Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) (11 page)

Sierra ran after me. “Dante, what’s
wrong?”

I didn’t answer her, still too upset that
she thought I was a whore, but even more upset that I wanted to keep the money.

“Dante!”

I kept on walking. Doors shut behind me,
then an engine started up. The white Beemer appeared alongside me, Camie again
behind the wheel.

Sierra poked her head out of the front
passenger window. “Dante, why are you acting this way?”

I didn’t reply.

“Dante!”

I spun around to face her. “Do I look like
a whore?” I yelled.

She jerked back, her expression surprised.
She opened her mouth, but closed it, looking like she didn’t know how to reply.

“Do I?” I spat, gripping onto my bag
strap.

“I...” Sierra said. “I just thought...”

“That I look like a whore?”

“You took the money.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Do I look
like one?”

Her eyes flicked to my left. There was a
couple several feet away, walking their dog.

“Sierra, we should go,” Camie said, “the
Maddisons are looking at us.”

“I...” Sierra said. “I’m sorry, Dante, I
just thought—”

“That I wuz a dirty whore. I fucked you
both cos I wanted to, not for money.”

“You didn’t have to take it.”

“You still gave it to me, which means you
thought I wuz one.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, I just
assumed—”

“Everyone assumes shit ’bout me and now
you proved them right.” I took off, knowing that no matter how fast I ran, I
couldn’t escape what people thought of me.

10

CLARA

“What’s a satire?” Julio asked, stopping
me mid-sentence. He was a tall, lanky boy who was the star player of the
basketball team. Beverly had mentioned that he was getting offers to play in
America, but his parents wouldn’t let him go until he’d passed Year Eleven,
which made sense, because all of a sudden he was interested in my class.

“It’s one of those half human, half goat
thingies,” Jasper said, answering his friend’s question before I could. The
large boy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, looking
proud of himself. It was Monday afternoon, and I had the juvie class straight
after lunch. It was a lovely sunny day outside, perfect weather for a trip to
the beach, but I was more than happy to be locked away in here, Jasper’s
comments amusing me greatly.

I refrained from smiling, almost tempted
not to burst his bubble. “No, that’s a
satyr
, Jasper.”

He stared at me as though I was deaf.
“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

“No, you’re referring to a
satyr
,”
I spelled it out, “while I’m talking about
satire.
”

“That’s how the Americans spell it, like
when they use
i
instead of
y
for
tyre
.” He focused on
Julio, who was sitting in front of Dante’s empty desk. “You Americans can’t
spell shit. You lot don’t even know that
colour
has a
u
in it.”

“I’m not American, you dipshit,” Julio
snapped. “I told you I’m Canadian and Spanish.”

“Americans and Canadians sound the same and
Spanish people are from America.”

Julio screwed his face up. “We don’t sound
the same, and Spanish people are from Spain not America, you dumb-fuck.”

“They speak Spanish in America, which
means there are some Spanish people living there, so you’re the dumb-fuck.”

Julio threw his hands up in the air,
looking like Jasper was a lost cause.

I covered my mouth, willing myself not to laugh.
“You’re quite right that Spanish is spoken in America, Jasper, but it doesn’t
mean the people who speak it are Spanish. They’re more likely to be Mexicans or
Puerto Ricans, even Cubans. The Spanish colonised many countries.”

“Yeah, like Brazil.”

“No, that was the Portuguese. And
regarding
satire
and
satyr
, they’re different words, not
different forms of English.”

“Forms of English?”

“US and UK English.”

“What about Kiwi and Aussie English?”

“New Zealand and Australia use the UK form.”

“No, we don’t. The Brits call Jandals
sandals
,
which aren’t, cos sandals are those girly shoes, while the Aussies call Jandals
thongs
, which are
definitely
not, cos thongs are G-strings.”

“You’re talking about dialect.”

He shook his head. “I’m not talkin’ ’bout accents;
I’m talkin’ ’bout different words.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Julio snapped at his
friend. “I wanna know what
satire
means, not how dumb you are.”

Before Jasper could snap back, I answered
what satire meant, “It usually pertains to an ironic story, something that often
ridicules governments, corporations, or society in general, which is precisely
what
Animal Farm
does. It’s a blatant stab at the old communist society
of Russia, with the animals representing different types of people.”

