The Fleeting Happy

Six

The very next day after the party, the last thing I wanted to do was spend a morning detention with Carter and Montana, but unfortunately, that was my lot.

The five of us-- Carter, Owen, Montana, Stef and I-- were sitting in Room 107, mostly alone, save for a couple of the other upperclassmen delinquents, who mostly stayed in the corner of the classroom, skulking. The teacher in charge of the detention was Mr. Daly, an old balding man with a permanently sour expression on his face, like he was perpetually biting into a lemon.

"Welcome to detention, punks," was the first thing he said to all of us when the bell rang, eliciting some snickers from the back of the classroom, courtesy of the upperclassmen delinquents.

"Find something funny, Mr. Holman?"

"No, sir."

"Then shut the hell up."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Daly went on without batting an eye. "All of you are here for a reason. Maybe, when I was new at this school back in Eighty-Six, I would've been keen to know why you're here. However, it's been thirty years and I have mastered the art of not giving a damn. So. Rule One of Mr. Daly's detention-- keep your details to yourself. I literally could not care less. You're not here to get intimate with me."

He paused for dramatic effect, beginning to take long, purposeful strides across the front of the room as he spoke. "Rule Two. Nobody leaves this classroom. Seriously. I have spies all around this school who will report back to me if they see any of you punks roaming the halls when you're not supposed to. On a completely unrelated note, if any of you need volunteer hours, I am looking for personal spies."

Nobody came forward.

"Moving on!" Mr. Daly said jovially. "Detention is from now to noon. You may only cross that threshold--" He pointed at the door-- "after the clock strikes twelve. Put a toe out of line even a second before you're supposed to and death will strike. Now, if you need me, I'll be in the teacher's lounge." He grabbed his traveler mug and car keys, swinging them on his finger as he waltzed out the door cackling.

"Mr. Daly's eager to retire," Montana explained to me. "He was supposed to retire last year but his wife didn't let him. I think he's just trying to get fired now."

"But it's not working," I noted.

"Yep," Montana said.

"I'm already sick of this place!" groaned Stef suddenly, cutting into the conversation. She shot up from her chair and began to rearrange the desks.

"What are you doing, Stef?" Owen asked cautiously.

Stef giggled. "I'm making a bed." She arranged four desks into one long bed-shaped table and clambered onto it. "I'll be napping."

They all seemed to already know what to do, having been put in detention so often. While Stef went to take her nap, Carter and Owen went over to Mr. Daly's desk to do God knows what. Meanwhile, Montana remained sitting with me, doing nothing, because this was my first detention and I hadn't exactly established a 'usual routine' yet.

"Hey, Rory?" Montana said.

"Hm?"

"What do you think of Greene?"

I blinked. "Greene? Uh..." Memories of our Seven Minutes In Heaven episode resurfaced my mind. "He seems chill. Why?"

"He likes you," Montana admitted. "He told me last night, after the party. Whatever you did to him in that closet, you pretty much won him over. I think he's gonna ask you out!" She looked excited.