The Rocky Road Pact

Chapter 3: Break My Stride

"And to our parents: We thank you. And we loooove you. Go on, say it."

I'd been quietly listening for the better part of an hour, but underneath my calm exterior I simmered with rage. It was hard keeping the lid on the pot.

"I don't want to say it that way," I said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry — is it you who directed the best play in the tri-county area year after year and won the prestigious Coldspring "Action" Award for best director? No? That's right, it was me. You have to enunciate! Now, say it."

"We thank you. And we loooooooove you," I said sarcastically. I tried with all my might not to roll my eyes at Mrs. B, a mountain of a woman with blonde cotton candy hair, large, staring eyes and fleshy lips. That's all I needed, one gesture of defiance and she'd have me cooped up in here forever when I had a manicure and pedicure booked.

I had Mrs. B for English three years in a row; the woman was obsessed with Shakespeare and took the grade twelve class to England on an annual trip that she micro-managed and supervised with all the good humour of a prison guard. I still managed to have fun with my friends in London on the trip, but it took some thought and planning to escape her once in a while to have some actual fun in the city. She's hated me ever since that trip but had to grudgingly work with me on the valedictory speech, as I won the class vote. 

Plus, I hated Shakespeare. Just say what you want to say, man. Enough with the flowery shit.

"Cassie, I get the distinct feeling you're not taking this seriously," she said. I looked at the two versions of the speech — mine in my hand and hers clenched in her hammy fist. She completely rewrote everything I wanted to say, took out the most important points, and filled it with bullshit ass-kissing of the mayor, the town, the school principal and the parents.

"Well, my version is better, to be honest. It's not me, or my words. The way I see it, there's only one of us who was elected by the student body to give this speech and that's me, not you," I said. I knew I was infuriating her and felt a tiny flutter of fear in my belly watching her face redden, but when I was right about something, I was like a dog with a bone. At least, that's what my Dad always said. He thinks I'd make a great lawyer, and I have to admit, that was my dream when I was little. But then I met Brandon and fell in love. My future is with him and that's why I decided to follow him to the same college and take secretarial courses so I can work with him in his veterinary clinic.

Mrs. B was so mad, she was sputtering and her face was crimson. "Don't think that because you are graduating, you can speak to me like that young lady! The Valedictory is a privilege. One that has been given and can be taken away. Now, I've wasted enough time with you today. Just read the speech." She thrust her version at me and kicked me out of the empty classroom.

"And your father will be hearing about your insolence," she yelled, as I left. "Bite me," I said under my breath. 

One more day. One more day of this and then I'd be an adult. Forever free from assholes.

I burst out into the hot sunshine and took a seat on the steps. Boiling with rage, I looked at the two versions in my hands, mine a sea of red ink. Who did this woman think she was?

"Got a smoke?" 

I glanced to the side and saw Tommy Slade, one of the skids from the wrong side of the tracks. He was sitting on the ledge, legs swinging. 

"Ew," I said, shaking my head. "No. Gross."

He shrugged. "You're that brainiac. Cassie, right?"

I hated that word. What was wrong with being smart?

"You're that burnout, Tommy Slade," I said. His laughter surprised me, a genuine laugh. He didn't seem offended at all.

"What are you doing here, Brainiac?"

"Don't call me that. I'm getting my Valedictory speech torn apart and being forced to read propaganda," I said. I don't know why I was so honest with him; after all I barely knew the guy and by all accounts, he was bad news. 

"What?"

I held up both speeches, showing him the one slashed apart with red ink. 

"Oh, the old bitch strikes again," he said, shaking his head. "That's what I'm doing here. I failed her stupid Shakespeare class by 2 points. So I don't graduate and it's summer school for me. She wants to teach me a lesson."

That stopped my pity party in its tracks. "Jeez, that's awful."

"She thinks a few months rotting away in school over the summer will do me some good. I might fuck off back to Vancouver, who knows. This is bullshit."

"Is that where you're from?" 

"Yep." 

I looked up at him for the first time. He was in a ripped Van Halen t-shirt and tight jeans. Indecently tight by the looks of it so I focused my eyes upwards. His eyes were green, a startlingly clear green like the ocean in those far-off vacation places where you can see through to the sandy bottom. His wild hair fell in shaggy waves around his shoulders - light brown kissed with gold. He must have been very blond as a child. His face was tanned and he had cheekbones that could cut through butter.

The girls went on and on about how handsome he was and I had to admit, he wasn't bad looking. But I heard he was a total reprobate and a brute. According to rumour, he put a kid in the hospital and had to go to juvie. The guy was a criminal.

"Well, I gotta go," I said, standing up. The ceremony was starting in a few hours and I still wasn't sure which speech to go with.

"Read your own speech," he said, jumping down from his perch on the ledge by the stairs and bounding down the steps. "Don't let any of these pricks tell you what to do. Stick it to the man."

With that he was gone. 

Stick it to the man. 

I liked that.