Distraction: The Distraction Trilogy #1 (3 page)

September 2014

Eloise

I walk into the classroom with Hayley, my mind on things other than school. The first day back is always the worst. Always. I don’t want to be here, not at all.

The minute we take our seats at a random desk, Hayley turns to the left and starts kissing Riley, who’s sat at the table beside us, and it’s not quiet at all. They hooked up when she came back from her holiday and have spent far too much time together since.

I’m still working on Garret. He seems into me, but mostly he stays away from me. We had a few meetings over the summer, one of them being an accidental meeting down the sweet aisle in the corner shop last week. He shows all of the signs of being infatuated, to a certain extent, and he doesn’t seem shy at all. I wonder why he’s holding back.

It’s not fair.

Doesn’t he see that we are made for each other?

Hayley elbows me in the ribs and my head shoots up from the notebook on my desk. I blink and then blink again when I see the person scowling at me from the front of the classroom. When my eyes hit his, his scowl changes into a look of confusion.

Mine contorts into the same and then I smile widely in remembrance. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds, cocking his head slightly before shaking it and looking back to the class. “So, as I was saying, you can call me Sir, or Mr Price. Yes, I’m the head teacher’s son and yes, I also share his zero tolerance policy.”

“What was that all about?” Hayley asks, referring to the ‘Hey’ greeting the teacher and I shared moments ago.

“He’s the guy that saved me,” I whisper, leaning slightly to her side but keeping my eyes up front on my teacher.

“You didn’t say he was a teacher.”

I look at her, my gaze saying ‘are you stupid?’ “We didn’t introduce ourselves. He was quite mad at me.”

“He is so hot! I mean… you didn’t tell me how hot he was… is,” Hayley hisses, her eyes never leaving Mr Price as he switches on the smart board and loads up a PowerPoint presentation on Mussolini. “Seriously though, how old is he? He can’t be older than twenty nine. Who cares? Look at his arse. I would so…”

“Stop, you’re putting images in my head that I don’t need,” I laugh quietly and look to my friends at the desk to the left of me. “Want to swap? I have a feeling I’ll be dealing with this all year.” Wyatt, the boy in front, chuckles and shakes his head no. Sighing, I relax back in my seat and return my eyes to the teacher.

She is right, though. He is extremely good looking, in that stop and catch your breath kind of way. Definitely.

“What’s that?” Riley asks, frowning petulantly at his girl, who only giggles in response.

She leans over and the sloppy noise that is their mouths connecting begins. I shudder, ignoring the giggles from the class around us, and look up to our new History teacher, Mr Price. I watch him walk between the two seat desks, a thin book in hand. The way he moves shows a confidence you don’t see in most men, but then again, I can understand why he has such confidence. His body is tall, lean, definitely toned from what I can see of the tight white turtleneck top that clings to his skin underneath a dark grey suit jacket.

The grey really brings out the strange blue and green mixture that makes his eyes, especially now they’ve darkened angrily.

The room stills when he quickly, in one swift move, pushes the book between Hayley and Riley’s faces, effectively separating their mouths.

“You,” he barks at Riley.

“Sir?” Riley blinks up at him, looking slightly worried. He tries for charming, his smile now lighting up in his face in a way that would definitely work to persuade a girl his age, but would most definitely never work to persuade a man like Mr Price, who is hotter than sin and has probably used the same smile a few times in his life.

“Swap with your friend.”

“But…”

“Now.”

“Fuck sake,” Riley mutters angrily, standing sharply. He waits for Josh to move and plonks himself into the seat he vacated, his eyes shooting daggers at Mr Price, who doesn’t seem to notice or just doesn’t care.

“Anyway,” Mr Price calls, silencing the laughter and chatter immediately. “If all of you could write your names on the cards I’m about to hand out and place them on your desk facing me, that would be a huge help. I’m terrible at remembering names.” He gives us all a warm smile before passing the cards to Anne, who’s sitting at the desk closest to him. She takes one and passes it on.

I scribble my name on mine and fold it like everyone else, so it stands up on its own.

“Brilliant.” Rubbing his hands together, he moves towards the board. “This year we’re learning about Mussolini and Churchill for your A Level studies.”

