"DAYVAYRRRROH!"
Nathan Devereaux awoke to the sound of a familiar voice with a distinctive Peruvian accent, muffled by the thick wooden door that stood between them, calling out fervently. As usual, he tried to ignore it, roll over in his bed and use the pillow as makeshift earmuffs in an attempt to drown out the morning wakeup call. Only, there was no pillow, and it wasn't morning.
He sat up sharply, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, as he tried to stop his head spinning from the sudden movement to asses his surroundings. There was moonlight streaming in from a small window in the corner of the cramped, perfectly rectangular room. There were some shovels, buckets and tools, and finally, behind him there was a woman, half naked and sprawled across a surfboard, clutching an empty bottle of Absinthe in her hands.
What followed was a sharp inhalation of breath, some cursing, and a hasty dressing as he pulled his clothes off the floor, shook the sand out of them, and pulled them on. The voice behind the door continued banging away, and behind him stirred the girl, who was now sat up and yawning, and was pulling her blouse on lazily over her swimsuit, shooting him a sleepy smile.
"Did we fall asleep?" she asked, giggling softly as she ran her hands through the ends of her hair. "But who can blame us? The weather was so nice and war-" her words cut off suddenly as she watched him, her eyes squinting in confusion. "Are you leaving? Wait, let me write down my number."
Nathan reached for the door's latch, gussying himself up one more time. He didn't bother to look back at her, his voice calm and casual, laced with his French accent. "There won't be any need for that."
"What?" she asked incredulously, her eyes wide as she stood up and stumbled over, pulling him around so she could look at him properly, her eyes frantically searching his face for answers, and hardening into a cold stare when she found none.
He just shook his head, and gave her an apologetic smile, one that was as genuine as Micheal Jackson's nose, and unlocked the door, pulling it open to greet the voice that had been calling for the past five minutes.
Outside stood a boy, short and stout, whose chubby cheeks were red and puffy from having run around the whole day. Pit, or so he was nicknamed for his eyes, round and piercing like those of a pit bull. You wouldn't think he was any older than Nathan, he could've been mistaken for younger even, but certainly not old enough to be his caretaker.
"Do you have any idea how much I've gone through to find you?" he hisses, poking Nathan's shoulder angrily. "We need to get you back to London before anyone notices your absence." Glancing over Nathan's shoulder at the girl, shooting glares in their direction and gathering her things off the floor, his face pales, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head frustratedly. "Oh my god. I'm going to lose my job."
"You've brought your car, right? I don't want to get on that bus again." Nathan says cooly, he wasn't fazed by Pit's show of anger, and he lets out a throaty chuckle, wrapping an arm around Pit's shoulders and steering him away from the dinky beach shed, towards the car park. "Relax, Pit. It's not like you've got the greatest job in the world anyway, stuck playing matron to us juvies. You should be thanking me."
"For the record" begins Pit, pushing Nathan's arm off his shoulders, and shoving him away. "I like my job, so I'd like to keep it, and for the millionth time, it's not a matron thing, it's temporary guardianship. I'm supposed to be keeping you out of trouble."
"But you are keeping me out of trouble, dear Pittie." retorts Nathan.
"Don't call me that."
"My point still stands."
"Pretty sure that screwing the warden's daughter in a beach shed counts as trouble. Are you trying to get some sort of vendetta against you? That man is your key to getting out of reform."
"You're being overdramatic. No one'll find out."
Pit sighed, biting on his lip nervously. Pulling the car door open, he glances over at Nathan once more, his voice cautioning and wary. "I hope you're right. For both of us."
Though of course, he wasn't. It only took three days before an attendant showed up to Nathan's World History class with a pink slip and pulled him out. After forty five long minutes of waiting on the worn out leather couch in the school office, and staring mindlessly at the blank wall wall in front, footsteps were finally heard down the hallway, followed soon by a shadow, and then Pit. He looked breathless and tired, the usual, but he wore a full suit too, not so usual. In his hand, another pink slip, or was it the same one as before? Nathan couldn't tell.
A few moments of silence later, Pit finally sat down and cleared his throat, placing the slip face down and sliding it across the table till it was halfway between them, watching Nathan with a look of irritation. "You're not going to ask me what it is?" he asks, nervously adjusting his tie.
Nathan reached for the slip, sliding it over, but not flipping it over just yet, his eyes on it warily. "What else could it be?" it was mostly in rhetoric. Letting out a jaded sigh, he leans back in his seat his eyes meeting Pit's reluctantly as he went through a million different ways that he could apologise for getting him transferred, eventually settling for "Where is it this time?"
"The Unites States." Replied Pit.
"Well that's not too bad. I think you should be fine."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, you know Jackson from dorm 4? He went there last year on exchange and he said it was alright."
"So you think it's a good place to go, then?"
"Why not? A new start and he did say the women were great. If you want an exact quote, he said 'Didn't seem to need too much coaxing to get them to spread eagle.' "
"But I've also heard that the reform system is much stricter. Rumours of corporal punishment."
"Pfffft." retorted Nathan, waving a hand at him dismissively as he stood, making his way over to the vending machine in the corner. "I'm sure they're not going to use canes on the matrons. You have nothing to worry about."
"No, I don't. But you do", and with that, Pit leaned forward to flip the pink slip over, flicking it to the other end of the table and nodding to it. His jaw tense and his arms crossed as he leaned back into his seat. "It's not me who's getting relocated, it's you."
Nathan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he brought his can of coke to his lips, taking a long sip as he spun the slip around to face him. Pit was right. There it was, right across the top of the page: Approval of Transfer Request for Student ID.NS128. Devereaux, Nathan.
He burst out into a fit of sputtering laughter, shaking his head in bewilderment. "I should have known." he says, running a hand through his hair, a cheeky smirk marking his chiselled features. "Don't worry about it too much. I'll just be careful to be extra annoying over there so they get sick of me and send me back here."
"You can't do that." murmurs Pit, pulling out a second slip from his coat, this one white and laminated. Immeadiate signs of an official document. "Your emancipation came through, so one more misdemeanor and you go straight to correctional. No trial, no more reform school."
With a soft groan, Nathan set his can down, picking up the papers that were basically dictating his life as of that second, glancing between them with a blank expression, then flipping them over and back. "It doesn't say what school."
"Doesn't it?" asked Pit, looking befuddled as he rummaged through his pockets, pulling out his phone and swiftly scrolling through his emails. "I think I have the details in an email..Should be here somewhere..Yup, got it" and with that, he turned his phone around, handing over to Nathan so he could read the words printed at the bottom of the page in big, bold lettering.
"Mercer Academy"
