Drive

6. Drive

“You’re late. That’s the third time this week, Sam.” Mr. Harris, my Chem teacher, so kindly pointed out.
“Yes, I know, I just…”
“No but’s, that’s a detention.”
Funny thing is, I never said ‘but’. However, I didn’t correct him. After all, I was already in deep shit. I didn’t really want to go deeper.
I looked over the room in search for a seat. The only one left was up front next to Angie Teresio.
I sat and she stared. And I wanted to die.
Mr. Harris spent forever lecturing on about atoms and electrons and gases and blah blah blah blah. I was about to eat my own arm just to get out of there when…
“So, I need you to pick a partner for the lab and sit at a table together.”
Before my mind could register what was going on, everyone stood up and ran towards their friends. After a mere thirty seconds, Angie and I were the last ones left. It was pathetic. For the first time, I actually wished that Bobby didn’t ignore her because then everyone else wouldn’t ignore her and her science partner capabilities. But life is not that convenient. So Angie was my partner.
We were supposed to read a couple of pages in the text book together then talk about how we were going to set up our lab. My supposed partner and I read the pages on our own. After that we just sat silently facing the board that was scattered with images of atoms and electrons and God I hated Chemistry.
“Have you two discussed your lab?”
I lifted my head only to see Mr. Harris looking at the two of us with a disappointed expression carved into his wrinkled face. Angie began to highlight random sentences out of the book.
“We were just thinking, Mr. Harris.”
“I expect you two to do your best.” The old man then glared at me. “You better get to work.”
I wondered if Mr. Harris had a bitchy wife at home and felt unmanly. I wondered if he took all his anger out on his students so he could feel dominant. I wondered why I had to have a partner.
“I have straight A’s in this class so you better get your lazy ass to work. I’m not getting a bad grade because of you.”
I couldn’t fathom why she thought I cared about her grades—her attempt at perfection. Like it mattered anyway. It was over. She was over. Why couldn’t she get that through her head? She wasn’t the Virgin Mary anymore. She was tainted.
After noticing that I wasn’t going to move from my slouched position, she sighed and pushed the thick text book away from her. She turned to face me directly and sat Indian style in her chair.
“You and Bobby have made my life a living hell since the beginning of the year.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. She was bringing it up in the middle of Chem class? Was she out of her mind?!
“Not here, Angie.” She didn’t take her eyes off of me.
“I already told you I was sorry. Why can’t you just put it behind you? You know, forgive and forget?” I was enraged. I felt my head go hot and my eyes burn into hers.
“I did nothing to you and I want nothing to do with you.”
Her legs loosened and dangled. Her arms crossed over her chest and she faced the board again.
“So, the scene you made in English the other day, that was nothing to you?” she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.
“It’s nothing…but Hamlet.” I mumbled.
She was about to say something when the bell called for the last period of the day. I guess the bell didn’t like her either. I got out of my chair, grabbed my back pack, and got the hell out of there. I left Angela sitting in her chair, dumbfounded.
Mr. Harris didn’t even have the chance to announce the night’s homework before everyone followed me out. Too bad. So sad.