“Yay,” I mutter sarcastically and his eyes shoot to me. The look he gives me is long, lingering and chastising and, unfortunately, my classmates’ eyes follow the direction of his. I roll my own back to my notebook.

“It’ll be hard. There will be a lot of reading and even more writing. I refuse to teach people who refuse to learn, so if you’re planning on being an idiot, I suggest you leave now.” Nobody moves. We all wait, yet not one person moves. “Good. Also, I refuse to accept lower than a B. You’re going into the real world. This is your last year before you go to University, or you go on to get a job. In the real world, less than your best will get you fired. I’m going to use the same terminology. I will not accept less than your best. It doesn’t matter how stupid you think you are; if you study, if you read the material and if you listen to me and show up, I will make sure you get that grade.”

“I’ve never achieved higher than a C average,” Kim mumbles from beside Anne. “No matter how hard I work.”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders flexing the material of his jacket. “For those who struggle, I’ll pair you with those who aren’t. If you still struggle, we’ll figure something out, but honestly, this is not difficult. It is all opinion based on fact. As long as you know the facts, there’s no wrong answer.”

His instructions drone on until finally we’re told to put pen to paper and to copy down the information on the board. Taking notes is something I can only just manage on the first day back. If something requires brain power, people best not hope that it’ll get done by me, because it won’t.

When the bell rings, signifying that class has ended, we all stand and pack away our things, giving our name cards back to the teacher on the way out.

“Eloise Blackburn,” Mr Price calls, not looking up from the tablet on his desk. As if teachers are allowed phones, tablets and laptops in school. So unfair. “Can you hang back a minute?”

Hayley looks at me expectantly. I sigh and inform her, “I’ll catch you up; grab me a Boost bar from the vending machine.”

She nods and leaves, her eyes lingering on the teacher as she turns the corner.

Making my way over to his desk, I bunk my bag up my shoulder and wait patiently as he taps at the screen of his tablet.

“How are you?” He suddenly asks, startling me.

Why does he want to know how I am? “Fine.”

His eyes slice upwards, catching mine before his brow quirks. “I mean about the almost accident.” He leans back in his seat and folds his arms behind his head. My eyes trail up and down his chest. The way it expands when he breathes, forcing the fabric of his turtle neck to press against every contour of his chest and sculpted stomach, makes my mouth go dry. “It was quite a traumatic experience.”

“I’m fine.”

“I hate that word; use a different one.”

My lips twitch. “Honestly, Sir, I’m okay. I was a little dazed about it all but… I haven’t really thought about it since.”

He stares at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to figure me out. “Did you talk to your parents about it?”

“Nope. My dad would flip.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “Because almost dying is so much worse than getting told off.”

“But I lived. Why would I want to spend my precious saved life on being yelled at? I know I was careless. I won’t make that mistake again.” I push my hair behind my ears and check the clock on the wall. “Can I go? I’m going to be late and Miss Hart already despises me.”

It takes him a moment, but he finally nods and holds his hand out towards the door. “You’re welcome by the way.”

I stop in my tracks and look back at him over my shoulder. “I’m genuinely grateful, Mr Price. Don’t mistake my lack of worship as disrespect. It’s the first day of school. I’m not even sure what my name is right now.”

He smiles slightly, shaking his head in amusement, and waves me away. I do as I’m told and race to my next lesson. Unfortunately I’m late by five minutes. Fortunately Hayley has a Boost bar waiting for me.

There’s only one thing I learned and remembered last lesson; Mr Price has a very nice smile.

Isaac

“Isaac,” Katherine Hart beams as I step into the teacher’s lounge. “How is your first day going?”

“It’s the first day of term, so it’s safe to say it hasn’t been very productive.”

She walks over to me with a coffee in hand, her almost black hair resting against her chin in a perfectly cut bob. “It’ll get better. As you probably already know.”

I nod, looking past her at Stuart Diplock, one of my old friends from my school days. He catches my eye and smiles before making his way over to greet me. We then share what chicks would describe as a man hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” he answers, pulling his phone from his pocket after taking a step away from me. “You?”

