Orb Rider: Angel of Shadows

Chapter 1

Aurin

It was the sprinkler that woke him. Spurting to life like a morning alarm, it sprayed Aurin’s sleeping form into instant alert. Remnant shards of dawn splintered through nail holes in the old roof iron, which formed a fence of sorts, between the vegie garden and the untamed bush beyond. Pinholes of light speckled the dark green of the spinach like mite stains, and spattered Aurin’s lanky legs where they splayed, squashing the cherry tomatoes.

Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Not again! he cursed to the empty back yard.

In one deft movement, he sprang to his feet like an acrobat, but too swiftly for his equilibrium. His head was spinning in a dizzying swirl as he wobbled his way towards the back door like a drunk swaying his way home from the pub. The damp seat of his shorts wedged uncomfortably, clogged and sogged with wet ochre soil. More globs dripped from his hair, oozing down his forehead. He felt like he’d slept it off in the pouring rain, in a park somewhere.

As usual, the squeal of the screen door betrayed him.

Been at it again have you, Aurin?

Malvedee was already up. In the kitchen. Scooping cereal from a large bowl into her mouth, slouched over the table, spirals of long black hair almost in the milk. She’d slept badly. Worried about him, no doubt. That’s what mothers did. They worried. Lately, Mal had become an expert.

She asked bluntly, Want breakfast?

Taking a shower, he mumbled back, stumbling up the hallway into the bathroom.

The warm rush of water gently massaged life back into him - as it always did. He slid into a sit, closed his eyes, and sank into a warm, wet, gentle world. By the time the water had run cold, he was marginally rejuvenated. A cursory rub down with his bath towel, he dressed quickly, the dampness of the shower still sticky on his body. He grabbed an apple and his schoolbag, and without even a glance in the mirror, or a comb through his thick ruff of rust hair, he was off.

You know you can’t ignore it forever, Aurin! Sooner or later you’re going to have to take responsibility for this, Mal managed to fling a few words at him as he weaved past her, no hesitation, no eye contact. You’re seventeen next week! she pursued.

He made a beeline for the front door.

And what about breakfast! her exasperation followed him out.

I’m good, he shouted back, taking the six stairs in a single leap over their left side.

She was up and after him, on the porch, her words dogging him into the garage where his bike was parked.

And you know you’re still glowing don’t you? Do you have a cap for that head of yours?

He didn’t need Mal reminding him! Of course he had a cap in his bag. He always did. Lately at least.

Jamming his helmet over the aberrant glow, he was quickly in his own world, wind in his ears, muscles burning into speed as he peddled around the corner, and out of sight. It was a fair ride to school, but through these back streets, a clear run with little traffic. Even dogs and their walkers, and strollers and their pushers were few and far between at this time of day.

Which was lucky, for once again, he was cutting it fine. He scooted through the school’s main gate, up the sloped drive, hurriedly parking his bike in the racks. Without even bothering to chain it, he raced towards the stairs. As he ran, he rifled for his cap, swapping it for his helmet, simultaneously scaling the steps two at a time. He was on the verge of being late again, and this time it would be detention.

Heh! Aurin! Wait up!

It was PJ, calling from behind. He turned towards his friend but barely slowed his pace. PJ was racing up the school driveway to catch him up - or more likely, to beat him. When it came to being on time, he tended to cut an even finer line, but he did just live next door, so he could afford to.

First break, Man! First break we’re outa here, PJ puffed his words, already out of breath. Have something I have to show you.

Aurin gestured, ‘okay’, bolting through the main door, just beating first bell.

Gabriella was in the hall, closing her locker. He hurried his step to catch her up. She smiled, not quite making eye contact, a hint of demure about it. He liked that. She liked him - he was pretty sure he could tell. But she wasn’t going to be a push-over. She’d need convincing. He was pretty sure he could sense that too.

Did you join the art class then? he said casually, smiling, a slight catch in his voice, which he hoped hadn’t given him away.

It was the first time he’d spoken to her, outside the inside of his head at least. But he’d already made eye contact - a few days earlier when she’d been talking to one of the teachers about joining the art class. And he’d seen her around, and found out her name. In fact, if he’d been honest, since two weeks ago when he’d first noticed her, he’d been…

He stopped himself. Even to his own mind, he was sounding like a stalker.

Have we been properly introduced, she smiled, not really looking at him, but adjusting things in the oversized bag hanging from her right shoulder.

I’m Gabriella, she said, pausing from her tussling, passing him her hand.

She still wasn’t actually looking at him, but more at the hand she was shaking.

