Chapter Text
Roxanne woke late-ish the next morning, stretched and rolled over. There was a leather jacket on the back of her desk chair, which was weird, because that wasn’t her thing, really... Then it came back. She rolled on her back and sighed, before rolling the rest of the way off her bed, pulling on the ratty old dressing-gown that meant she wasn’t leaving the house, possibly ever again, and shuffled downstairs. Her mother and father golfed on Sunday mornings, so she fixed herself breakfast and ate as she checked her emails. She was almost disappointed there was nothing from Bernard before she remembered. She went to shut her computer down in a huff when an ad on Facebook caught her attention. It was for the little flower thing she’d seen on Junior’s work bench. She paused. A proper investigative journalist wouldn’t let a little thing like a lie get between her and the truth, right? A few minutes with Google, and she had found out the little flower thing was actually a kind of emergency battery, which you put in your bag and it gained energy from the movement of rolling about in your pack. Then you could plug it into things for a couple of hours of radio, light, or Gameboy. Only a little more digging and she found the patent. Roxanne blinked and then glared. It actually had Junior’s name on it, which was almost more irritating than if it hadn’t been there at all. Her phone rang and she almost fell off her chair.
“What happened?” Monique demanded.
“What do you mean, what happened?” Roxanne picked herself up off the floor and sat on the edge of her bed. Stupid Monique. She’d almost died.
“Well, I actually felt bad about abandoning you in your heart-ache for a PG-shading-to-R night with the Luscious Lucius so I followed you out. Just in time to see you, yes you, stepping into a cab with the Blue Meanie.”
“...Are you pointing dramatically?” Roxanne asked.
“...No.” Monique said, grumpily. “And don’t change the subject.”
“Fine. Yes. I went back to his place.”
“Good lord, what on earth possessed—”
Roxanne told her everything. The cloak-room, the jacket, the suspiciously normal father and even the flower battery thing. Monique was quiet for a long moment after that, and then she popped the tab on a can of soda.
“...So you didn’t kiss him?”
“No!”
“You’re doing the big revelation part of the story all wrong, really.” Monique said, meditatively. “Are you going to return the jacket?”
Roxanne flopped back on her bed and stared at it upside down. “Well, yes. It is the tackiest thing ever.”
“It really is. Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you spent the last hundred years pining after this Bernard guy. I mean, I can kind of see why he would hide it. It wouldn’t do much for his rep as the ultimate bad-boy if he was caught writing girly stuff about first names, would it?”
“But he never really was the ultimate bad-boy.” Roxanne pointed out reasonably.
“Well, no, but that’s what boys are like. It’s like how Lucius likes to make out he has mastery over ice.”
“Does he?”
“Well, sort of. As long as there’s moisture in the air. He’s really less ice-master and more like one of those fridge-freezers that dispense ice if anyone can be bothered to fill it up.” Monique admitted, cheerily. Roxanne giggled.
“So what are you going to do?” Monique was flicking the tab on her soda with a metallic tink-tink noise that was singularly annoying.
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should return his jacket. I mean, just because he’s a big jerk in real life doesn’t mean he is all the time. Like, what does he really have to gain with the whole Bernard schtick anyway?”
“Wayne...”
“I don’t think this has anything to do with Wayne Scott, not really. I mean, if I was gonna go after Wayne Scott, I’d hit him closer to home. Like, right in the football team, or something.”
Roxanne raised her eyebrows. That was deep, for Monique.
“Don’t look so surprised.”
Roxanne’s eyebrows raised higher. “How did you know?”
“How do you think?” Monique hung up.
Roxanne stared at the phone. Monique was so annoying. She really needed a new best friend. One that just knew the answers when she asked them, ideally before she asked them. She looked at the jacket hanging innocuously over the back of the chair and came to a decision.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 9th June
Subj: At least I get why you never gave me your number now
Dear Junior,
I realise I still have your jacket. I’m going to the mall today, I could meet you there and give it to you there. Say three, by the fountain?
Otherwise I’ll drop it at the school office on Monday.
