Chapter Text
Patricia crossed her arms. She slumped into the hunk of plastic that was unfit to be called a chair. She didn't even bother to look at the other poor souls who had angered one of the many middle aged staff at Blairville High, she was too busy scowling at the floor.
Mr Scribe opened his office door. His eyes scanned the line of trouble makers. Unfortunately being a goth made you stand out. Patricia inevitably caught Mr Scribe’s robotic stare.
‘Patricia!’ Mr Scribe barked. ‘My office now.’
Patricia groaned as she slowly stood up trying to delay the impending lecture. Her Doc Martians clicked sadly against the wooden floor of Mr Scribe's office.
The vice principal took off his glasses and shook his head.
‘Look, Patricia. You're a good…’ He hesitated.
Patricia was 18 and nearing the end of her final year at school, she couldn't really be called a kid anymore.
‘...A good student.’ Mr scribe decided. ‘You've got above average grades in most of your classes and you're the top of your english class. You're a nice girl, so why must you constantly spit in the face of our dress code.’
The beams of sunlight reflected off Mr Scribe's bald head, it took all her strength not to laugh. Unfortunately the vice principal noticed her scrunched up face.
‘Miss Graves! If something is funny about the dress code, do share.’ Mr Scribes growled.
Patricia tried to regain her composure but was unable to. A laugh escaped her black lips. This was the last straw for the vice principal.
‘You come to my office every day wearing improper clothing. Fishnets are highly sexual and not appropriate for a school setting, you ignore our strict jewellery policy with your gross skull earrings and cross necklace.’
Patricia was about to interrupt but Mr Scribe saw this coming.
‘Yes, students are allowed to wear religious symbols. But that is only if it’s a part of their religion. And we both know you are an atheist.’
Patricia had to admit, he did have a point there.
‘Oh and don't get me started on your makeup, do you really consider a white face, black lipstick and an entire pencil of eyeliner to be subtle makeup?’
Patricia yawned. This was the second conversation about her look this week. And it was only Wednesday.
Mr Scribe's face became red, sweat began to roll down his bald head.
Like a saving grace the fire alarm triggered. The holy sound rang throughout the entire school.
‘There wasn't a drill scheduled for today.’ Mr Scribe said, confused.
‘Well sir…’ Patricia grabbed her black bag, Her silver key chains jingled as she put the shoulder straps on.
‘I would love to continue this meaningless conversation but I think I'd prefer not to burn to death a little more.’
Mr Scribe followed her out of his office.
‘You've just earned yourself a detention this afternoon women.’
‘If the school doesn't burn down.’ Patrica said with a smirk, pulling her headphones over her head. The sound of “Party Time” by 45 Grave drowned out the panicked gossip of the hundreds of students making their way to the school entrance. As she made her way past the bathrooms she bumped into her friends: Wendy and Clara.
The three nodded in greeting.
‘Clara, you got lipstick on your neck.’ Patricia pointed out.
Clara quickly wiped at her neck with the sleeve of her plaid shirt trying to wipe away Wendy's signature lipstick.
‘Did you two skip class to make out in the bathrooms again.’ Patricia teased.
‘No.’ Wendy denied.
‘Yeah, we just bumped into each other and decided to make out.’ Clara chipped in.
Patricia laughed. ‘You two are such fags.’
This was received with a double slap on the back of her head from the two lesbians.
‘Your just jealous that you're the third wheel.’ Clara said in a playful tone.
‘So that's why you dress in black.’ Wendy added joining in on the banter.
Patricia rolled her eyes. She quickly produced sunglasses from her bag before she stepped outside the school's main building. The trio said their farewells before splitting up to find their home room classes.
The crowd of students looked up at the school disappointed by the lack of smoke and flames. Teachers stood around, talking to one another trying to figure out why the smoke alarms had been triggered.
The sound of fire trucks alarms grew louder.
They came to a halt and men clambered out of the truck. The fire fighters ran into the school building.
The crowd of students remained outside as the teachers talked to a firefighter who had stayed behind to survey the building from the exterior.
The school watched the front doors anxiously. After a long ten minutes a firefighter came out the door holding a student under the arm. The boy looked confused. Those at the front of the crowd could hear loud music coming from the headphones around his neck and smell the smell of cigarette smoke lingering on his long black coat.
‘What's going on?’ the boy yelled as he was dragged over to Mr Scribe.
Patricia had never seen Mr Scribe look so angry. He resembled a kettle about to boil over. One of the surrounding teachers hid a laugh before calling out.
‘It was a false alarm everyone. Go back to class please.’
Confusion spread throughout the crowd as they made their way back inside.
The analog clock ticked mockingly. The teacher sat at her desk clinging to her mug like a parachute in a faulty plane. The fire alarm incident had been forgotten by most once the day was over. Gossip at Blairville High either stuck around like an annoying younger sibling or it faded like fog on a sunny day.
Patricia walked into the class in which she would be spending the remainder of her afternoon inside. The teacher looked her up and down.
‘Don't tell the other teachers, but I love your style.’ She whispered.
Patricia let a rare genuine smile crease her matt black lipstick. ‘Thank you Mrs Sketch.’
Mrs Sketch began to fiddle with her laptop. Soon The Cure began to play through the classroom speakers. She winked at Patricia as she sat in her seat.