I’m Aurin, he said clumsily, but by the time he’d said it, Gabriella had already released the hand she’d shaken, and returned to the rearranging within her bag.

Aurin? That’s an unusual name, she said casually, as she shuffled and shoved.

"Yeah, a bit too unusual if you ask me. Maybe not so in Scotland or somewhere, but here in Australia, it’s a bit odd. Sometimes I wish I had something more normal," he found himself revealing, instantly cringing at himself. How lame did that just sound!

Like what? she said, seemingly without judgment about his inept conversational skills, this time looking up slightly, catching his eye.

He’d thought about it quite often, what name he’d choose to free himself to a regular life, in a regular world.

Sometimes I wonder if should use my second name. Call myself Alex.

Yes, she nodded approvingly. Alex, she repeated. "A name with strength, and charm. So why don’t you change it? If you hate the one you have so much?"

Aurin just shrugged. He didn’t want to get into the whole destiny thing. Not here. Not now. Not ever hopefully. Even so, he heard his mother’s voice in his head, reminding him how important his birth name was. How important keeping that birth name was to his soul’s destiny.

Aurin means golden, and you are indeed a golden child, because one day you will save our world, she’d reminded him often enough.

That’s why she’d given that name to him, and was so precious about it. He didn’t actually believe her. Not really. The world didn’t need the likes of him! That was her stuff, not his!

So the art class? he refocused.

Yes! My transfer was approved last week. I received the final place apparently. I feel so fortunate.

Me too, his thoughts said inside his head. But he said to her, So I’ll see you there this arvo then?

If you like, her eyes lingered for a moment.

Then she sauntered off ahead of him, her long skirt swishing about her ankles. Aurin watched until she’d disappeared through the door, into French class.

His mind was just about to ponder what it would be like to study French, when it was thumped from behind.

Hurry up, Master Maison! the thudding voice of Principal Pembroke struck him as hard as a physical blow. Stop that philandering and get on with it! You’re a whisker away from detention, young man! And take that cap off your head!

Gingerly, he removed his cap, hoping the glow of his scalp had settled by now. That was the reason for the cap. To cover the weird afterglow that the Realmwalkers had begun to leave on him. But nothing the principal could do to him would flatten his spirits today. Not now, when he had more hope than ever with Gabriella.

"And I don’t want to see that hippy hair at school! Wash it out by tomorrow or I’ll be washing it out for you! At assembly! For everyone to see!"

Aurin hurried to the end of the hall - away from the voice of Pembroke - towards physics. At least he had an excuse now, if anyone asked about his glowing green hair. He’d fluoro dyed it - to shit stir Pembroke!

He’d prefer not to be doing physics at all. He didn’t have the mind for it, and never did well. He hated not doing well at something. In general, in spite of moving so often, changing schools, missing so much instruction, school had come easily for him. He hated having to make an effort, and so, he hated physics.

But Mal had insisted. Mainly because she was crazy about Einstein as far as he could tell. She said that studying physics was honouring a great man and a great mind. She thought people like him were spiritual visionaries. And she firmly believed that knowledge of physics would prove useful, for his ‘problem’, the one he’d been trying to deny, and which, until more recently, he’d managed to dodge quite well.

Mal could find connections between any number of disparate things, if she had a mind to, but physics and lucid dream travel? That was a gargantuan leap, surely! Even so, lately, the tone of those dreams had been changing, and they’d begun to intrude into his waking life as well.

Aurin knew why. Coercion. Now instead of Lightwalkers supervising his dream travel, he had Realmwalkers, whose sole purpose was to bully him into an acceptance of a destiny he didn’t want. To experience what could happen if he didn’t comply - not only to him, but to others too.

Now, most nights they came for him. They dragged him from his bed, body and soul, and thrust him into some weird space between the physical world and the astral plane, to put him through his paces, unawares and unprepared. And at a distinct disadvantage! Everyone else in that place was of soul essence - thin and wispy, light and energetic.

He was always glug. He was always some morphed glob of ectoplasm, an anomalous blending of his physical body and his soul - a gooey, heavy, unresponsive composite. Yet, he felt it all, as if he was solely in the physical.

At first, the Realmwalker trips hadn’t been that bad. In fact, some aspects were actually fun. Especially the Fall at the end! What a rush! The speed, the adrenalin - he never wanted it to end. And if he woke himself up, it would. But if he didn’t wake up, he’d suffer the consequences - an injurious Fall and the likelihood of living evermore with the pain and the damage he’d sustained.

