  Jasper let out a burst of laughter, the sound devoid of humour. “You don’t know the meaning of that word, so don’t make me laugh. Just skip school for the rest of the week. Hopefully, he’ll have calmed down by next week. I’ll tell school you’re sick.”

  “What ’bout my dad?”

  “Like I said, pretend you’re sick. You’re great at acting.”

  I nodded, knowing I could use that time to sell the drugs.

  Jasper continued, “I’ll also get Julio and some of the bros to intimidate Happy Meal’s mates so they don’t back him up next time.”

  “Good, cos I don’t think I can take another day like this one. I feel fucked.” I slumped down onto my leather couch and leaned my head back, closing my eyes.

  “You don’t look so good, man.”

  “I don’t feel good.” I opened my eyes. “Get me a drink, will ya.” I nodded at my father’s booze cabinet. “Whiskey or vodka, don’t care which.”

  Jasper walked over to the cabinet. “There’s a lock on here.”

  My head snapped around. “What?”

  “Your dad’s put a bolt on the cabinet.”

  “The bastard!” I pushed up and walked over, glaring at the lock. “That’ll take a bit to pick.” I stuffed my hand into my pocket and pulled out a metal pick, stopping at the sound of a siren heading down our road.

  Jasper rushed over to the blinds and peeked through them, his shoulders tense. The sirens moved past the house, sounding like they were heading someplace out. Jasper exhaled loudly. “I thought they were comin’ for me.”

  “Our neighbours aren’t stupid enough to rat us out,” I said, sticking the pick into the keyhole. I wriggled it about, adjusting it this way and that way, then yelled out in victory as the bolt came apart quicker than expected. I pulled it off and opened the cabinet, grabbing the vodka. I uncapped it and took a swig, not even caring as it burned the back of my throat, the price worth it.

  Jasper snatched the bottle out of my hand and started guzzling the clear liquid. He could drink all of our mates under the table and still look like he could go another few rounds without batting an eye.

  He handed the bottle back with a loud sigh of satisfaction. “Your dad always gets the best booze.”

  “Only cos he spends all our money on it instead of food.” I placed the bottle to my lips and skulled even more than Jasper. I wanted to blot out today and vodka always worked a treat, rocking me to sleep in its sweet, sweet arms.

  A happy haze fell over my mind, making my body’s aches disappear. I capped what was left and put the bottle away, closing the cabinet up and reattaching the bolt.

  I turned back to Jasper. “Let yourself out, I’m gonna crash.”

  He nodded, closing the door behind him, the lock clicking automatically. I swiped up my bag and headed for my bedroom, intent on stashing the drugs under my floorboards. Once they were secure, I flopped onto my bed, thinking about everything that had happened: from my run-ins with Happy Meal and the principal, to Jasper’s gun and the hot English teacher. I closed my eyes, wishing it was Mrs. Hatton who’d blown me instead of Phelia. I smiled, imagining the woman’s lips wrapped around my...

  I fell asleep, Mrs. Hatton following me into my dreams.

  6

  CLARA

  To my relief, Dante didn’t show up for English the following day. Though, Jasper did. Unfortunately.

  “Dante’s sick as a motherfuckin’ crack whore with morning sickness,” he said, after I’d called out Dante’s name during roll call.

  “Jasper, watch your language,” I admonished him, still surprised at how easy profanity rolled off his tongue. And it wasn’t just him. Beverly had been right. Again. The c, f, m, and s words were used as much as is and was, or more accurately wuz, which was the way half of the juvie class pronounced the word. At times, I wondered whether the kids from South Auckland had their own dialect, a broken form of English that didn’t quite match how everyone else spoke.

  Looking unconcerned with being told off, Jasper ran a hand over his stubbly jaw, giving it a scratch. I’d found out that he was sixteen going on seventeen, the boy having failed the previous year. I’d secretly prayed that Dante was the same age, so I could feel better about finding him attractive, but unfortunately he wasn’t, his sixteenth birthday a while away.

  “You shouldn’t give me flack, Mrs. H,” Jasper said, his expression serious. “I’m just gettin’ into this jizz like a wizz.”

  “What on earth are you on about?” I asked, the boy harder to understand than Snoop Dog.

  Lindy sniggered from the front of the class. “He said that Dante has diarrhoea.”

  “I did not!” Jasper barked, looking even more annoyed when the class burst out laughing. “He’s upchucking, cos he got food poisoning from eating bad pork, you stupid twat.”