"Shhhh! Mr. Peterson and Mr. Geiger I am warning you for the last time. One more word and I'll send you two to the Principal's office."
Mrs. Becker's face turned red as she shook her knobby finger at us. Bobby cackled under his breath and I tried so hard not to snort.
Study hall was such a joke. Nobody ever worked in there. I couldn’t understand why they didn’t just release us from the institution earlier and save us from enduring such a tortuous waste of time. There were only two things to do in study hall:
1. Sleep.
2. Piss off the proctor.
Bobby thought the latter would be more fun. He decided to count how many warnings we could get before Mrs. Becker would crack. After seven warnings, she was finally reaching the breaking point and it was actually quite exciting.
Mrs. Becker went back to grading tests while Bobby sniggered. He started to scribble something onto some notebook paper. He then crumpled it up and chucked it at the side of my head. I covered my mouth to keep myself from laughing and picked up the paper from off the dust ridden floor.
On the count of three, let’s turn our seats around and just scream.
Before I could even answer, let alone object to this idea, Bobby had already counted to three. He rose and turned his desk so that his back was facing Mrs. Becker. I eventually did the same. After all, I wasn’t really going to deny Bobby.
The followers just stared and giggled, waiting to see what we were going to do. I looked to Bobby in the same way. He smiled and then…
“JESUS CHRIST SAM, I AM SO TIRED, AREN’T YOU?!” he yelled.
Bobby waited for an answer but all I did was stare at him until he nudged me.
“I AM SO BORED, BOBBY! THERE’S GOT TO BE SOMETHING TO DO BESIDES WAIT FOR THIS TO END!”
“I DUNNO, BUT THIS BITCH IS GETTING ON MY NERVES!” Bobby pointed to Mrs. Becker and grinned.
Mrs. Becker rose from her seat.
“THAT IS IT! YOU TWO ARE OUT OF HERE!” Bobby’s head turned. He had a smile on that almost took up his whole face.
“OH, MRS. BECKER! GLAD YOU COULD JOIN US!”

Bobby laughed all the way to the principal’s office. I was so silent I could her my pulse thrumming behind my ear. The principal’s office wasn’t such a hoot to me as it was to Bobby. We reached the cold grey room and sat in the cold grey chairs until the cold hearted old man we called Principal Wilkinson arrived.
“Well if it isn’t Bobby Geiger and friend.” And friend? God, even the principal thought I was a satellite.
“He has a name, you know.” Bobby declared. The principal frowned at Bobby, but I grinned.
Principal Wilkinson sat at his big black leather chair and folded his big arms over his big grey desk.
“Robert Geiger. I have had you in here so many times I’ve lost count.”
“I prefer Bobby, thanks. However, Mr. Wilkinson, I would like to infer that there is a reason or…fault, I should say, as to why I’m in here all the time. And maybe the fault isn’t all mine.”
Mr. Wilkinson’s brows rose to the top of his dome of a head. Bobby was praised by the followers, and he was there for them. He didn’t give two shits about the administration.
“Bobby, your disdain of authority is what brings you in here. And I believe you should be disciplined for not obeying guidelines set by these authorities. Guidelines which protect and help sustain respect for other people.” Principal Wilkinson’s disdain seemed to outshine Bobby’s as he scorned him. His right eye began to twitch ever so slightly. His hands seemed as though they were yearning to wrap around Bobby’s throat. And his mouth, which was set in a permanent frown, dove deeper into his pale, wrinkled skin. If anything should make someone want to abide by guidelines, it certainly wasn’t Principal Wilkinson and his modes of interrogation.
When it came to the politics of Westwood High, Bobby was king. Bobby always felt as though he had to protect us from anything, including the administration.
I remember Bobby explaining his motives to me over the summer.
“They just don’t care about us.” he said, violently swinging his Xbox controller left and right. We were racing of course. And he was winning…of course. “They’re old and controlling. They’ve forgotten what it’s like to be what we are.”
“What? Adolescent?” I muttered as my pixilated car ran over a construction sign.
Bobby laughed. “No. Vulnerable and longing to be free. But what do they do? They take advantage of that.”
And then Bobby rose to his feet and cheered as his car sped across the finish line.
I looked at Bobby recalling this memory. His jaw was clenched and he was sitting at the edge of the chair; but he answered Principal Wilkinson calmly.
“How does that phrase go? Treat people the way you want to be treated?” Bobby said, mockingly.
It was clear that Principal Wilkinson had had enough as he firmly pulled out detention slips from his grey desk. I felt a shiver run down my spine.
“Well congratulations, Bobby. You have won three detentions.” Bobby rose from his seat.
“What?! Mr. W.—”
“Care to make it four?” he said sternly.
Bobby opened his mouth but said nothing. He huffed his hair from his face and sat back down.
“And you Mr. Peterson. You’ll make up your detention on Monday since you already have one today.” he mumbled, flipping through the detention schedule that sat in front of him.
Bobby squeezed the arm rests of the chair. I knew it wasn’t fair that we got separate punishments, although I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.