Chapter 17

I found myself breakfasting alone the next morning. I considered taking Mum and Dad a coffee in bed, then decided against it. I didn’t want to encounter any evidence of them taking advantage of being alone that morning to have some fun together.

I got to school well before the scheduled departure time. Not finding anyone else waiting by the school minibus, I decided to go and check on my locker. To my surprise there was quite a complement of students painting lockers. Eugenie Butler-Walker had done an incredible job with my locker. As Dennis had suggested, it looked even better than before.

What the artists painted was pretty much up to them provided the principal subject was a rainbow. Eugenie had painted two intertwined rainbows that seemed to be dancing together. Then I realised they were forming a double helix; Eugenie’s masterpiece linked sexual orientation with genetics.

Not knowing whether the school rules about cellphones still applied at weekends, I surreptitiously took out my smartphone and photographed my locker door. Much as I wanted to share the picture immediately, I put my smartphone away, conscious that I still had the video of Daisy on it so I couldn’t risk it being confiscated.

While I was admiring Eugenie’s handiwork, the artist herself came up to me.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“It’s fantastic.”

“For you it’s free. However, from everyone else who requested a rainbow design, we’re asking for a donation of five dollars if they can afford it.”

I felt guilty that Eugenie had now painted my locker twice for no reward, despite having done a far superior job to her colleagues.

“I want to pay the five dollars,” I said. “I think your artistry deserves it.”

Eugenie squealed with delight and leapt into my arms, plastering her lips to mine. Soft, succulent, sweet-tasting lips. And with them came a soft, warm, fragrant body. I did what felt right and reciprocated. Thanks to Cheryl’s kissing masterclass I found I was more experienced than Eugenie, but she was a quick learner and the kiss rapidly escalated until the oral communion we were sharing reached religious intensity. With our bodies moulding tightly together, and while we were busily investigating each other’s tonsils, Eugenie had to have been able to feel my rock hard cock pressing against the stomach she was grinding against me.

“Ahem, break it up you two!”

It was Mrs Crocker, Head of the Art Department.

Panting, and with swollen, incandescing lips, Eugenie and I reluctantly peeled apart. I noticed quite a few art students had stopped their painting to watch us, and a couple were surreptitiously recording us on their smartphones.

“Mr Randell, you’ve been warned before about public displays of affection,” said Mrs Crocker. “I’m giving you a one hour detention starting now. Please go and wait outside my office while I think of something suitably demeaning for you to do.”

An hour’s detention meant I wouldn’t be able to take the minibus so I’d miss the race. “But...” I started to protest.

“If you object, I’ll double it,” threatened Mrs Crocker.

I looked at Eugenie. Why wasn’t she saying anything on my behalf? After all, she had instigated the kiss. She refused to meet my eyes, looking down at the floor.

I set off towards Mrs Crocker’s office. When I was out of sight, I doubled back round the outside of the building and returned to the minibus. Coach Budd had arrived and the team were milling around him as he checked off their names.

“Randell, I’m so glad you could make it,” he said somewhat sarcastically, since it was now just after the meet-up time.

“Coach, I’ve got a problem,” I said.

“Not another injured runner,” he groaned.

“No, but Mrs Crocker has just given me a one-hour detention and it’s in progress now.”

“What did you do, Randell?” he sighed.

“Public display of affection with Eugenie Butler-Walker.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows you’re gay. Come with me and I’ll sort this out.”

I trailed behind Coach Budd as we entered the school buildings. Mrs Crocker was still by the lockers so she hadn’t yet noticed my absence. I kept a safe distance away while Coach Budd and Mrs Crocker got into a heated argument. Although there was no actual shouting, there was lots of angry gesturing and arm-waving.

Finally Coach Budd turned and stalked back in my direction. “Come on or we’ll be late,” he said. “I told her that I was taking you and if she didn’t like it she could take it up with Principal Hockstadler. Since there’s money involved, I think I know whose side he’ll take. Honestly, that woman needs someone to pull her head out of her ass.”

When we were outside again, Coach Budd’s demeanour seemed to improve so I risked a question. “Who’s injured, Coach?”

“Dickerson. Twisted his ankle.”

Tom Dickerson wasn’t our strongest runner but he was a damn good captain, organising the team and encouraging the weaker runners.

“I was going to give you the captaincy in his stead,” said Coach Budd, “but after your little example of poor judgement, I’d better give it to someone else.”

Back at the minibus, I was surprised to see my Home Room Teacher, Mrs Gibbons. She gave me a little smile of recognition. School rules demanded two drivers for each school trip but I’d never associated Mrs Gibbons with any interest in sporting events.

Despite Tom Dickerson’s injury, we still had a full complement of seven. Coach Budd had called up the other boy the same age as me to be the travelling reserve, with Corwin Baylee promoted to the team.