Wristbands - M.C.

Two

-Michael's Point Of View-

"There's only three months left of classes." our teacher shouted, waddling around the class. A clamour spread around the room.

"When's the baby due, Mrs Smith?" It was Jen, who was the biggest goddamn suck up I've ever met. I rolled my eyes and covered my face, hoping she'd shut up soon.

"She's due in four." She replied happily, rubbing her stomach.

"What a shame, Margaret. We only get to learn such valuable things from you for three months." I piped in, sarcastically.

"It's Mrs Smith to you, Mr Clifford, and if I hear you say that again, you'll be in detention-"

"Faster than I can say 'Margaret'" I filled in snarkily as I ran my fingers through my galaxy-dyed hair.

"Tomorrow. No later that five minutes after the bell." She scolded.

"I'll see you there. But don't tell Robert." I winked.

She turned an awful shade of pink. And the whole class -with exception of Jen- was laughing their asses off.

"B-back to what I was saying." She stuttered, embarrassedly.

"There are only three months left of this school year. Which means only three months left to finish your community service hours!" Groans filled the room.

"Remember! If you have yet to fulfil your community service requirements from previous years, you'll have to make that up as well." She chirped.

Fuck. If there's ten hours a year-

"That means if you have yet to complete any hours throughout your years here, you have forty hours to complete by graduation!"

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

"Thank yourself for procrastinating." She rubbed in, sarcastically.

Does gaming count for anything? I could get forty hours of that filled in by Sunday.

-

When the bell rang, Mrs Smith reminded us of all the community service opportunities as we picked up our books for passing period.

"Don't forget about Inmate Penpal Programs, Wristbands Foundation for hospitalised youth, and all of our Waste and Dump Management Programs around the city!"

"Mike, I'm gonna do the inmate one. All you do is sit next to a telephone in from of some guy in an orange suit and talk to him for a few hours. And there you go, at least twenty hours by the end of the month."

Luke was always eager to learn about what prison life was like. I never knew whether it was a genuine interest, or to find out if prison life is awful enough not to commit any crimes.

"I worked at my grandparents' old folks home, so I'm golden." Ashton said. He was the overachiever of the group, and the reason none of us are on the other end of the prison program.

Calum barely kept up with his hours over the years, but he was planning on working at some homeless shelter or something to make up the few hours he had left.

"Dude, why don't you do the hospital one? All you'd do is keep someone company, maybe bring them soup or help them to a wheelchair? And you wouldn't even be on the contagious floor." Luke encouraged.

"It doesn't sound awful.." I said hesitantly.

"Here's an example of a girl. She's about our age too. 'Delilah Grey. Cancer. Partners of Wristbands Foundation encouraged her to keep fighting and to start up therapies. Ten years later, she now has beaten cancer for the second time and has a husband and two kids.' And you're possibly saving a life." Calum piped in, handing me a brochure.

"I don't see any downside." Ashton pestered.

I opened up the brochure to find hospitals and clinics that partner with Wristbands Foundation. I ran my eyes down the list.

Greenway Clinic
Rustling Oaks Geriatrics
Orange Tree Rehabilitation Centre
Hope Mobility Centre
St. John's Children's Hospital

"Orange Tree Rehabilitation Centre?" I mumbled.

"Dude that's the crazy asylum off Orange Tree and Maple." I heard a kid in the back of the class shout. You could smell the drugs off him from a kilometre away, and boy was it potent.

But he was right. I'd only heard about this place in ghost stories. The ones where children from the asylum escaped and there mysteriously were bodies from the centre all the way out to the town over.

"Mikes, now you have to do that one!"