Lindy said something, jolting me out of my thoughts. I turned to look at her. She was glaring up at the stage, where Phelia was pointing something out to Dante in the script.
“He’s such a dickhead,” she muttered.
“How come you don’t like him?” I asked, a touch curious, especially since she was the only girl in the class who didn’t drool over the boy.
She scowled. “As I said, he’s a dickhead, and with a capital D.” She smirked. “Dante Dickhead Rata.”
I shook my head in amusement. “But all the other girls love him.”
“Those superficial idiots are blinded by his looks.”
“Why aren’t you, then?”
“Girls are better looking,” she muttered.
My eyebrows shot up. “You like girls?”
She jumped in her seat, what she’d said obviously a Freudian slip. She glanced behind her, probably worried that someone had heard me. But the other kids had left the hall, only the two of us, along with Phelia and Dante, remaining. Though, those two weren’t paying us any attention, more wrapped up with the script than Lindy’s sexual orientation.
Lindy dropped her gaze, her pale cheeks reddening within seconds.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lindy. Liking girls is perfectly fine.”
She looked up at me, appearing surprised. “Really?”
I nodded. “Of course, and if anyone says differently, they’re wrong.”
A smile pulled at her lips, her soft grey eyes lighting up. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being the first person who didn’t think I was a reject.”
“No one thinks you’re a reject.”
Grimacing, she tucked a strand of dyed-black hair behind her ear, her dark-blonde roots now showing. She also had a few new piercings, one of them a safety-pin. “Then, why do I get called one?” she asked.
“Who by?”
“Kids at school.”
“They’re not bullying you, are they?”
She shrugged a bit too nonchalantly. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said, not looking like she was telling the truth. I made a mental note to ask her again when we were alone, so she could confide without the worry of being overheard.
The entrance doors creaked open, pulling my attention away from Lindy. I glanced over my shoulder, catching Ronald standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide, the boy appearing both shocked and upset. Before I could say a thing, he disappeared, the doors banging in his wake.
Wondering what had upset him, I looked at the stage, getting an eyeful in the process. Dante and Phelia were full-out kissing each other, Phelia even groping his arse.
I shot to my feet. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Dante pulled away from Phelia, giving me an incredulous look. “What the script says, miss.”
“There’s no kissing in this part, and nothing like that.”
“There is.” He held up the script, telling me the scene.
“We’re not up to that scene yet, and it doesn’t involve French kissing.” I narrowed my eyes at Phelia. “Or molesting your acting partner.”
Phelia giggled.
Dante’s confused gaze flicked to Phelia. “But she told me we’re s’posed to do it like that.”
“That’s ’cause she wanted to kiss you, stupid,” Lindy yelled out.
Dante’s gaze shot to Lindy. “I’m not stupid!”
“No, you’re not,” I quickly cut in, wanting to defuse the situation. “This is Phelia’s fault, not yours.” I shifted my focus to the girl, angry with her for taking advantage of Dante. Instead of showing even a modicum of guilt, she appeared pleased with herself, furthering my annoyance. “Don’t cause any more trouble or I’ll give you detention.”
She giggled again. “I’d gladly do detention if you let me kiss him again.”
“Phelia.”
“Okay, miss, I’ll be a good girl,” she said, sounding insincere. She turned back to Dante, pointing out the correct scene. Dante grimaced, looking angry with being duped.
The rest of the practice went surprisingly well, Phelia not causing any more trouble. After they’d sung their last lines, I called out, “That’s a wrap for today,” and pushed up from my seat. Lindy rose too, saying a quick farewell before scurrying off as though she was late for something. Phelia followed her out, also appearing in a rush, making me wonder whether they both had Marcia’s class next. The food tech teacher was infamous for handing out detentions for being late, the woman having zero tolerance.
A loud thud jolted me, drawing my attention back to the stage. Dante was in front of it, obviously having jumped down. He straightened and locked eyes with me. I hesitated, temporarily forgetting what I was about to do. Not taking his eyes off me, he headed my way. I quickly turned around and grabbed my satchel, not wanting to be left alone with him. As I went to leave, he shot in front of me, the sudden movement causing me to shriek.
“Sorry, didn’t meana scare ya,” he said, looking like he was trying not to smile.
I placed a hand on my chest, my heart beating at an abnormal rate. “What do you want?”
He gave me a shrug, his lips pulling up ever so slightly.
“Spit it out, Dante,” I said, still on edge.
His smile widened.
Not interested in his games, I went to step around him. He mirrored my step, causing me to snap, “Stop it!”
He laughed. “Chill, I wuz just playing with ya.”
“Then, move out of my way.”
“Nope, got some cash for you.” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of dollar bills.
“What’s that for?”
His grin returned. “To pay for the sex ed lessons my dad arranged with you.”
I scowled at him. “That’s not funny.”
“Yes, it is,” he sniggered. “You just got no sense of humour.”
“Or you’re just being disrespectful.”
He winked. “Can’t deny that.”
I breathed out, just wanting him to leave. “So, how about you put that money away and get to your next class.”
“Don’t feel like it.”
“Dante.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s just drama.”
