Twenty Six.
I write out the headings. Conformity. Obedience. A comparative study of either or both. A gift from Cope.
I underline them. Once. Twice. I look at them. I look out of the window. It's raining. Students race across the campus, ducking under cover or splashing through the growing puddles. I can hear Cullen's pen scratching across the page. I give him a look of disgust. He smirks and points to the page, mimicking writing, then points at the clock. I stick my tongue out at him.
Lockers slam out in the hall. One after the other. Bang. Bang. Rattle bang.
I can't concentrate.
Cope tuts and slams down her red pen, scraping her chair back to go and rip apart whoever is making the noise. Her kitten heels click-clack over the linoleum. I close my eyes and rest my head on the desk. A late night at Dessy's, made even later by hours spent with Cullen keeping the moon company, and I'm exhausted.
"What's going on out there?" I interrupt his flow. He's making me look bad.
"No idea."
A screwed up piece of paper bounces off my head. "Get writing, Swan."
"I don't need to."
"How's that?"
I turn my head over to him. "Cause I'll just copy yours."
"I've cribbed most of it from this book." He taps the open text with his pen. "I might let you borrow it later."
"Might?"
"Well, it depends if we can come to sort of a deal."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. The book for unlimited access to your sweets. And if you throw in some cans of pop, I'll mark the pages up for you."
"Are sweets and pop code words?"
His grin is devastating. I throw my pen across the room, it misses his head by inches and bounces off the wall behind him.
It's still rolling across the floor when Cope returns. Her lips are pinched, forehead riddled with creases as she worries at the small locket around her neck, sliding it back and forth along the chain.
"Mr. Cullen, can I have a word with you please?" Her eyes flash to mine, which are wide with curiosity. "Outside."
He shoots me a look of shock, and I sit bolt upright.
"Um … Yeah?" He's unsure, but he slides out of his seat and joins her at the front of the class.
"On second thought, get your things. I'm not sure how long this will take." She has hold of the door handle, but she waits for him to gather his stuff.
He takes a detour on his way out and hands me his textbook. "Page 132."
I see the concern in the set of his jaw. "I'll wait for you out front," I mouth, and he nods.
She opens the door and as they walk out, her hand hovers for a second on his elbow in a gesture of sympathy, or pity, that locks my bones in place. It dials the moment up loud.
It's deafening when I see the Head is standing in the corridor flanked by two policemen. Mrs. Cope stops beside them with Cullen and they begin to escort him away. He looks over his shoulder, searching for me. I jump to my feet and scramble to the door, but he's already halfway gone, his head drooping, feet dragging. My heart sinks like a sack of bricks in a hollow chest.
The rumours do the rounds like wildfire.
Drug were found in a locker.
No one knows whose they are.
Simple elimination goes like this:
Everyone has a locker allocated.
Everyone but Cullen.
He's been using a spare.
So has someone else.
Words like investigation and suspension, history and karma, are bounced about the school like grenades.
He doesn't come back to Cope's.
He doesn't come to lunch or Form.
I wait for him outside the gates.
The rain doesn't let up. My clothes are soaked. My bones are cold. My teeth chatter with no one else to talk to. I have to catch the bus before panic sets in like pneumonia.
He's not waiting at mine, or the bridge or at Dessy's. He's not in school the next day, the one after.
He doesn't come back at all.
AN: Thanks for reading, sorry I was late. This week has been hellish.
Love to Choc for reading this through. Now beta'd by my fav Kim. x