I saw him kissing Julie underneath the bleachers. She was wearing her dance team warm-up gear, his hand slowly unzipping her tight velvet top. My heart dropped, my cheeks flushed red, my teeth clenched; I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I was angry or sad. I walked up to my cheating dickhead boyfriend and yelled “what the fuck!”. He shot up to his feet and started stammering an apology but before he could form a coherent sentence, I slapped him across the face. Unfortunately, my teacher, Mr. C, saw me do it.
“What has gotten into you?!” He asked, upset yet concerned. I pouted, not in the mood for conversation. “There is no place for violence in this school. You come to my office after class today for detention.”
I was nervous, my thoughts started racing. Detention?! I’m a straight A student, we don’t get detention! Is this going on my permanent record?
I had been to Mr. C’s office many times, usually seeking extra credit or trying to impress him with my knowledge. He was passionate about literature, like myself, and I wanted to learn as much as I could from him. I enjoyed our lengthy conversations after school, sharing our thoughts about the books we read in class. But I had never been to detention before. I didn’t know what to expect.