Chapstick Boi

3 - Saturday Eve

"Mmhmm," He adds sceptical aware of my manipulative tactics. He is a smart man. "Why might I miss you?" He asks curiosity driven, eyes no longer straining against the bright sun as he parks himself elbows to knees on a half meter high concrete wall that displays, 'Blackmore Square' in turquoise font against an amber shade backing.

"I'm attending the Enrapture drama workshop for the next week." I say copying his previous stance digging my hands deep within my skirt pockets, standing feet shoulder width apart. Mr Nelson ponders over this, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "On the plus side my classes will be substantially quieter."

Cocking my eyebrows, I inform him in a professional manner relishing the stunned expression that follows, "I'm not in any of your classes, sir." He purses his lips seeming at a loss for words.

"It's OK sir, at your age you should be glad you remember my name half the time." The sarcastic comment was not reproached well as evident in Mr Nelson's, 'wanna run that by me again, son' scold.

"Too far?" I ask scrunching my nose in disgust wishing the gods might grant me temporary invisibility. He nods, mouth pressed in a wide thin line. "Detention?" I press almost fearful shifting her weight uncomfortably.

He shakes his head. "Threaten me with cleaning up after school?" Again, Mr Nelson swivels his head, no. "Wanting me to leave you alone and go to my fr--study period?" At this he exhales deeply, chest deflating as his nods, yes in agreement.

"So long, Mr Nelson." I say offering a fist for him to pound bottom and top. No matter how many times I stand with a balled hand waiting to be hammered, Mr Nelson always brushes me off.

"Adios, for a week, sir." I call over my shoulder swearing I caught a glance of his toothy grin, but his back disappears from view as I return to the library waiting for Mr Fitzpatrick to vacate the main desk to retrieve her possessions.

Rhea Maguire, a fellow actor who is the reason I have body issues perks up at my stealth approach. Holding an index finger against my lips, she nods returning to a wide spreadsheet, chest length hair falls like an air light blanket on her paper.

I manage to duck outside just as Ms Sabre pokes her head into the main area from the second seminar room, "What was that?" She asks folding her thin arms. Mr Fitzpatrick and Tyskewitz shrug their shoulders in unison, returning to their librarian duties shortly thereafter.

*

The study lesson was uneventful as I sat on the outdoor staircase connected with the music rooms exterior closest to the neighbouring boys high school, also catholic. An unexpected phone call vibrates the device in my pocket, shaking the fabric against my upper thigh.

"No phones are to be used on school grounds, Jordan." I jump in shock whiplash ceasing my neck, Ms Winston, aims her attention on me.

She is a large blob of a human and a massive bitch according to majority of the senior grade. My nape tingles under her laser scrutiny, heart still recovering from the abrupt disruption.

"Sorry Ms, but—" Glancing at the contact number through my eye corner I manage convincing her hard set features which are badly masked in dodgy makeup.

Trying not to focus on a distinct difference in her skin tone her double chins become paler as they progress inside her shirt collar. "—it's the head of Enrapture's Drama department calling about next week, is it alright if I take it?"

Ms Winston contemplates this, sweat patching her electric blue blouse darker around flabby underarms. "I guess, but keep it short and sweet, understood?" I nod answering the call as she spoke hoping to pick up before it rang out.

"Um, hi, Lucinda?" I recognised the caller I.D. as Drama teachers Lucinda D'amore and Natasha Beroid's, nonetheless I failed to separate their two contacts, instead harbouring them under the same identification.

"Yes, hi Jordan. I'm just confirming your participation in the Drama Workshop? The details for the next week —if you attend— are on the school Facebook page in case you have any inquiries." I access Saint Blackmore's Facebook page whilst she talks.

Balancing the phone against my jaw and shoulder, scrolling through events that don't concern her until she reaches the 'Drama Workshop all you need to know and bring'.

Opening a new tab I email a copy of the PDF to my family group chat, used mainly to inform them of upcoming events I often neglect to notify them.

If my memory was better, I might remember things and exams would be so much easier but that wish is far fetched. "So, will you be attending, Jordan?" Lucinda asks hopeful, my heart sinks when I realise majority of what she said flew through my ears and didn't lodge themselves in my mind.

"Uh... Yeah, I am, definitely." I sound less than confident, checking the time on my laptop I will Lucinda to hurry the conversation impatient to go home.

"Alright, that makes roughly twenty seven, maybe twenty eight. Awesome. Great, thanks, sorry for disturbing you." Readjusting the phone in my neck dip I reply gesturing to the vast space of fake grass before me.

Collections of various sized litter circulate haphazardly in the air currents across the courtyard. "You didn't disturb me, it's fine, I have a free period anyways, so, thanks again." We fire farewells back and forth like a tennis match until Lucinda caves, hanging up mid 'bye'.

Phone in hand, I contemplate playing Cut The Rope to pass time. "JORDAN!"

I fumble for my phone which springs from my grip like I've been electrocuted, catching it after several bounces. My heart still hadn't completely recovered from Ms Winston's first scare, nevertheless I pocket my cell.

If I listen closely I can hear the echo of my name ricochet across the grounds. The bell would ring soon signalling the start of the weekend. How did I know? Mr Zambi shuffles past wheeling two bins full to the brink with recycling and rubbish. This is my fortnightly cue.