Need a playlist for your reading? Check out the Anarchy Road Playlist on Spotify!166Please respect copyright.PENANAeJiRrIZYBc
Chapter 13— Jenny Tyler’s First Detention
166Please respect copyright.PENANA0dBlo2aYhn
I was a celebrity in more ways than one the moment I stepped into school that next Monday. It was as if, overnight, the tables had turned for me. Everyone who had seen the fight between Kurt Klein and I had spread the news to every corner of Crossland High. Everyone who hadn’t been in attendance made up fantastical stories about what happened. Like the story about how Kurt had spilled his lunch down my shirt and I had pulled out some ancient karate moves on him. Or the one about how Kurt and his cronies flaunted their gang colors my way and I took that as a sign of a blood war. Or even the one about how I had stood on a cafeteria table and challenged Kurt to a fistfight to which he responded by wetting himself. As ridiculous as each story was, they all included one similar detail: me squashing Kurt Klein underneath my worn-out Converse.
I was bombarded with stares nearly everywhere I went. I could hear whispers about me in the girl’s bathroom and around hallway corners. I could hardly grab my books from my locker without some freshman kids running up to me and thanking me as if I had saved their lives. Freddy had warned me about this sort of thing when I first returned to public school, but I never thought I’d attract so much attention this way. It was almost laughable, really.
The click of my locker opening brought me back to reality. I could feel the stares silhouetting my back, but over the past few days, I’d learned to tune them out. Several lockers away, I heard giggling and chattering coming from more freshman girls and I sideways-glanced at them to find them gazing at me like some sort of superhero. All because I’d done the dirty work no one else in this god-forsaken place wanted to do.
“Well should I start addressing you as Queen Jenny or Your Highness now?” came a familiar voice from the other side of my locker door.
I shut my locker door to find Angie leaning against the row of lockers, a teasing smirk on her face. Angie and I hadn’t talked much since the fight. On one hand, I knew she’d see right through my disguise. On the other hand, I was afraid she’d hate me for my little outburst.
“Your Highness will do nicely,” I replied, adjusting my glasses and smiling as sweetly as I could.
Angie took a look around us, soaking up all the stares and whispers. “Wow, you really have captured the eye of Crossland. I’m surprised Heather Hills hasn’t blown her top. Kudos.”
“Believe me, it’s the last thing I want. I wish Friday had never happened.”
Well, that isn’t 100% true, I thought, remembering the feel of a cold ice pack sitting in my hand.
“Nonetheless, it happened. If I can be honest, Jenny, it didn’t make sense. You don’t seem like the kind of person to go around punching other people. What happened?”
I shook my head disappointedly and refused to meet her gaze. A question I’d been asking myself all weekend.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been feeling myself lately. And Kurt is such a dick. I don’t enjoy being pushed around, and I especially can’t take others messing with my friends.”
At that, Angie smiled, her gaze softening. She sighed and poked my shoulder. “So, we’re friends, huh?”
I smirked and poked her back, a new warmth lighting up my face. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
We stood smiling at each other for a few moments. And somewhere inside of me, I was grateful for Angie. She was better than me in so many ways. And it made me want to become better, too.
“So,” she continued, “We still on for flirting practice?”
Oh damn, I almost forgot.
“Definitely,” I chirped, walking with her towards my next class and contemplating how in the world I’d get my parents to say yes. “But, I’ve gotta warn you, I have detention now, so it’d have to be later.”
“I get it. If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime. Just let me know when you feel like coming over.”
I nodded back at her before disappearing into my next class. All the while, a hundred new worries surfaced in my brain. How would I get my parents to lift my punishment for the day? And how would I teach Angie, the most awkward socialite ever, to flirt?
166Please respect copyright.PENANAg3SBuGD6kn
**********
166Please respect copyright.PENANAACrwxJoW3J
When I was first putting the finishing touches on my Jenny Tyler concept, the last place I had ever suspected her of ending up in was detention. Jenny Tyler was a good girl. But, more than that, she was a wallflower and kind of a snitch and very much a rule-follower. She wasn’t at all like the people there…
I sat stiffly in my seat, my hands folded and neatly laid atop the desk. I looked around a few times, careful not to turn my head too sharply and draw attention. Sitting in the desks of the near-empty classroom were a handful of bottom-feeder students. Some of them looked like Rodrick with grungy, torn clothing, messy hair, and chipped black nail polish. Others wore moth-eaten shirts and reeked of pot. There were even a few freshman boys so absorbed in their hand-held video games that they probably had no clue where they even were. But, compared to these people, I was a white horse in my red pleated skirt, argyle cardigan, and crisp white knee socks.
