Chapter #9A Rogue's Mystique by: Masktrix   “Snitches end up in ditches,” you mutter.
This brings a snort from Todd. “So do smart mouths, asshole.”
“You really want to play it like this?” handsome says.
You shrug. “Never mind answering your questions, I don’t even know who you are! Some kind of Mutant council?”
“We’re the prefects,” the girl says, ignoring the ‘mutant’ jibe. You’re pretty sure you encountered the word ‘prefect’ in Latin, though why the hell it still exists in the 21st century is beyond you. You must look completely blank, because Dalton speaks up.
“Prefects. In charge of the student body. Don’t you have prefects at Eastman?”
You don’t even bother correcting him. You just look up at the hall’s ceiling and try, for however long you’re stuck here, to enjoy the view. It beats the white panel lighting of Westside, replete with greasy smears where past students have flicked up meat slices to see if they can get them to stick.
“Last chance,” handsome says, clearly the leader of these ‘prefects’.
You look at him with a fixed stare and shake your head. The quartet huddle. There’s a quick, muttered vote. Three of them raise their hands, the girl keeping hers down. You assume that’s a bad sign – she seemed the most sympathetic.
“Keep an eye on him,” the handsome one says to Todd. “I’ll make the call.”
You really don’t like the sound of that.
***
The squad car drops you off at home, and the police officer takes great pains to explain to your parents exactly how much shit you’re in. The St. Francis Xavier School isn’t looking to press charges, but that’s the least of your worries right now. The look that your mom and dad give you is even worse than the sullen glare Keith held all the way back from Lattyville. Then there’s the silent, deathly silent, drive out to the school with your dad to pick up your truck and drive it back home.
You wish your parents would yell more, but they don’t. Somehow the quiet instructions and disappointment are even worse. Your tattered shirt goes in the bin, clothes go in the washer, and your battered and bruised body gets in the shower. Your dreams are filled with hot, angry passion with a drunk, rich-bitch Napoleonette.
Goodbye car keys. Goodbye freedom. Goodbye everything. On Sunday you’re allowed to go to church with your folks, but you’re kept on a tight leash. Even so, the odd glance and whisper says that, somehow, everyone already knows about your run-in with the law. That afternoon the chores begin, although your parents barely acknowledge your existence and you soon end up slinking off to your room. And on Monday you’re reduced to getting the bus to Westside, sat behind a pair of tedious freshman girls, a moody Asian-American and a bouncing, energetic mass of ginger hair who doesn’t shut up about Harry Potter for the whole ride. You do your best to zone out. School and home are your life for the immediate future. Your parents didn’t even tell you how long you’d be grounded for.
The legend of your ride in the squad car has reached the school halls, although the exact story seems to have been embellished. Not only were you and Keith picked up by the police somewhere outside Lattyville, you were placed under arrest and spent a night in the cells. You can’t be fucked to correct anyone, and the cuts and bruises you’re now nursing – including a vicious graze you don’t even remember picking up along your cheek – convince most people not to ask. It’s only at the start of lunch you get a chance to talk to your friends. And it doesn’t go the way you expect.
“Dude, this is amazing!” Keith says, grinning widely at you as you walk to the cafeteria.
You look at him in astonishment. You know Keith’s dumb as a rock, but this is a whole new level. “What? Didn’t your dad ground your ass?”
“Yeah,” he says. “And the Five-O took my fake ID. Whatever; it wasn’t like I was going out much anyway.” He leans in, speaking in a hushed tone. “But have you heard the rumors? We’re badasses! Half the school thinks we’re criminal masterminds! You can’t buy that kind of street cred! We’re the cool kids, now!”
“Try saying that to Gordon Black,” you say. “You’ll get your ass pounded and shoved in a trash can.”
“Who gives a fuck about the jocks? It’s not like you were angling for Chelsea Cooper. But every other girl in this place? The girls who aren’t top of the pile? The juniors? They are gagging for some bad boy cock. And that’s exactly what you and I now have.”
