Fostered Care Ch 03

Shaun and Ms Tiann, under the shocked, unrelenting stares of the younger students who had watched the entirety of their heated exchange, quickly got dressed and went their separate ways. They refused to acknowledge the girls, hoping that perhaps they might go away and that would be the end of it. But news travels fast in high school, and by the time Shaun had tidied himself up and joined his mates on the window sill upstairs in the maths building, the story had reached Brad and Jarrod.

"Shaunie," Jarrod greeted Shaun's arrival, nonchalantly.

"Shaunie," Brad echoed, with a nod and a neutral expression.

Shaun looked warily at the both of them. "Lads," he greeted in return.

There was a short pause, as they looked at him and he looked at them. "So..." said Brad. "We hear you had fun in detention, mate."

They carefully scrutinised Shaun's reaction; he saw them doing it, so he tried to arrange his face into a blank look of incomprehension. "I have no idea what you mean," he tried.

His pretence was more transparent than a polished glass window, and they saw right through it. "Maaaaate!" they cheered, approvingly, triumphantly.

"Nothing happened," he decried, trying to shush them; other people within earshot also had heard the story, and they were looking at him too. "Nothing happened," he added, for the rest of them. "I don't know who's been saying what, but NOTHING HAPPENED."

"Denying all charges, eh mate?" Jarrod winked.

"Bloody oath!" Shaun affirmed. "Nothing happened, I say! And that's final! Ms Tiann's a nice lady, guys -- she doesn't deserve the shit that sort of talk might get her into."

"Maybe so," said Brad. "But mate, everybody knows your track record -- no-one's going to believe you if you say you DIDN'T have sex with someone. Especially with so many of your buttons missing," he added, with a wink for the wise.

Shaun looked down, and he remembered Ms Tiann's frenzied efforts to undress him. "Fuck's sake," he muttered; he looked to Jarrod. "Loan us your jumper, will ya mate?"

"Sure thing, Shaunie boy," Jarrod grinned, taking it off and handing it over.

With the jumper on and the torn-up state of his shirt thusly hidden, Shaun closed his eyes and banged his head against the window with exasperation. "This isn't good," he said quietly. "I don't want to get Ms Tiann in trouble."

"Well, never mind that," Jarrod told him, with more serious tones. "We're hearing tell that Peter's talking more shit about your sister."

Shaun rounded on him. "He better not be," he said, warningly. "Not today, mate. Not right now. He really, REALLY doesn't want to be talking shit about Christine right now."

"Shaunie boy: we're your friends," Jarrod went on, by way of preparation for his next statement. "So we really have no choice but to tell you: we're hearing that he's using the words 'frigid' and 'cock-tease'. He's telling everyone that she led him on and dumped his arse unfairly."

Shaun's expression hardened, very quickly. "He's dead," was all he said -- and he was off, heading for the spot out in the field where he knew Peter and his mates liked to hang out. Without pause, Jarrod and Brad were in step behind him, all the way. * * * As Shaun approached Peter, unseen as yet, he could see the look on Peter's face as he talked with his mates. Shaun knew straight away: he was talking shit about Chris. He could see it a mile off.

He never liked Peter; never once in his life did Shaun see anything to like in Peter, even before Chris had hooked up with him. Peter forever had a smug, prattish look about him, as though he was always ready with something petty and childish on the tip of his tongue with which to put you down.

Shaun never understood what Christine used to see in Peter. She had said he was different around her, he was sweeter and kinder and loving, she said his crude cynical exterior was just a defensive shell that she could get through, and it had endeared him to her. Shaun had tried once or twice to help her see reason, that beneath his crude cynical shell was nothing more than a crude cynical idiot; but it had always hurt her and she had resented him saying it, so he tried not to say it too often. But now Shaun had been proven right, Peter had revealed his true intentions and he had upset her immensely, making her feel a fool for trusting him; and there he was, bragging about it to his friends, digging a deeper hole for himself as he talked shit some more. One of Peter's many cronies made a gesture of warning, and Peter rounded to see Shaun closing in on him with Brad and Jarrod not far behind.

"Ah, Shaunie boy," Peter greeted, with a derisive smile -- Shaun hated when Peter called him 'Shaunie boy'. It was a title reserved only for the use of Shaun's friends and family, and Peter fell well outside both categories. "I hear tell you had a dig at Ms Tiann -- nice work, son."