I’d been here all week, sitting at my desk, staring at the wall, and doing nothing as per detention rules. In the particularly quiet moments, I longed to sneak out and light up a cigarette behind the school where no one would bother me, but the dream was too risky to come true. Fortunately, I hadn’t been entirely alone.
A busted-up black backpack hit the floor and slid straight into my foot, knocking it back into the desk legs. I noticed the bag’s worn-out Black Sabbath and Green Day patches and recognized it instantly. Not long after, I heard the squeak of sneakers against tile flooring and saw the messy appearance of Rodrick come into view. He slumped into the desk next to mine and let out an exhausted groan.
“You hit me with your backpack,” I said, picking up the strap and tossing it back at his feet.
“Better than being hit in the face,” he quipped, pointing to the purple bruise forming on his chin. It looked quite painful and tender.
I smirked back at him. “You’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth, huh?”
“Like a cow.” He leaned back in his seat and grinned a toothy wide smile that made my stomach nauseous but not a bad nauseous. More like the kind you get before riding a big roller coaster, kinda excited and kinda fearful.
Rodrick had been in detention with me for the past few days. Turns out skipping classes catches up with you eventually. But, in complete honesty, I enjoyed his company. We weren’t allowed to talk, but Rodrick had mastered the art of whispering low enough so that the teacher couldn’t hear. Every time he leaned over and whispered, I could feel his warm cinnamon-scented breath hit the side of my face, and it took every ounce of my strength not to shiver.
Rodrick and I spent a lot more time together after we’d decided to bite the bullet and become friends. During lunch when I was still avoiding Angie, Rodrick and I snuck out behind the cafeteria and smoked cigarettes next to the brick wall we’d first met at. It was a win-win situation for both of us. While I needed to avoid the stares and whispers, Rodrick was desperate to avoid the laughter and gossip happening behind his back. Getting punched by Kurt Klein hadn’t exactly been a boost for Rodrick’s popularity. Now, even more people looked at him like a street punk and delinquent. I heard the whispers that said next time Kurt saw Rodrick or me, we were dead. And as much as I hoped it wasn’t true, we took precautions just in case.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” I asked him, lowering my voice as the teacher entered the classroom.
He shifted slightly in his seat and frowned. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. I hate tests.”
That much was true. Rodrick had mentioned he was scheduled to take a dyslexia diagnosis test tomorrow and, therefore, would be getting out of detention for the day. My pride far outweighed my jealousy, and I’d been asking all week how Rodrick felt about the test.
“You’re not at all worried?”
“Worried about what?” He feigned an arrogant grin and gestured to himself. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kinda awesome. And even if that test tells me I’m stupid, it doesn’t matter.” He tapped a finger to his head and said slowly, “Rockstars don’t need to be smart.”
I smirked, thoroughly amused at his act. He must be a great liar. “Yeah,” I replied, “That makes sense.”
After a few seconds of silence, both of us keeping our gazes apart from each other to ensure stealthiness, Rodrick asked, “You know, if you want, we can listen to some jams in my van after this. I got a new Weezer CD yesterday.”
For a moment, I considered it and remembered how much fun we had the last time. After each detention, Rodrick invited me to sit in his hot, messy van and listen to all of his punk rock albums. He’d pulled out his Blink-182, Fall Out Boy, and Guns N’ Roses albums and played his favorite songs off of them, all the while explaining to me the twisted beauty of punk rock music. The only thing I could compare it to was someone explaining the alphabet to a college-level English major. I sat and nodded and smiled along through every song, admiring the passion with which he spoke about the music. Man, did Rodrick love music. While I should’ve been scared that this was just another opportunity for him to figure out my true identity, I pushed that thought as deep down as it could possibly go. During particularly catchy parts, he would beat on the steering wheel with his hands and let his head bob to the beat. And I could only watch him and fall into a strange haze where my chest tightened and my breath left my lungs. I would start to watch the movements of his hands—long fingers tightening over the steering wheel, the golden tan-skinned muscles in his wrists flexing at each movement of his hands, the way his fingers sometimes brushed across the dashboard, barely touching the surface. And worst of all, my mind would start to wonder what his fingers might feel like brushing against my skin, in my hair, down my neck.
“Jenny,” Rodrick started, knocking my thoughts back down, “Did you hear me?”
My heart was now pumping fast and loudly. I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, um, I can’t. I have a thing tonight with a friend. I’m, uh, helping her study…”
“Oh.” His face fell slightly, and I wanted so badly to cancel with Angie and just watch him for hours. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Maybe next week?”
He looked back at me, a lock of his dark messy hair falling in his eyes, and smiled. He gestured around us at the quiet and boring classroom. “I’ll be here.”
ns 172.70.127.25da2