“Which, you’ll be late for if you don’t leave now.”
“I usually turn up late so I can miss the skipping.”
“Skipping?”
He grimaced. “At the beginning of class, Mother Hubbard makes us skip like girls,” he said, referring to Beverly. “It’s s’posed to help us with our timing for performances. It’s to do with cues and shit like that. I don’t mind watching the chicks’ tits bounce, but there’s no way I’m skipping in front of anyone again. Julio almost pissed himself laughing the last time I did it, saying I looked like a twat.”
I smiled, imagining it.
His lips quirked up. “I like it when you smile. It lights your whole face up. You look so gorgeous.”
My smile dropped, his compliment making me feel awkward.
“Don’t stop smiling.” He pulled a funny face, looking like he was trying to make me smile again. Despite myself I did. He let out a cheer, giving a victorious salute with his fist.
My smile widened. “Okay, that’s quite enough. Move out of my way, I really do need to leave.”
He held the cash out again. “Not until you take the money. There’s two hundred bucks to cover whatever English tutorials it’ll get me. I’ll get ya more when it runs out.”
“There’s no need.” I paused, trying to think up an excuse as to why I couldn’t tutor him. I opened my mouth, intending on using the ‘I’m all booked up’ excuse, but he cut me off.
“It’s perfectly legit, I earned this lot,” he said, still holding the money out.
“What do you mean by ‘legit’ and why isn’t your father paying?”
“Legit means it’s not stolen, and my dad said I should pay cos I caused the trouble, and there’s no way he’s not lettin’
me see my baba and dida.”
“Who’s your baba and dida?” I asked, not understanding half of what he was saying.
“My grandparents. It’s Croatian for grandma and grandpa.”
“Are they your mother’s parents, because your father looks Maori?”
His expression instantly dropped at the mention of his mother, making me feel bad for asking, her murder obviously still affecting him badly. He lowered his gaze, muttering, “Yeah.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He looked up. “For what?”
“For making you sad.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t do that, you’re nice.”
My eyebrows shot up. “I am?”
“Yeah, I might be a right cunt to you, but you always treat me nicely.”
I removed my hand from his arm, not expecting to hear that, especially with the amount of times I’d told him off, the boy obviously having a short memory. Regardless, it still made me feel good. “Well, if you need to talk about anything, I’m here for you. I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”
He frowned. “How’d your mother die?”
“Breast cancer.”
“I betcha miss her heaps.”
I nodded, willing myself not to get emotional. She had passed away just over five years ago, leaving a gaping hole in my life. The two of us had been very close, more like best friends than mother and daughter. I blinked, forcing myself not to cry, her passing only seeming like yesterday.
“I miss mine too,” he said, sounding so young and vulnerable it cut right through me, all traces of his previous humour nowhere to be seen. He quickly turned his back on me, looking like he was trying to hide a sudden surge of emotion.
I placed a hand on his back. “Are you all right?”
He raised a hand to his face and shook his head.
I moved around him, again wishing I hadn’t mentioned his mother. The death of mine was painful enough, but I couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through. Seeing his own mother murdered in front of him and at such a young age. Again, he was pulling at my heart strings, making me wish I could hold him tight, reassure him everything would be all right. But instead, I took hold of his hand and gave it a supportive squeeze, crushing the money he was still holding.
He uncovered his eyes and looked down at my hand, grief clouding his features. For a brief moment I thought he was going to pull away, a glimmer of uncertainty tempering his expression, but instead, he raised his gaze to the ceiling and said something in a foreign language. It sounded Slavic, probably Croatian, his intonation suggesting it was a prayer. Or maybe he was talking to his mother as though she was looking down at him from Heaven. I didn’t interrupt, his grief affecting me, again reminding me of my own loss.
Eventually, his gaze returned to me, an intense stare that I couldn’t look away from. He said something, but I didn’t hear him over the rapid rise of my heartbeat. He frowned, then stepped closer to me. I remained still, transfixed by the tragic aura surrounding him. It was almost corporeal, something I could feel, a thick veil of despair enveloping his body.
He lowered his head to mine, looking like he was going to kiss me. I could feel his breath on my lips, a tickle across my flesh, so close I could almost taste him—
A loud bang ripped through the room, its suddenness startling a shriek out of me. I jumped away from him and looked over at the entrance, expecting to see someone standing there, staring at us, knowing what we’d been about to do...
...and judging me for it.
But no one was there, the double doors remaining closed.
A second bang sounded, followed by Paul Aston hollering on the other side of the wall, “Jasper! Hand over that ball!”
Dante tensed at the sound of the man’s voice. He stood still for a few seconds, not doing anything, then without warning, he thrust out the money for me to take. I just looked at it, still stunned over what had happened, or had nearly happened, the position I’d put myself in beyond stupid.
He grabbed my hand and jammed the money into it, grunting, “We’ll arrange a time later.” Before I knew it, he was gone, the double doors banging in his wake. I stared at them, knowing I was in trouble.
20
DANTE
I entered the corridor, stopping at the sight of Jasper. He was standing outside my old drama room, leaning against the wall and looking pissed off. Mr. Aston was gone, probably on the other side of the wall, teaching his class.