  “Jasper,” I growled. “Don’t insult, Lindy.”

  “She insulted Dante first.”

  “No, she misunderstood you, which is easy enough to do, considering I don’t understand half of what you say.”

  “That’s cos you’re white suburbia, while I’m ghetto cool.”

  He flicked his shirt collar up and lifted his chin at Phelia Lamar, the Maori girl who’d been dancing on his desk the day before. He looked like he was trying to impress her, but was failing miserably at it, his expression more comical than cool. I covered my mouth to hide my smile, while Phelia sniggered, along with her friends. Jasper sunk into his seat, deflating from her reaction. Then a sneer formed on his round face. He flicked his middle finger at her. Phelia flipped him off in return, poking her tongue out as well.

  “Yeah, baby, I know what you can do with that tongue,” he said, and waggled his at her.

  “Jasper!” I snapped. “No more talking.”

  His gaze moved to me, all humour gone, his expression freezing over. I moved my attention away from him, feeling a chill run down my spine, fear prickling my skin.

  “Pull out your pads,” I said to the class, hiding the fact he’d rattled me.

  Once their pads were out, I asked the students to write down what they wanted to do after they left school. The kids settled down after that, with only the sound of pens scraping across paper and the occasional whisper going around the room. The remainder of the lesson went well, along with the rest of the day, with only a few minor incidents, which I handled without much trouble.

  Dante didn’t show on Wednesday either. Without his presence, things continued to run smoothly in the juvie class ... to an extent, because they were still a rowdy bunch of misfits, his friends the worst offenders. But unlike Dante, the threat of detention mostly got them to be quiet, to a point where I could start teaching them about the book Animal Farm, which was one of my childhood favourites.

  Before I knew it, Friday came round, with only the student I.D. photos left to do before the bell rang. It was being held in the school hall, a large expanse filled with tanned hues and fluorescent lighting. I leaned back into my seat, watching the photographer snap a picture of one of my students. They were up on the large stage, with a blue backdrop behind the girl. She was smiling wide, her face a minefield of acne. A few other students were waiting in the wing for their turn, while more were seated in front of me. After a couple of minutes, they started growing restless, their chatter turning up too many notches.

  “Quieten down,” I called out. “Unless you want detention after school.” Detention had become my favourite word, the only thing, along with suspension, that usually shut them up. I smiled, wondering whether I’d be mean enough to throw expulsion into my vocabulary.

  They went quiet. I continued to watch the students smile for their pictures, a few of the girls taking longer than was necessary, Phelia th
e worst offender. The pretty Maori girl was standing a few feet away from the backdrop, too busy dolling up her heart-shaped face to realise it was her turn. She was holding a compact mirror and applying gloss over her recently painted red lips, the rest of her face already made up.

  “Phelia, you’re next,” I called out, not surprised she was holding up the queue, the girl incredibly vain. Not only that, she wasn’t meant to be wearing makeup. Though, a lot of the kids in the juvie class didn’t do what they were meant to. “Just smile and move along,” I added, looking forward to the weekend, minus the fact my husband still hadn’t arrived from England, his documentation taking forever.

  Phelia popped the compact and lip-gloss back into her bag and moved in front of the blue screen, giving the photographer what appeared to be a well-rehearsed smile. I could imagine her practicing it in front of a mirror at home, pretending she was smiling for the paparazzi, like some diva she’d seen on TV.

  Eventually, she moved along, allowing the rest of the class to get their pictures done. As the last photo was taken, I stood up with my own camera, ready to tell the students to get into a group. I didn’t want to wait for the official class photo to be taken, since it was over a month away. I wanted my own copy, so I could send it to my husband, keen to show him my students.

  A loud bang came from the back of the hall. I glanced over my shoulder, surprised to see Dante lumbering down the aisle, since he was still supposed to be sick—which he didn’t look. All he looked was out of breath and windswept. As he passed me, I refrained from saying anything, not risking him disrupting the last minutes of school.

  He headed for the photographer, who was packing up his gear. “Hold up,” he called out. “I’m next.”

  The photographer stopped packing and glanced down from the stage, looking like he was about to say no, but instead clamped his mouth shut. He watched as Dante climbed the stairs to the stage, blatantly staring at him.

  Dante stopped in front of the blue screen. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he said snidely, causing his classmates to laugh.