Fortunately, he hadn’t Fallen to such a critical, crashing end yet. He’d always awoken just in time. Even so, lately, he’d often brought back injuries. Worse still, he’d had to rely on his mother to clean up the mess - just like she used to, when he was younger and sweeter, and more amenable, perhaps, and he’d had a nightmare.

Shall I Sing for you, little Aurin? she used to say. Shall I Sing your soul to peace, and your heart and mind to sleep?

Why do you have to Sing for me? he’d asked her so often as little Aurin, so innocently, so naïvely. Why do dreams have to be bad? Why can’t they all be happy?

"Because life isn’t always happy, Son. Sometimes life is hard. And sometimes in life, certain people are born to be special. You were born to be special," she’d say as she always did. "You were born to become a hero. And those bad dreams - they teach you to be brave. They teach you how to be that hero. As in dreams, so in life, little one. And as in life, so in dreams."

Then she’d begin her Singing, her hand sweeping gently in circles around her large golden Singing bowl. Within its golden sound blanket, it would bundle him up, and he’d drift far away.

It was magical, that bowl. Of brass, of course. Hand beaten within a miniature village in the foothills of the Himalayas, by a sacred, cloistered sect of monks. Secluded just for this holy work, and more in touch with the other realms than the earth plane, these monks had attuned this special bowl to the Soul Star. It was indeed a rare and exceptional event, for no-one but these secluded monks could hear the true voice of the Soul Star. Few among them could catch a piece of it, and then layer it into the voice of a bowl.

So this unique golden bowl had been ordained to serve him, to keep him safe so he’d stay the course, to become that hero he was born to be. And it was his mother who was that rare and gifted Singer entrusted with the care of such a bowl as this. Few but her would be so trustworthy, or Sing such a bowl so well, for she could Sing that bowl like the voices of angels.

Immersed in that Singing as Little Aurin, he’d felt safe, and soft, and warm, easing back into a sleep that hugged him securely all night long. He’d dream of becoming that hero he knew he was destined to become one day, for as Little Aurin, that idea had been rather enticing.

Nevertheless, as he’d grown, he’d discovered how different his life was, and how even more bizarre it would become if he followed this destiny of his. Resistance had increased, festering within him. Now, with his 17th birthday approaching, resistance was proving to be more challenging than he’d bargained for, making his sleep-life far less safe, and very often, not too warm either. That bowl and Mal’s Singing of it had stepped in and saved him many a time. Even so, as grateful as he generally was to have healing, he hated that at nearly seventeen years old, he still needed his mother to rescue him from his nightmares.

They’re not just ordinary dreams, or even ordinary nightmares, he’d justified to himself often enough. They’re literally life and death.

Still, it made him feel small. He was almost an adult, and this jinx of birth, and those Realmwalkers doing the bidding of that jinx, kept him bound to his mother like a helpless, defenceless child, and there was little he could do about it. He knew those Realmwalkers would persist in their torment and torture until his resilience had been shredded into fragile threads.

How many times had he woken up in places he’d never heard of? How many times had he been brutalised?

It only hurts because you won’t let them take you willingly, Mal would say each time, her tone clearly revealing how thin her patience was becoming. Just allow it, experience a little of what it’s like under free will. Don’t judge until you know.

But he knew enough. He knew he’d be a freak - an outsider in every world, belonging to none, alone and lonely, with no real place to call home. Yes, as an Orb Rider he could transit both worlds equally well - the physical and the non-physical. And yes, those with just souls, or just physical bodies couldn’t do what an Orb Rider could do, being much more suitable to one plane of existence than the other.

But they had a place - a state of being that belonged somewhere, properly, thoroughly. He wouldn’t properly belong anywhere.

You’re needed. People need you. Their souls need you, Malvedee still pestered him at every opportunity. If you deny us, Son, the world will fall into a desperate state. No-one will find peace in their dreams, or their waking lives, or their passing into the light. And you know what that’ll mean, don’t you?

Of course he did! She’d told him often enough! He also knew he didn’t want to leave his life. Not now, when he was finally getting one. And in spite of the Realmwalkers and their spite - of all their callous resolve - he’d continued to escape, to survive. After all, this last time, all they’d managed was dumping him in the vegie patch with stodgy shorts and fluoro hair. His resistance had worked, and his fate and those Realmwalkers were still failing to fully have their way.