"Nothing but shit, mate," Shaun told him of the rumours. "But I hear tell you've been mouthing off about my sister -- and I hope that's nothing but shit too," he added, dangerously.

"No no, Shaunie boy -- it's all true, every word," Peter replied, not backing down, looking brave with his rippling backup of a half-dozen thuggish contemporaries.

"So you have been talking shit about Chris," said Shaun.

"That's right," Peter confirmed; a crowd was gathering, so he wasn't going to back down anytime soon.

"So go on, then," Shaun invited. "What have you got to say? What is it about my sister with which you take issue?" 'Go on,' he told Peter, using only his eyes. 'I dare you. I dare you to say it to my face. I fucking DARE you.'

Shaun's unspoken message was not lost on Peter. He paused, only momentarily; Shaun had always had a dangerous air about him, and though Peter's posse outnumbered Shaun's, he knew Jarrod to be a devious little fighter and Brad's sheer size and strength was utterly unmistakable. But the crowd grew larger, and he wasn't willing to back down, so he stepped up. "Well," he began, simply, in an offhand manner. "All I've been saying is: Christine can be a lot of fun, and she'll happily lead you along and get your hopes right up... but when it comes to the crunch, she shuts up shop and shoots you down."

Shaun scanned Peter's statement, checking for anything that provided cause to give him a good solid thumping -- but it was relatively clean. "So you say," he replied. "But maybe you think a little too much of yourself, mate. Maybe you've been seeing things that aren't there. Reading into 'signs' that she wasn't really giving you."

"Aww, I dunno," said Peter, looking to his mates with a grin. "I mean, you'd think her mouth on my cock would be a pretty clear 'sign'..."

'There it is,' thought Shaun, and he reared back.

"...but then she'd --" Peter continued as he turned back to Shaun, and found himself looking right into Shaun's balled fist. Peter reeled against the blow, and suddenly it was on: Peter's mates charged in, Jarrod and Brad charged in, and the air was thick with flying punches and wild-eyed glares.

Shaun was no stranger to a fight; he'd always had little patience for people talking shit about himself, his friends or family, and he'd settled more than one argument in his time with a good solid stomping. It hadn't taken him long to learn the basic rules of fighting: knock them down nice and quick, without ceremony or circumstance or any cares for 'fighting clean'. If you didn't take them down and take them down properly, they only got angrier and hit back harder. So he learned to hit them so hard the first time, there would be no reply.

Two of Peter's burly friends came at him -- one was dealt with through a crunching blow to the larynx, the other copped a knee to the groin, and they both fell away. Brad cleaned up another two of them, leaving one thug each for Brad and Jarrod to keep occupied. Shaun was free to concentrate on Peter, who was recovering from the surprise attack and had murder in his eye.

"Anything else to say, fuckwit?" Shaun invited.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Peter announced, most imaginatively. He rushed in at Shaun -- never a wise move; Shaun liked it when they came at him, and he tried to land an open-handed punch square into Peter's guts. But Peter managed to crumple away from the body-blow, keeping a hold of most of his wind, and he retaliated with a crunching punch aimed up Shaun's nostrils.

"Ugh!" Shaun grunted, tasting blood as it coursed down his upper lip. "You'll regret that, shithead," he forecasted.

"You're a dirty little fucker, aren't you, Shaunie boy?" Peter returned, as they circled each other, ignoring the cheers and encouragement of the gathered crowd. "You always were jealous of Christine and me, right from the start."

Shaun's eyes narrowed, and against his better judgement he lunged; Peter sidestepped, and sank an elbow into the back of Shaun's skull. "See?" Peter crowed, as Shaun staggered, turned and recovered. "You never could stand the sight of us together -- it's clear to see, plain as day!"

"You couldn't see a lump of shit at the end of your nose, moron," Shaun growled.

"I see plenty, Shaunie boy," Peter disagreed, dancing around Shaun like a wannabe-boxer. "I know you, mate. I know you like to fuck around, and you were always scoring with all the senior girls, and these days you're hitting up all the sluts in our class and now it's the horny teachers -- but I know that's not what you want, it was never what you really wanted. I know you, mate -- I know that, all this time, you secretly wanted what I had. You sick fuck -- you wanted to fuck your sister!"

