Friday Afternoons Aren't Meant for Detention

A Fiveshot by Desireé Lemmon

Setting: East High; Albuquerque, New Mexico

A/N: I just thought of this while writing my story, Wishful Thinking and Thoughtful Wishing. Just for fun! The movies never happened in this story. Only the characters remain the same at the high school (with a little bit of exaggeration). -love- Desireé

Part One, The Arrivals

The weekends were there to make the weeks look even worse than they were. The weekend was the celebration that the week was over, and you had about two and a half days of happiness ahead of you. Unfortunately, this was not true for a certain unlucky seven people.

The first of the unfortunate bunch was arguing with her mother in front of the school, leaning into the minivan's shotgun window. "Mother!" the new girl said indignantly. "You don't understand, it wasn't my fault! Evidently Mrs. Wallace is extremely prudent about punctuality, and I offered to help a freshman who dropped his books! She doesn't understand that charity is a good thing because she never helps anyone!"

The woman checked her watch and clicked her tongue. "Well, I just hope this is the only punishment you receive, pobrecita," Theresa told her daughter. The girl rolled her eyes. Her mother seemed to always find the worst nicknames in her most trying times—this afternoon happened to be the unflattering 'poor baby.' "Call me and I shall pick you up, sí?"

Sighing softly, the girl nodded. "Sí, mama." She stood back and watched the minivan drive away, disappearing around the corner. The girl let her tongue slip as she muttered, "Bitch."

…

The hotshot looked despairingly at the school building in front of him. His father sat in the family Range Rover that was parked in front of the boy, quite disgruntled. It was not to the man's happiness that he had wasted ten minutes to drive here, only to learn his son had obtained detention. "Can't you get a ride home from Laura Danforth?" he whined.

The boy looked at his father, just as cross. "No," he snapped. "I told you, Chad's walking home after this. His parents are out of town."

Jack frowned and looked out the windshield. The sun was already beginning to descend, casting shadows everywhere. "Fine," he eventually said. "Your mother won't be happy—"

"Is she ever?" the son interrupted under his breath.

"—but it looks like we can't do anything about it," the man finished, ignoring his son's remark. "I'll come to pick you up at six, right?"

"I guess. I don't know how long Ms. Darbus will hold us, but it seems like she's got some props that need painting," the hotshot replied casually.

A grumble coming from his throat, Jack turned the car keys in the ignition and the engine came to life. "I don't suppose I could call Matsui and wiggle you out of this," he tried with little hope in his voice.

"You're too slow, dad," the boy replied. "I already tried at lunch." He nodded goodbye as the Range Rover drove away, leaving him in an awful something that rivaled the desert.

…

His parents probably could have cared less had they actually been home. They were somewhere in Europe right now; his mother had claimed it was some sort of 'cleansing road trip' in which he could not participate. When the slacker asked why in a snobby tone, she tapped his nose and replied, "That's why." His father had promised to take lots of pictures and bring back a miniature Eiffel Tower or perhaps a beach towel with the Mona Lisa on it. But promises, as always, would be broken so he didn't expect much.

According to the law, he couldn't be left alone, as he was still seventeen. But he had protested when his mother offered to call Andrea, his cousin, and stay for the two weeks that they would be gone. "I'll be eighteen by the time you get back," he had pointed out. Mr. Danforth had nodded.

"He's right, Laura," the man said, patting her arm.

"Fine," the woman sighed dramatically. They left later that evening, on a nonstop flight to Düsseldorf. Their slacker son waggled his fingers from the door when their taxi drove off, smiling at the next fourteen days to himself.

Of course, he hadn't planned on Miriam Darbus landing him in a Friday afternoon detention. East High had a quite pompous agenda, and recently detentions on Fridays had become more and more popular. He grumbled as he wandered through the school halls, killing time before he was banished to the auditorium. "Kill me now," he mumbled, kicking an empty soda can down a flight of stairs.

…

"Yes, Mother, I understand," the valedictorian (in training, of course; she had seven months until graduation actually came) spoke into the school pay phone. She leaned over and pressed the water fountain button, quenching her thirst. "No, of course not. I was quite irrational and I left my Palm Pilot on in my bag, and it beeped in history class. Mr. Easley doesn't like giving out detentions, but he felt it was necessary to 'wake me up for the new year.' I accepted it graciously and told him I understood very well. I think he liked that." She smirked to herself.

On the other line, Selma McKessie exhaled patiently. "Why, honey, did you do such a thing? Don't you realize detentions go on your permanent record?" she asked, her voice steady.

The girl rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Of course I realized that, Mother. You act like I don't speak a word of English and haven't memorized the school's regulations hand book." She waited a moment to see if her mother would respond. She didn't. "But I didn't think a detention would hurt—one little smudge on my otherwise flawless file? Besides, I couldn't be a complete paragon of perfection; that would be just unfair to everyone, not to mention intimidating."

This Selma would not debate. "All right. Just get it over with as soon as you can, and make sure you're the good child there. Ms. Darbus hates a layabout," she dictated.

"Yes, yes," the girl replied peevishly. "Goodbye, Mother."

