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I should’ve eaten. I’ve wasted nearly my entire lunch hour talking to someone who doesn’t even want to listen, and now I’m pissed off.
‘No offence,’ I say, ‘but don’t you think climate change and global warming isjust a bitdirer than my hair colour?’
He sighs and entwines his fingers on his desk. ‘What do you hope to achieve from this discussion, Frankie?’
I want to go big, but this is a school, and I know there are only a certain amount of funds each year for trips and evening clubs.
‘I’d like more vegetarian options in the cafeteria,’ I say. ‘And maybe we could start donating things to wildlife charities—like, we could set up a box in the library, or a money jar or something, and we could use the funds to purchase items from charity wishlists. Or maybe, instead of going on trips to power stations and farm parks, we go to the zoo or The Wildlife Trusts or something—something educational and something that might make students passionate about making a difference. Or I could host a talk—‘
‘I can’t have you hosting a speech with pink hair. I can’t have you on the face of any campaign or movement. The school board won’t be happy—‘
‘God. I’ll put a hat on if it’s this much bother.’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, Miss Johnson.’
I bolt to my feet. ‘I will not be programmed by your stupid educational system into never having my own thoughts and feelings. I can do whatever the hell I want with my hair, and do you know why? Because it doesn’t define me. Nor does this tattoo.’ I show him. ‘Does it matter what we look like, if we’re trying to do good? Maybe I’ll start a campaign with bee tattoos to show support, and then every student will be covered in bees!’
The only thing I gain from the discussion is a week’s detention.
It’s made even worse when Archer swaggers into the classroom Tuesday. I haven’t seen him since Friday night, because detention is held during lunch hour, and also because he’s in sixth form.
My body is hot from the memory of him, but I can’t look at him. In the heat of the moment, I wanted him, and he was probably so out of it he thought it was a good idea but now he regrets it.
Archer slides into the seat behind me. ‘I hear you’ve been a naughty girl, love.’
I glance at the teacher; his feet are propped on the desk and he’s on his phone.
I turn my head slightly and reply, quietly, ‘Why are you even here?’
He laughs softly. ‘Maybe I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Maybe I did something terrible just so I could see you.’
My heart is a caged bird inside my chest. His breath stirs my hair, and I remember what it felt like to have his body pin mine against the door, to have his finger inside of me.
I press my thighs together.
‘What did you actually do, Archer?’
‘Honestly, nothing. But I’m here often enough that no one will question it. I actually came to give you my number.’
This feels like something we should have done a week ago.
He holds out his hand. I wonder why he doesn’t just give me his phone. Is he hiding something? I think about the porn thing; maybe it’s his search history he wants to hide from me. Is he talking to other girls? Does he have a collection of nudes from other girls?
I have nothing to keep from him, so I hand him mine, but he doesn’t give it back for so long I begin to wonder if I’m on a dating website or if I’m in a long-distance relationship.
After an agonising five minutes, he drops my phone into my lap and leaves, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve done something wrong.
I don’t see Archer for the rest of the week. He doesn’t appear at my work, either. For the first two nights, I’m relieved. It gives me time to catch up with Kai. He has his first pub gig next weekend and he’s really excited and nervous, and I tell him about Headmaster Benjamin’s meeting, and I’m so glad Kai shares my outrage. We also settle back into our flow of random conversation, such as how he saw a cat jump off a wall and where the hell that thought came from, and how he can’t comprehend how everyone has their own lives and thoughts but we live in our own little bubble, and how birds are actually “weird as fuck” because they’re just these things that fly everywhere.
This is why I love talking to Kai. Not only does he make me question life’s simplest mysteries and make me forget about the shitshow that is my own life, but even if we don’t talk for a couple days, we pick up as if we never stopped. I can say anything to him and he’ll match me. Nothing is ever too weird.
But by Thursday, worry starts to seep in about Archer.
I’ve definitely done something wrong. He would have text by now, or shown up drunk when I walk home. He’s all I think about, festering like a disease that eats away at my sleep and my appetite. My stomach is queasy, and food feels rubbery, and whenever my dad tries to talk to me, I’m only half-listening.
Does he want me to text him first? I’m immediately angry at him, because how am I supposed to know what he wants if he won’t even speak to me?
In Friday detention I muster up the courage.