“Why aren’t you doin’ drama?” I asked.
Jasper grimaced. “Arse-ton kicked me out, then stole my basketball. Bastard.”
“Why?”
“I let off a stinky fart and blamed it on him, makin’ a big deal when he denied it.”
I laughed, my mate cheering me up. A door creaked behind me. I stopped laughing and looked over my shoulder, spotting Mrs. Hatton exiting the hall. She froze at the sight of me, looking like a possum caught in headlights—stunned and a touch scared. She quickly dropped her head and scurried off down the corridor. I watched her cute arse all the way until she disappeared into her English class.
I turned back to Jasper, who had a huge grin on his face. “What are you smiling at?”
“Sumpthin’ happened between you two?”
“No.”
“Bullshit. You came out red-faced then she follows a few seconds later, looking like you just dicked her.”
“I didn’t fuck her.”
“But you want to.”
I didn’t reply.
Jasper continued, “You should totally hit that fine piece of arse.”
“I’m not interested.”
He gave me a sly smile, Jasper knowing me too well.
“I’m telling ya, I’m not interested,” I lied, not understanding why, since I had no reason to hide it from him.
“Pull the other one. I can tell you’re totally into her. She’s into you, too, like slippery-when-wet into you. I bet if you stuck your hand down her knickers it’ll come out dripping.” He licked his fingers.
I screwed up my face. “You’re repulsive.”
“I learned from the best.” He shouldered me. “And I’m not joking, bro. She’s ripe for the dicking. She always looks like she’s gonna squirt when you’re around, like a real gusher. If I were you, I’d be gettin’ some sweet teacher putang pie.”
“No, if you were me you’d be gettin’ Phelia’s manky pussy.”
He grinned. “You got that right.” He pursed his big lips, looking like he was thinking about doing Phelia. “I don’t care that she fucked Happy Meal, I’d still hit that fine arse even if they made baby fries together.”
“You can have her. The bitch wuz all over me during rehearsals; even tricked me into kissing her. She had her tongue down my throat and her hands on my arse.”
His eyes went round. “And you’re complaining?”
“She’s not my type.”
“But she’s hot as hell.”
“Mrs. Hatton is waaay hotter.”
“Oooh,” he laughed. “I knew you had a thing for blondie.” He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and removed two twenty dollar bills. “I’ll give ya this if you fuck her by the end of the month, but if you fail, you hafta talk Phelia into having a threesome with us.”
“No way! I don’t wanna see your lard arse.”
“You won’t be lookin’ at my arse; you’ll be lookin’ at Phelia’s.” He bit his bottom lip, obviously thinking about her arse.
“Still don’t wanna threesome with you guys. I’d rather lick up my own vomit.”
Jasper pulled a face. “But I’ll never get to have sex with her if you’re not there.”
“Lose some weight and she might consider bending over for you.”
He scowled at me. “Don’t be a nasty cunt.”
“It’s the truth. If you want some putang for your wang lose some kilos.” I lifted my shirt and patted my six-pack. “Chicks love this, not this,” I said, giving Jasper’s
fat belly a punch. He shoved me away, making me laugh.
“You know I’m tryna lose it,” he sulked.
“Yeah, drinking one litre instead of two litres of Coke a day is really tryna lose it,” I said sarcastically.
He flipped me the finger and grabbed his bag, heading away from me.
I followed him. “Oh, c’mon, bro, it’s the truth.”
He spun around. “I don’t fuckin’ care; it still makes me feel like shit when you point it out.”
“You asked me for advice.”
“No, I asked you for a threesome with Phelia. We’re best mates, why can’t you just do this one thing for me?”
“Cos it’s disgusting.”
“I’m not disgusting!”
“I never said you were.”
“You implied it.”
“It’s gay, then.”
“We wouldn’t be lookin’ at each other, dumbass.”
“Our cocks could cross swords.”
He grimaced, then smiled, “Not if we take a different hole each.”
I shook my head at him. “Stop talkin’ ’bout Phelia like she’s only good for sex.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Did’ja really just say that?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You sounded like a frickin’ girl, whining that all we care ’bout is sex and not their feelings. Next thing you’ll be handing your man card in and buying tampons for your new vagina.”
“Just sayin’, you shouldn’t treat people like sex objects.”
He rapped my head with his knuckles. “Knock, knock, is Dante Rata home, cos it sounds like his li’l sis is talkin’.”
I swatted his hand away. “Now who’s bein’ a cunt.”
“Well, it’s better than bein’ a pussy. And I don’t know why you’re defending Phelia when all she wants from you is sex. Do you know she’s back with Happy Meal again? I bet she’d dump him faster than a hot patty if you give into her. You should take advantage of the situation, ’specially since she’s wet, wet, wet for you.”
“Doesn’t mean she’ll agree to a threesome with you.”
“Which is why we’ll make conditions. If she wants to fuck you, she has to fuck me as well. We’re a package, bro, two peas ready to pod her.”
“What am I? Your pimp? Fuck off.”
Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) Page 19