He was determined to keep it that way! Especially now with such convincing prospects with the most amazing girl in school. Nothing would force him to leave his present life and life-form! He was never going to become an Orb Rider! If Mal or those Realmwalkers thought they’d get him to change his mind, they needed to think again! There was no way he was doing it! Why should he? He was sixteen! He wanted a life!

Chapter 2

Pace Jackson

When the bell rang for first break, Aurin could see that PJ was already at the door, his anxious eyes trying to search above the heads of students pouring from Aurin’s classroom. PJ was shorter than just about everyone, so for him, looking for someone in a crowd meant craning like an emu. Thankfully, Aurin was taller than just about everyone so was easily visible above the crowd, and could see above them too.

He waved his hand over the throng, catching his friend’s eye, nodding in reassurance that he hadn’t forgotten. With that, PJ rushed ahead down the hall, his dark mop of Italian waves flopping in rhythm with his body. Aurin pushed through the swarming hallway to catch up.

Once outside, rather than using the main exit, they veered to the left of the building. They didn’t bother with passes, even though, of course, Pembroke was more than pedantic about them, but also, she was more than stingy about giving them out. They seemed hardly necessary, anyway, when all they were doing was ducking next door.

Dashing through the gap in the timber fence, which bounded the school and the laneway, they dived between the thick stand of golden palms edging PJ’s yard, and were quickly out of sight. Immediately, PJ raced ahead to the far corner of his front garden.

Oh, Man! he almost whined in disappointment. It’s gone!

What’s gone? Aurin was beside him, now, trying to follow his friend’s eyes, to see what he was supposed to be seeing.

I swear, Man, I saw it. It was here! PJ continued, barely registering his friend’s question. "Like a bowl of glowing, frozen, greenish dew. I even touched it! With this hand. With these very fingers!"

All Aurin could see was the thin patch of dead grass where PJ’s cat slept. It was so worn from Sass’ repeated usage that it was mostly hardened earth, scooped and shaped in a perfect concave ditch for her slumbering body. Nevertheless, Aurin was pretty sure he knew what PJ meant, even though it had dissipated. Lately, he’d seen similar - on his own head - after coming back from his dreams. Still, he wouldn’t alarm PJ.

It’s where Sass sleeps, Peej. It’s kind of expected, don’t you think? Dew, at this time of year? In a dent the size of Sass, I guess you’d have to expect a bit more dew than normal.

Aurin crouched at the ditch, scraping his fingers into the dent to loosen some of the soil. He knew traces would still be there. Scooping a little into his hand, he confirmed his suspicions. Yes, it was definitely what he thought. Some form of ectoplasm.

It was always a strange sensation, the touch of an otherworldly substance on human skin. Generally, not an unpleasant experience though. Not like what he was feeling this time. This sample tingled like sherbet, and was gently, but penetratingly warm - just how ectoplasm was supposed to feel. However, there were other elements to it, which were more than concerning. Rather than being so light that it felt like nothing, like air, it was so heavy that the weight of it bored down on his palm, as if to pin his hand to the earth. As well, it was becoming so freezing cold that it burned, scorching hot.

Aurin tried to rationalise it all away. His mind and body were playing tricks because his recent experiences of ectoplasm had been so tainted with unpleasantness. His subconscious was concocting some horrid reminder of where he’d been in his dreams lately, and of the Realmwalkers who’d been there with him. However, eventually he had to concede that it was more than that. This sample was sending shivers through him. This sample was making him sick with foreboding.

Had it been poisoned in some way? How? Why?

This was definitely something for his uncle, Gemeoin. He would surely have an explanation. For now, Aurin concealed his apprehension. He’d come back later, alone, to collect a decent sample, in an appropriate container.

There’s nothing extraordinary about frosted dew in a very robust cat’s favourite sleeping pot hole, in the corner of a garden, he reassured PJ, concealing his concerns. Not at this time of year, Mate, he said lightly, jokingly, keeping his voice as even as he could.

"But it was extraordinary! It wasn’t normal!" The pitch of PJ’s voice was high and insistent. "It was frozen. Sparkly. Sort of phosphorescent. Bluish green. And it wobbled like jelly!" PJ was staring, pointing at the small brown hollow.

In fact, he confided in a whisper after some moments of dazed staring, it looked like something out of an alien movie.

You sure you’re not on something, Mate? Aurin joked, trying to make light of it.

PJ shook his head in disbelief. It was weird, I swear, the weirdest thing I ever saw. I guess I’ll never be able to prove it though…, his voice faded into introspection, and then silence.

The bell was ringing for the end of Morning Tea, but Aurin knew PJ was in no state of readiness to return to school. Putting his arm around PJ’s shoulders, he eased him towards the front stairs.

