CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT | FALICE

ONE | SATURDAY DETENTION

Saturday, September 26th

9:00

FP walked in the classroom indicated for Saturday detention and took a seat on the second row. A raven haired girl sporting a plaid pleated skirt walked in and sat at the desk beside his desk. FP frowned. What was Hermione Gomez doing in detention?

Before he could lean in and question her, a blonde walked in, catching the corner of FP's eye. She was wearing a leather jacket and a pair of ripped jeans, standing out like a sore thumb in this classroom. FP followed her with his eyes as she snaked through the rows of desks, picking the last seat of the third row much to FP's disappointment.

He had seen her on the first day of school but it was always from afar. FP didn't know shit about her beside that she was a transfer from Southside High. Listening to his greedy eyes, he turned around in his seat and glanced at the blonde biker. She was doodling on a piece of paper while chewing a piece of gum, eyes casted on notebook, completely ignoring the Bulldog.

He could've whistled at her to get her attention but before he could do so, Mr. Featherhead arrived and closed the door behind him. "Welcome to Saturday detention everyone. I'm seeing some new faces," he said, glancing at Hermione, "and regulars," he continued, now glancing at the blonde in the back. "I know you'd all rather hang out with your friends or go to the mall than sit in detention with your principal and believe me when I say I feel the same way. I love directing this school but I'd prefer spending my Saturday with wife and dog instead of a group of troublemakers."

Mr. Featherhead grabbed his clipboard with the list of students from today's Saturday detention and started taking presences. "Hermione Gomez?"

Hermione responded by fancily raised her pencil up, keeping her back straight.

"Alice Smith?" he continued, looking up to the back of the classroom and FP assumed it was the blonde biker's name given she was the only one seated in the back.

Alice Smith, FP noted. It's a name he'll have to remember. FP looked behind him and Alice winked. He would've smirked at her and flirted back but his name was called.

"Forsythe Pendleton Jones Jr.?" FP turned around and raised his hand.

The grey haired man continued until he got to the end of his list and put his clipboard on the desk.

While Mr. Featherhead had his back turned, FP turned to his neighbor. "What are you doing here? Did you get your glasses checked recently because I think you confused the school for the mall," he said to Hermione.

The raven haired girl chuckled. "Thank you for caring about my sight but I think my glasses are very well adjusted. I can see that ginormous pimple on your forehead from here, Forsythe. Might wanna get rid of that before the yearbook photoshoot," she pointed as a call back.

FP grinned, chewing on his gum, shaking his head. Despite her Catholic school girl look, Hermione was a sassy one.

"This is detention. That means no talking, Miss Gomez."

Hermione apologized. "Sorry, Mr. Featherhead. Forsythe started-"

"It's your voice I heard, Miss Gomez. Not Mr. Jones's," Mr. Featherhead said. "I don't want to hear a word from anyone for the next hours...or I'll extend your punition. If I were you, I'd start writing immediately because I expect your essay about why you think you are here on my desk before you leave. Remember, 1000 words. No less."

.

15:50

Just in luck, when FP arrived home from Saturday detention, his dad wasn't.

"Dad?" he called.

No response.

Forsythe had promised his son he'd be home all day and would drop FP off at Pop's for his four o'clock to closure shift. It was already three-fifty and from here to Pop's was a long walk. He'll never make it in time.

Unless he runs.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck." FP sprinted to his room and rapidly changed into his work uniform...who had not been washed. Oh well. It's not like anyone will notice from the back kitchen.

"Am I late? Did Pop notice I'm late?" FP asked, out of breath as he arrived into Pop's, uniform crinkly from running and being on his bedroom floor for three days.

Fred look behind his shoulder, seeing Pop whistling and flipping burgers on the grill. "I don't think so."

FP sighed in relief and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a bit of sweat. He wiped his hand on his pants. It wasn't very hygienic but, oh well.

"How was detention?" Fred asked with amusement.

The teenager bit down his lip as an image of Alice Smith passed in his head. She certainly made Saturday detention more entertaining for the eyes. "Not too bad," FP replied before making his way to the back to join Pop with in the kitchen.