I remember that day so well.
It was the second week into junior year and that day was the third time that my English teacher, the ever cynical Mr Latchland, had sent me out from his class. The class that I had originally felt honoured to be enrolled in. It was one assigned specifically for seniors, and everyone knows that being put in a twelfth grade class, especially for a subject as significant as English, was an extremely rare opportunity. And personally, because of my passion for the classes theme, it was one I was determined to hold on to tightly with both hands.
Ever since I can remember, all I've ever wanted to really do with my life was write. Since elementary school I have kept shabby notebooks, fat with the stacks of ivory paper sandwiched between it, scribbled with various musings and halted by two pieces of leather-bound cardboard. In middle school, I began to keep thinner, neater jotters with lines of disorientated poetry decorating the slices of its slender card. I'd tried writing novels, too. My Father had brought me a laptop at the inappropriate age of ten and, dissatisfied with the social networking sites and online board games that the internet had to offer, I spent hours tapping at my keyboard, typing out one storyline after another, until I finally found an idea that stuck, only to get tired of it a couple of days later.
So, anyway, you get my indication. I was an English junkie. And not just in the language or the writing sense, but also in the way of literature. I was also a very keen reader and back then if I was not reading something nor writing something, I was likely to be doing something that I did not enjoy. So you can imagine my frustration when I found out that twelfth grade English class was nothing more than a social opportunity to my fellow classmates. What was even worse was the fact Mr Latchland didn't give a flying fuck about this. He was in his mid seventies at the time, in my opinion way over the cut off point for retirement, and was by far the least passionate man I had ever encountered. The old bastard seemed bored with pretty much everything, including his students and his major. Especially that. Even now, after all that has happened since then, I get monumentally pissed off whilst thinking about that useless piece of shit.
On that particular day, Latchland had us reading aloud from The Catcher in the Rye. Thomas Golding, an nervous senior who seemed more like a gangly eight grader, had been assigned to read. Thomas voice was hoarse, as if he had a sore throat, and he was speaking fast, so though his words were helplessly tumbling over each other as he delivered them. If that wasn't aggravating enough, I could prominently hear the conversation a gaggle of girls were having behind me, giggling and cooing moronically about the fall dance. I turned to them. Obviously recognising my annoyance, one of the girls, a absent minded cheerleader named Hilary, throws a smirk in my direction.
And that's when I lose it.
"Oh for fucks sake!" I yell, getting up from my seat. "Don't any of you want to get into a decent collage?!" The class erupts in to laughter, which only increases my anger.
"Yes, thank you, Miss Nichols, that's quite enough." Latchland says, boredom dictating his expression and sarcasm leaking into his tone. I ignore him.
"Seriously, I mean, are you could at least try!" I pause for breath. "You might actually learn something. It's a great book about a guy who doesn't put any effort into any of his classes, except English, which is pretty ironic if you think about our situation. Anyway, he flunks all his classes but his literature class so he runs away back to his home in New York, and the novels about him passing the time until he can go home to his family." I take another breather, my voice a little softer now. "He gets really messed in head during this time, and ends up having to go to a hospital." I hear one of the cheerleaders from behind me titter. "Yeah sure, fucking laugh at me, just because I'm not a uneducated, shallow minded cocksucker who actually takes her education seriously."
"Thank you for that little summary Natasha, but this is really not the time nor the place, and I would appreciate if you refrained from using such language in my…"Latchland begins.
"Yes, you should be fucking thankful!" I find myself screaming at him, my rage storming completely out of my control now. "I've just done your job for you. The job you've claimed to of done since the 1940's or some shit!"
"That's it!" He shouts back at me, specs of his spit flying across the room. "I want you out, now! Get your pretentious little backside out of my class and down to the principal's office!"
"Wha…" I start, the reality of the situation finally hitting me. On the previous two occasions this had happened I had simply been sent to stand outside for ten minutes to 'reflect'. Mind you, on the previous two occasions I hadn't sworn at a teacher or called someone a 'cocksucker', so thinking back it was probably fairer than I thought.
