Surely This Is All For Me

Rust rubbed his hands on his jeans until his palms overheated. He grimaced at some point, expressing his concern to the air itself, unnoticed by anyone. Maybe it wasn't genuine worry; it was more of a strange, abnormal feeling. Rust had never been in detention in his entire life, never until that moment. Now he had to stay there, scolded and punished like a little child.

However, Rust wasn't truly concerned about being in detention itself; what worried him more was his father, how he would react when he found out. So, Rust remained restless on his creaky seat, waiting for one of the administrators to call his father and tell him that his son would be coming home late for being a damn idiot who didn't know when to shut up. It just represented something bad, something very bad, and that's why Rust was scared, on edge. He had a bit of fear for his father, not enough to be a problem or a serious matter to discuss, but enough to feel distressed.

He rested his head on the small desk. He had sat at the back in the detention room, listening to those in the same misery complain about not being at fault for anything, though not all of them. Some had come to sit in a corner, assimilating their reality with a bit of resignation and a pinch of fear, just like Rust.

For a prolonged time, there was too much silence. It was when Professor Hart, in charge of the detention room, silenced them all with a deafening shout. Rust sighed and stretched his legs as he let himself fall back on the chair, with a pen between his fingers that wouldn't stop moving. At that moment, he needed a cigarette more than anything. He could have asked the teacher Hart to let him go to the bathroom and there he could have smoked the one he kept in his sweatshirt pocket, but he didn't want any more problems., so he succumbed to his frustration with a slight grunt. He changed his position as he felt his leg bouncing incessantly on his left foot, placed his elbow on the cold table, and rested the side of his face on his hand, starting to doodle on one of the pages of his notebook.

As he marked the nineteenth stroke, the silence abruptly shortened. A scream, more of a complaint, was heard. Someone was approaching the detention room with annoyed steps, of that, everyone was sure. Rust raised his gaze as soon as he heard the door open, giving way to a guy with tousled hair and dark eyes, a couple of moles on the side of his face, and a total expression of hatred. Probably hatred towards the teacher who had sent him there, probably towards himself. Rust stared at him for a moment, thoughtful. He thought he recognized him from somewhere, but he wasn't entirely sure. After all, he had moved from Texas to California two and a half months ago, and considering Rust's social skills, those two months weren't enough even to know four people inside the school who weren't teachers.

The guy sat about four seats in front, somewhat far from Rust, giving him a rear view of his brown hair. Rust didn't observe him for too long afterward. He simply turned his gaze downward; the doodled paper now had a drawing of a small triangular object made of what seemed like branches. It was one of the things Rust used to dream about, one of the few things that didn't terrify him in the early hours upon waking, a simple object that couldn't get out of his head. As soon as he finished it completely, the teacher's voice snatched his attention. He placed the pen on the table and closed the notebook, trying not to seem like a weirdo.

The guy who had entered last was still listening to music through a pair of black headphones. He didn't even bother to take them off when he realized the teacher was talking; he just remained with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on some dead point.

"Well, I talked to the principal a few days ago, and we agreed on something," Hart began.

Rust tilted his head while sighing; he expected some kind of silly punishment, like cleaning the school basement, for example, and indeed, his intuition was good enough to be partially correct. It turned out they did have to organize something, not just the basement but also the computer lab and the library. Everyone there complained, of course, everyone except the guy; he still had his headphones on until he felt a hand push his shoulder down. He finally took off the headphones when he realized it was Hart.

Being only seven punished, he distributed them to the three places: two went to clean the basement, another three went to the computer lab to organize an endless tangle of tangled cables and clean some forgotten computers, and of course, Rust and the cheerful guy ended up in the same group. Rust didn't react much to the punishment; he accepted it with a simple shrug, although the other guy was not at all happy. Hart told them to pack their things into their backpacks, and they did.

Before leaving, as they were the last two that Hart escorted to their respective punishments, Rust noticed that the guy still hadn't left, staying with the teacher in the classroom. He stood still, somewhat hidden and with a certain eagerness to leave for the library and some interest in knowing what the two were talking about.

"What happened, Ray? You're not like this," he said, but Ray didn't respond at all and left.

Rust hurried to disguise as soon as he noticed that he was approaching. They started walking side by side, both very quiet, to the point of being uncomfortable.

So... his name is Ray.

Rust thought but didn't say anything. One of the reasons he wasn't interested in socializing there was that he was already in his senior year, and despite the school year having just begun, he wasn't going to bother making friends. He assumed Ray was from some lower grade than his, as he had never seen him in his class. Anyway, he stopped thinking as soon as they finally reached the library.

"Here's your punishment," Hart told them, and Rust sighed with regret. The afternoon would be long.