CHAPTER THREE – Just Looking for my Penguin

All parties have aftermaths, right?

-x-X-x-

Monday morning was a rush. My alarm didn’t go off, or I might’ve chucked it out the window (half trying to hit Cale in case he was in his yard that early in the morning), and I ended up showering in under 2 minutes. I was walking out the house holding my pieces of toast like a splayed hand of cards when I started choking on my mouthful because, well, plain toast is just really dry. Jack had already left because he’s a keen little boy when it comes to soccer training, and I had no idea why Cale was standing shirtless on his front porch, just watching me choke.

I coughed nonstop for about five minutes before my stupid breakfast became dislodged from my esophagus and hit one of Dad’s eccentric-looking garden gnomes in the nose, making a loud ‘ping’ as it ricocheted around the garden to a patch of grass twenty feet away.

Then, I heard laughter. The ass.

Pulling my bag over my head, I knelt down on the path and proceeded to rifle through it.

Cale turned, to the front door, still laughing, and disappeared for a few minutes, before reappearing fully clothed and equipped with a travel mug of coffee, his car keys and bag.

“What the hell are you doing?” he sneered.

“Just looking for my penguin,” I sneered back.

Cale stepped over the low hedge dividing our front yards and came to tower over me. After five minutes of no success, he snapped. “Well come on then, I want to see this penguin of yours!”

With an air of victory, I ripped the stuffed penguin key chain from the bowels of my bag, my house keys smacking against each other and jingling with the effort.

Cale snorted.

“What?” I snorted. “You didn't actually think it was a real penguin, did you?”

He mimicked me, although it look more like a spastic level of contortion, and we simultaneously headed for the shiny silver car parked on the cusp of the imaginary line between both houses. Its lights blinked, rather threateningly (for a car), when Cale unlocked it.

I opened my door. “I still can’t believe my brother left me to ride to school with you,” I spat, as I sat down.

Cale brandished the coffee. “Cheers to your giddyingly cheerful company too,” Cale replied, completely at ease under all my hostility.

“Give me that.” I snatched the sacred elixir of life from his clutches and downed half of it in one go, only realising it was still at boiling point after it seared off half the inside of my throat.

Cale started the car, seemingly oblivious to my suffering but for a very small smile.

“Fuck you,” I said venomously as soon as I could manage it and clapped my hand over his mouth to stop him from saying “I know you want to” back.

When I removed my hand, he jerked the steering wheel, sending the car over to the right, and slammed on the brakes. “You’re free to walk if you’re going to be so infuriating.”

“Just as soon as I cut off my hand.” The thing is that it’s only a half hour walk, and I’m not one for being particularly punctual, but there are three highways you need to cross to get to West River High School, and they’re all really dangerous. Plus class was starting without us as it were and I so didn't need another detention under my belt.

Cale sneered.

And alright, I’ll admit it, highways really freak me out.

“Just drive, Bennett.” My voice was resigned. “We can just not talk and it won’t be quite as excruciating.” Don’t hold your breath, my conscience taunted – Cale is an insufferable chatterbox when he’s not sucking face with someone.

We were late. And now I have detention. With him.

-x-X-x-

It was the period before lunch, Physics, and Mr Pruitt was showing us slides about stars. I shared the back row with Andersen, Lara’s eldest younger brother, and Vaeg (pronounced “vague”), Gwen’s dancer friend who ate lunch with us a lot. Unfortunately, Cale and Emma were seated directly in front of me. Their heads were bent together, obscuring my view of the supernova, and Emma was whispering heatedly. Occasionally words would float over to me, and I caught things like my name, “kissing” and “unfaithfulness”.

Cale said something back that was too low for me to hear, and her face found the point between the annoyed/insulted expression of the last line of the exchange, and a pained expression.

Either way you spun it, they were going to break up. The question was whether they’d get back together again. And if I were in Emma’s position, I don’t know why you’d want to get back together with the spawn of Satan. I guess she likes the prospect of taming a fully-fledged man-whore. Good luck to her!

Anyway, after that, she spent the rest of the lesson sitting on the furthermost edge of her chair from Cale without actually leaning into the lap of the person on her other side.

Andersen next to me shifted and muttered, “I honestly can’t understand why he’s dating her. There’s nothing in it for him.”

I leaned back and casually whispered, “No-one likes it, do they?”

He snorted silently and smiled. “My sister has a plan. She’ll kill me for telling you but I really think you should be warned.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows sceptically.

“Well,” Andersen flicked his black hair out of his eyes, “she and Gwen think you and Cale are destined to be together, though she’d never phrase it exactly like that. Anyway, after that hook-up at that party – yes, she told me about that – she’s really expecting something to happen between you two.”

“Where does the evil Lara plotting come into this?”

“Well, only Gwen knows the plan, and Lara dug something out the trash so she wouldn’t tell anyone, because you know she doesn’t really maintain much of a hold on her tongue unless there’s something solid locking it.”