"Now!" Latchland roars again, motioning towards the door.
So I left.
And that is when I saw him, leant casually against a stack of lockers, dripping mop in one hand, a tattered novel in the other, staring right at me.
It was not the first time I had set eyes on Joel Winters. He'd been the assistant caretaker at the school for over a year now, and it was a known fact that the majority of its female population, and a prominent amount of its male one, were besotted by him.
It wasn't as though I couldn't see why. With eyes the blue of a dawning sky, and a mane of dark chaotic waves lapping his shoulders, it was easy to see how one could swoon over him. He was the sort of guy I had only read about in books. That is the conclusion I came to after seeing him that day, after just really looking at him for the first time, instead of throwing the odd vague glance in his direction from time to time. I know it sounds cliché and corny, but they are honestly the only words I can summon in order to describe Joel Winters too you. I would later find out that these very words also fitted a variety of Joel's personality traits, not to mention the extraordinary situations he often found himself caught up in.
"Hey" He purrs in his southern drawl, catching me off guard. "I've seen you before. Do you get sent out often?"
I shrug. "No…I…I mean, not usually. Only in this class." I reply, heat rushing to my cheeks.
"You rebel." Joel mocks, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Are you taking the piss?" I snap back defensively.
"No!" He replies, seeming a little offended by this assumption. "I was just kidding with ya."
"Okay…well, anyway, I gotta go." I say sheepishly, beginning to make my way down the corridor.
"Wait!" I hear him yell. I hesitate before turning back round to face him.
"What?"
"You wanna get outta here?" He says it so casually, as if he was simply asking me to run an errand for him or something.
"What the fuck?"
Joel shrugs. "You don't have to, just thought it'd be more fun for you than getting yelled at by a self conceited arsehole all afternoon." It's that last comment that catches my attention. I take a step back towards him.
"Where would we go?" I ask warily.
He shrugs again. "Anywhere" Then, sensing my hesitation, adds "It'll be an adventure"
I tilt my head to one side. "And why would you, want to go anywhere with me?"
Joel laughs. "Because I have a hangover and don't feel like spending the rest of the day listening to overly hormonal kids, such as your good self, yelling abuse at their teachers. My head aches enough as it is!"
I feel cheeks tint crimson and drop my gaze. I knew he was joking, but still, it was more than a little bit embarrassing that he had overheard everything that had just happened.
"So, you in?" He persists.
I contemplate things for a moment, but only for a second or two, before I give him an answer. "Sure" I say, trying to sound as relaxed as he had. "Why not?!"
I knew it was totally crazy and irresponsible to skip school and go wandering around town with a random guy, but it was also bound to be interesting, and interesting moments in life often lead to experiences, which lead to inspiration in the world of a writer. Experience was something I was definitely lacking at that moment in time, and after the day I had endured, I figured I could use a little fun.
"Great!" Joel says, beginning to jog over to where I am stood. "My rides in the parking lot."
Less than half an hour later, I am squashed between Joel and the passenger door of his confined Volvo, as Joel drives down a series of unfamiliar alley ways. I had never been to this part of town before. My Father had always referred to it as the 'slums' and was the place in which our towns drug addicts and thieves spent their time. In fact, just a few weeks ago, a stabbing had taken place in an alley that was likely to be identical to the ones we are currently driving through, and the thought of that alone is enough to make my heart thump violently against my chest. "Wh...Where are we going?" I ask Joel, unable to keep my voice from wavering.
"It won't be long now. I'm just picking up a friend. Then we'll drive over to the mall." He explains, diverting his attention from the road so he can look at me. "Don't come down these roads often, huh?" He asks me, his expression kind and sympathetic. I give a quick shrug, embarrassed by my inexperience. "Don't worry, before I moved up here, I'd only driven through the nicest part of the state, too. It's a bit of a shock to the system isn't it?"