Roxanne
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 9th June
Subj:
Dear Roxanne,
I would consider it a great and wondrous kindness if you would meet with me today.
Your,
Junior
Roxanne's mouth twisted when she read the last part. She wasn't sure Junior could call himself 'her' anything, because he wasn’t really. She scrubbed her face, and went to take a shower.
Two fifty-five pm found her sitting in the mall carpark with a white-knuckle grip on the wheel of the Redoubtable Charger. The leather jacket sat on the seat beside her and appeared to be judging her, or something.
"What? I'm going to return you, jeez..." She looked down at her gypsy-style blouse and shorts. Maybe shorts were a bit much? He might think she wasn't taking the meeting seriously.
"Oh get a grip. You're returning a damn jacket, woman..." She checked her lipstick in the mirror in the same way Custer had probably checked his moustache before Wounded Knee and opened the car door.
The mall was crowded with harassed mothers and noisy kids, with the occasional clump of school kids eating mall food and comparing purchases. Roxanne barely noticed, too occupied with the way her heart felt like it was going to can-can its way right out of her chest and away. Her phone went off and she fumbled it out of her pockets.
"Are you nervous?" Monique demanded.
"Well..."
"No good. He should be nervous of you. Lucius agrees. You need to show him Roxanne Ritchi ain't no tutorial level."
"Tutorial level?" Roxanne asked bemusedly. The fountain loomed in her vision.
"That's my girl. Now, call me after and let me know how it goes."
Junior was sitting on the edge of the fountain. He picked a handful of pennies out of the water (a sign assured shoppers their donations went to the Make-A-Wish Foundation) and tossed them back in. He was wearing his army boots and a denim jacket with patches safety-pinned to it.
"Right..."
"Is he there?" Monique asked.
"Yes." Roxanne whispered and then wondered why she did.
"Well, why are you talking to me? Be aloof, be a goddess. Make sure he knows you're in charge!" And she hung up.
Junior spotted her before she got to him and waved with one hand, popping his earbuds out of his ears with the other.
"Hi... Roxanne. How are you?"
Roxanne forgot about aloof. "I'm pretty good."
"Good," he sounded slightly breathless. There was a moment of awkward silence.
"I—" Junior started to say.
"You—" Roxanne started to say.
They both stopped, and stared at each other mutely.
"Please, you first," Junior said.
"I bought your jacket." Roxanne proffered it as proof that she had indeed brought his jacket.
"Thank you," Junior replied, gravely. He took it and took off the denim one before putting the leather one back on.
"Well, er..." Roxanne was suddenly annoyed. On the phone last night, she and Monique had come up with hundreds of blistering little put-downs to wither his very soul. But now she couldn't think of any of them.
"Roxanne. I really have behaved abominably. My research suggests I should try to even the balance with an offering."
"W-what?" Roxanne had a sudden image of Junior standing over a lamb at an altar in the Aztec vein. Possibly with Minion in a white lab-coat taking notes.
"Well. I was thinking I could buy you ice-cream. As a, an apology. For ice-cream tragically and foolishly uneaten."
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, to just sweep out and leave him there. It was the least he deserved. The very least.
But she found herself saying yes.
Sal's Sundaes was almost uniformly full on Sunday, but Junior seemed to have a sixth sense about such things and dove into the crowd without hesitation. He finally popped up above the crowd and flailed his skinny blue arms enthusiastically. Roxanne considered ignoring him, but he'd managed to get a booth seat, and he looked so pleased that he'd managed to do so she felt like saying no would have been the same as stealing a puppy and then taking away its bone. She slid in, and he popped up again almost immediately.
“What would you like? I have to buy it.”
Roxanne almost laughed at his earnest expression, but managed to quash it.
“Hot fudge. With nuts and sprinkles please.”
“A wise choice.” Junior winked and slid out into the crowd. Roxanne put her head in her hands. It was supremely unfair of him to be cute when she was going to kick his scrawny lying ass. Maybe she could kick it a little bit? Sort of on a part-time basis... Maybe if she got a spreadsheet she could get Monique to make a timetable or a bill or something. She groaned and beat her head off the table a little, resting her forehead on the formica.
