Read Online Veneer by Daniel Verastiqui - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Verastiqui
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quarrel has spread to the masses, become a hobby for the great reconcilers to prove their worth.” Anger flashed across his face. “You two sit back and watch the mayhem while I have to explain to parents why their children are being exposed to obscene images. Or to the police why my halls are filled with kiddie porn! You are putting my job in jeopardy and I can’t allow that.” He squared his eyes at Russo. “So maybe they won’t take away your power for this, maybe you just pay a fine or spend some time behind bars, but you’re establishing a pattern. It all starts here.” He pointed emphatically to the floor.
It was all just posturing, Russo decided, all empty threats meant to keep him in line. But it wasn’t enough. The principal might have been the Big Shit when it came to Easton Central High School, but off campus he was just another clueless adult that needed to grow old and die so that the younger people like Russo could take over.
“Detention,” proclaimed the principal in his official voice, “both of you, two weeks.”
“The hell?!” Russo almost rushed the desk, but only his feet moved, shuffling backwards slightly.
“Language, Mr. Rivera.” Then to Deron, “You will serve your detention with the sophomore class. I won’t have you two antagonizing each other. Now, that is all, gentlemen. Mrs. Rhodes has your write-ups.”
Deron stood and left immediately, but Russo approached the desk.
“What do you want, Russo?”
He leaned over slightly. “If you ever threaten to take my power away—”
“Three weeks detention.”
“Fuck this,” said Russo. He turned and left the room, ignoring the principal’s extension of his sentence to four weeks. It didn’t matter; he had no intention of serving it anyway. Ignoring the note in Mrs. Rhodes’ outstretched hand, he headed into the hall. To his left, Deron was just turning the corner towards the cafeteria. He ran to catch up with him, but when he made the turn, he saw Deron talking to the lunch monitor at the cafeteria doors. When he looked back, Russo pointed a finger at him.
“We have business,” he warned, then turned and stalked angrily back to class.
9 - Rosalia
Deron told her about it between classes, but it wasn’t until the news got around during last period that Rosalia discovered it was because of her shop that he now had to spend two weeks in detention. He didn’t seem angry when last they spoke, just the same kind of blissful indifferent that he had always been on the outside. But then he didn’t show up at her locker after school, didn’t give her the opportunity to apologize for her lapse in judgment. She even walked by the detention room, saw him sitting alone in the back, but he never looked up.
Rosalia lingered in the hallway, wondering if she should knock on the door or just barge in and deliver her apology by way of a kiss. Ultimately, she settled for an instant message, a simple sorry with no punctuation or clichéd emoticons. She waited the requisite few minutes for a response, but nothing came through. He was probably busy copying words out of the dictionary.
By hand, she thought, and shuddered.
Outside, small groups of students were still milling around, sharing one last story before hurrying home to their rooms so they could talk to each other on IM. Rosalia walked through them undisturbed, though at times she did feel their eyes on her back. They were staring at her because of Deron, because of the threats Russo had made, threats that rumors had exaggerated. He was either going to punch Deron, beat him up, or just plain kill him. Nobody knew for sure, but that didn’t stop them from adding their own flair as the story passed from student to student.
She passed a line of waiting busses, all of them humming in their idle states. A knock on a window made her look up, and there she saw a concerned Ilya looking down at her. The Ukrainian raised her too-perfect eyebrows as if to ask, “What do we do
It was all just posturing, Russo decided, all empty threats meant to keep him in line. But it wasn’t enough. The principal might have been the Big Shit when it came to Easton Central High School, but off campus he was just another clueless adult that needed to grow old and die so that the younger people like Russo could take over.
“Detention,” proclaimed the principal in his official voice, “both of you, two weeks.”
“The hell?!” Russo almost rushed the desk, but only his feet moved, shuffling backwards slightly.
“Language, Mr. Rivera.” Then to Deron, “You will serve your detention with the sophomore class. I won’t have you two antagonizing each other. Now, that is all, gentlemen. Mrs. Rhodes has your write-ups.”
Deron stood and left immediately, but Russo approached the desk.
“What do you want, Russo?”
He leaned over slightly. “If you ever threaten to take my power away—”
“Three weeks detention.”
“Fuck this,” said Russo. He turned and left the room, ignoring the principal’s extension of his sentence to four weeks. It didn’t matter; he had no intention of serving it anyway. Ignoring the note in Mrs. Rhodes’ outstretched hand, he headed into the hall. To his left, Deron was just turning the corner towards the cafeteria. He ran to catch up with him, but when he made the turn, he saw Deron talking to the lunch monitor at the cafeteria doors. When he looked back, Russo pointed a finger at him.
“We have business,” he warned, then turned and stalked angrily back to class.
9 - Rosalia
Deron told her about it between classes, but it wasn’t until the news got around during last period that Rosalia discovered it was because of her shop that he now had to spend two weeks in detention. He didn’t seem angry when last they spoke, just the same kind of blissful indifferent that he had always been on the outside. But then he didn’t show up at her locker after school, didn’t give her the opportunity to apologize for her lapse in judgment. She even walked by the detention room, saw him sitting alone in the back, but he never looked up.
Rosalia lingered in the hallway, wondering if she should knock on the door or just barge in and deliver her apology by way of a kiss. Ultimately, she settled for an instant message, a simple sorry with no punctuation or clichéd emoticons. She waited the requisite few minutes for a response, but nothing came through. He was probably busy copying words out of the dictionary.
By hand, she thought, and shuddered.
Outside, small groups of students were still milling around, sharing one last story before hurrying home to their rooms so they could talk to each other on IM. Rosalia walked through them undisturbed, though at times she did feel their eyes on her back. They were staring at her because of Deron, because of the threats Russo had made, threats that rumors had exaggerated. He was either going to punch Deron, beat him up, or just plain kill him. Nobody knew for sure, but that didn’t stop them from adding their own flair as the story passed from student to student.
She passed a line of waiting busses, all of them humming in their idle states. A knock on a window made her look up, and there she saw a concerned Ilya looking down at her. The Ukrainian raised her too-perfect eyebrows as if to ask, “What do we do
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