"Yeah." I mumble. "So, does your friend live down here, then?" I ask, keen to change the subject.
"Na, she lives a little further on, in some crappy block of flats." Joel replies. "She's only down here because she's working today."
"Oh" I say "What does she do for work?"
"She deals."
"Deals?" I pursue.
"Yeah, deals." Sensing my confusion, Joel quickly adds "You know…drugs and stuff…"
I swear by this point my eyes almost pop out from their sockets, but I try to play it cool. Its obvious from Joel's expression that this is no joke, I really am going to be sharing a car with a drug dealer in a few minutes time.
"Oh." I repeat, dumbfounded.
"Yeah." Joel replies, and then he begins to laugh. "Don't worry, Elsie's not like the dealers you see of the TV, she's a sweetheart."
And then, in almost perfect sync with his introduction to her, the Volvo pulls to a halt and in jumps a young girl. With her ash blonde hair scraped back into a severe updo and various pieces of metal decorating her ears and face, Elise seems anything but sweetheartish. Wrapping her legs around the head of Joel's seat, I see her through the rear-view mirror pulling out a packet of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. She offers the pack to Joel, who accepts, and then, without even seeming the tiniest bit surprised about my presence, waves the carton in front of me.
"No thanks" I decline coyly. "I don't smoke…"
"Fair enough." She grunts, pulling back her arm and lighting a cigarette for herself. After her own is a light, Elsie leans back over so she's in line with Joel so that she can light his, then they both unwind their windows and take a drag, letting the bitter autumn wind outside consume the car.
"So, what's the plan?"Elsie asks before going back to suck on her cigarette.
"We're going to the mall, we need supplies." Joel replies.
"Supplies?" I ask without thinking.
"Yeah, supplies. Stuff. Things to sell on and things to keep us alive." Elsie explains, already seeming bored with my hopelessness.
"Have you ever heard of the ledged of Robin Hood, Natasha?" Joel asks patiently.
"How do you know my name? I never told you…"
"Well, that's kind of what Elsie and I do." He continues. "Steal from the rich, give to the poor, which in this case, is ourselves. Legally and religiously it is wrong, sure, but if you look at it with an open mind, we are simply doing what we need to do to survive."
Okay. So now I'm sharing a capacity with not just a drug dealer, but also with a couple of shoplifters…
"What drugs do you sell?" I surprise myself by asking Elsie, who looks equally as shocked.
"Um, just weed and pills mainly, sometimes I get other stuff come in though." She replies cautiously.
"My sisters a drug addict." I say. I'm not lying. My older sister, Nicky, whom I was related to through my Fathers previous marriage , had been using heroin since I was twelve years old. During the summer of my Freshman year, Nicky found herself homeless and after much reluctance and bickering with my Mother and I, my Father found it in his heart to let her stay with us for a while.
It sounds corny, but it was probably the best summer of my life. I'd only ever usually see my sister a couple of times a year, and recently it hadn't even been that. I know that when I was a little kid her Mother would spend Christmas at adult only holiday resorts, and Nicky would come stay with us for a week or two, but when I was around five or six, as Nicky turned sixteen and no longer needed to be 'babysitted.' Apart from that, I'd only occasionally see her at large family gatherings, which she'd often only attend for the free alcohol and to become acquainted with my Fathers wealthy friends whose money she could steal.
I was twelve years old when I found out about her drug problem. She came to my Bat Mitzvah, which is basically the female version of a Bar Mitzvah, as high as fucking kite. My parents were obviously mortified by this, and sent her home as soon as they recognised the warning signs. Since that day, I hadn't seen her until she rocked up that summer. I was so glad to see her. Despite her recklessness and extraordinary ability to fuck absolutely everything up, she was still my sister and the funniest, most exciting yet strangely compassionate, person that I had ever met.