Julio stared at me blankly as though I’d
spoken in an alien language, making me wonder whether I’d described it badly.

“Yes, like Boxer the horse,” Lindy piped
up from the front of the class. She tucked strands of dyed-black hair behind
her ear, which was full of piercings, one of them a safety pin. “He represents
the working class, who were loyal to the government. He worked hard for them,
but was betrayed, the pigs discarding him when he was no longer of use.”

I smiled and nodded, the girl a joy to
teach. She soaked in everything I said, making me feel like I wasn’t talking to
thin air. Except for her unconventional appearance, she didn’t belong in the
juvie class. Her knowledge of literature far exceeded her years, unlike her
classmates, who didn’t understand half of what I said, their glazed-over eyes
or confused expressions suggesting they needed to be in a remedial class
instead.

“Yes, that’s correct. Well done,” I
replied. “Have you read the book or just the notes on it?”

Lindy sat up straighter at my praise, her
usual posture hunched over. She was by far the tallest girl in class, a
skyscraper amongst one and two-storey buildings. She answered my question, “I asked
my old English teacher what books we would be reading this year, so I could get
a head start over the holidays.”

“You’re keen.”

She smiled, displaying a full set of
braces. “English is my favourite subject.”

“So is kissing arse!” someone hollered.

My gaze shot to the window at the back of
the class. Dante was climbing through it, Jasper holding it open for him.

“Dante!” I barked. “What do you think you’re
doing?”

Ignoring me, he settled behind his desk,
dumping his bag on top. His hair was an unruly mass of black waves, while his
cheeks were flushed red, making it look like he’d run here. His clothes were
also messy, his grey shirt in dire need of being ironed. Not only that, most of
his buttons were undone, revealing a tanned, muscular chest.

“
Dante
, answer me.”

“I’m here for claaass, miss,” he slurred.

My eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you
drunk?”

He smiled lazily at me. “No, just happy.”

I walked down the aisle and leaned over Jasper’s
desk, definitely smelling alcohol on him. “You
are
drunk.”

His smile widened. “S-only a li’l.” His
eyes dropped to my chest. He reached out to touch it, laughing as I shot
backwards.

“Who gave you alcohol?”

“Me.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re underage.”

“I don’t loook it.”

“You still shouldn’t be drinking.” I
indicated for him to get up. “Come on, you’re leaving.”

He pouted at me. “Why? Don’t cha want me
here?”

“Not intoxicated.”

“Intoxi-what?”

“Drunk.”

He waved a hand at me. “No worries, I’m
goood with alcohol; it loves me like girls dooo.”

“I love you, Dante!” Phelia called out.

My gaze shot to Phelia. The afro-haired
girl was sitting a few seats away from Dante, looking as though she could eat
him up, then return for seconds, thirds, and fourths. “Keep quiet, Phelia, or
I’ll give you detention.”

She grimaced at me, but clamped her mouth
shut.

I refocused on Dante, who was winking at
Phelia, giving the impression he wanted to make her every desire come true. Not
amused, I waved a hand at him. “Up!”

His gaze shifted to me. “What?”

“I said
up
. You’re going to the
principal’s office.”

“Why? I did nuthin’ wrong.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not, I’ll prooove it.”

Pushing to his feet, he squeezed past Jasper,
stopping in front of me. Giving me a big smile, he placed a finger on his nose
and walked past me, his gait wobbly. He spun around, almost toppling over, and
walked back to me. “Seee, I’m not drunk,” he said, dropping his hand.

“You most certainly are, and I think
you’ll need someone to help you to the principal’s office.”

“I will!” Phelia piped up.

I glanced back at her, giving her a scowl,
the girl obviously not doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Her eyes were
latched onto Dante, visibly undressing the boy, suggesting she would take
advantage of him in a second.

“No, someone else will.” I turned to
Jasper, about to ask him, but before I could, Dante wrapped his arms around me.
Lifting me off my feet, he twirled me around, causing me to yell out in
surprise. He let go, almost making me fall over.

I steadied myself and straightened my floral
dress, which had flared up. “What was that for?” I snapped, feeling flustered
over what he’d done.

