He lowered the can of citrus fizz and raised an eyebrow at me. “Gee, Nora, that’s rich, coming from the bitch of the pack.”
And that’s when the claws came out. We snapped and hissed at each other, growling out insults and witty remarks. Ryder’s denim eyes seemed to darken; intense fury stirring up like a stormy sea within his blue irises. And I guess we were so distracted, we didn’t realise Sam was trying to get our attention.
Ryder opened his mouth to say something, but Mrs. Westfield beat him to it. “We’re just going to have to pick the lock,” she announced, rummaging around through her drawers.
She pulled out two little screwdrivers. The metal was long and thin with gold handles. Handing one over to each of the policemen, they examined the tools sceptically, doubt filling their eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were questioning why our principal had a small kit of tools in her office or if they were hesitant of the strength of them. But eventually, Officer Brandy exchanged a look with his partner and shrugged. Together they headed over to us.
Sam had trotted over to the bookshelf, innocently gazing up at the dark tower of novels. The slightly empty box of rocks sat on the floor of the office.
Drawing my attention back to the police officers, I said, “How long will this take?”
“Not long, Miss Montgomery,” Officer Brandy answered, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “Just be patient.”
I said nothing more as I watched him kneel down in front of me, taking the tiny handle of the tool in his big hand and wedging it into the keyhole. Well, at least, he tried to. Frowning, he attempted a second time to push it in, but still, something was blocking him off.
Tossing the screwdriver onto the coffee table, he leaned in and squinted at the keyhole. Instantly, I felt uncomfortable with how close his face was to my hand. I mean, what if my wrist smelled or something? It was possible; adolescents are known for sweating, particularly in weird places. What if he was secretly some creep with a wrist fetish? Some people have unbelievable fixations. It started creeping me out.
“There seems to be something wedged inside here,” Officer Brandy called to his partner, scratching his head in confusion.
“Yeah, I’ve got the same problem here.”
Fantastic.
At first, the policemen didn’t say anything. They continued to squint and stare, probing at the keyholes, directing their flashlights to the handcuffs so they could see a little clearer.But after a few tense minutes of having no progress, Brandy sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand down his face. His companion, Garret, was staring at the small, empty compartments of Sam’s rock box.
“Sam,” Officer Garret called, “is this your rock collection?”
looked up with wide Bambi eyes. He was as still as an animal in the headlights, waiting for the policeman to continue to determine his own reaction. Garret walked over and knelt down in front of him, looking at him with kind eyes, trying to silently convince him to ‘fess up.
“Yes,” Sam finally admitted, looking down as he gave a little nod.
“Have you been messing around with the handcuffs?” he pressed.
Sam looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together, bottom lip jutted out.
His face answered the question.
“Great.” Ryder frowned in irritation, twisting the metal ring on his can until it came off. “So, there are rocks in there?”
“I don’t even think half of those were rocks. Sam seemed pretty enthusiastic showing us bits of dried up poop,” I piped up, cringing at the thought.
“Even better.”
Ryder shook his wrist in an attempt to let them drop out, but they were jammed in pretty deep and nothing but a little dust came out. He groaned.
“Isn’t there anything else we can do? The design and technology block has some saws. We could cut through the links and worry about the cuffs later,” I suggested.
Brandy and Garret exchanged wary expressions.
“Thing is, it was a prototype,” Brandy explained, looking at us sheepishly. I tried to tame the roaring wave of anger that was causing my cheeks to flame. “The only prototype.”
“And you brought it to a high school demonstration?” I answered through clenched teeth.
My irritation was evident through my voice. Ryder’s annoyance was showcased through his expression of displeasure. And Mrs. Westfield’s temple-rubbing was self-explanatory. Being handcuffed caused numerous problems. But being handcuffed and not having a solution caused an infinite list of issues to arise. How long would we have to be stuck at school? How were we supposed to shower? Whose house we were meant to sleep at?
“So what’s going to happen?” Ryder questioned.