She lasted three weeks. Three weeks without even an ounce of heroin, or anything else for that matter. She hadn't even drank alcohol. Until one day things suddenly turned to shit again and Nicky relapsed. Somehow she managed to find a dealer in our area who sold cocaine. "Not my first choice, but good a fucking enough!" She'd told me when she came back with it. My Mother and Father had gone to dinner with friends, and they had trusted Nicky to take care of me for the evening. Instead of dinner, Nicky served up a line of cocaine for me to sniff. She probably had about ten times as many herself as half an hour later, she was on the floor having some seizure, and I had to call the ambulance and then my parents, whom took me to the emergency room with them to get me checked out. I was fine, but Nicky wasn't. Her heart had gotten infected and she'd had to undergo open heart surgery. She almost died. My parents wouldn't let me see her, said it'd be too painful and that I shouldn't be around such a piousness circumstance. After that, I never saw her again. I think her Mother sent her to yet another rehab facility, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Since that night, I've always had a fervent hate for drugs and the people whom pimp them. Drug dealers had stolen away my sister, and no matter the circumstance, I could never forgive them for that.
"Oh, really?" Elsie asks, seeming slightly amused by this.
"Yeah, she does heroin mostly, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's done all that too."
"Well!" Elsie smirks. "If she ever needs a hit, tell her to come find me!"
It was weird. For some reason this comment did not make me feel anything. Not anger, nor pain or regret. Simply nothing. Just as her prescience in the car hadn't stirred up anything inside me other than making me feel slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fear eliminating my emotions, or perhaps I was more open minded about these things than I had anticipated, but whatever it was, it was certainly unexpected.
After a little while longer of driving along the motor way in silence, Joel pulls up outside the mall. He reverses into a parking space, stubs out the butt of his cigarette against the door of the Volvo, and swings himself out of the car. Elsie is quick to follow, and then me.
"Right." Joel mutters when we're all out of the car and gathered together. "I'm taking Natasha down to do some little league work, as I presume it's your first time, right?" I find myself nodding in response. "Right, okay, so you think you'll be okay on your own, babe? He says to Elsie, who also nods. "Great, we'll meet you back at the car in a hour then."
The shopping center is significantly more empty than usual, which was probably down to the fact it was a Thursday afternoon and not a weekend. Joel takes my hand and leads me towards and rundown drug store in the center of the second floor, his face shiny with sweat but his breathing steady.
"I know your name because I've been watching you, Natasha." He whispers as we reach the store doors. "I've been wanting to invite you out with us for a while now, since last term. You're different from the other kids at school…smarter."
Suddenly the realness of the situation washes over me. I am at the mall, preparing myself to steal cosmetics with a ridiculously hot boy I have never spoken to prior to that day. Shit. What was I doing? What the fuck was I doing?! I was meant to be in American History class right now, not assisting two criminals in their shoplifting scheme!
"Joel…I…I don't think I can do this." Joel lowers his head.
"It's okay." He says after a while. "I should of asked you…I guess I'd just assumed you'd be in…I forget that some people don't get pleasure out of doing this shit."
I shrug. "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't want to try it, I just don't want to risk getting caught, you know?"
"You won't get caught. Not if you're with me." Says Joel hopefully. "I promise."
"Like I said…I don't want to risk it." The wounded expression returns Joel's face, and I feel an uncomfortable twisting sensation in the gut of my stomach. How could I let him down? When he'd believed in me enough to risk the job he seemed to so desperately need to take me out of school, when he'd spent months working up the courage to invite me out with him? I sigh. "What would we take?" Joel grins.
"Well, it's your first time, so just some nail polish probably, and maybe some candy or something. Nothing that could get me in to too much trouble if I have to take the rap for you.
I breathe in and squeeze my eyes shut, not quite believing what I am about to say. "Okay, let's do it."
"You sure?" Joe asks, although his expression tells me that he is not expecting me to change my mind this time.
"Yeah, I'm sure." I reply, taking a step towards the doors of the drugstore. "I guess it's another thing to add to my list of teenage rebellion!" I joke nervously. Joel erupts in to a bout of confident laughter, swinging his broad arm over my shoulders as he does so.
