‘Mr Wynn has decided to demonstrate what happens when someone violates the class rule concerning keeping all four legs of our lab stools firmly and safely on the ground.’ Mr Quinn sighed loudly. The rest of the class chuckled as Boyce righted his stool and sat, scowling.
‘Assclown,’ Melody muttered.
‘Do you need medical assistance, Mr Wynn?’ Mr Quinn pressed, enjoying the moment of interest and popularity his lectures never generated.
‘No, sir, Mr Quinn. My ass – and other important parts – are all in working order. It’s just OMFG hot in here. Holy hell.’ The class roared with laughter and Mr Quinn attempted to restore order.
Melody narrowed her pale eyes at him, and one second later they went wide in realization. Her gaze snapped to me and her lips fell apart as her face flamed red. I stared at her glossy pink lips and then back into her eyes. Grabbing her notebook, she slammed the cover shut and turned round with it in her hands.
I punched Boyce again, he fell off his stool again, and Quinn sent us to the office with yellow slips that would result in detention.
‘Jesus, Wynn.’ I twitched the hair out of my eyes as we left the classroom.
‘What? You didn’t wanna know that your favourite little piece of ass thinks you’re –’
I turned and slammed him into a locker and he threw his hands up. ‘Fuck me. Dude, don’t go losin’ your shit over a girl like her –’
‘And Pearl Frank is any different?’ I shot back, turning to march towards the office – and Ingram, who’d be thrilled shitless to see the two of us, no doubt.
He sighed and followed, our boots echoing in the otherwise empty hallway. ‘I’m realistic, man. I just wanna do her. I know I can’t have more than that.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, but doing her is completely possible.’
He grinned. ‘Hell, yeah. I’m Boyce Fucking Wynn. Anything is possible.’
I couldn’t help but laugh, pulling the office door open. He didn’t even hear what he’d just said. In one breath he insisted that all we were to girls like Melody and Pearl was a good f**k, and in the next, anything was possible.
I was holding out for the latter.
‘Ain’t you ’bout to be sixteen?’ Grandpa said to me, the night before my birthday.
‘Yeah, Grandpa.’ I waited for the punch line. With Grandpa, there was almost always a punch line to these sorts of queries.
‘I didn’t know if you were wantin’ a flouncy pink dress or somethin’ to go with that earring.’ He chuckled to himself and I smirked.
‘Pink’s not really my colour. But thanks.’
He was showing me his secret weapon to chewy box brownies – adding one less egg.
‘Your grandmother never could figure out how my brownies came out better’n hers,’ he said, and I laughed.
‘You kept your secret a secret from Grandma?’ My father’s mother had died when Dad was in high school, so I’d never known her.
‘Hell, yeah, I did! She did try to wheedle it outta me, God love her.’ His eyes glazed over, reminiscing. I stared into the bowl and beat the ingredients together, giving him his private moment. As I stirred, he leaned closer. ‘The ladies love chocolate. Don’t ever forget that, boy. If you can provide homemade chocolate, all the better. This secret will getcha out of the doghouse, guaranteed. Mark my words.’
‘Grandpa – this isn’t actually homemade.’
He harrumphed. ‘Close enough.’ I layered the creamy mixture into the pan he’d made me butter with my bare hands – which was kind of gross. ‘That butter’ll crisp it up. Get it into all the corners,’ he’d said.
Once they were baking, he asked, ‘What we were talkin’ about? Oh, yeah. Your ever-advancin’ age.’ He snickered and I rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking. Still waiting for that punch line.
‘I was thinkin’ that tomorrow, we ought to start you learnin’ how to drive.’ My mouth fell open. When I didn’t reply, he said, ‘’Less you don’t want to.’
‘I want to!’ I answered, jerking out of my stupor. ‘I just … I didn’t think you and Dad would –’
‘Don’t get too excited. Ain’t no muscle car behind this proposal. Just my old Ford truck, when I’m not using it. Figured you might wanna go on a date or somethin’ – as long as it’s not with that Boyce Wynn. You can do better’n him.’ He laughed to himself again, and this time, I joined in, shaking my head.
‘Thanks, Grandpa. That’d be awesome.’
He shuffled down the counter and pulled a driver’s handbook from the drawer next to the cutlery, full of secrets tonight. ‘Start learnin’ the rules, and I’ll alert the populace to vacate the back roads this weekend.’ He grinned and patted my shoulder, leaving the kitchen, and I stepped into my pantry room, flopped on to the bed, and opened the book, listening for the brownie timer.
Mr Quinn walked table to table, assigning diseases. ‘Each team will identify how their particular disease is caused – genetic, viral, bacterial, chemical, et cetera. I want to know if there are methods of prevention, if there are known or debated treatments, and whether or not it’s contagious.’
The table next to us was assigned anthrax. We got lactose intolerance.
‘What the hell kind of lame-ass –’
‘Mr Wynn, I’ll thank you to keep your language deficiencies to yourself.’
‘But, Mr Quinn – lactose intolerance? What kinda disease is that? People who get the sharts when they drink milk?’ The class erupted into howls while Melody stared at Boyce with homicidal intent and Pearl covered her eyes, elbows on the table, sighing. Our teacher’s face screwed into a knot of exasperation. Predictably, none of that deterred my friend. ‘Stop drinkin’ milk – problem solved! Can’t we have something like, I dunno, Ebola?’