“Are you okay? I got sundaes.”Junior put them down in front of her, looking concerned.
“Better for ice-cream!” Roxanne coughed to hide the slightly hysterical edge to her voice and dug in. There was silence for a bit, scented by fudge and embarrassment.
“So...” Roxanne said, finally.
“Look...” Junior began.
“Sorry, you first.”
“No, please, you first.” Junior waved his spoon politely.
“Were you in trouble with your Dad for bringing me home?”
Junior looked almost a little disappointed this.
“No, not really. I’ve never done it before. He just told me to go to bed.”
“Oh.” What had she been expecting? James had seemed more resigned than anything, and in any case, what was she going to say if Junior had replied ‘yes, he beat me viciously in the torso, so no one can see the bruises, and locked me in the spider-cupboard without food for a day’. Especially since he wasn’t in a spider-cupboard, he was sitting opposite her.
“What about you?” Junior asked, politely.
“My folks knew I’d be home late.” Roxanne’s phone buzzed.
Wayne: Sry the champagne wasnt to ur taste. Hope ur night turned out okay. xo
She found herself blushing again and rolled her eyes. Honestly, boys could be so...
“Is everything okay?” Junior’s face was pleasantly blank, but Roxanne could practically taste his tension. Or maybe it was hers. She put the phone away.
“It’s nothing, just er... Just Wayne.”
Junior’s face fell. “Oh, right.” It was like someone had stepped on the world’s tiniest violin. Well, someone, it was pretty clear who the tromping giant was. Roxanne had to resist the urge to yell fee-fi-fo-fum.
“What is it with you two anyway?” she asked, suddenly. Call it a reporter’s nose for a story.
“What do you mean?” Junior was suddenly on guard, which was interesting.
“Why are you always you know, doing things... To each other?”
“Because he’s a big jerk who should leave people alone.” Junior played with his sundae, looking like he did when Ms Hardick handed back another assignment, shoulders slumped, about one foot-tap from a petulant sigh.
“Well, if you’re going to be like that about it...” Roxanne started to gather her things.
“What are you doing?” Junior sat up, startled.
“If you’re just going to continue to mess me about...” Roxanne checked for her car-keys.
“I’m not— I never—” he protested, all wide-eyed innocence that made Roxanne want to smush her sundae on his face.
“No, you lied to me for a whole year. A whole year! And you think ice-cream and puppy-dog eyes will make up for that?”
“I just don’t see why it has to be your business!” Junior snapped.
“Because you owe me for this.” Roxanne snapped right back at him.
They glared at each other for a moment, and Roxanne snapped her purse shut, decisively.
“No, wait... I’ll tell you...” Junior sighed, and Roxanne slid back behind her sundae.
“We grew up in the same area, and for... For quite a while, we were the only kids like us, you know, extra abilities, sort of thing... And I guess for a while, I thought you know, we’d be friends and stuff, but...” Junior gave a sad little shrug. “I mean, I guess you can hardly blame him, right? Being extra-ability is tricky enough without making friends with the weird blue kid who blew up the art class.”
Roxanne was outraged. It was grade school bullying at it’s most pure and simple. “That’s horrible. If you had gone to my school...”
“I do go to your shool. And this is the first proper face-to-face conversation we’ve ever had.”
He didn’t snap it, or shout it. Just dropped the weight of the fact in the rubber sheet of the conversation.
Junior broke the silence first. “I don’t want you to feel like you should forgive for what I did.”
“Good, because...” Roxanne began, clinging to the shreds of her anger.
“But I want you to consider why I did it.”
They sat in silence for a while then. It was so unfair. Why did he have to be right? On the one hand, you only had to look at the guy to see that they would have nothing in common. Why would she speak to him, one trouble-maker in a school full of people she’d known since freshman year? But on the the other hand, why wouldn’t she? She knew she liked him, or at least, the part of him she had emailed constantly over the last few months. She even kind of had a soft spot for the part of him that would get into a flaming row with Ms Hardick and storm out of the class. He was staring at her over the top of his sundae glass with those absurdly big green eyes, and a sly part of her that sounded oddly like Monique whispered And you like those too, don’t you?