"Hey, you never know, if this goes well, we might be able to talk you into having a cigarette as well!"He says as we reach the drugstore doors.
"Ha-ha, don't push it!" I banter back.
And Joel shoves open the doors and we are inside, among shelf upon shelf and aisle upon aisle of make-up and hair products and other bathroom and beauty 'essentials'. At the front of the store, a small row of plastic shelves hold a series of candy bars, and behind them a middle aged woman with vibrant red hair is flicking through a magazine at the cashier desk.
I let Joel lead me down one of the aisles, gripping his hand tightly despite the fact that I could feel my own beginning to moisten with sweat. My heart is thrusting wildly against my breastbone and I can feel vomit rising in my stomach, making its way to settle in my throat…
Joel stops in front of a shelf of brightly colored nail polish. Nodding his head forward slightly, he motions at the polish, before picking up a container filled with orange polish and dropping it in his jean pocket. Trying to think over the situation as little as possible, I reach forward and wrap my shaking fingers around an aqua colored polish. Slowly, I pull back my hand and shove it into pocketless jacket, wedging the polish under my armpit.
Joel gives me an encouraging smile, before making his way to the front of the room, motioning for me to follow him. Silently, he points to the candy laid out before the cashier, whom was still seemingly engrossed in her magazine. Feeling confident after my prior success, I spontaneously swoop forward towards the top shelf, the bottle of smuggled nail polish crashing to the floor as I do so. The cashier looks up from her magazine, to the fallen nail polish, then to Joel and I. "Did you intend to pay for this?" She asks, obviously very pissed off. But before I can respond, Joel is grabbing a handful of candy from the shelf and is yelling for me to run. Before I do so, I find myself swooping up the fallen nail polish and a the two candy bars that he had dropped from his collection. "Hurry the fuck up Natasha!" I hear yelled from in front of me. Behind me I can hear the cashier talking, presumably through a device supplied by security. Panic rushes through my veins, but somehow it is sweeter than I had remembered him. More like a rush of adrenalin rather than one of anxiety. I had only felt this way whilst writing before, and it felt good to feel in touch with the same feeling of excitement and thrill whilst participating in a completely diverse situation. I cannot tell you that I didn't enjoy it.
Before long, I can no longer see or hear the cashier. Joel is still prominently in front of me, but I notice that his sprint has slowed to a steady jog, indicating that we are almost out of danger. Forcing forward my aching body, I catch up with him in a matter of seconds, just as he is bounding out of the mall doors into the town square.
"We did it!" He exhales when we step outside, obviously as relieved and stung with adrenalin as myself. " Wow…Fuck! I haven't had a chase like that in forever! And all for a couple of poxy nail polishes…fuck!" The exhilaration in his voice reminds of Nicky on the night she took the Cocaine. It's nice to know people can feel that way without overdosing on a lethal intoxication.
"That was so brilliant!" I say, throwing myself into his outstretched arms, our goods now safely inside a carrier bag that had been stuffed in the back of his jeans all along. "How was that be so fucking brilliant? I mean, seriously…"
And then, something even more unforeseen happens.
Joel kisses me.
Softly to begin with, his mouth still sealed shut but pressed firmly against mine, and then harder, his lips pealing open to embrace mine. I had never been kissed before, had not even received a peck on the lips at a middle school dance, despite the fact that I was fast approaching seventeen. It was wonderful. So tender and emotional and fantastically strange, like some sort of weird partner dance that only lips are capable of participating in.
In that moment, all that mattered was Joel and I. Nothing else existed. Especially nothing negative, such as the fact that the school was bound to have rung my parents to report my absence, and that Joel and Elsie had quite obviously manipulated me into joining their ring of criminal activity. Not the fact that now I had experienced such a thrill once, I would likely be hooked to such excitement, and quite probably go on to do bigger and badder things. And definitely not the possibility than befriending Joel and Elsie could quite possibly be the beginning of the end…