“Shit, dude,” you say to him, flushing a little. “Don’t ever talk about my cock. Or your cock. Or any cock.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” he says. “We’ve got to use this! Someone found out that our brush with the feds involved the Professor Xavier School. There’s stories about you going there every weekend and banging the rich kids.”
“Which isn’t true.”
“You’re missing the point!” Keith says. “Man, this is the best thing that’s happened to us! We’re not invisible anymore. Now we’re on the radar.”
You don’t know if that’s really where you want to be, but you don’t even have time to reply as another presence joins you. A redhead – though not the reserved J.M. from two nights ago. Instead it’s the girl who gave you the dumbass idea to get out more instead.
“Hi Will, Keith.” Kim Walsh fixes you both with a stiff but friendly glare. Keith’s grin spreads out to a sloppy, wide smile.
“My Kim,” he says, not even realizing his slip. You just tip your head in acknowledgment.
“Geez, that cut looks bad,” Kim says to you. “I guess you know everyone in school is talking about what you two did at the weekend?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Seems like the rumor mill is in full swing.” Do mills swing? Rotate? Grind? You’re so busy trying to think about what a mill does you don’t even hear what Keith says, only Kim’s reply.
“Uh huh,” she says, wide-eyed. “Well, I was hoping I could have a word with Will, for a moment?”
Keith grins again and steps away, behind her. Over Kim’s shoulder, he makes a Vulcan Vee sign over his mouth and begins to waggle his tongue furiously, twitching his eyebrows. You try and ignore him; you’ve never thought of Kim in that way.
“What’s up?” you ask.
“I–” she thinks for a moment as she tries to find the right phrase. “You know what I meant on Saturday, right? I wasn’t saying you should do… whatever the hell it was you thought you were doing.”
“It just got out of hand,” you say. “Believe me, it wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as everyone seems to think it was.”
“Will, I was serious. People are interested in you for being, well, you. You don’t have to get hauled home in a police car.”
“Like I say, it got out of hand. Believe it or not, we started the night at Monte Viso’s playing mini-golf.” You just remembered that So-Cal girl with the horse teeth, Corinne, never claimed her giant Toblerone. What the fuck is a Toblerone?.
Kim continues talking, but you’ve zoned out; you have no time for a lecture. Instead, your mind is already drifting back to Monte Viso’s, and the trio of bitches who played you, schooled you, then set you up so they could get a free liquor run. There’s got to be a way to get back against them. Maybe, once your ass isn’t grounded, you should head back there. Maybe you can talk to the assistant, Roxanne. You vaguely remember she tried to warn you about them – and she might be up for helping you get some kind of payback. Also there’s a Toblerone waiting for you.
“Do you know what a Toblerone is?” you blurt out the question in the middle of whatever she’s saying, too distracted by the thought.
Kim’s a little taken back by the question. “Uh, you mean the candy bar? The one that’s shaped like a triangle, that they sell at airports? What’s that got to do with…”
“Nothing,” you mutter, shaking your head to get back in the conversation. “Look, if you’re worried that you’re the reason for what happened, you’re not. It’s on me and Keith.”
“I never said…”
“No. But that’s the only reason you’re talking to me now, isn’t it?” It’s a little snappy, a little irritable, and you regret it the moment it passes your lips. Kim’s expression hardens, but her eyes just look sad. You can see you hurt her for no reason.
“Will,” she says quietly, “I don’t know what happened to you this weekend. But I don’t like it.” She turns and heads off. You watch as she departs, then make your way to the cafeteria, mood suddenly sour.
Caleb is there waiting for you.
“Told you pair of jokers it was a bad idea,” he says.
“Save it,” you say. “Let’s just talk about something else, huh?”
Try as you might, though, you can’t think of another subject. Keith seems to think your new bad boy reputation could be a hit with half the girls in Westside – and wasn’t finding a girl your aim all along? You could always foster that image and see who’s interested. Sure, you might put off people like Kim Walsh, but you were never going to date her anyway.
Yet thinking with your cock made you easy pickings for malicious Mary, and almost landed you with a criminal record as you tried to chase upper class skirt. Maybe your time would be better spent planning your revenge. The Mutants have probably already forgotten all about you – and that means they’ll never see you coming.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author