Chapter 9

Lacey walked down the school's hallways to detention as if she were walking the Green Mile. Unwilling placing one step in front of the other, she made her way to the school's auditorium to face her doom all awhile silently cursing Regina for getting her into trouble and leaving her in this god awful school by herself. She hadn't been to detention before and she wasn't too excited about going for the first time.

As a freshmen, you didn't dare get into any trouble for fear that you'd be chewed up and spit out by upperclassmen. Thinking back to her first year at Green Grove High, Lacey remembered how at the end of every day at least twenty people would get called to the discipline office to receive whatever consequences for whatever bad-ass stunts they'd pulled to get called down. Now, at her second year, she realized how lame those 'bad-asses' were. About eighty percent of them were posers who got caught destroying school property while the other twenty percent were people who'd just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time or, like Lacey, were there because a teacher had nothing else better to do with their life.

As she got closer to the doors of the auditorium, the sounds of hammering and chattering made her wonder exactly what went on in detention. She imagined there would be a teacher there to enforce the no talking rule and made you copy definitions out of the dictionary for hours on end facing the clock to make your time there seem longer.

Stepping into the auditorium, Lacey was immediately met with the scent of sandalwood and wet paint. Looking around, she saw nothing she was expecting to see. There were no goth kids sporting all black outfits with makeup to match or any other odd kids that were vandalizing walls or themselves. No jocks that were probably there because they got caught shoving a nerd's head down the toilet. And there wasn't said nerd there just because he couldn't defend himself.

In fact, she didn't see any one that resembled the kids from The Breakfast Club. Instead, everyone there seemed to be there because they wanted to be. It wasn't until she looked around did she notice exactly what she'd be doing in detention. Cluttering the auditorium were different sets that were being painted for what she guessed to be plays. She recognized one as the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet and another from the Sobriety Awareness skit that was held last week.

She stood there, taking in her surroundings, until she was approached by a man that looked well into his forties she recognized as Mr. Cosman, the art teacher. She'd never had his class before but taking one look at him, she knew everything she needed to know about him. She resisted the urge to shutter at the liver spots that adorned his the top of his head where he suffered from male pattern baldness that was unsuccessfully covered by what hair was left. His thin, metal framed glasses, matched well with his scruffy mustache that always did a little dance just before he spoke. This time was no different.

"Can I help you young lady?" he asked, taking a bite out of a shortbread cookie. A few bits of yellow crumbs rested comfortably on the hairs above his lip and Lacey resisted a grimace. Instead, she handed him her detention slip. She took this time to finish looking around the room. The hammering had stopped and several students were looking in her direction. At her level of popularity, she'd grown accustomed to being center of attention, but for some reason, the weight of their stares made her uncomfortable. Turning away, she looked back to Mr. Cosman, giving him another once over. She took in his pirate shirt and the stains that littered the sleeves. Along with his wool pants and thong slippers. This time she didn't try to hide her disgust when she caught sight of his hairy toes and slightly yellow toenails. It didn't take her long to realize that despite the play sets, he wasn't in any costume and that he dressed like this because he wanted to. She wondered if he was married and if his wife had ever tried to throw out his entire wardrobe for new one.

"Well," Mr. Cosman said. "That Evans can be a real pain in the behind sometimes. Ya know, I never understood the big deal with letting students use their cell phones in class. I read in a study that..." Lacey inwardly sighed. If he was anything like the other teachers, she'd be standing here all day listening to him drown on about something she couldn't give two shits about.

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, "but I really have somewhere to be. So can you just sign this and I'll be on my way." she smiled a Lacey Porter original smile and added in a slight chuckle. A young pretty girl like herself was good for making an old guy like him blush... or so she thought.

"Well I can't do that. But what I can do," he assured her. "is direct you to that set over there," he pointed to an unfinished cut out of a boat, "and start painting." Lacey opened her mouth, but before she could protest there was a can of paint and a brush in her hand. Looking down at her clothes, she sighed and cursed Regina one more time before starting towards the unfinished set.

"Shit!" Lacey exclaimed, throwing the paint brush across the room. Picking up the first piece of cloth she could get her hands on, she scrubbed at the blue drop of paint that landed on her skirt. Then threw it to the ground before finally giving up when it only got worse.

In her peripheral vision, a pair of worn boots stood in front of her. She looked up to find Jo holding the same brush she was holding only moments ago along with a blue splatter of paint on her white shirt.

"Is this yours?" she asked sarcastically. Lacey looked repeatedly between the paint brush, Jo's shirt and the angry expression on her face. She opened her mouth but then closed it, not sure what to say. She hadn't talk to Jo in years, and after the way they left things, she was sure she thought she'd done it on suppose.

"I didn't mean to..." Lacey tried. She stopped when she heard how unapologetic her own words sounded. Instead, she grabbed the same cloth that she used on her shirt and began rubbing at the paint on her shirt. She knew it was no use, but perhaps the act itself would show that she was making an effort.

"My sweater!" Jo gasped, snatching the fabric from Lacey's hands. "What is wrong with you?" Examining the damage, she sighed and looked back to Lacey, whose eyes were wide as saucers.

"I didn't know. I swear-,"

"What's going on?" Mr. Cosman asked. Never mind the fact that he looked like the creep from The Lovely Bones, Lacey never thought she'd be so happy to see his liver spotted head. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him in-between the two of them.

"She ruined my shirt and my sweater!" Jo pointed an accusing finger in Lacey's direction.

"It was an accident. I swear I didn't know," she repeated with her hands raised in surrender.

"She said it was an accident Jo," Mr. Cosman reassured her. "I'm sure she really didn't mean it." But apparently Jo wasn't having any of that.

"Of course she meant it! Those are the kind of things she does!" Lacey understood she was upset, but her words still stung; hitting a little to close to home. After years of keeping a guard around her emotions, it had become a habit that her 'fight' instinct kick in when she felt under attack.

Feeling offended, she stood taller and the infamous attitude that had made her Queen Bee made an appearance. She stepped around Mr. Cosman and shoved her own accusing finger in Jo's face. "I said it was an accident and whether or not you believe that is your own problem. And don't you dare accuse me of doing deceitful things because you. Don't. Know. Me."

The silence in the room grew loud as everyone stared at the two girls, who had yet to break gaze.

"I think you two need to take a moment to cool down, eh?" Mr. Cosman suggested. His tone was careful and Lacey wasn't sure if it was her outburst or the way the two of them were staring daggers at each other. He gentling put a friendly hand on their shoulders and guided them out of the room. As they were leaving out, Jo caught a glimpse of a wide-eyed Rico holding a paint brush that he probably didn't know was dripping all over his shoes.