22. Sneaky Sammy
SNEAKY SAMMY
Diagnosis: swollen ankle.
The nurse gives me an ice pack, then instructs me to go home to recover, but I don’t want to. So, the best I can do is convince her I’m fine. I even walk on my foot as I suppress the spark of pain that shudders across my ankle.
She lets me go without further prompting.
Conner left when the bell rang, and I know he left because he wanted to talk to Sarah Jane. Regardless of his leaving, I’m grateful because it would have been harder to convince him if he had stayed.
I make my way to Creative Arts, arriving before the others because the office is located beside Block A. I sit where I usually do, with my art book in front of me, recreating the drawing from last week. Mr Rogers tells us to work on them today, so I bring more life and colour into my project.
Andy comes through first and sits beside me. He asks what happened to me, and I give him the short answer about falling down the stairs and rolling my ankle.
“Ouch. Are you okay now?” Andy asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“That’s good.” He pulls out notes for English, and when he notices me noticing, he laughs awkwardly and says, “It’s due this afternoon, and I haven’t made a dent. I’ve done a little more in class today.”
The grip on my pencil tightens. “You need to prioritise assignments more,” I murmur.
“Eh…” he responds, shrugging. “I don’t care.”
I breathe in and out as I close my eyes momentarily. My grip loosens, and I continue to shade in the lines of the tree.
Conner comes in last, noticing where I am before settling his focus on Andy.
Andy gives off a hint of smugness when I look at him from the corner of my eye.
His lips upturn, and his blue eyes crinkle with dark humour.
However, Conner smiles. An innocent and more convincing display of friendliness as he walks past us.
Ignoring them, I focus on my work when I hear the scrape of the chair nearing.
Conner moves the chair across the room, slaps his art book beside mine, and sits at the corner of the table.
My Rogers grimaces, yet doesn’t complain. Instead, he returns to reading his book.
Andy leans over and hisses, “There’s only room for two at a table.”
“Then leave,” Conner responds, barely paying attention to Andy’s threatening form. He leans into me and says, “Why are you in class?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and glare at the paper, imagining teleporting myself inside it.
The tension on either side of me palpitates, and I’m in the middle.
So, I dream of being inside my art book, hiding behind the lightning tree, hoping they won’t find me.
However, Conner’s presence makes it hard to maladaptive daydream away from the heat on either side of me.
“Don’t ignore me,” Andy spits at Conner.
Conner smirks when I don’t respond. Leaning away from me, he faces Andy and says, “If Mr Rogers cared, he’d have said something. But if you wish to comply with the rules, feel free to take my table at the back.”
“Fucking arsehole,” Andy mutters into his hand.
Andy leans towards me, his presence smelling of a mowed lawn, with a hint of muskiness that overwhelms my freshness.
He must have smoked some of Wylan’s weed.
“Oh, you drew the tree on the oval…but,”—Andy laughs—“I think you missed the point. Half the tree doesn’t look like it at all. ”
“Oh…” I stop outlining the sketch and gaze at the flourishing leaves.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Conner defends. “It showcases how much fiction plays a part in our lives.” He points to the blooming flowers on the tree. “This is Noya’s reality.”
“Yeah?” Andy leans over to Conner’s work. “What did you draw, then?”
Conner proudly raises his art book and replies, “Noya drawing her reality.”
“Mr Rogers told us to draw something around the school,” Andy spits.
“I did.” Conner leans across, the musky scent of his cologne overpowering my senses. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of it first, Andy. Or was your dealer’s house more important than Noya?”
Andy rises abruptly. I flinch and raise my hands over my head. Instinctively, I move towards safety. It’s what I did whenever Dad raised his hand. I’d cover and turn towards my room.
My haven.
“Okay!” Mr Rogers barks. “Put our dicks in your pants and get to work.”
A few students snigger at Mr Rogers’ words. If anyone took him seriously, they would fire him. It’s lucky most students live for whenever he remarks that, deeming him the hilarious teacher at our school.
Andy storms out of the room before anyone else does when the bell rings.
I sigh as I realise Conner and Andy will never be friends. Perhaps I need to talk to Andy about the reason he doesn’t like Conner so much. I thought we were being civil—or is the civil agreement stretched only to me and no one else?
I’m not sure anymore.
“So,” Conner begins when we leave the class, “why were you in Creative Arts?”
“The nurse said I was fine.”
“Did she say that, or did you convince her you were fine because you didn’t want to go home?” I glare at the steps as we walk down them to the first floor of Block A. “You could have texted me. I’m down with skipping another day.”
“Grades are important,” I say, my hands tightening on the straps of the bag. “You can be something more when you have higher scores. I’d never want to be the reason your grades slip. I would hate myself if that were to happen.”
Conner tilts his head to the side and eyes me. “Grades are important to you, aren’t they?”
I nod once, firmly.
He looks away and looks behind me. “What’s this?” Conner reaches into my bag and plucks the flyer out that Samantha was working on in English. “Oh, the talent show. Three weeks from now. Did you want to go?”
“Sorry?”
“Friday night. Five till nine.” He waves the flyer in front of my face. “It could be a date.”
“I’m working,” I say.
“No, you aren’t. I saw the roster.” Conner chuckles darkly. “You can’t fool me.”
I frown. “Maybe you should be Granick. You act like him more than your character.”
“Well, I always wanted to go rogue,” Conner muses.
I huff a breathy laugh.
“So, will you be my date, Noya?”
I eye the flyer. I’ve never been to any of the school functions.
They never appealed to me. I had other things on my mind: working, studying, and fixing my broken home.
Besides, if I went, I’d be alone in the crowd and watching performances by people I didn’t know, but going with Conner might be different.
“Okay.”
Conner folds the flyer and places it in his bag. “It’s a date.”
I chew the inside of my cheek as the heat gets the best of me. Conner knows, for his smile broadens.
Andy is nowhere to be seen when we approach the back of the building.
Dylan is with Wylan, and Samantha is close to the corner we round, as if she waiting for us.
Her brown eyes crinkle as she skips towards us.
“Noya, when Conner swooped you up in his arms, you dropped your bag, and the permission slip for the camping trip fell out, so…” She curls her lips in, as if mustering up the strength to tell me something.
“I forged your parents’ signatures and handed the permission slip to Miss Moore. ”
“Oh…”
“And I messaged your dad. He was totally fine with it!” She claps her hands in glee. “You’re coming camping!” She wraps her arms around my shoulders and jumps with excitement while I stand here, frozen and filled with fear.
She messaged Dad. She sent Dad a personal message without warning me first. And Dad responded, saying it was fine. That’s a lie. It has to be a lie. There is no way he would be okay with it. So, what changed? What happened? What do I need to do before I get home?
I might stay out all night until he cools off. There has to be a hidden meaning I’m missing. There must be.
In the corner of my eye, Conner’s presence is too present. Those hazel eyes assess me, narrowing suspiciously.
Samantha, what have you done?