…

A Lexus pulled up to the campus again, with two blond teenagers in the back. Their mother sat in the passenger seat, talking on her cell phone as the children whispered back and worth. "You aren't really going to start calling yourself a thespian?" the girl murmured as she picked at a hangnail.

The boy grimaced. "Why not? You're a drama queen. I think, as your brother, I deserve some sort of title, too."

"How about Dork?" she giggled. He narrowed his eyes.

"You're funny," he said scornfully. Folding his arms, the fair-skinned boy turned to look out the window.

His sister smirked softly and tugged on his arm. "Oh come on, you big baby," she said, jabbing his sides with her pointed fingernails. "You know I was kidding."

"You were not," he replied with a frown, still turned toward the window.

She sneered, "Fine, maybe I wasn't. But I never was in the past either, and that never kept you from talking to me for more than a minute." She glanced at her cell phone. "And… It's been a minute!"

He didn't budge.

"Ugh, you're impossible."

He smiled. "Funny, I hear people say that about you all the time."

She now folded her arms like his were and widened her eyes, offended. "And you say I'm harsh! Gosh, you're no fun anymore," she groaned.

"What do you mean anymore?"

"Ever since you started liking Kelsi—"

"I do not like her!"

"—you act all serious and composed," the drama queen finished, making a face. "Whatever happened to being the fabulous Evans duo?"

Before he could answer, their mother turned around, resting her phone on her shoulder. "You two are still here?" She frowned. "I don't need either of you getting another detention; especially on a weekend. Go!"

They scooted out the door, as the thespian boy mumbled, "We wouldn't have had to bear that conversation with her if you just could have stayed in your other outfit today."

She smiled. "Well, like you said, I'm a drama queen."

…

"Yeah, Dad," the songwriter agreed softly. She was using the office phone after Petra Grady chucked her cellular into the school's fountain. The cheerleader had faked regret before walking away and laughing. The girl had shrugged it off as Sharpay glowered at the cheer squad. "It was a cheap Motorola anyway," she had said.

The office clerk hummed some annoying tune that sounded odd and uneven to the beat of her typing. Mrs. Byrd rolled her chair across the two feet of space her office area had to retrieve a piece of paper, before rolling back to her computer. The girl turned away, cupping her hand over the phone. "I know, I'm really sorry. I didn't think anyone would see me running to class. Maybe we can see a movie tomorrow?" She knew this wouldn't happen, though there was still some eagerness in her words.

"Maybe," Marshall Nielsen replied. He knew tomorrow would be packed with work; that Friday was the only available day off for the next three weeks.

"Happy birthday, Dad," the girl said earnestly to her father.

"Thanks, honey."

…

The auditorium was nearly empty except for Ms. Darbus and the young boy that always seemed to be following her around (apparently his watch was a necessary prop for the teacher to have on hand). "Ah, the first maverick," she said snobbishly as the slacker Chad Danforth nonchalantly cruised in. "You're early."

"I didn't have anything better to do," he replied.

"Hm," she said, uninterested.

Another five minutes passed. Two forty-five. Detention would start in fifteen minutes. The next student walked in, proudly striding down the aisle. "Good afternoon," she greeted the air.

"Taylor McKessie, I would never expect to see you here," Ms. Darbus said with some feigned shock in her voice.

"It's unfortunate," Taylor sighed, "but it slipped my mind that my Palm Pilot was in my bag." As if this happened to her often, Ms. Darbus nodded and returned to her paperwork.

The Evans twins sauntered into the room next, Ryan trudging behind his sister uneasily, trying not to step on her heels. "Ah, Sharpay," the teacher said grandly. She European-kissed, cheek to cheek, each sibling before asking what they had done.

When Sharpay had skipped class, Ryan had been late three times, which was three times too many according to their Honors English teacher. "Well, I'll need you two experts to direct the ignorant ones here," Ms. Darbus instructed lowly. Sharpay nodded and smiled to no one in particular.

Next was Troy, the basketball hotshot. "Bolton," Ms. Darbus barked. "What a surprise." The tone of her voice told everyone it wasn't much of a surprise. He hid an eye roll before parking it next to Chad, who high fived him with a 'go rebellion' grin.

After Troy was Gabriella, the new girl, who hurried in, disquieted. "Am I late?" she asked. No one answered. She pursed her lips and checked the watch of the boy who stood beside Ms. Darbus. Two fifty-seven. Three minutes left.

"Aren't we expecting one more?" Ms. Darbus asked. She checked her list. "Kelsi Nielsen?"

Sharpay looked at her brother with a grin. "Hey, your girlfriend is gonna be here."

"She is not my girlfriend," Ryan hissed.

"Uh huh," was the drama queen's reply.

With thirty seconds to spare, Kelsi burst through the auditorium door, her face red and puffy. "I would ask what is wrong, Ms. Nielsen," the teacher said curtly, "but that would mean I would have to care just what is so upsetting, and I'm not that good of an actress." She turned on her heel, her back to a horrified Kelsi. Gabriella yearned to reach out and comfort her, but she was new and still had yet to even make an acquaintance with someone.

"It seems we have everyone here," Ms. Darbus continued, eyeing the seven delinquents before her. "Shall we begin?"