This choice: Tell him he just lost his bet with Carson • Go Back...Chapter #10Favors Denied by: Seuzz   You snort in Keith's face. "You just lost your bet with Carson," you tell him.
His eyes pop. "Dude! Don't be like this!"
"Like what? Don't be a fucking cheater who helps another fucking cheater to fucking cheat?"
"This isn't cheating!"
"You bet Carson you could buy some weed off Chen, and now you're—"
"The bet was about if I had the balls to try! And I tried!" Keith has gone very red in the face. "It's not my fucking fault that Chen wouldn't sell!"
"The fuck?"
"Yeah, he—"
"Are you telling me—?"
"Keep your voice down, Will!"
"Are you telling me that Chen wouldn't sell to you? Fuck you," you snort when Keith nods. "Why the fuck won't Chen sell to you? That's the business he's in!"
"I don't know! Ask him when you find him!"
"Oh, fuck you, man!" Now you feel yourself starting to get red in the face.
"Well, come with me, at least. That way you can swear to Ioeger that—"
* * * * *
You don't know why you give in, but you do. Oh, you don't tell Keith that you'll go buy the doobie for him. But you tell him you'll come along and hold his hand, and will swear to Carson that Chen wouldn't sell even when Keith tried to buy.
But first you have to find Chen.
And you have to find him before you have to get to detention.
So you and Keith split up, with him making a fast circuit of the school while you go out to the student parking lot to maybe intercept Chen as he leaves.
For five, then ten minutes you anxiously scan the crowd that comes pouring out of the school, wondering if you've already missed him, and checking the time to gauge how much leeway you have for getting to Mr. Walberg's room. You still haven't spotted Chen when Keith comes puffing up. "Any luck?" you ask him. He shakes his head, and you tell him you haven't had any either.
It is right about then that a knot of guys comes sauntering out of the breezeway: Spencer Osbourne, Adrian Semple, and Andy Tackett. "Hey," you call out to them. "Any of you guys seen Chen around?"
"What?"
"Gary Chen."
"Oh, hey yeah," Semple shouts back. "I saw him hanging out back at the Music Annex." He smiles impudently at you, as though reading your mind and sharing a private joke.
Keith grabs your arm. "Come on."
"No, I gotta get to detention." But you plant your feet. "If you want help, get someone else. Get those guys." You jerk your chin and Semple and his friends.
"The fuck?" Keith exclaims. "You said you'd—!"
"If I'm late to Walberg's, he'll have my ass in a satchel."
"Dude!" Keith wails as you take off for the school. But you ignore him.
* * * * *
The only good thing about detention—and it's hardly any good at all, to your mind—is that it gives you a head start on your homework. Mr. Walberg makes you and Dane sit on opposite sides of the room, and when he catches Dane trying to catch your eye, he makes you move to the back so you can't be distracted.
Or that's his idea. You're still distracted a couple of times by the sight of a head bobbing up and down outside the classroom, trying to peer in through the narrow window set in the door. It's probably Keith, so you put your face down and power through your math.
In fact, you manage to get so absorbed in your work that the teacher practically has to throw you out. "Your time is up, Mr. Prescott," he gruffly informs you as you are trying to power your way through the last problem. "It's five o'clock." Dane has already skedaddled, leaving you alone with the teacher.
"Just give me a second," you plead.
"I don't enjoy our time together any more than you do," Mr. Walberg says as he hefts his work satchel off the desk.
"I'm almost done here!"
"If you want to stay longer, I can arrange to give you an extra day."
Asshole, you think as you slam your book shut. You just look for ways to make your students miserable, don't you, you fat-assed—
"Don't be a slow-coach," Mr. Walberg growls. You give him a look when you stomp past him.
You're almost to the double doors leading out of the school when a voice hisses at you from behind. "Hsst! Prescott!" You stop and turn.
It's Justin Roth, peering out at you from the F-wing boys' restroom. "Hey man," he says in a soft voice. "Step into my office."
Something about the scene is familiar—it gives you a strong sense of deja vu. But you've got other things to worry about. "I'm on my way home," you inform him.
"We're all on our way someplace else," he says. "That's how come you gotta stop and smell the flowers Or—" He glances back into the bathroom. "The urinal cakes, on our way."
"Fuck, I don't wanna sniff no urinal cake."
"Two minutes of your time, that's all," Roth insists. "Just two minutes of your time."
You're about to tell him to go fuck himself when the nearby double doors fly open and a couple of giggling girls come running in. They are looking hot and blown (but sexy!) in tank tops and shorts. You turn to ogle them as they run past—
And out of the corner of your eye, on the breezeway outside, you catch a glimpse of a much uglier sight. A couple of beefy guys, also in tank tops and shorts, swaggering out of the gym.
Fuck! It's time for after-school team practices to end. That includes the basketball team, which almost to a man is made up of the scummiest lot of bullies and assholes in the school. So—  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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