“Oh shut up,” she muttered at a sprinkle in the bottom of her glass.
“I’m sorry?” Junior tilted his head.
“Nothing.” Roxanne ate the last mouthful of sundae and came to a conclusion. She made a show of checking her watch, and realised that she never wore a watch.
“Do you have to go?” Junior asked, sagging a little inside the leather coat. You could only tell because the coat wrinkled a little, sort of like a turtle shell in that respect. The worst part was, he didn’t really look surprised, more like he had been waiting for her to realise she had to be somewhere else. The realisation of that made Roxanne wince, internally. While Junior had a lot of milage to make up, he wasn’t the only one who’d need to run.
“Er, actually, I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie?”
His face lit up, and Roxanne couldn’t help grin back. Say what you like about him, his enthusiasm was always infectious. Like the measles. Roxanne squashed the aside from Monique and took his hand as they walked across the mall.
The only thing that was showing at that moment was the latest animated offering, and frankly, Junior was more excited about it than the little kids in front of them. They bought popcorn, because Junior thought it was necessary, but by the time their turn at the concession stall came, he was already flailing at the claw machine in the corner. Roxanne smiled slightly embarrassedly at the usher, paid, and mooched over to him nibbling popcorn.
“What’re you doing?”
“Winning you a toy.” Junior didn’t look round, intent on the stuffed SpongeBobs and Hello Kitties behind the glass. Roxanne didn’t like SpongeBob or Hello Kitty, but no one had ever tried to win her anything before. As she watched, he grunted in frustration and fed another quarter into the machine. He had the look Monique sometimes got when an equation didn’t solve itself first time, something she’d once lost her to for for three days.
“The movie’s going to start,” she volunteered.
“Yeah, in a minute, I almost got... Augh!” Junior fumbled for another quarter.
“No, come on, we’ve paid and everything.” Roxanne tugged on his sleeve as the claw slipped off the bulbous white head of Hello Kitty.
“But I almost have it...” Junior whined. He fumbled in his pocket again. “Er, do you have a quarter?”
“Movie, now.” Roxanne chivvied him along, trying not to laugh.
The movie wasn’t the best. The kids in the audience seemed pleased enough, but Roxanne was pretty sure she could hear the parents souls dying, or conceiving of massive salt traps for the animated snail. Junior had bounced his way through the adverts, whispering to her about the movies. Finally, she had taken his hand, slightly sticky from popcorn, and told him to shh. To her astonishment it worked. Then about five minutes later she had looked over, he was fast asleep. She squeezed his hand experimentally. He didn’t move. He was even drooling, which lead Roxanne to wonder what the correct etiquette was when your date (and there was no point in lying to herself, it was a date) drooled on his leather jacket. At least it would probably wipe off easily. His hand was still in hers, the thin fingers relaxed a little but still clutching at hers, and she sighed. This was easily the weirdest date she’d ever been on. Not the worst, but definitely the weirdest. Really, the worst part was that the movie was so bad, and she felt bad waking him up, which left no choice but to try and power through it. If this was the sort of thing Hal had to put up with on a weekly basis, she could almost forgive his review of Captain America. A few times, she nudged Junior, who would sort of flap a little, and settle down some more. It almost made her feel a little bad, especially after his head slumped funny and she elbowed him in the ear. At the end of the movie, she tugged on him until he sort of looked up.
“Huh?”
“I said, the movie’s over. You fell asleep.”
“Oh... S’ry...”
Roxanne dropped his hand and put her hands on her hips, looking down at him.
“How are you getting home?”
“Bus, I guess.” Junior pulled himself upright and rubbed his eyes like a child. Roxanne was irritated to find it was cute as all hell, especially since she’d had to pay for the popcorn.
“Should I walk you to the bus-stop?”
“That’d be nice.” Junior yawned and stood up, slumping towards the exit.