“Chief is currently out of town so we aren’t authorised to do anything more. Can you guys survive the night? I’m sure after a good night’s sleep and some thinking, we can get you kids out of this mess in no time.”
Ryder made a sound of dissatisfaction.
“I’m not happy about this either, Ryder, but being an ass isn’t going to make this better,” I warned.
“You’re such a nun sometimes. Swear once in a while. We’re teenagers; it’s like our language,” Ryder snorted in response. Tossing the can into the little bin in the corner, he added, “Speaking of language, nature is calling.”
My eyes widened. “No. You cannot go to the bathroom,” I shrieked in horror. “Cross your legs or something.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “In case you haven’t already noticed, we don’t share the same gentiles. Crossing my legs does nothing.”
“Well, figure it out because I am not going into the bathroom with you.”
~♥♥♥~
I ended up going to the men’s bathroom with him.
He half dragged me there by the handcuffs until I was breathing in the stuffy, clogged air of the room. The unpleasant stench hit my nose and suffocated me with its foul odour, making my throat close up and splutter for oxygen.
Ryder marched over to one of the urinals while I reluctantly followed. Then came the awkwardness. Once he had picked the urinal in the left corner, he turned and just stared at me. At first, I didn’t meet his eyes. I looked around uncomfortably. But then I realised he was staring at me so I’d look away.
“Oh,” I said, finally understanding, “right, I’ll just… go over here.”
I took a step away and turned in the opposite direction so my back was towards him. We were still chained together so that gave me limited escape space. There were a few seconds of silence before Ryder’s zipper being pulled down broke through the silence like a fart. Even though I wasn’t watching, I still felt extremely awkward.
And I suddenly had the urge to talk or laugh or burp. Anything to distract me.
“So, the other day, I heard this really great joke abo-”
“Nora, I’m busy right now,” he said, cutting me off. “Can you annoy me with your jokes when I’m done?”
I opened my mouth to shoot back a reply when the sound of Ryder’s pee shooting into the urinal made me stop. It was so loud in the deserted bathroom and I was going crazy, desperately needing a distraction. And it was as if my silent pleading had been heard by the universe and triggered some kid’s bladder because a second later, a boy from the year below me walked into the bathroom.
At first, when he saw me, confusion washed over his face. His expression was giving off the holy-crap-did-I-just-walk-into-the-girls’-bathrooms vibe but his eyes were saying stuff-it-dude-you-really-gotta-go. Eventually, he realised he was in the right bathroom, but didn’t dare question what I was doing there.
“What’s up?” I asked, needing to talk.
He kept his gaze away and walked over, completely ignoring my question.
“Choose wisely,” I continued, unable to stop myself. “This could change your life…forever.”
Eventually, he looked over at me, completely pained. “You’re really creeping me out. Who are you?”
“T
oilet troll.” I was really just making things worse.
“Seriously.Who are you?”
“I’m a senior. Do not question my superiority.”
Digging yourself deeper, Nora.
“You know what, I think I can hold it,” the kid answered, backing towards the door.
When he disappeared Ryder said, “You sure have a thing with the guys.”
Then he led me towards the sinks. As he turned on the taps and washed his hands, I realised being handcuffed to Ryder wouldn’t just be a pain in the ass, but would cause a whole lot of awkward situations, especially within the bathroom.
Great.
Three
When Mrs. Westfield announced she had a headache, they all agreed that it would be best to put the situation on hold until the following morning. The adults seemed to have no problem getting back to their normal routines, like none of the handcuff business ever happened. Ryder and I, on the other hand, weren’t so fortunate to forget the issue.
“Suck in your butt cheeks!” Ryder ordered, awkwardly trying to push on my backside.
We were in a seriously uncomfortable position. There I was, my butt casually hanging out the driver’s side of his little Porsche while he was screaming at me to suck my bum cheeks in. Since our wrists were still chained together, my hand was on the driver’s side chair. Ryder’s hand forced to move with mine, so we were pretty much cheek to cheek. Well, butt cheek to face cheek anyway.