“Mm...” I stared off, thinking. I wanted revenge for that kiss. That boy can’t be allowed to get away with such...urgh! “Relationships are like chains,” Jack had once told me, “they bind you completely.” Well, Cale wasn’t obeying that and he needed to learn some serious lessons in loyalty and faithfulness.

I pottered around some small ideas before the big one really hit me.

“Maybe I can get all of them back,” I muttered. I didn't mean for Andersen to hear me, but it didn't really matter. I spent the rest of the lesson having cryptic conversations with my best friends and taunting the school's biggest taunt. I was going to kill him the same way he killed everyone else. Taste of his own medicine. Little did I know he was planning his own kind of world domination, with me right at its heart.

-x-X-x-

So I’ll give you a run-down of the joys of detention at West River High, but only after I talk about normal detention because somehow I miraculously know what that is.

Normal detention: silent time in a classroom packed with redundant punks, possibly involving homework. And there are sometimes outdoor tasks that involve cleaning up the school.

West River High detention: charity partner work. And it has to big, and epic, e.g.: benefit dance, or something school-wide.

-x-X-x-

I crept up the stairs behind him, the detention paper clutched in my hand. I don’t think I’ve been in here since we moved in next door, and that was over 13 years ago. Suffice to say that my memories of it are pretty frail. The hall is pretty standard; peels off to reveal a lounge, TV room, kitchen, downstairs bathroom, etc. Then there are the stairs. And the landing is just as standard issue as the hall downstairs; peals off into various bed rooms and bathrooms. Now, I know exactly where Cale’s room is because I have the ridiculous misfortune of living literally next-door to the boy. Like, window-to-window next door. A position my somewhat unhinged best friends see as a stroke of luck as big as a goldmine and as beautiful as a god. Read:

I’ve just come back from the kitchen, bearing gifts of nutrition in both hands. Being the best friends that I thought they were, I would’ve thought they’d provide a bit of help, i.e. take the fricking food out of my hands. But no, I come back to my room to catch the gorgeous view of their be-denim-ed backsides while they leant on their elbows against the window frame, their chins propped up on their hands, dreamy sighs issuing occasionally like wisps of smoke.

The object of their desire, a shirtless Cale Bennett, wandered around his room for a moment, before locating his dumbbells and set on working his biceps, standing in front of the window. He so knew Gwen and Lara were watching!

“Could one of you stalkers use your hands to help me out here?” I squealed indignantly. The plate of food and tray of glasses giggled threateningly with my frustration.

“Honestly, you’re probably the luckiest girl in West River High, and you don’t even acknowledge it, or indulge, at all?” Gwen’s voice would have sounded like a combination of confusion and disbelief if she hadn’t been indulging in said luck, therefore resulting in a tone much like a murmur.

Lara elbowed her in the arm. “You help Cherish, you’ve been watching longer.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.”

“Have not.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.”

“Hah! Gotchya!”

Gwen spun around slowly on the balls of her feet, Puppy Dog Pout in full swing as she trudged toward me.

The only way to deal with that level of Puppy Dog is to be brisk, I’ve found. “Hurry up!” I snapped.

Gwen frowned and swiped the plate from my hand. Lara let out another sigh. I set the tray down on my desk and travelled the few paces to Lara, tapping her on the shoulder. Gwen watched skeptically as Lara tilted her head in my direction, eyes sliding reluctantly from their object of gawping.

“Cool Ice Queen image?” I say, my indigo eyes dancing as I wave one of my hands to indicate her form, “Gone.”

Lara scowled and shut the window with a snap.

He pushed the door, open, and I hunched away from the frame as I walked forwards. Surprisingly, never been in here before. I have definitely seen it though.

Cale walked around in a circle to face me, gesticulating with wide-spread arms, “Welcome to my humble abode.” As he walked past the mirror, I saw his eyes glance quickly and he flicked his fingers through his hair, tousling it up.

He sat down on a blue swivel chair before his steel-frame, glass-plate desk and I dumped my bag on the floor, trying very hard not to bust out laughing. Cale must’ve forgotten I was here. His hands went back to his hair, fidgeting with its presentation. By this point, I was having nearly no success in the non-snigger department. And I couldn’t believe he was doing all this fidgeting and adjusting with me here, watching. At least it’s good to know that his vanity is almost level with the general female populations’.

I snorted. “Boy, you do try. Admit it.”

“Why are you here again?” he sneered.

I shuffled from foot to foot, then kicked my school bag towards him. “Charity project, Bennett.” I rolled my eyes elsewhere. “Let’s just finish it and move on.”

“’Move on’?” Cale raised his eyebrows.

“It’s not the first time some teacher has pleaded yes to insanity and paired us together.”

“But, you said ‘move on’?” he pressed.

I should have known he’d wanna talk about the stupid hook-up.

He left the desk chair, took two steps towards me and stared straight at me while he reeled off the same speech he’s been playing since the seventh grade: “Look. Massey, it was late, there was alcohol involved. The kiss... Well Emma and I are off at the moment but we’ll be back on again, you’ll see.”

