Schooled

"How long have you known?" Caitlin had her hands on her hips, her face screwed into a scowl as panic flooded her body. She was afraid she was going to pass out as the blood rushed to her head making her dizzy. She had Mason backed against the wall in the boys bathroom. Mason smirked. He dropped his backpack on the floor and took out a cigarette; studied it for a moment then stuck it behind his ear. He was highly amused at Caitlin's obvious distress.

"Does it matter?" Mason scoffed.

"Um, well yeah it matters. Have you told anyone else?"

"Why would I tell anyone? Who cares?" He displayed his usual cavalier attitude in spite of the fact that he'd just caught Caitlin and Mr. Garrett in a compromising position in the back of the music room.

"Mason this is serious, have you told anyone?"

"No, geez of course not, it was all of ten minutes ago. Besides, who would I tell?"
"Thank God. Now please... please don't tell anyone, okay?"
"What is your damage? You don't have to get all freaked. I won't say anything. Still don't get what the big deal is." He smiled, "So you're getting it on with Mr. G."
Caitlin slapped him hard on the chest.

"You're kidding right? The big deal is I'm still seventeen, I don't want Mr. G getting hauled in for statutory rape or molestation or whatever the hell the cops would call it."
"As if that still happens."

"Yeah Mase, it does. This is serious... I mean it, you can't tell anyone, okay? You've gotta swear it."

"Um, yeah I guess. So how long has this been going on? And how come you never said anything? I am supposed to be your best friend."
"It's been going on for months... since the beginning of last semester. I don't even know how it got started really... but... I feel so different when I'm with him. It's not like Tyler or Dylan... they're such immature little boys."
"Well no shit... in comparison to Mr. Garrett, geez, what is he like forty?"

"He's forty-three, not that it matters. Look, you don't have to be such a smart ass about it. I'm.... I think I'm in love with him."
"You have got to be kidding me. Oh no. Don't start that crap. You sound just like you did last year... remember when you were dating that guy from the Mission. You only volunteered down there until you got a date and you thought you were in love with him too. And how long did that last? Just call it for what it is.. you think Mr. G's hot and you just want his body." Mason laughed heartily.

"Oh you are a riot. It's not like that... this time." Caitlin turned away from him. "Why are we having this conversation? Just promise you won't say anything to anybody. Tom could get fired.... or... worse than that."
"Yeah, whatever. My lips are sealed. I don't know nothing. Besides, when the two of you get busted, and you will... eventually... I don't want any part of it."

"Well that's not gonna happen. I turn eighteen in twenty-one days, and then I don't care who knows."
"Oh yeah? Well that takes care of the criminal aspect you're so worried about.... but you know he could still lose his job. And isn't he married? I'm pretty sure that's unethical."
"Unhappily married, and from what I understand she's a real bitch. And since when did you get on the ethics committee? I don't think skipping third period to smoke pot with Jeremy Reese is at the top of the ethics list either; that and whatever else it is you do when you're cutting classes."

Mason shoved her shoulder playfully, the way he'd been doing since they were in preschool together. "Yeah whatever, point taken. Don't worry, your dirty little secret is safe with me."

Two seniors came in and glared at Caitlin.

"It's cool guys, she's with me." Mason moved towards her and put his arm around her.

Caitlin pushed him away and gave him a dirty look as he escorted her back out into the hall. The bell rang and kids poured out from classrooms. Caitlin spotted Mr. Garrett at the end of the hall; he smiled at her then he caught Mason's eye. Mason shook his head and frowned. Caitlin nodded her head and turned to chastise Mason but he took off down the hall getting lost in the deluge of students rushing to their first class.

Mason wasn't in French class or second period. Caitlin searched for him at lunch, but he was no where to be found. By the beginning of sixth period she knew he was gone for the day; and by the end of sixth period, she knew why. As the final bell of the day rang, she watched in horror as the police escorted a handcuffed Mr. Garrett from the building. There was nothing she could do and it was her fault. She made her way to the front entrance of the school, pushing through crowds of kids to get to the parking lot. Tears streamed down her face as a tall officer closed the door on the back of the patrol car. Tom was inside, his head hung in shame.

As Caitlin turned to go back inside the school, she caught a glimpse of Mason in the parking lot leaned up against a silver BMW. He was smiling and laughing as a pretty blond woman opened the passenger door for him. He got in and the woman leaned down and kissed him. Caitlin continued watching, shocked that Mason had kept this from her. Then as the woman turned to walk to the driver's side Caitlin saw her face. It was Elinor Garret. Tom's wife. No wonder Mason had kept this from her. It was suddenly very clear exactly what Mason had been doing when he cut class; Mrs. G. 

 ©2013 Garden Summerland

Best Shot

I was trying to ascertain it if was too dark to get a shot of some of the best work I'd done in weeks when I heard the sound. I slid my cell phone back into my sweater pocket and listened carefully. Someone else was inside the restaurant. I heard their hard footsteps on the industrial tile floor and I froze, waiting. The store room door creaked and he saw me, his thickly accented voice booming into the darkness, "Hey! You're not supposed to be back here! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It was Billy Corrigan, the owner of the restaurant and the uncle of the dead man lying at my feet. He startled me and I dropped the jagged knife I was holding. I had been caught; literally red handed this time. I smeared a handful of blood across the front of my pale pink dress and smiled as he came closer. It was going to be two for one; this was turning into my kind of night after all.

He towered over me breathing hard and taking in the unfathomable scene laid out before him. His rosy cheeks were now even rosier, and the tufts of gray hair on each side of his head stuck straight out. He looked like a mad clown. In just a moment he was going to join his nephew on the floor. I had a quick fantasy about swapping their heads, but I'd left my tools in the car; this had been meant to be a quick in and out job. And I didn't have the luxury of time now, he had probably called the police before he confronted me. I'd have to make a quick concession to my normal routine; a substitute for the ritual. Nothing too elaborate of course; I could take a toe or a finger or maybe just their shoes. Perhaps if I was quick I'd have just enough time to snap that picture with my cell phone; my enjoyment of the present moment was marred, I would have to compensate later.

I couldn't wait to watch the weekend news. Shawna Brighton would rattle off all the gory details with a perfect smile plastered on her face and then with a flip of her bleached blonde hair she'd go straight to Steve Slater with the weather. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster and a rush of adrenaline dumped into my system.

I was far too pleased with myself. I tried, but I couldn't stifle my laughter and it burst out of me, first as a girlish giggle and then it escalated into full blown wicked scream. His anger flooded full force and he lunged at me, his hands flailing wildly in front of him. I easily dodged out of the way, but as he fell to the floor he knocked over a stack of aluminum pans and sent them scattering on the cement with a loud crash. I managed to regain my composure, looking around in the semi-darkness attempting to find the murder weapon. I certainly didn't have much time now; the restaurant had been closed for hours, but the coffee shop next door was still open and they'd be sure to investigate and call the police themselves.

I caught a glimpse of the knife handle sticking out from under a rack of metal shelves. I rushed to get it, and as I bent over I felt an excruciating fire ripping through my left thigh. I fell to the floor bleeding profusely, the lucky bastard hit the artery; I'd been shot.

As I lay there bleeding to death, I felt the calmness of a job well done wash over my brain. I looked over at Billy and his nephew. Billy was sat upright, cradling his nephew in his arms, holding the gun steady aimed at my head. My cell phone was lying next to me, the blood seeping inch by inch towards it. In a split second, I grabbed it and took a picture of my pain wrenched face. 

It would never be my best shot; Billy Corrigan had taken his, and because of it, this would be my last.

 

©2013 Garden Summerland