The Paint Wars

Temporary Hell

"Please, call me back, Ben." I pleaded into his voicemail. "I miss you..." My voice broke on the last word, and I hung up, throwing myself across my bed in frustration.

I'd called Ben as soon as I'd gotten home from Lucas's and eight times between then and Monday. He was still set on ignoring me. For all I knew, he'd ran away and gone backpacking. Ben was totally overreacting. All we had to do was clean a wall. It's not like we even had to serve detention. He was such a drama queen!

I sighed as I realized that this was just like Ben. He never stayed away for long, just enough that I got worried and blew up his voicemail.

My phone beeped, reminding me that I had to catch the bus. Typically, I caught a ride on Lucas' motorcycle, but after our stunt on Saturday, we decided to avoid attention for a few days. I pulled myself up and over to my mirror. Our school uniform was as boring as shit. Black skirt, white blouse, black shoes and white socks. The only freedom I had was my hair. Today, they were carelessly tied up in pigtails, my bangs flopped over my forehead, deliberately covering my tattoo, which was against the school dress code. Oops.

I crept quietly down the stairs, hoping to avoid Brent and Mary. I was just to the door when Mary called out, "Do you want breakfast, sweetheart?"

"No!" I snapped.

"Have a good day, honey!"

I slammed the door behind me without answering her. I made it to the bus stop just as it pulled up. As I climbed into the bus, I realized that I'd never ridden it before.

The bus lady looked me up and down as I passed her. She wore a name tag that read Ruth D. As I faced the other students, I suddenly felt small and shy, like an elementary student on their first day of school. The first seat on my left was empty, so I slid into it and leaned against the window.

For the most part, nobody really looked at me, which meant no one had heard about the new artwork displayed on the front of the Performing Arts Center.

I watched trees streak past, mentally hurdling them. We suddenly turned into our school lot and collective gasps could be heard as the front of the high school have into view. I felt eyes burning into the back of my seat as students recognized me on the building. I shot off the bus as soon as the doors creaked open.

I crowd had gathered in front of the Performing Arts Center, so I darted around the back of the school to our smoking spot where I met Jess, Jordan, and Lucas. Ben was nowhere to be seen. "How are you doing?" I asked Jess, fishing my gloves from my messenger bag.

"Pretty well, actually." She replied. "We caught it before it got infected and stitched it up."

"Cigarette?" Jordan offered. We each took one, and Lucas lit them.

"Did anyone get ahold of Ben?" I asked.
Jess shook her head.

"No," Lucas responded, exhaling smoke. The clacking of heels sounded off the pavement, signaling the approach of a teacher.

"Shit!" We all brushed our cigarettes off on our shoes and took of running. All eyes were focused on us as we entered the building. If I was responsible for some of the work outside, it didn't take long for everyone to figure out who else was an accomplice. I could see the confused look as people realized that one of our group was missing.

When we eventually split to head to first period, an eager yearbook student tried to snap a picture of me, but I shoved my hand in front of the camera lends. "Shove off," I muttered, annoyed.

"Jerk..." The boy mumbled under his breath, walking back down the hall.

<><><><><>

Halfway through eighth period on Friday, the phone in my art class rang, mildly disturbing everyone out of their creative trance. Today was free-sketch, but my sketchbook page remained blank. I didn't really matter if I completed the assignment or not. Miss McLean never checked.
"Henley, you're wanted in the principal's office." My teacher told me.
All eyes were suddenly drawn to me. "Oooooh..." Students chorused.

"Oh, shut it!" I closed my sketchbook and shoved it into my messenger bag and shouldered it.

Jess and Jordan were already in Mr. Kerry's office. They were seated in the plushy seats that sat across from his desk. Mr. Kerry himself was busy writing something hurriedly, with no intention of looking up. I walked in awkwardly, resting my hands on the back of Jess's chair.

The door suddenly flew open, making everyone jump. Lucas walked in, out of breath. His face was flushed, and he took a few breaths before speaking. "My apologies, Mr. Kerry. Mr. Leery made me run extra." He gasped, running his fingers through his hair. "I came as quickly as I could."

Mr. Kerry sat up now, looking at each of us. "That's quite alright, Lucas. Well, now that you are all here, I'll show you to your work." He led us down the hall, into the backstage of the theatre stage, and inside the set shop. It smelled like sawdust. He opened up the bay door and led us out onto the loading dock, where paint cans, rollers, trays, and brushes  lay against a wall.
"I figured I'd let y'all start early." He said in his southern drawl. "The others will join you after school." With that, he turned and walked back inside, leaving us to start out punishment.

"Can you believe him?!" Jess complained the second Mr. Kerry was out of earshot. "I figured I'd let y'all start early!" She mocked in an awful southern accent. "Bullshit!"

I looked at the supplies we were left with. "How exactly are we expected to get the paint off the wall?" I kicked a paint can, disturbing it only slightly. "Does he want us to paint over it? Because that paint job would suck."

"Maybe he wants us to scrape it off?" Jordan twirled a little metal tool with a flat ridge.

"All with that little thing? I doubt it."

We were still awkwardly milling about when Mr. Kerry stuck his head around the door of the set shop.

"I'm here to introduce you to the rest of your team." He announced, ushering a group of PO'd students through the door. "Now you ten will serve detention every Friday until this mess is cleaned up. You could have just sat inside, but thanks to these three," he glared at us to emphasize his point. "You get to spend your four hours getting paint off a wall." He shifted in the doorway, adjusting his boxy glasses as he let his words sink in. As soon as he left, the six others turned to us.

"So this was you?" A boy at the front of the group spoke accusingly, a finger outstretched towards the vandalized wall. He was tall and dark, like an emo wannabe. His overgrown inky black hair spilled over his eyes, parting easily between his fingers as he ran his hand through it. I studied his black jeans, grey button down, and black band encircling his right arm, avoiding his brooding gaze.

Before he could continue, Lucas spoke up. "Yes, it's true. We vandalized the school. Now get over it. We're going to be here until the job gets done, whether you like it or not, but I think it would go a lot faster if we didn't pummel each other to the dirt."
For the first time, he sounded parental, responsible. The other six looked like they wanted to argue, but since his argument was reasonable, they didn't object.

<><><><><>

By the end of the four hours, we'd accomplished nothing. Jordan had picked a few times at the paint with the scraper, but he gave up after two fruitless minutes. We were sprawled on the concrete, drained of energy after baking in the afternoon sun, when Mr. Kerry released us.

"Four hours and I see nothing. At this rate, I'll need to add on summer detention."

I doubted that summer detention was even possible, but I didn't doubt that Friday's had become my new hell.