How Not To Survive In High School

2 - How Not To Act In Detention

As a girl who obviously doesn't talk much, you'd have thought I wouldn't get many detentions. You're wrong. And I don't mind them. If you think about it, it's far better than wondering around school on my own, avoiding populars. So I deliberately don't concentrate in class, doodle in my books, draw on the table and kick the desk when they've told me to stop. I get around four a week surprisingly. I'm aiming for five this week. And it looks like I'm off to a good start.

Tap tap tap. "Shut up, Arman," Josh said immediately. "It's old now." Tap tap tap tap. "Arman," he whispered through gritted teeth.

"Got a problem over there?" Sir started in the middle of reading 'The Hobbit', sending everyone's eyes towards our desk. "Would you like to share it with the class?"

"Sir, Sam keeps doing that tapping thing."

"Sam, we talked about this yesterday after school. Do we need that conversation again?" Sir raised his voice but seemed tired of repeating the same thing for the hundredth time too. "Thank you." He carried on reading.

Tap tap tap tap. "Arman!" 

Three hours and fifty seven minutes later, I was back in the classroom after school. Staying after school really was a waste of time. It didn't get me away from anything except my home. And that's just annoying.

"So Arman, do I really need to say anything to you?" Sir asked when I opened the door. He peered through his circular glasses at me, lowering them as I shook my head. "Sit. You have half an hour. I've got some parents coming in but I know you won't speak anyway."

Taking my seat, I got out 'The Hobbit' and started from page one for the fourth time. Sir reads so slowly I just can't stay awake so I have to read on. I was lost in Middle Earth until there was another knock at the door.

"Come in." A middle aged man and woman walked through the door holding hands, smiling and laughing. It made me want to be sick. It wasn't going to be a quiet last fifteen minutes.

Then a boy walked in after them. Dark hair like mine but bright blue eyes. Although his expression told me he felt the same as me about his sickly sweet parents. And as soon as he saw me he blushed red as if he couldn't be seen in a more humiliating circumstance.

"Mr and Mrs White, welcome to Wakefield High School. And you must be Skye?" he said reaching out his hand.

 Skye. The boy nodded and shook Sir's hand. "I'm Mr Hudderson, the vice principal. I hear you are interested in coming to Wakefield High?"

"Yes, of course! It seems wonderful!" the lady said. Skye rolled his eyes, shaking his hair out of his eyes,  landing his gaze on me. Me. I laughed and continued to bury my attention back into my book. But my mind was elsewhere.

"Now, I'll show you around the school. Sam you stay here until I get back." Sir led the Whites out of the English room and away. I took a deep breath and slammed the book down onto the desk. Standing up, I stretched my arms out and straightened my legs. 

"Hello," a face poked round the door. Immediately I sat back down again thinking it was Sir. It was Skye.

"Er, hello. Sorry I thought you were Sir." 

"Do I really look like him?" he widened his eyes.

"No, not at all. I was just -"

"So," he interrupted thankfully. I didn't know how I would've carried on. "You go to Wakefield?"

"I do."

"And you're in detention. Are you like one of those badass emo girls who everyone wants to be like?" he asked, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes again.

"Not exactly," I laughed. "You're Skye right?"

"The one and only. God, I hate my name. It sounds like the name of a unicorn or something. Thanks a lot Mom."

He raised his eyebrows. "I like it anyway." I tried to stop myself laughing at the thought of Skye as a unicorn. Shut up Sam, don't screw this up. I pretended I was clearing my thought. Smooth.

"So you're Sam?"

"Yeah. I hate my name too. It doesn't even say Samantha on my birth certificate. I'm just Sam. They might as well have written Samuel."

"Well nice to meet you Sam," he said shaking my hand and smiling. 

"Skye?" his Mom came through. "Come on then. He's showing us around? You can't stay in here. We have important things to see"

"Sure Mom," he growled. Then suddenly, as I was about to say goodbye, he came back to me and whispered into my ear, "Don't tell anyone about my deranged Mother." I laughed as he broke away and disappeared behind the door and into the hall. 

I have no one to tell, I thought to myself as I settled back down. Picking up my book again, I realised I didn't want to read. For the first time in my life I had had something - someone - important to think about. Something happy.

After fifteen more minutes, I was bored and decided to leave. Poking my head out of the door both ways and listening for voices, I tiptoed out of English and fled down the hall until, "Miss Arman,"  a voice yelled. Crap.

"Don't you run away so easily," Mr Hudderson came striding down the hall as I swivelled around to face him. "You may now leave but you're back tomorrow lunch, Sam. Now get out of my sight."

"Sorry Sir," I said guiltily, pushing open the door. 

As soon as I got outside, I stopped short in my steps. My eyes widened as I realised I had been talking. Talking loads of words. Even full sentences. And without mumbling! Dear God, please let Skye join Wakefield. Please.