“Same. Heard you got married, had a couple of kids.” Why people insist on doing that I have no idea.

“Yeah, two kids, both under five. I’m married to Georgia Becks. You remember her, right?”

I think on it but can’t seem to pull a face from memory. “Sorry. It’s been a while.”

“I get it.” He grins at Katherine and throws her his phone. “Document this moment for me.”

Fuck that. I try to move away, but he throws his arm around my shoulder. “Really, Stuart?”

“Come on bro, just one small pic.” He chuckles when I roll my eyes and turn towards the camera.

“Say cheese,” Katherine calls.

She’s got to be kidding.

Fortunately she takes the picture without forcing us to say the word that you only say when you’re six years old and forced to live through an endless amount of flash induced blindness.

Stuart leads me over to the window and we both take a seat at the table there. “I left everything until last minute.” He motions to the papers in front of him. “I really need to stop doing that.”

“I thought you went to college to study law?”

“Did, failed, took a teaching course for Maths instead.”

“Nice.”

“I thought you taught Advanced English and Literature? Don’t you have a book published or something?”

I nod. “Yes, but my Dad needed this spot filled and History and literature are one and the same. It’s all reading; it’s just one is real and one usually isn’t.”

“Which one?” He asks, smirking.

I chuckle and shrug. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I guess we’ll know when time machines are invented.”

Work ends and, with a box in my arms, I make my way to my car and then home. My new place is decent, save for the stupid, fucking noisy neighbour who seems to think loud music is a way of life. Loud, crappy music, I might add. The kind with a beat that doesn’t match the rhythm and a voice that replicates the sound a cat would make if you put it in a dryer.

It’d be nice to be able to relax in the
silence
of my own home.

Silence being the key word here.

I’ve tried banging on the door, but that doesn’t have an effect, mostly because the twat can’t hear me over his stupid arse music.

I call my landlord again. Normally I’d deal with it myself, but after the last time I tried that, I really do not want dog crap smeared on my door again.

That was quite possibly the worst day of my life. What kind of animal is he?

Also, where the hell did he get the dog crap from? As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t have a dog.

I empty the contents of the box onto the desk that came with the flat and check over last year’s work to see who was doing well and who wasn’t. My mum has written about all of her students in each exercise book.

There’s a few that catch my eye, but the one that really intrigues me is Eloise Blackburn, the girl I saved from getting hit by that car last month. I don’t know why I have such an interest in her, but then again I suppose it’s normal for one to feel connected to somebody whose life you saved.

I read my mum’s neat scrawl and then read it again.

Grades dropped by the end of the year, unsure why. Maybe problems at home. Has been caught twice drinking and has been seen more than twice under the influence, once being on school grounds. Why would such a good student fall of the rails? Teenage angst? Boredom?

Must keep an eye on Eloise.

I realise these are the notes she set for herself when her mind stopped becoming her own. The guilt eats away at me and I quickly close the book and throw it into the box with the others.

Eloise seems over it all now.

I’ve seen teenagers derail. Fortunately most of them pick themselves back up again and the ones that don’t certainly don’t make it back to school to finish their A Levels.

My phone rings, jolting me from my thoughts and startling me so much that the other books on my lap slide to the ground.

I check the screen and smile when I see that it’s my mum calling.

“Hey.” I carefully pick up the books and place them back into the box on my desk. “Is everything okay?”

“No, I’ve run out of cloudy lemonade,” she states, sounding almost hysterical.

“Okay, have Dad pick some up on the way home,” I suggest, but all I get is silence. “Would you like me to bring you some?” More silence. “Mum?” Panic consumes me. I instantly stand and reach for my coat. “Mum?”

“I’m here.” Thank Christ.

“I’m on my way. Is there a brand you prefer?”

“Umm…” She goes silent again and my panic turns to frustration.

“Mum, which brand shall I bring?”

After another moment she clears her throat and finally speaks. “He gets me the one with the beige label. I can’t remember the brand.”

“No problem.” I quickly tug on my jacket and make my way to the door. “Anything else?”

“No. Just my cloudy lemonade.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now, Mum. I’ll be there soon.”

So much for a quiet afternoon.

