04 Cut to the Feeling

The main office had a row of ratty chairs covered with mystery stains. They stood against a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, made of a kind of wired glass that Alvin thought was more suited to a prison. Everyone waiting to be seen in the office was on full display to the rest of the school. Alvin wondered if being shamed in front of your peers was supposed to make the judgment more biblical somehow. Or maybe the designers just hadn’t thought there would be enough delinquent teens to require a separate waiting room. Maybe they had planned the window-wall to make the room less foreboding.

Alvin was pretty sure they had failed on that count.

Second period was a little too early for the usual troublemakers to get sent down. Even so, there was another student slumped in one of the chairs when Alvin arrived. Alvin found himself staring at him, his palms sweaty for the second time in as many days. Was there some kind of conspiracy to bombard him with crushes before he made even a single friend?

Alistair had been the very picture of school-approved handsomeness. Alvin was pretty sure he’d seen him in the McCartney’s catalogue as a model. In contrast, this boy channelled an utter casualness, almost a disdain for where he was. His hair was messy, sandy brown streaked with remnants of bleached blond and a hint of blue fading at the tips. While Alvin’s outfit might as well have been screaming his sexuality, this student’s seemed to whisper it with a knowing look. He wore a faded band tee, grey jeans that Alvin was pretty sure were a brand made for girls, and a fleece-collared denim jacket with a rainbow peace sign patch on the shoulder.

Alvin took a deep breath, vowing not to repeat the train wreck of an introduction he’d had with Alistair. He walked across the room to hand his infraction slip to the woman at the desk. When Alvin turned back to take a seat, he found the other boy boldly looking him over. The boy didn’t even bother to pretend otherwise when Alvin noticed. Alvin forced a casual smile, hoping it looked more natural than it felt. He sat down one chair away, searching his brain for something effortlessly cool to say.

“So . . . what’d they get you for?” was what came out.

Oof. Alvin winced as soon as the words left his mouth. It was dangerously close to dad-joke territory — all in less than ten words. He hoped that maybe one of their names would get called soon and put this conversation out of its misery before things could get worse.

“Smuggling, theft, arson. The usual,” came the reply in a stage whisper.

Alvin laughed a little too loud, earning a disapproving look from the receptionist. But he was so surprised to receive a positive response that he forgot where he was. It was the first genuine laugh he’d had since he’d started school. Just like that, everything seemed a little bit brighter.

Changing to a regular voice, the boy continued, “Nothing serious, really. I miss classes sometimes. I bring a doctor’s note. They send me here. I argue with the VP. I miss class because of it. They make me bring another note. It’s a vicious cycle.” He shrugged. To Alvin, he didn’t seem to be overly concerned about spending so much school time in the office.

Alvin frowned, feeling like he was missing something obvious. “But . . . that seems . . . Isn’t that a complete waste of time? Like, everybody’s time?”

“Oh yeah, huge. But Dougherty’s like that. She’ll probably try to send you home unless you take off that nail polish, by the way.”

Alvin held his hands out in front of him and looked down as if seeing the rainbow nails for the first time. When Melissa had come up with the idea, Alvin had been reluctant to go with something so noticeable. But now that he was faced with the possibility of having to get rid of them, he felt strangely defensive. “But . . . tons of people paint their nails. Students and teachers. Even on uniform days.”

“Girls do, yeah,” the boy corrected him. “And in normal colours. And not all of the colours at the same time. Not that I don’t like yours,” he added quickly, giving Alvin a reassuring smile. “It’s just that’s what some of the teachers here are like. Archaic.” At Alvin’s look of confusion, he added, “Old-fashioned. They’ll say it’s against the uniform code. But the uniform code technically doesn’t prohibit boys from wearing nail polish. Just play the new kid card until Dougherty gives up. That’s what I did last year, when I dyed my hair the first time.”

“You’re here to explain your absences, not to chat, Miss . . . ter Johnston-Grey. Rowan,” a voice broke in. The voice belonged to a humourless and severe-looking woman dressed all in black. Alvin assumed this must be Vice-Principal Dougherty. He noticed the strange delay, as well. From the other boy’s reaction, it wasn’t an accidental slip, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened. As Rowan stood and collected his bag, unhurried, he paused before following the vice-principal, as if she wasn’t even there.

“If she’s done with you before lunch,” he said to Alvin, “you should go to the green room. Back behind the stage. You know where that is, right? Big thing, curtain, back of the caf, can’t miss it?” When Alvin laughed, he continued, “That’s where we hang out.”

Alvin nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and then called out, “Wait, who’s we?”

Without breaking step, Rowan pivoted on his heel, walking backward. He fanned his nails in front of him as if that answered Alvin’s question, which provoked another sharp rebuke from Dougherty. Rowan rolled his eyes and disappeared into the vice-principal’s office.

Alvin was perplexed. It was a strange meeting, but he felt hopeful that it was the start of something more . . . and not just a pity-invite to theatre club for the new kid.