The doors once again opened and Mr Scribe escorted the board looking boy in the black coat into the classroom. The boy had spiky black hair. It was barely styled into a middle part. His hair at the back came past the collar of his black trench coat which was layered over a “Sisters Of Mercy” that had been tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans supported by a double looped belt with a chain hanging from the belt loops.
His chunky combat boots clicked against the wooden floor, they sang the same tune as Patricia's Docs. Patricia tried not to stare but his androgynous beauty demanded many second glances.
Mrs Sketch sighed. ‘What did Casper do this time?’ Looking at the boy with an unsurprised eye roll.
Through gritted teeth Mr Scribe hissed a response, ‘This shit? Well, he was smoking in the toilets, and it set off the bloody fire alarms. His music must have been damn loud to not have heard them.’
Mrs Sketch let out a faux gasp.
‘Keep an eye on him, Mrs Sketch, he's a trouble maker.’ The vice principal said before shutting the door behind him.
Casper looked around the room. The ghost of a smile could be seen on his face when he heard The Cure, but it only lasted a blink. He began to make his way to the seat furthest away from Patricia and the teacher.
‘Casper.’ The teacher sang. Casper turned slowly and looked at her laptop avoiding the teacher's eyes. ‘What song were you listening to so loudly that you didn't hear the alarms?’
Casper hesitated. ‘I was listening to Dark Entries by Bauhaus.’ He spoke in a voice just louder than a whisper.
Patricia couldn't contain her excitement.
‘I LOVE BAUHAUS!’ She called out a lot louder than she meant to. Embarrassment began to flood over her. This was further enforced by the turn of Casper's head. He looked at Patricia, he really looked at her. Patricia took note of how his blue eyes popped out against his paper white skin. Patricia became lost in these briefly before her embarrassment returned double fold.
‘Damn, I'm out of coffee.’ Sighed Mrs Sketch. ‘I'm getting a refill, stay here.’ And without waiting for an answer she left the room.
Casper’s blue eyes locked onto Patricia, he moved quickly, his coat lagged behind him and his boots talked quickly. Patricia stared at her desk.
‘Oh god why did I scream like that?’ She thought to herself. Patricia heard the legs of the chair in front of her desk being dragged along the wooden floor and the light jingle of Casper's belt chain as he took a seat.
Patricia looked up, Casper's chest was leaning against the back rest of his chair, his arms folded over the top and his chin resting lazily on top.
‘Bauhaus is a great band.’ He said with a blank expression.
Patricia nodded. The boy didn't seem to care about her burst of excitement.
‘They are my favourite band…’ Patricia said as her gaze returned to her desk.
She could feel the boy's presence. She could feel his eyes inspecting her. Her desk began to shake lightly, and the boy's chain rattled. Patricia looked up to see Casper's leg bouncing. Was he nervous?
She looked up, only to see he still had a blank expression.
‘Your that girl who got her story published, right?’ Casper asked, his voice was like his face, void of any emotion.
Patricia blushed at what she assumed was praise. What was she supposed to say to that? She didn't want to seem full of herself but it was true, her short story had won a writing competition and was being sent through to a students short story collection. She nodded.
‘I wanted to make it bloodier but I was asked to censor it.’
A heavy exhale escaped Casper's pale nostrils in supplement to a laugh.
‘Now I'm curious to read the original cut.’ Casper said with a sincere interest.
Patricia raised her head slowly. Casper's eyes met hers.
In a cliche that would have teenagers giggling and parents groaning, Casper became aware of how close they were to one another. It was his turn to blush.
Mrs Sketch’s cure mix had decided to join in on the fun, ‘Lovesong’ began to play.
The two goths recognised it instantly and laughed.
‘How fitting.’ Patrica made an attempt at flirting.
Casper was confused. ‘Why?’ He asked with a tilt of his head.
Casper's innocence flicked a switch in Patricia. Without thinking Patricia leaned towards Casper.
She pressed her lips to his mouth. Casper could taste her lipstick on his mouth. He felt her breath tickling his skin. Patricia slowly pulled away.
Casper bit his bottom lip as he processed what had just happened. A smile of endearment formed on Patricia's face. Suddenly Casper looked shocked, his jaw dropped. For a few seconds he was frozen, Then he blushed. His white face became pink, in an attempt to hide it he hid his face in his folded arms.
‘Pfft’ Patricia exhaled through her mouth with the tint of a laugh. ‘So you can set off the school smoke alarms and get dragged out in front of the whole school and not flinch, but you hide at a kiss.’
‘Shut up.’ Casper grumbled still hidden in his arms.
‘Id mess up your hair but it is already messy.’ She teased.
‘It's not messy.’ Casper sat up and flicked his hair dramatically. ‘It's the style.’ He said sarcastically.
The two burst into laughter. Patricia was too busy trying not to tear up and ruin her make up to notice this was the most emotion that Casper had shown since he walked in the door.
Casper was too busy clutching his ribs to notice the sound of the door of Mrs Sketch walking in.
Mrs Sketch cleared her throat loudly. The two looked up.
"As happy as I am that you two are having fun, this is detention and a punishment, so I am going to have to ask you to separate and be quiet.
Casper’s face gradually returned to his blank expression. He picked up his bag and walked to the other side of the room.
Maybe Patricia was imagining it but she was sure that she saw a tint of a blush on Casper's face as his eyes flicked down to her lips.