I decided to play the ‘too smashed to remember a hook-up with your brother’s best friend’ card. “Cale, what kiss?” I’ve pulled the confused/innocent face enough times to pass it by pretty much everyone, including him, it seemed this time.

Cale looked startled. He does pride himself on the uses of his tongue so I guess I’ve insulted him by not remembering such artistic abilities with one’s oral muscles. But then his face turned sly and I tried to hold on even more tightly to my self-control before the storm descended.

“Oh, well, at the party, I was just standing there, minding my own business, and you just threw yourself at me. I tried to shake you off but you were more concerned with getting my shirt off to notice – but who could blame you, I am fabulously good-looking. (I tried not to gag here.) And then poor Emma came around the corner and even though I tried to tell her that you kissed me, she and I have broken up, but as I said before, we’ll be back together in a week, just you wait and see.” The last part sounded like he was threatening me, like I was trying to prove him wrong. But I’m not completely catatonic, I know that girls flock to Cale. Cuteboy charm, chiselled jaw, and the prospect of taming the manwhore is big turn on. I’m not about to fight the facts of magnetism.

All through his disastrous monologue I tried not to turn a nice shade of beetroot. Nice. Lie to my face you imbecile. Either he knew I knew, or my innocently stupid look was that good.

I was at a complete loss for words, and fumbling, when my phone went off. The sounds of Basement Jaxx’s Good Luck (Featuring Lisa Kekuala) ripped into the room. The song sounded comical projected through the puny speaker of my ancient Motorola Razr. I flipped it open and rolled my eyes up to the ceiling.

“Hey, Cher, it’s Lara.”

“Caller-ID beat you to it, bub,” I remarked, wandering over to Cale’s bed and sitting on it. “What’s up?” I asked, smoothing my hands over the azure blue. The slightly rough feeling made my hands tingle as they moved back and forth. I’ve got a penchant for tingling sensations.

Cale was sending me all kinds of evil death-ray glares and I raised my eyebrows sarcastically before leaving the room. Instead I sat at the top of the stairs.

“Gweneth has dance practice tonight… and she’s the expert on textiles… and we’ve got this project coming up… Well, anyway, I was wondering if I could come over and talk to Gabby about it..?” (Gabby is my mother, also an amazing sewer.)

“Yeah, she’ll probably be fine with it. I’ll just give her a call and tell her you’re coming over after I get off the phone with you.”

“Glad to know my voice soothes your pain at night,” Lara remarked dryly. “Wait, you’re not at home?” Her voice turned sly and I could just seeher eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Well, now that you mention it,” I wound a tendril of hair around my finger – this was a delicate subject of course. “I am, kind of. I’m in the right street, just not the right house…”

“Oh, my GOD! You’re in his house. You little vixen. What are you doing there?”

“Fricking brother, fricking soccer, fricking practice, fricking Cale, fricking ride, fricking school, fricking late, fricking detention, fricking Cale.” Ehhhh… a roundabout way to tell a story, I guess.

Lara let out a peal of laughter. “Dear, dear, dear, darl-face. What’s the charity?”

“Africa, poor kids, the works. I don’t really know, we’re just saying our thing’s raising money for charity. But that’s the only thing we’ve a greed on,” I let my anger slip into the last part.

“Well, ta-ta, kid. I’ll see you around seven. I hope she’s making canolie…” The line went dead and her mirth reverberated around my skull until it turned into Wicked Witch of the West-esque cackling. I hate my life.

Cale’s irritating voice wafted through the doorway and into my reluctant ears: “Massey, I have things to do, people to see, places to be—“

“Shut up, no one cares,” I cut him off, prancing back into his room and reclaiming the bed. Then I remembered I needed something to write with and on, and so fetched such utensils from my school bag with an intense scowl at having actually forgot them, before lying on my stomach and propping myself up by my elbows, ready to write. Cale watched the whole process with the smirk to shame all smirks firmly attached to his lips. It was like I was both entertaining and infuriating at the same time, and the two emotions had claimed his face as a billboard for representation.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m gonna castrate your teddy bear,” I threatened, gazing around the room for it.

“Goodness, no,” Cale’s face didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. Clearly he had a very good hiding place.

“You know, next time you have footy practice I’m just gonna hang around underneath the porch until your parents leave, break in and find it,” I went on. Come to think of it, it didn’t sound like a particularly bad plan. I should see what Jack thinks of it.

The boy stared at me for sometime, then blurted out, “Your hair is red,” in quite possibly the stupidest fashion ever.

“No really? Ya think?” I responded, sarcastic.

His lips split into a grimace of evil that would have reduced sturdier girls to tears, his regrettably gorgeous eyes practically glowing with malevolence. “Cherry red.”

Those two words carried enough meaning to leave my mouth and eyes in perfect, shell-shocked “O” shapes. “Oh, no you don’t.” Pet names are ridiculous. I despise them. But this was too far.

“From this point onwards, you shall be known throughout all the land as Cherish ‘Cherry’ Larissa Massey,” Cale proclaimed.

Oh brother.

-x-X-x-