C’mon, Peej. Let’s go inside. Got anything to eat in that fridge of yours?

Always the funny man! PJ was smiling again. "You know we have, Mate. That’s one thing Dad is good for. Leftovers!"

Yeah, gourmet ones, Aurin beamed at his friend.

I can see it now, PJ framed the air in front of him as they eased up the few steps leading to the front porch. Three Michelin Stars awarded to chef, Roland Jackson, for his exquisite, epicurean doggy bags.

They both laughed, but Aurin had a keen sense that PJ’s bravado was camouflage - not only for his present anxiety, but the ongoing malaise he carried in his heart. He deeply missed his mother, Sophie, and since her death several months earlier, his best friend Pace Jackson rarely saw his father.

Roland Jackson worked long days, into late nights, so mostly, when PJ was at home, his father was at work, or asleep. Sometimes, for weeks on end, PJ’s only clue that his father was still alive and well was the supply of leftovers brought from the restaurant, and left on the otherwise rather empty shelves of the refrigerator. PJ had said often enough that he was sure the only sign his father had of his continuing existence, was that those leftovers were disappearing from those very shelves.

What d’ya want? Beef or chicken? PJ’s voice came from inside the refrigerator, as he leaned into it.

How about both? Aurin grinned, peering over PJ’s shoulder.

In no time, two very hefty, deep-based dishes were hauled from Roland Jackson’s fridge, and placed onto the kitchen table. Aurin grabbed two oversized spoons from a drawer, and they sat at right angles, scooping with large spoons, eating straight out of the restaurant dishware. They polished off the entire fancy beef dish and more than half of the chicken one as well, chatting with mouths full, and with time drifting well past middle period.

When they’d eaten their fill and had their fill of conversation, Aurin placed the dishes on the floor in front of the fridge - one holding morsels of chicken in a white sauce, the other with only skerricks of rich brown gravy stuck to its insides.

You’re wasting your time today, Mate, PJ mumbled. Sass isn’t here to clean them up, is she? Very quickly, his spirits sounded low again.

She’ll turn up, Aurin tried to reassure him. She always turns up eventually.

"It’s a bit strange, though. I mean, even with the sound of the fridge opening, and now, the clunk of the dishes onto the floor, she’s not come in. Even you must think that’s weird, right?"

Yeah, it is, I have to admit. Every time I’ve been here, I’ve had to shove her off the table so I can get food into my mouth. She’s usually pretty persistent and vigilant about food, that’s for sure. I thought she’d be here by now.

"And she really is a home body. She never goes out," PJ frowned.

PJ’s thoughts seemed to push him into action. He straightened from his slump at the table to a standing up, and a calling out in the sweet, high-pitched voice, which always worked to entice his Sass - even out of the deepest slumber, in the cosiest spot, on the chilliest, clammiest of days.

Saa-ass, where are you, dolce bambina? Saa-ass! Come on! PJ continued up the hallway, into every room at each side, calling in that voice reserved only for her, his beloved puss. But there was no response.

I’m really worried, Mate, PJ bemoaned again. Something’s happened to her. I know it.

Try not to worry, Aurin tried to be reassuring, fully aware that PJ was likely justified in being so concerned. She’ll be asleep somewhere, he allayed. You know what cats are like. Unless you’re worried your father will get home before Sass does? To find ants crawling through the dishes? I’ll wash them up this time, heh?

"Nah, leave ‘em! Who cares what he thinks? PJ grumbled back. What’s he going to do to me? Leave me a note?"

Yeah, with lots of expletives and exclamations! Better watch out for those! Aurin joked back.

PJ laughed with him. Good, Aurin thought. PJ was always better when life was lighter. Otherwise, he was prone to sink too deeply into dark moods and thoughts. He did seem to come out of them quickly enough when Aurin kept things light, but Aurin wondered what PJ had done before…, before they’d become friends. They’d only known each other since shortly after Aurin’s move, and just after PJ’s mother had died. And Peej didn’t seem to have anyone else.

I think I’ll skip this afternoon, PJ said as the first bell for the end of lunch rang in the distance. To keep looking for Sass. We’ve already missed most of the day anyway. Wanna join me? he coaxed. It’s only art.

Not this time, Peej. I can’t miss it. Not today.

PJ shot his friend a quizzical frown.

I did it, Aurin beamed. I spoke to her. So today it’s not just art. It’s Gabriella!

Oh, it’s on is it? She got in!

Yep. Her first class this arvo.