They didn’t talk much as they walked through the mall. Junior was barely shambling along. Roxanne was starting to feel a little alarmed. Perhaps he was sick? Would letting him go home on his own in this state therefore, be a little immoral? What if he missed his stop and wound up in Canada? He’d have to join a patisserie or smuggle himself out under William Shatner or something. And he hadn’t taken French in school, because their school only offered Spanish.
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“You don’t have to,” Junior mumbled.
“Yes, I do. I don’t want you to have to learn how to make maple syrup torte.”
“IHOP?”
Junior sat in the car, and fell asleep. Roxanne wasn’t sure what else she had been expecting really, but she put the radio on anyway. There wasn’t a car in the driveway at Junior’s house; presumably his Dad was out grocery shopping or playing golfing or something, but she still parked on the street. By now, Junior wasn’t actually awake as such, but when she tugged on him he followed. She had thought to get him into the basement, in a strictly non-psycho-murderer way, but, after fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket, she actually made it as far as the couch before she sort of gave up. He flopped down like he had no bones. She let him, and he smiled sleepily at her and she rolled her eyes because no one should be that cute. Especially when they still had drool on their lapel. She found a throw rug on one of the comfy armchairs and draped it over him, tucking it in, and then holding her breath in case... In case of something, she kissed him just above the eyebrow. He stirred,murmuring her name, and she stood up so fast she felt a bit dizzy, blushing hotly in the cool of the house. The front door clunked and she jumped about three miles in the air, and by the time she had unplastered herself from the ceiling, James had come in, wearing golf shoes and carrying a grocery bag. He took in the scene.
“...So... Did it go really well, or really badly?” he asked, finally, moving through to the kitchen. Roxanne opened her mouth, and then shut it again. He didn’t look round, peaceably putting milk in the fridge and ice-cream in the freezer. It wasn’t until he shut the freezer door so hard a magnet fell off that she managed to marshal her thoughts again.
“It was okay... We had ice-cream... er, but he fell asleep in the movie, so I gave him a ride...” She twisted her fingers together.
“Ice-cream?” James stopped putting eggs in the little egg thingy in the fridge door and laughed. “You’ll have to excuse my son, Roxanne. He’s lactose intolerant.”
“He is?”
“Was he quite... Bouncy, before he fell asleep?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Roxanne wondered if she should sit down or stay where she was.
“Yeah, it’s the ice-cream. A side-effect of the... Extra abilities, I suppose.”
Roxanne nodded, even though she hadn’t known an allergy could be considered an extra-ability. Behind them, Junior shifted, and snored a little.
“He’ll be out for the next couple hours. Are you alright to get home?” James cast a fond and slightly irritated look at the couch.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
“If my son was conscious, I’m sure he’d apologise for being so rude. I’m sorry the date didn’t go like you thought it would...”
“Nothing with him has gone like I thought it would.” Roxanne’s eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth, surely she hadn’t said that out loud. That would be incredibly rude, surely. But James grinned at her, and it wasn’t just a polite, this girl is the friend of my son smile, it was a full on, we have an understanding here smile. Roxanne blinked. This family was so weird.
“And there you have it!” James waved a hand. Junior started snoring in earnest.
“I’d better go...” Roxanne waved at James as she backed out. He came to the door with her, holding a bag of cookies.
“Thank you for bringing him home,” James said, as he held the door open for her. He looked at her very hard, like he was trying to find something. Roxanne smiled nervously, and backed off to the car.
When she got home, she found Junior’s denim jacket on her back seat.
The next day, Roxanne met Junior under her favourite oak-tree to return his denim jacket. He took it shame-facedly and put it in his rucksack.
"I'm so sorry about yesterday..." He trailed off, fiddling with his bag.
"Lactose intolerant, huh?"
“Yeah... I kind of... Forgot... I’m really sorry.” Did he know he looked like a puppy when he gave her that look? “Can you forgive me? I could take you out for pancakes...”
“Pancakes?” Roxanne started to giggle a little. Pancakes was not a word any boy should say whilst looking earnestly into your eyes.
“...Or something else! Whatever you like!” Junior looked a little panicky now, and Roxanne wondered if patting him on the head and calling him a good boy would maybe make him feel better.
