|I was sitting in history class and Ms Campey was giving an overview of why the world wasn’t able to prevent rising sea levels caused by global warming.
“Rising sea levels had large implications for the international community. It caused mass waves of refugees from island nations in the Pacific, Caribbean….” Ms Campey’s voice trailed off and once again my focus turned to more interesting things, her body.
Man she was hot. And she looked hotter in her suit-dress thing. Her skirt only came down to her thighs and her jacket complimented her figure nicely. She looked like some secretary out of a fantasy or something.
“Hey, Classic Style, pass me my pen,”
That bastard Mew snapped me back into reality. I ignored him.
“Hey, Classic Style, my pen is at your feet. Get it for me,” said Mew.
I ignored him.
“Classic Style, stop perving on the teacher and get my pen, you stack,” said Mew raising his voice so everyone could hear.
“Hey, get fucked you bastard. Get your own pen,” I replied, stung by being exposed to the class.
Mew threw his iStudent at me. It hit me in the arm as I covered my head. I got and pushed his desk into his stomach, trapping him in his chair. He flailed about trying to set himself free.
“Stop! That’s enough. Both of you will see me after school outside the staff room,” said Ms Campey.
Sick, now I was going to miss the bus home.
Mew and I sat in the detention room with a little clip attached to our fingers.
“You just don’t act like that! Especially in my class, ok Mew, James. The school policy is strictly against swearing and violence,” said Ms Campey. She was scary when she got into enforcer mode.
“You can apologies or I have to punish you,”
“No,” we said simultaneously.
“What! You’re both too proud to apologies! Fine, you both stay in detention for an hour” said Ms Campey.
She pushed a button and we both got a shock from the clip on our fingers. We both pretended it didn’t hurt. I sent my mum a message saying I will be late and put my phone in a plastic box. We got into our detention cubicles and sat down in the uncomfortable school-chair. The detention cubicles sucked. You had to sit in there for an hour in the shitty chair and the fluorescent light was too bright. Behind a sliding door there was a toilet that was real hard sitting down on. My fat friend Optimus said he couldn’t even get in there.
Mew and I had an intense rivalry that often landed us in detention. When we first met we got off on the wrong foot. The first thing he ever said to me was, “James, that’s a real old name.” That was why he always called me “Classic Style”. We have been butting heads ever since.
Back at school the next day I found a not in my locker saying there would be a party at Sunshine Beach on Friday night. We used notes because teachers and parents stalk social media and phones and everything. They can’t read notes unless they get their hands on one. But they are too stupid to think that we operate this way. Notes are now the preferred way of passing on any serious information to one another. I turned the note over to see who was going and added my name to the back. I stuffed the note into the locker next to mine.
About fifty kids stumbled around, tripping on the sand while they carried on about all sorts of nonsense. A bonfire consumed branches and beer bottles while kids jumped over it. My friends and I stood in a circle making immature jokes while drinking the cheapest alcohol available that some over-age guy had bought for us. I caught Mew out of the corner of my eye doing the same thing I was doing with his friends.
The night wore on and the crowd started to thin out. I sat on the sand making no progress with the girl next to me. Some sand landed on my shirt and all over my arms. I looked up saw Mew, back turned to me talking to his friend.
I got up and shoved him in the back.
“Watch where you go kicking sand around,” I said.
The alcohol and detention made me angrier than I usually would have been.
He got up and pushed me back.
“Get lost, faggot.”
We launched into each other, throwing poorly aimed punches with booze fuelled aggression. We eventually fell on top of each other and rolled around trying to get each other in headlocks. The crowd pulled us apart. I ran over to the fire and pulled a stick out by the cold end. I saw Mew walking away from the crowd so I hurled the stick at him. It bounced harmlessly off his back.
He grabbed the stick and ran at me.
He had picked up the hot end as was now clutching his wrist in agony. Someone ran over with a flashlight.
“Wow, that’s gnarly! Do you think we need to call an ambulance?”
Monday came and we were all back at school. My parents told me off and had me pretty much locked up in my room for most of the weekend when they heard about Mew. I saw Mew across the hallway. He shot me a glare as we entered class. His hand had healed up nicely from the operation. They were saying his whole palm had melted off. My parents said I was lucky Mew’s parents didn’t involve the police. I didn’t care, he deserved it.
Ms Campey droned on about the benefits and repercussions of nuclear power in the 21st century. A paper ball hit me in the head. I turned around and saw Mew staring at me, trying to look menacing. I picked up the ball and unravelled it.
“Fight me at the park behind the Walmart after school,” read the note, written in terrible handwriting.
I wrote one back.
“Ok, your handwriting is shit by the way.”
For the rest of the day excitement grew as more kids found out about the fight.
The class bell rang. I got out of my chair at walked out of school. Mew was waiting for me. All the other kids who wanted to watch kept walking so things didn’t look suspicious.
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t run away,” said Mew, noticeably less aggressive now that we were alone.
We started to walk to the park. It was a 10 minute walk all the way in the poor area, no cameras. The walk became awkward so I told him,
“Your hand looks pretty good.”
“Yea, good as new,” he replied.
Another awkward pause.
“How’d you get that scar on elbow?” Mew asked.
“I tried to ollie a seven stair and stacked it. I just put superglue on it, that’s why it’s so messy,” I said.
“Why don’t you get it fixed by a doctor?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t be bothered. My parents always hassle me about it,” I said.
Are you into skating?”
“Yea, I built a half pipe in my back yard, and my parents don’t even care!” Mew said enthusiastically.
“Yea, do you want to check it out?”
We headed to Mew’s place, the fight completely forgotten.
“How hot is that Zelda chick in grade 12!”