PJ slapped his hand in a high five to his friend. You go, Mate! You can’t miss that! I’ll be fine.

I’ll check in with you later! Aurin called back as he hurried out the front door for his afternoon of art with Gabriella - leaving the greasy plates on the floor for Sass to eat, or for Roland Jackson to find, or for ants to hoard, whichever came first. Aurin was pretty sure PJ wouldn’t be cleaning them up. He just hoped he’d be alright, alone with his thoughts and his low mood.

Hurriedly, Aurin crossed the lane between PJ’s place and the school, but further up and more out of sight since all was fairly quiet, with most students already inside the building, heading for class. Just as he’d jumped the boundary fence, Pembroke’s voice punched him in the ears.

Absconding again, were we, Master Maison!

Chapter 3

Pembroke

It was a boomer, Pembroke’s voice.

I swear she’s actually a man! Aurin insulted her under his breath.

Immediately, inside his head, Malvedee’s voice was reprimanding, Always look for the good in others, Son, no matter what.

Throughout his upbringing, he’d been badgered by his mother about denigrating others. It was a major thing with her - finding the good or the god in everyone.

You don’t have to believe in a god to honour godliness, Son. It comes in myriad forms, you know - some which will often surprise you, she always said.

Knowing Mal, she’d find something godly in Pembroke too. But Aurin didn’t care. He was entitled to his opinion - something else, he had to admit, that Mal had always supported. She’d guide, advise, even push at times, but in the end, she did give him a choice. But then, he had to own the consequences.

Right now, Pembroke had her voice set as deeply male as she could manage, and was being a right pain in the arse, so he’d say what the hell he liked about her! Like, what’s with the absconding thing? Who even talks like that?

Absconding? No, Miss. I’m sure if I was absconding, as you call it, I’d be heading in the opposite direction, Miss, he laced his tone with fitting contempt.

Get your lazy, good for nothing body in here this instant, Master Maison! And silence that insolence! she screeched over the second bell, her arm fully extended, index finger targeting Admin block.

He didn’t hurry. It hardly mattered. Detention was inevitable. She’d give him her maximum anyway, and that was five afternoons. Any more than that would have to include mediation. That meant parental approval, writing up reports, and so on - all this stuff clearly stated in the school’s policy.

So Pembroke never gave more than the full five days. Nevertheless, when that was over, he knew she’d watch him like a hawk to catch him out again as soon as possible afterwards.

Straight to the office, you infantile imbecile! she literally spat as he swaggered past her as slowly as he could.

Don’t thhssspray it, thhhsssay it, he jibed under his breath, probably loud enough for her to hear. He hoped.

Pembroke did tend to spray things, especially whenever she became hot under the collar about something. She had some sort of speech impediment - a slight lisp really - that largely went unnoticed, unless she was fuming and screeching at the same time. Then it revealed itself in a sprinkle of saliva that often left wet patches on sleeves and fronts of shirts, or more disgustingly, on faces.

One time, Aurin shivered at the recollection, her saliva had actually landed in his mouth. At the time, he’d felt he couldn’t spit it out. He would now of course, but then, he was new at the school, so he’d just let his own saliva build up around it, masking it a bit. Reluctantly, eventually, he’d had to swallow it. That was one time he’d really regretted not listening to his mother. She’d always ask if he had tissues in his pocket.

I don’t need tissues, Mal! he always snapped back, frustrated. Blokes don’t use tissues!

Now he did secretly keep a couple of tissues in his pocket. He also made sure his mouth was closed, and his head was down whenever he went past Pembroke.

Instead of stopping at the Admin Office, she continued on, beckoning with her index finger for him to follow - into her principal’s office. He did, obediently, slightly lamb-like, a tinge unsettled at the change of routine. As Pembroke took her place behind her oversized, over-polished desk, she opened a drawer to her right. From there, she retrieved her personal stash of the usual forms.

In spite of fully expecting it, Aurin groaned audibly for effect as he scrawled on the dotted line for five afternoons of detention, effective immediately. He slammed the pen down afterwards, just to annoy her even more.

I’ll phone your parent. Advise that you’ll be late, she said in the superior tone she always used, which couldn’t disguise the crawling disgust he knew she was feeling at being in his repugnant presence once more.

Mal doesn’t have a phone, Miss, he reminded her again, not hiding his exasperation at her ignorance.

"Once again, that deviance regarding your mother! Calling her by her first name, of all things! No respect for the importance of her role! Her position! Your lack of decency seems to know no bounds, young