“Pancakes would be great.” She took his hand, and he blushed again. It seemed like a good moment, so she leaned in a bit, and Junior gave her a startled look that meant he clearly had no idea what she was doing. She took the space back quickly, feeling like a bit of an idiot.
“Uh, can I walk you to class?” Junior asked, into the vacuum of awkward silence that followed.
“Uh, sure?” Roxanne picked her folder up, and they made their way to the school.
When they reached her classroom door, Junior said, hopefully, “So... I’ll text you?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Roxanne smiled.
He smiled back, and they were both stuck there for a moment, smiling like twits. Roxanne wondered if she should try leaning in again, but Junior suddenly blurted, “Well, you don’t want to be late!”
He kissed her on the cheek and ran for it, leaving Roxanne blinking behind him. What was the cue for such things, anyway? Her last kiss had been in a sugar-drunk game of Spin The Bottle with Jeremy Singh, whom she’d known since third grade. They’d gone into the cupboard, and he’d kissed her. His tongue had tasted of Cheetos. She had been squashing the giggles pretty well, but then he said “I’m awfully sorry, Roxanne, but I think I might be gay.” They were still laughing when Lindsay Jerome had opened the door yelling “Time’s up, lovebirds!” It was all friendly enough, but what did you do when you really didn’t want him to come out to you after? She huffed, and dumped herself into her seat.
~*~
The current issue of the school paper was to be the last under her editorship. Despite this, the room had it’s usual sense of deadline day hustle. Looking around, she realised she was going to miss this class more than the others. She was going to miss Mr Summers fidgeting with a pen and then prowling round the desks, poking at things agreeably. Sometimes he’d get bored, and the whole class would be ‘drilled’. Drilling was very simple, and annoying as hell when you were trying to concentrate. For example:
“Attention!” Everyone would stand.
Mr Summers: (glaring) “Apostrophe!”
Class: “Sir, a punctuation mark used to indicate possession or a contraction, sir!”
Mr Summers: (still glaring) “Apostrophe!”
Class: (Louder) “Sir, a punctuation mark used to indicate possession or a contraction, sir!”
Mr Summers: (stalks up to some hapless individual) “You there! Think apostrophes are funny, do you?”
Hapless individual: “Sir, no sir!”
Mr Summers: “Think it’s clever to use the grocer’s apostrophe, do you?”
Hapless individual: “Sir, no sir!”
Mr Summers: “I suppose if it was up to you, we’d all be completely confused about whether the whiskers belonged to the cat, eh?”
Hapless individual: “SIR, NO SIR!”
Mr Summers: “You swaggering rascal, I will not tolerate bad grammar in this classroom. What won’t I tolerate?”
Class: “Sir, crimes against grammar sir!”
Mr Summers: “And you, you scurvy companion, you block, you stone! Drop and give me fifty split infinitives! Go go go!”
She was going to miss Ronnie’s occasional outbursts against post-modernism, Impressionism, and for some reason, Kenneth Branagh. She was even going to miss Carla, who made up for lack of experience and a certain lack of talent with huge amounts of enthusiasm. She’d be a good journalist once she figured out that five-hundred words didn’t mean that you just stopped in the middle of a sentence. Even Hal would make a little space in her life. Whenever she was choked by another man’s aftershave, she would think of him...
There was something missing in the room. And more importantly, on her desk. She looked up.
“Hey Ronnie, you seen Hal? I haven’t had his reviews off him yet...”
Ronnie turned round, gripping the back of his chair.
“Didn’t you hear? He’s been expelled.”
“What, really?”
“Yeah, for fighting. You know that weird blue kid? Him and a couple of other guys beat snot out of him last period.”
“What?” Roxanne dropped her pen. “Why?”
“I dunno,” Ronnie shrugged, already losing interest, damn him. “I only heard it off Jeremy Singh, and he got it off that Eddie Arnold guy when he was cleaning out his locker. Dunno where he got it from...”
“I thought you’d be a better journalist than that, Ronnie.” Roxanne was trying for flippant, but she felt all weird and wobbly inside. “Was Junior okay?”