Shaun's sizzling, seething haze of anger and hatred suddenly came to a sharply-focussed point -- forged into shape by the hammersmith's blow of Peter's ugly, sullen, hateful declaration. Shaun moved with speed, quicker than Peter was prepared for, his hand shooting outwards like a brick on a coiled spring; it collected Peter upside his jaw, snapping his entire head backwards with the sudden fury of the impact. The lights went out and Peter dropped, crumpling to the ground like a sack full of tripe. But Shaun's rage was not spent: he stepped over Peter and started stomping, stomping, stomping, grunting "fucker. Fucker! Fucker!!"

"Shaunie! Shaunie!!" came a cry, and Brad and Jarrod were upon him, pulling him backwards before he did any more damage. "He's done now, Shaun," Brad told him. "He's not saying anything more, mate: trust me."

Shaun breathed hard, gasping and heaving, surprised and alarmed and a little scared at the enormity of his reaction to what Peter had said about him and his sister. He looked about at the crowd, the fury still in his eye; they took a half-step back, wide-eyed and fearful at the instinctive, animalistic response they had witnessed.

Shaun took a deep, steadying breath. He looked out upon the crowd again, calmer now, but with a slow-burning simmering rage still upon his brow. "Is there anyone else?" he bellowed. "Is there anyone else, who has shit to say, about me or my sister?"

The crowd's response was a deafening silence.

"Let it be known," Shaun announced, "that I will not hear another word spoken against the good name of my sister. And let it also be known: if there are ANY more sick fucks among you... if ANY of you are deranged and twisted enough to talk the way this sick fuck talked..." he glowered upon them all "...then I'll put you down like I put this one down." He cast one final glare of righteous indignation across the crowd, and he turned and left, the encircling ensemble breaking quickly to allow his passage. * * * If further proof was required of news travelling fast in high school, it came as Shaun found himself sitting opposite Mrs Whitmire -- the principal -- in her office, less than ten minutes later. She passed him a box of tissues. "Clean yourself up," she instructed. "I don't want blood dripping on my ledgers."

Shaun said nothing, as he followed her instruction.

"Shaun Angus Cleary," sighed Mrs Whitmire -- and he knew he was in for it, right then. With Mrs Whitmire, first name plus last name meant mild trouble; first name plus middle name plus last name meant trouble most dire. She must spend her evenings memorizing the middle names of the entire school population, in preparation for such encounters. "I appreciate that you had a bone of contention with Peter," she said, calmly. "And I appreciate that he goaded you into the fight. I also appreciate that he was saying unkind things about your sister -- but honestly, Shaun: did you really have to put him in hospital?"

"Putting him in hospital," Shaun rumbled, "was not my intention." 'Putting him deep in the ground was my intention,' was his afterthought.

Mrs Whitmire fixed The Look on him -- The Look was famous and feared throughout the school, it was all angry blue eyes and blazing red eyebrows, and more often than not it put a quick end to cheeky comebacks from snivelling teenagers. But Shaun had a decent pair of blazing eyebrows of his own, and as they returned fire they reminded Mrs Whitmire of Shaun's strength of character, his conviction and steadfastness in the face of a challenge; this one could not be stared down. "You listen to me," she said instead. "Your behaviour today was totally unacceptable. It is a criminal act! It's called 'assault', boy! You could well be charged for this."

Shaun said nothing.

"And as if that wasn't bad enough," Mrs Whitmire continued, "now I'm hearing rumours of inappropriate behaviour between you and Ms Tiann from the languages department!"

Shaun saw that one coming, and he resolved to nip it in the bud. "I've heard the same rumours," he frowned. "And I'm telling you, right now: they are all complete, utter lies. Lies and vilifications. Vicious slurs against me, and unfairly involving Ms Tiann, who has done nothing wrong."

Mrs Whitmire watched him carefully, trying to make him sweat, trying to bully the truth out of him because she had no other way to confirm the allegations -- but Shaun could lie very well when he absolutely had to, especially when the consequences were so dire. "Very well then," she allowed. "But you do realise where this sort of talk is coming from, don't you? Talk of your many and varied 'conquests' is rife among this school, Shaun -- I hear it even from this office, and heaven above knows that I barely hear five per cent of what is said out there. It might all be fun and games for you now, but there's no future in it, Shaun. And I'm sure you realise that the satisfaction in it is fleeting, at best."

Shaun said nothing to that, too. What was this? He was copping a 'stop shagging around' lecture from the principal? What the fuck was the world coming to?

