CECE, DISRESPECTFULLY | rewriting

27: VICTIM MINDSET

            'Mix Velez? Thoughts?'

My focus is yanked from the demon I've been drawing (on the desk because who needs paper?) to Emeto watching me with pursed lips. The rest of the class—well, those who are listening, turn to me too, waiting for my contribution.

'On the extent to which the women in the play influence its outcome,' Emeto prompts when I say nowt.

I don't even know what play we're talking about. I repeat, Cobham said I have to attend class on time and not be disruptive but that don't mean I have to listen. I might even have less of a grasp on my studies than I did a month ago.

Unable to not let everyone know that she knows everything, Diwa answers without being asked to, starts talking about witches or summat and talks with enough determination that Emeto can't be bothered to interrupt her and force me to answer. And I think I'm... grateful. Who knew such a day could come to pass?

The last quarter hour passes without questions directed at me and I've already stood when Emeto is giving us his goodbyes. 'Over the holidays, please brainstorm your coursework ideas. I expect you all to come back in January prepared to start writing.'

Though I'm the first out of the door, I don't rush toward the nearest exist like I would want to considering that were my last lesson before holidays. I have detention. From Adio's fire.

The sooner I get there, the sooner I get to leave.

I almost smile when I enter the detention room to find Ó Ceallaigh. She's the best teacher to have on detention duty because she's too timid to force anyone to work. She might even let us leave early.

Let me leave early. There's no one else here. I might actually get summat done since I won't need to worry about the potential of accidentally murdering someone.

That is, until the door opens. And... Diwa walks in.

Both Ó Ceallaigh and I are stunned motionless. Diwa? In detention? That's a glitch in the matrix. No chance.

I could be convinced that she lives in the walls and emerges only to go to lessons but detention? Now we're going too far.

Diwa keeps her eyes on the floor as she approaches Ó Ceallaigh and hands her a detention slip. What the fuck?

'Cecilio, you may find yourself a seat,' Ó Ceallaigh says when I try to read Diwa's form. It's not handwriting I recognise. Maybe it's her physics teacher's.

Lifting my hands in surrender, I drag myself to my favourite seat by the window.

The desks are separated from each other with plywood walls that extend a metre on each side, meaning I won't be able to see out the window, but I've been in isolation enough times to know this is the seat where I'm safest. It's across from the door but with a clear line of sight to it meaning I'll see anyone who comes in but also have enough time to defend myself.

I throw my bag onto the desk, casting a longing glance at the forecourt and everyone currently headed home for the holidays. I'm about to sit when I catch summat and grin.

Stepping out of my booth, I open the window. They only open a few inches but it's enough to yell.

'You let him dominate you like that, Sakda?'

Adio, who a second ago had Sakda pinned to the brick wall behind the cycle shelters, jolts back. They both search for the source before catching me in the second-storey window.

'Didn't realise you were into being all weak and pathetic like that.'

Sakda walks away.

What is going on in this school today? Is it like opposites day that no one told me–?