“Well, have you heard an ambulance recently?” Ronnie picked up his tablet again.
“Now, pupils, no scurrilous gossip in my classroom, if you please. This is a newspaper. ‘Sources claim’ just means someone made it up.” Mr Summers winked at Roxanne, and she tried to smile back. “However, my understanding is that sources claim the lad was driven home by his father in some disarray, although nothing that might be considered serious.”
Roxanne felt something inside unclench a little, and she smiled properly at her teacher. He winked again and swept off to scare the crap out of Carla and her friend Mitzy (no, really) by aggressively interfering in their ‘Leavers Fashion’ spread.
Roxanne wasn’t quite sure how she managed to get anything done after that. Her mind only seemed to be able to concentrate on two things. One, how much longer the school day was, and two, whether it would be weird to cut class and go and see Junior unannounced. It wasn’t that unusual for a friend to visit a friend when they were beaten up by some angry juniors, right? But what if it was, and there was just more awkward leaning and silence, and James wondering what sort of lunatic his son had picked up, and if moving house was too much to get rid of her? What if they just started hiding behind the couch when she came by? But surely she should make sure he was alright. He owed her pancakes, after all. She drummed her fingers on the table, glaring at the cartoon Ronnie had presented for page five. It was a pretty good cartoon, and probably didn’t deserve the fierce scrutiny she was giving it.
“Miss Ritchi, if you continue to do that, you shall receive the standard punishment,” Mr Summers called over. The standard punishment for tapping in class was standing in the hall and clapping iambic pentameter whilst reciting Sonnet 18, which was handily taped to the wall.
At the end of the day, she was decided. The best thing to do would be to casually pop over. If only she hadn’t given him his jacket back, she could have taken it back now. Maybe she could find his locker and steal something, and claim she found it on the back seat. No, wait, that would be crazy. She called Monique.
“Is this important? I’m in a meeting.”
Roxanne rolled her eyes. “No you’re not, you’re with Lucius.”
“How did you know?”
“Because you never care if it’s important otherwise.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You can ask Lucius, bet he’s seen it.”
“Huh. Hey, Lucius--”
“No, don’t now. Should I go to Junior’s place?”
“I don’t know, should you?” Monique was eating something again. Probably ice-cream.
“Well, he got beat up by Hal today, and now an undisclosed number of people are expelled and Junior went home with his Dad...”
“Really? Dang, I should have stuck around. I thought he was just gonna bawl the guy out.”
“You saw it?”
“Well, sort of. Hal and a couple of guys. You know, that Ernie Arnold guy, and that other guy he hangs round with... Miguel Zimmerman? Hal was giving it all this ‘You stole her and I want her back’ and Junior was kind of confused, I think. But then I had to go so I guess they must have just beaten him up.”
“...Oh my god.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine, I’ll talk to you later.” Roxanne hung up and started the Redoubtable Charger on the second go, which was pretty good. Unfortunately, it was entirely clear who ‘she’ was, and it was clear that Hal would never get the message, even if she wrote it across the sky in fireworks with a couple of Native Americans sending up smoke signals. She thumped the steering wheel. Well, maybe getting expelled would be a good hint. She felt a little guilty over that, and that just made her mad. It wasn’t her fault Hal was clearly an obsessive lunatic, and really, it wasn’t exactly her fault that Junior had been whaled on. It also seemed unreasonable to be mad at Junior for allowing a few idiots to beat him into the asphalt, but equally, he should have had the good sense to run away. She didn’t understand how anyone could find two men fighting over them romantic or even remotely pleasing, she just felt guilty and cross. She started mentally composing an editorial on the subject and then remembered she’d already written her last editorial, which just made her sad and a little nostalgic. There were so many emotions sloshing around she thought about driving the car into a sinkhole where she could just lie there and stew for a bit, till she’d sorted out exactly who she was cross with, and why. She was still growling softly when she pulled up in front of Junior’s house. The Crown Victoria was in the driveway, and everything seemed calm as she locked the car and walked across the lawn to the door. James opened it, looking surprised, pleased, and a little worried, all at once.