“I wanted to dance with you.”

“Well, don’t touch me without permission.”

“Does that mean I can touch you if I ask
nicely?” he replied, grinning wide, his glassy eyes sparkling mischievously.

“You can’t touch me at all. Now, go to the
principal’s office.” My gaze flicked to Jasper. “Help him. Make sure he gets
there.”

“No, I want you to help me,” Dante said,
drawing my attention back to him. His eyelids were drooping, making me think of
bedroom eyes.

I shook the thought out of my head. “I
can’t, I have a class to teach.”

He wobbled again, looking like he was
going to topple over. I grabbed him before he did. He placed an arm around my
shoulders and a hand on his stomach, his happy expression instantly evaporating.
“I think I’m gonna upchuck.”

“Don’t you dare vomit!”

In a panic, I quickly steered him down the
aisle and towards the door. Lindy jumped up and pushed it open for us. Dante
pulled away from me and stumbled into the corridor. I grabbed his arm and yanked
him towards the restroom, hoping I got him there in time.

He stopped suddenly, jolting me back. “You
touched me without permission,” he said, looking down at me.

I let go of his arm. “I was helping you,
and you need to go to the restroom; I don’t want you vomiting all over the
place.”

“I’m fine.” He started walking in the
opposite direction.

“No, you’re not.” I grabbed his arm again and
pulled him back the other way, now wanting to get him to the sickbay.

He yanked his arm free again. “You loove
touching me, don’t cha?”

“
Please
, just go to the sickbay,” I
said, beyond frustrated.

“I
loove
it when women say please.”

He pushed me into a locker, making me yell
out, the suddenness of it startling me. He grabbed my face and smashed his lips
against mine, cutting off my protest. I went stiff, shocked at what he was
doing. He pushed his tongue inside my mouth, the smell and taste of alcohol snapping
me out of my stupor. I slipped my hands between us and shoved at his chest as
hard as I could, making him stumble back. He lost his footing and fell,
laughing as he landed on his arse, too drunk to feel a thing. Still in shock, I
reached down to help him up, yelling out as he yanked me on top of him. He
wrapped his arms around me and tried to kiss me again. I pulled free and rolled
over, quickly scrambling to my feet, putting space between us.

Now even more flustered, I pointed a
finger at him. “Don’t touch me again!” I snapped, my heart thundering loudly.

“But you liked it,” he said, grinning up
at me.

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did, you kissed me back.” He
held out him arms. “C’mere, I want more.”

A door on my left opened. Beverly poked
her head out, her thick-rimmed glasses and skirt sky-blue today. Her gaze
landed on Dante, who was still holding his arms out for me.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“Dante’s drunk,” I answered, hoping like
hell she hadn’t heard what he’d said. “I’m trying to get him to the sickbay,
but he won’t go.”

Shaking her head, Beverly muttered, “I’ll
call Paul.” She disappeared back inside her classroom, leaving me alone with
Dante.

I looked back down at him, dumbstruck by
what he was doing. He was pulling off his shirt, revealing an amazing physique,
making my mouth run dry. His body was toned to perfection, with well-defined
abs and biceps that belonged to a man, not a boy. He dumped the shirt and went
to unzip himself.

“What are you doing?” I yelled.

He jolted and looked up at me. “Gettin’ nay-ked,”
he slurred.

“Well,
don’t
.”

“But I hafta if I wanna fuck you.” He
waved a finger at me. “You should get nay-ked too.”

“We’re
not
having sex,” I hissed, glancing
at Beverly’s door, afraid she would walk out at the wrong time, “so shut the eff
up and put your shirt back on.”

He started laughing, “It’s not
eff
it’s
fuck
, as in fucking, humping, gettin’ it
on
.” He started moving
his crotch up and down.

“Stop that! And do as you’re told.”

“I
never
do as I’m told,” he
sniggered.

“Just stop giving me lip and get off the
floor.”

“That’s not lip,
this
is lip.” He
ran his tongue over his upper lip, looking sinfully erotic, even more than the
other day, especially with his mussed up hair and half-undressed state. I stared,
unable to look away, what he was doing arousing me.