Fuck. I mentally curse as I stand in the drinks aisle, looking at four different kinds of cloudy lemonade. What label did she say again? Orange?

Bollocks.

I try calling her, but get no answer. Blowing out a breath, I grab the orange labelled bottle and throw it into the basket.

“If it’s for Mrs Price, she likes the beige label,” comes a sweet and unsure voice from behind me.

I turn and stare at the young girl with a basket full of junk food hanging over her arm. “Eloise.”

“Yep.” She pops the P and I watch her mouth move as she chews on a wad of chewing gum. Her full lips are glistening with moisture from recently wetting them with her tongue. “She always drank the one with the beige label. Always.”

“Thank you,” I say and place the one I grabbed back onto the shelf.

“No problem.” She starts walking and I fight the urge to catch up to her. I fight the urge to ask her yet again how she’s doing. An accident like the one she so narrowly avoided has to have shaken her up a little, yet she seems calm about it. Although it was a month ago.

Why am I still hanging on to it?

Maybe because I’m shaken up about the fact that I came very close to witnessing a young girl’s death.

How old is she? Seventeen maybe? She doesn’t look it, but then again, most girls in their teens don’t look like teens in this day and age.

“You might want to get a few bottles,” she calls, stopping at the end of the aisle and flipping her hair over her shoulder. It’s a really nice shade of red and I can’t help but wonder if it’s bottle dyed. I found myself wondering this in class earlier too. I’ve seen ginger hair, but this colour can’t be named as such. It’s not bright orange, but more of a subtle, deep red that seems to switch colours in the light. It falls in loose waves to the top of her shoulders. I can tell she probably braids it at night to make it that way. No way are those waves natural; they’re too perfectly formed.

“Sorry?” I ask, blinking myself free of my thoughts and meeting her hazel eyes.

“Get her a few bottles. She drinks that stuff like its water.”

“Right,” I murmur, mentally kicking myself for forgetting this fact whilst piling five more bottles into the basket. My mum has always had an unhealthy obsession with cloudy lemonade, but I never paid enough attention to this when I lived at home, hence the fact I don’t even know what brand she drinks. “How do you…” She’s gone when I look up and my question trails off. “Know?”

It seems Eloise is an observant character.

I make my way to the tills and then make my way home, home being the place my mum is, not the place I’m staying.

Mum is prattling about in the kitchen when I enter the home in which I grew up. I place the bags filled with the lemonade bottles on the side and clear my throat to alert her that I’m in the room.

She blinks when she looks at me, seemingly confused over my presence in her kitchen, but fortunately snaps out of it and thanks me with a kiss on each cheek before putting the bottles away.

“Will you stay for dinner?” She asks, checking the clock on the wall above the counter.

“I’ve already eaten, but thank you.”

“How was day one?”

Good question. “Interesting. You’re right about the year tens. They’re all way too bored.”

“This town needs more to do; the streets aren’t safe for them to play in like you used to.”

I nod my agreement before finally asking the question I’ve wanted to ask but haven’t dared. “So… how are you feeling, in yourself?”

Mum stops in her tracks, a rolled up plastic carrier bag in her fist. I watch her eyes become dull and her brows crease with a frown. “I’m not sure how to feel.” She smiles suddenly and places the bag into the holder that’s pinned to the side of the counter near the tiled floor. “I’m glad you’re home. I feel good about that.”

My jaw clenches as an unbearable feeling of sorrow consumes me. I clear my throat to rid myself of the lump that seems to be stuck there. “I’m glad to be home too.”

“I’m not too sick to know a lie when I hear one,” she teases and pinches my cheek after turning back towards me. “Regardless, I know you’ve missed us and I know you love us as we love you and that’s all that matters, that and the fact that you’re here now.”

The lump returns, but I swallow it down with a heavy gulp of air and move towards the hall. “I have a lot of work to finish. Is there anything else you need before I shoot off?”

“Could you call your dad and ask him to pick up some lemonade on the way home from work? I forgot to order some during the food shopping I did online yesterday. Hasn’t the internet made everything so simple?”

I leave without correcting her. I can’t handle another second in this house. Seeing her deteriorate breaks my fucking soul.