•••

When Sherwin closed the door behind him, he met face to face with his mom. She had an eyebrow raised.

"Was that your friend out there? The one who stopped by the other week?" she questioned, her expression unreadable. Sherwin nervously shuffled his feet.

"Uh, yeah. His name's Jon."

"I remember his name. What exactly was he doing out there?"

Oh crap. Sherwin tried his best to look casual. He swallowed, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "He was showing me the hustle dance," he answered, praying that it would blow over. God knows how she would react if she knew his secret.

His mom nodded, and was about to say something, when Sherwin's dad piped in, "Hey honey, remember when we did The Hustle at that alumni party?"

(Dad and brother concept art)

He grinned at her and took her hands, beginning to move her along with him as he danced. His mom giggled and hummed a tune that sounded something like I Get Around by The Beach Boys.

Thankfully, this seemed to distract her momentarily from her confrontation of Sherwin, and he quietly slipped up the stairs to the confines of his room. Sighing, he dumped his school stuff on his bed. That had been a close call.

•••

Detention on a Saturday was as boring as it sounds. Sherwin's dad drove him up to Newgate at ten the following morning in his pale yellow Chrysler. "Now, sonny," he told Sherwin through the window after he'd stepped out, "You better not be getting more detentions after this. Let this be a warning pass. Any more and you're grounded, okay?" Sherwin nodded solemnly, his ginger curls bouncing with his head's movement. "Alright, be good, Sherwin." His dad rolled up the window and drove away, leaving Sherwin to endure six whole hours of mindless torture.

Inside the assigned room, he sat down near a few other kids who'd also been given detention. There were two, larger guys who exchanged spitballs in the back row. In the front corner, sitting by the window, was a pale girl with sunken eyes and dark makeup. Another boy, a bit skinnier than Sherwin, was seated on the far right, tapping his toes incessantly.

Mr. Churchill, the vice principal, soon walked in, giving them all a stern look. "You all are in this room for your own reasons. But your situations today are the same as one another. You will remain in this classroom serving your detentions until four o'clock this afternoon. Use the time to think about what you've done, and how you will improve your behavior come next week at school. There are pencils and paper up here," he told them, tapping at the desk next to his hip, "These are all you are allowed to have until your six hours are up."

One of the jocks who'd been throwing spitballs raised his hand, but Mr. Churchill ignored him. "I will be in the office next door. Any noise, any disruptions, any disturbances at all will result in suspension for every day next week." The boy behind Sherwin waved his hand back and forth, and the vice principal finally acknowledged his question with a scalding look.

"Can we use the bathroom?" the boy asked, dropping his arm. Mr. Churchill rolled his eyes.

"Yes, of course, Raymond. You've done this countless times," he added, "You know the drill." And with that, he left the room in silence.

Almost immediately, the skinny guy next to Sherwin turned to him. "My name's Norman but you can call me Norm. What's your name? How'd ya get detention?" he quizzed, still bouncing his foot. Sherwin hesitated. He wondered if Norman would realize he was that kid upon hearing his name. You know, the gay kid.

"Sh-Sherwin," he stuttered, avoiding eye contact. "I was late to math." Norman didn't give any sign of recognition; Sherwin inwardly exhaled in relief. Glancing at the stack of lined paper at the front, he was tempted to take a few. No one else had, though, and he felt anxious about standing up to get them in front of the others.

He was saved, thankfully, when the dark haired girl by the window got up and snatched a couple sheets along with a pencil. She caught his eye, and he swore that he heard her growl at him. Jeez, he thought. After giving it a minute, he stood up and strolled over to the large table. Taking exactly five pieces of paper and a writing utensil, Sherwin headed back to his spot when he overheard Norman talking with the girl.

"What'd you do?" he pestered her, but she didn't seem annoyed. In fact, she looked like she was about to throw a party.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe," she started, grinning slyly and looking at each of them. She had their attention now. "Mr. Churchill was standing over by the band hall on Wednesday..." They all leaned in. "And right in front of him was my friend, Trish. So, I walked right up and kissed her!"

The room's reaction was explosive. Norman had a look between shock and disgust, while Raymond and his buddy burst into heavy laughter. As they wheezed and wiped tears from their eyes, Sherwin sat next to the girl. "What did he say?" he asked quietly, and she looked at him curiously.

"He said 'go to hell'. Then I told him I'd meet him there," she answered in a low voice. "When he gave me the detention slip, his face was as purple as a turnip." Sherwin stared at her. Was she...like him?

"Hey," she said, putting her chin in her left palm. "Aren't you that kid who-"

"Yeah," Sherwin cut her off. "That's me. Sherwin." She smirked and held out a hand, and he shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Sherwin. Call me Jay."

•••

I was a bit inspired by The Breakfast Club when writing the last half of this chapter, by the way. It's a wonderful movie.