We had been yelling at each other for ten minutes, just trying to squeeze into the compact space of the vehicle. The guy had obviously never been in the situation I was in, because he evidently didn’t know how impossible it was to suck in your butt cheeks.
“Ryder,” I said, attempting to clench my backside muscles together, “I’m trying to suck it, okay? I mean, I’m sucking in places I didn’t even know I could suck.”
He shoved my butt one last time and sighed, finally taking his hand off me. I crawled out of the little space of his car, ungracefully knocking my elbow into the chair and accidentally smacking my hand onto the horn. When I was out, I rolled my chained wrist, trying to relieve the pain it was going through.
“We need to take a bus,” I declared. “Admit it, we aren’t going to fit into your little Batmobile.”
“We can’t just leave my baby here,” he argued, running his hand over the sleek, black coat of his car.
“How do you suggest we go home then?” I hissed, getting more irritated by the second.
Ryder looked over his shoulder just to glare at me before his fingers slowly slid off the car’s edge. Reluctantly, he picked up his bag from the top of his Porsche and swung it over his shoulder. He looked extremely displeased, but he knew it was the only way to get out of there.
Together, we caught the next bus and started on our way home. Well, to my home. We agreed it would be best if we went to my house for the night, while my parents were on a week-long vacation for their anniversary. So, while they were experiencing the heat and beautiful cities of Europe, I was playing prisoner.
It was a short ride home, considering it was the last bus and didn’t have many people. We departed the vehicle on the fourth stop, right at the corner of my street. A few primary students had gotten off the bus with us. As soon as their feet hit the footpath, they raced down the hill, squealing in joy. I watched and smiled, remembering when Ryder and I used to do the exact same thing.
“Remember how Mr. Nelson used to yell at us when we raced down this hill?” Ryder piped in, as if he had been having flashbacks of our childhood friendship, too.
“I remember,” I answered, a grin stretching out over my face. “He used to come out in his bathrobe and fluffy slippers just to wave his newspaper around and scream at us.”
Ryder let out a chuckle, the kind of deep, passionate laugh that rumbled in his throat and reached his eyes. “Man, that guy had problems.”
For a brief thirty seconds, the popular, arrogant footy player I had gone through hell in high school with, dimmed down to the sweet, friendly guy I used to call my best friend. Not that I ever expected our friendship to rekindle, but it was a pleasant memory.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, directing my attention back to the road and nodding ahead where Mr. Nelson was charging towards the kids in his white bathrobe, newspaper in hand. “He’s probably going to yell the fun right out of those kids.”
We watched as he waved the rolled newspaper in his curled fist like an angry member of a mob. His slippers slapped against the path as he ran towards the kids. But, to my surprise, he completely passed them, hardly acknowledging their ‘annoying disturbance’ -as he described it to us as kids- and charged on ahead. Eyes widening, I realised he was aiming towards us, determined, icy eyes glaring.
I froze just as Ryder did. “What’s he do-”
And that’s when Mr. Nelson tackled us to the ground. He screamed like a madman as he grabbed Ryder and threw him to the floor. Because I was chained to him, I went crashing down with them, rolling around on the grass of a random yard as our limbs tangled.
My face was pressed into someone’s armpit, arms and legs intertwined with the other two bodies. Gasping for air, I popped my head out of the mess in time to see Mr. Nelson straddling Ryder and smacking him with the newspaper.
“Criminal! Criminal!” he yelled, as he continued to slap him.
“Nora!” Ryder yelled desperately. “I don’t think he’s wearing anything under that robe!”
“Mary! Call the police!” Mr. Nelson ordered as his wife came rushing up with a tray of cookies in her hands. “These must be the criminals they’ve been talking about on the radio!”
“George,” Mrs. Nelson soothed, “those are high school kids, not jailbreak prisoners. Get off them this instant.”