"My suggestion," she continued, "is to pull your head in. Start behaving like a responsible member of society -- for you're not long for this school, Shaun; your graduation is fast approaching, and it's high time you modified your behaviour in preparation for the real world. Start treating others -- and yourself -- with the respect you and they deserve. Settle down, get a hobby, focus on your studies; whatever it takes, whatever you need to do to break this cycle of behaviour. You've got five days suspension for your treatment of Peter -- that's an excellent opportunity for you to evaluate, take stock, and make a difference."

"Five days?" Shaun winced; mum and dad weren't going to be thrilled with that.

"Five days is the least you owe me, for the trouble I'll have in convincing Peter's parents not to press charges," Mrs Whitmire told him, sternly.

Shaun relented. "Well, I appreciate that, Mrs Whitmire," he told her. "I appreciate you stepping up to bat for me."

"That's what principals do," she shrugged. "Now go on, get out of here. Call your parents and go home. And try to control yourself!" she added, calling after him as he left.

Just outside the office, Shaun saw Ms Tiann, and realised that she must have been there for her share of the grilling. She looked aghast at herself, and scared for her future; she could hardly look at him. "It's okay," he whispered. "I told her nothing happened -- she believed me. Stick it out, you'll be fine."

Ms Tiann nodded bravely. "Thanks Shaun," she whispered, as he went on his way. * * * Bill picked him up to take him home, and Shaun tried to weather out the expected tirade during the ride; once he was dropped at home there was the phone call from mum, and a similar tirade backed up by a bit of crying and disappointment on her behalf, which was most effective in making him feel like a right proper heel. The situation was little improved when Christine came home after school with her two best friends, Sherrie and Taylor, in tow. They had all heard about his row with Peter, and upon seeing Shaun they wore expressions of concern at the bruised and bloodied state of his face.

"It's alright," he told them, grimly. "You should see the other guy."

"Can you guys give us a minute?" Chris asked her friends, who graciously headed upstairs and gave them some space.

"Sherrie and Taylor here for a sleep-over?" said Shaun, an observation more than a question.

"They've come to cheer me up and keep me company, after the break-up," she confirmed. She looked at him. "I asked you not to fight him, you know," she reminded him.

"I know," he said. "But he was talking shit about you. And then he started talking shit about... well, about you and me..."

"So what?" she shrugged, frowning. "Who'd believe what he was saying about me -- who cares if I am or aren't a cock-tease? What difference would it make to anyone? And he only said what he said about you and me because you were in his face; if you'd left well-enough alone --"

"I don't believe this," Shaun interjected. "You've dumped his sorry arse, but you're still sticking up for him."

"I'm not sticking up for him," she retorted. "He's a dickhead, and he did me wrong -- don't you think I'm forgetting that. But quite frankly, Shaun: you acted like a dickhead too, marching off to thump the shit out of him. Two wrongs don't make a right," she reminded him, echoing one of their father's favourite maxims.

Shaun rolled his eyes. "Well, thumping him made me feel better," he mumbled.

"Did it?" she asked, unbelieving. "Did it really? And now they're talking about you and your French teacher --"

"I don't want to hear it," Shaun said, stopping her early. "If it's alright by you, I really don't feel like another third degree about Ms Tiann."

"Is it true?" Chris asked, simply, hands on hips.

He looked at her; he may have been a good liar to everyone else, but he could never lie properly to her, he could never get his face right. So he said nothing, and she saw his answer. "It is true," she saw, disappointedly.

"Oh come on, Chris," he implored of her. "You know Ms Tiann, you've seen her -- can you really blame me? Could you seriously expect any guy to turn down that sort of advance?"

Chris didn't speak to that; she merely shook her head. "It's just a lot for one day," she said. "Getting it on with your saucy French teacher, then stomping all over my ex-boyfriend?"

"It is a bit much to cram into one day," Shaun had to agree.

Chris looked at him; angry though she was at his behaviour, at how he ignored her and kicked the crap out of Peter anyway, her heart still went out to him. He seemed to live the perfect life for an eighteen-year-old boy: popular, sex aplenty, an iron rule in the playground, a happy home life and a bright future. But she could see he wasn't really happy; all this sex wasn't really his style, she knew it, she knew her brother too well not to see it. He yearned for stability, he yearned for the real thing. He needed to find someone too, someone real, someone to hold and love, just as much as she did. "Come here," she said, and they met for a quick hug. "God, I hate how much I love you sometimes," she growled.