“Well hello there young lady, to what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I heard Junior got... Hurt...” And it’s all my fault, sort of.
“Oh, well, he’s had worse. Once he fell out of a tree trying to fly.” James stood back to let her come in, smiling.
As she slipped her shoes off, Junior came out of the kitchen. “Dad, the coffee’s done. Oh, er, hello.” Roxanne gasped, just a little. He had a spectacular black eye, as well as a cut across his eyebrow. When he raised his hand in greeting, Roxanne could see a couple of fingers on one hand were strapped up.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
“It looks worse than it is. And I should get a neat eyebrow scar out of it, with any luck.” Junior grinned. His lip had been cut as well, Roxanne noticed, probably by someone mashing his lip into his teeth.
“Oh...” She managed, weakly. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Obviously, this was preferable to him in a wheelchair with a drip or something, but he seemed entirely unfazed for someone who had a face that looked like a sunrise.
“I’m gonna go water the garden.” James said, suddenly.
“You don’t have to, I did it yesterday,” Junior protested.
“It’s very hot today.” James replied, levelly, and went out into the kitchen. A moment later, another door banged, ostentatiously. Roxanne was pretty sure she could come to really like James.
“It really doesn’t need doing, it rained last night...” Junior was looking after his Dad, puzzled.
“Are you going to offer me some coffee?” Roxanne was coming to understand something about Junior, namely that if she didn’t distract him right now, he would go outside and persuade his father to come back inside.
“Oh, sure. Come on through.” He led the way into the kitchen. “I guess you heard what happened at shool then.”
“Yeah, it’s all round now. I’m so sorry, I never thought--”
“It’s okay, it happens.” Junior shrugged his skinny shoulders and poured steaming coffee into big porcelain mugs. “Cream, sugar?”
“Both, please.” Roxanne sat at one of the tall stools round the breakfast bar, dropping her bag to the ground.
Junior added plenty of cream and sugar to one of the mugs, then pushed them over to her, and sat down himself.
Roxanne added considerably less cream and sugar, and realised she was staring. “I’m sorry, but it does look really awful.”
“It hardly hurts at all.” Junior reassured her. “I had an ice-pack on it for like, an hour.”
“But your fingers...”
“Oh man, that’s not even a thing. When stupid Mr Schwartz pulled Hal away, the ass was stamping about and my hand got in the way. It’s mostly bruised, but Doctor Smith says strapping it will probably help some.”
Roxanne winced, not so much at the injuries but the casual way Junior described them, like getting beaten to a bloody and bruised pulp was something that just happened, like getting a cold. She remembered hearing he’d been to a lot of schools before this one, and the guilt she’d been feeling towards Hal’s poor ego was washed away in a tide of anger. This shouldn’t be the way it was. It just shouldn’t.
“Anyway, how was shool, apart from me righteously burning up the rumour mill?”
Roxanne banged her mug down.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, we don’t get to sit here and pretend it’s no big thing. Someone beat you up! You had to go home from school!” Roxanne was bubbling with anger. “And it’s not fair you have to change schools all the time because it happens so often you just sit in the kitchen and drink coffee!”
“... Did you want juice instead?”
“That’s not the point and you know it!” Roxanne snapped.
Junior sighed, and finally looked her in the face. “No, it’s not, but that’s how it is. This is what it’s like. You can get as cross as you like, but it’s happened now, and I don’t have to go back. Next year I can do whatever I want. I can go backpacking, or to college, or run away to Vegas and be a showgirl. It doesn’t matter any more, and you feeling bad about it won’t change that.”
The sharpness of his tone pulled Roxanne up short. She didn’t know which was worse, that Junior had said it, or that it made sense. Junior, or Bernard, had mentioned in an email that he was almost done with high-school before everyone else. High school was a thing of the past for him. Silence fell over the breakfast bar. Not uncomfortable, but busy with their own thoughts.
Roxanne felt like she should be the one to break the quiet first. She reached across the table and took his uninjured hand, and he looked up at her, with that familiar hopeful puppy face.
“So... Backpacking huh?”