Her voice was soft, but compelling and Mr. Nelson found himself rolling off Ryder’s back in a heartbeat. When he thought his wife wasn’t watching, he smacked the back of Ryder’s head once more before fully standing to adjust his robe. Mrs. Nelson shoved the tray of cookies into her husband’s hands and hurried over to help us up.
Once we were on our feet and brushed the dirt off our uniforms, Mrs. Nelson grabbed a few warm cookies from her tray and handed them over.
“I’m sorry about him, dears,” she said, as we took them from her fragile hands. “He’s been obsessing over these silly police reports. It’s been scaring all the kids around here for weeks.”
I nibbled on the cookie while Mrs. Nelson complained about her husband. The dough was warm and moist, the sweet sensation engulfing me in a wave of delight as I continued to munch on the treat. Melted bites of chocolate oozed out of the cookie like sugary lava. Once I had finished, I licked the crumbs and chocolate stains off my fingers and looked over at Ryder; his cookie long gone.
“Well, we should be off,” she said after ranting, pinching our cheeks before rushing off to Mr. Nelson.
As we watched them depart, Ryder mumbled, “Damn, that was one amazing cookie…”
I nodded in agreement and we continued on our way back home. We didn’t repeat the Mr. Nelson incident. It was as if the cookies had washed away any weirdness and had settled with a reassuring calmness in our stomachs. It made me wonder what Mrs. Nelson had put in them.
The walk home was quiet and short, passing a total of twelve houses until we reached mine. Once we opened the door and entered, the soothing sound of an instructor on TV sang into my ears. Tugging Ryder along, we headed towards the lounge room where Eve was.
There she was, on her back, rolling around like a turtle that had gotten stuck on its shell. What looked even more stupid was her beach ball belly just poking out in all its eight-month-pregnancy glory. My sister made some weird sounds that resembled a whale dying before she looked up and spotted us.
She struggled to get to her feet, having to grab onto various bits of furniture so she could haul herself up. But once she was standing, she placed a hand on her lower back and the other on her stomach to keep her balance. Ev
e looked at us for a moment, her blonde hair falling out of her ponytail and her cheeks kissed with a rosy pink.
“Nora,” she said, a little breathlessly, “you’ve kind of got a little something-something chained to your wrist.”
Thanks for noticing.
“Really?” I replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realise.”
Eve rolled her eyes at me and approached us, waddling around awkwardly until she reached where we were standing. She examined Ryder for a second before poking him on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re the Collins kid.”
Ryder remained still, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and fright.
Before he could reply, Eve’s eyes suddenly went wide. Her hazel irises blew up until her eyes looked like they didn’t even fit her face anymore. She looked like a cartoon character you’d see on a Sunday morning TV show. Then, she did the weirdest thing.
She started smelling Ryder.
“Eve!” I hissed in embarrassment. “What are you doing?”
“I smell ham!” she replied, latching onto Ryder’s bag like a crazed fangirl. “I haven’t had ham in months.”
He quickly shrugged off his backpack and tossed it over to my sister. Eve continued to rummage through his things until she found a ham sandwich. Shoving his belongings back into his arms, Eve cooed at the snack in delight and disappeared into the kitchen, inhaling the smell. Along with her weird cravings and ability to eat a lot of it, pregnancy meant she had to cut back on a lot of foods to ensure the best nutrition for her child. So, instead, she’d smell/sight hump the delicacies she couldn’t eat.
“Your sister is so weird,” Ryder grumbled, zipping up his bag.
“It’s just the pregnancy. She eats everything now and acts like an animal.”
“No,” Ryder corrected, “she was weird before then too.”
It was sad, but true so I didn’t bother defending my sister. Once we had reached the top of the stairs, we entered my room. My really messy room. I cringed at the piles of clothes that covered the floor and the unmade bed. Realising there was a random bra hanging on the edge of my desk chair, I latched onto it, pulling Ryder along with me.