Read Online Fury by Shirley Marr - Free Book Online Page A

of trying to fit in. They want us to all be the same, but individual. Independent, but controlled. It’s all very PC.
    “Hey, you never told me what detention you ended up with.”
    “I have to stay behind for a week and clean the cleaners’ cupboard,” replied Neil drolly. “Fitting, I suppose.”
    “You are not here to chat up boys!” Mrs Wally’s sharp voice cut through the sound of sizzling oil from the kitchen. That cranky old cow was watching me like a hawk.
    “That’s ten bucks, thanks.”
    Neil passed me a crinkled note between his index and middle fingers.
    “Enjoy your lunch.”
    Neil shrugged and picked up his tray. My hand grew a mind of its own and went to touch my blazer pocket, where the postcard still was. I forced it back down.
    “Well, well, well,” said the voice to my right that I knew only too well. It was the whiney voice of Jeremy Biggins.
    “What do you want Biggins?”
    “ Oooo. Fiery, just like the hair. Is this the usual level of service?”
    “No. This is the level of service I reserve especially for you, short-ass.”
    Jeremy Biggins’ hair and face are usually the same colour: red. Right now though, that face was heading towards beetroot.
    “Get me what I want nicely or I may ask to speak to your supervisor, Boans,” he scowled. “Take-away black tea, thanks. One sugar.”
    In hindsight, it was a pretty lucky thing I made it a little cold. I smacked the cardboard cup down on the counter. Biggins paid for it with change. I threw the coins into the cash register and slammed it shut. Biggins took the lid off the cup. Then he threw the tea onto me.
    “You little sh— oww!” I screamed.
    The tea hit me right in the middle of my stomach and burned through the apron and onto the thin fabric of my shirt. I was lucky I had my trusty pair of thick high-waisted spanx underneath. I threw the apron off and grabbed a dirty cloth from the bench, dabbing furiously at my shirt.
    “What the Heavens is happening out here!” echoed Mrs Wally as she approached from the kitchen. “Miss Eliza!”
    “Crap!” I screamed again, jumping up and down. “I’m going to kill that—”
    “Miss Eliza!” bellowed Mrs Wally. “You silly, clumsy girl!”
    Silly? Clumsy? What the…?
    It took me a while to comprehend that Mrs Wally thought I had done this to myself.
    “No! Him!” I pointed toward Biggins, who at that moment was scurrying away through the crowd.
    I turned to face Mrs Wally.
    “Someone’s gotta stop him!”
    Someone apparently did. We heard a huge crash. Mrs Wally and I both stared at each other. Then we bolted for the side door. I made it out first; I had the smaller ass.
    I pushed past a large mob of students. In the middle stood Jeremy Biggins, a smashed plate on the ground next to him. There was chicken cacciatore dripping down his head. In front of him stood Neil, with his empty tray still in his hands.
    “That is it!” Mrs Wally exclaimed and grabbed my wrist. She clamped the other hand onto Neil’s shoulder. I heard her mutter the word “children” under her breath, along with a few choice expletives.
    “I will not have this. I am taking you both to the Principal’s office right now!”
    Neil was still holding onto his plastic tray as Mrs Wally pulled us toward the lunch-hall entrance. He passed it to a random tenth-grader in the crowd who hooted loudly and held the tray up in the air like a trophy.
    ***
    Principal Hollerings was not in his office. We had to wait ten minutes, me with a huge cooling tea stain in the middle of my shirt, and Neil next to me, looking like he’d just murdered a chicken cacciatore. Mrs Wally paced back and forth smoking a cigarette.
    “Excuse me, ma’am, but there’s no smoking on school premises,” I said. “You might give us children cancer.”
    “Butt out,” replied Mrs Wally.
    Apt choice of words, but I kept quiet. I didn’t want to, like, blow Mrs Wally’s mind with the irony.
    I looked sideways at Neil.
    Neil looked back and