Tuesday, September 11, 2018

LOVE HATE LOVE and Why I Think I've Finally Gotten This Writing Gig Right

I can't wait to get LOVE HATE LOVE out to you all, I really mean that because I'm so excited about this book. I think I've FINALLY written a commercial book. In the past I've hoped for my books to do well, but deep down I knew they wouldn't give me what I wanted... TO LIVE OFF MY WRITING. Instead, they caused me financial woes, doing more damage to my bank account than righting it. But LOVE HATE LOVE... I think I have finally hit it on the nail with this one. Why is it so different? Because I have looked at a number of books that are successful out there and thought, why can't I write one too. I'm not a bad writer, just an ADHD one who does what she feels like at that moment, jeopardising my writing career over stories I like that will never make me a living. So, I thought why not write a popular genre like New Adult, because in all truth, most of my books can fall into new adult category due to my characters' ages. However, to make it fully New Adult I needed to step away from the gritty streets of South Auckland, walking away from writing street lit, and set my story in a university, where a lot of NA books are set. I originally was going to set it in America, but I thought, since I live within walking distance of the best university in New Zealand, why not write about that one. And why not set it in a Fine Arts school, after all I was an artist, plus an art history graduate and post graduate from the university the book is based on. So, I had some knowledge about the location/environment. I could also walk up to the buildings and describe them for my book.
Anyway, I'm getting off track. Now I have a NA book, set in a university, and for once it's written from ONLY one perspective. I don't tend to do that, multiple viewpoints usually my thing, Don't Peek and I Love You, Salvatore the exceptions to the rule. But those two weren't full novels, and nothing like LOVE HATE LOVE, which is a rather large book. This is why I didn't think writing this book would be an easy task to do. But it just flowed, flowed so fast that I will be publishing a book in the quickest time ever. It practically took me about two weeks to write the first draft, a draft that is over 100,000 words long. Like, WTF?!!! THAT has NEVER happened before. And why did it flow that well? Because I totally got into the story, walking through Auckland University, seeing what my characters were seeing, and writing about an area that I'm so familiar with. Also, throw in Annabelle from one of my other series, along with a guest appearance from her cop, Dante, and Kara, and I felt like I was back in the Broken Lives and Behind the Lives world without falling into their crazy way of speaking as well as their crazy lives. Though, don't get me wrong, some of the characters aren't sane in LOVE HATE LOVE, or in particular, Nico Bilan is definitely NOT sane. He has psychosis, which is something unfortunately I know a bit about. Not me, someone I know has it, someone who has been in and out of mental health institutions because of it. So, I knew how Nico would act, what he would do, the irrational things, the paranoia thrown in, knew it far too well, making this character very real to me. The topic of PSYCHOSIS was what made me write this book. But it's ended up being a lot more, with an interesting cast of characters, an interesting storyline, and two main characters who you will want to ship to death.
So, I think I have finally rounded up all the ingredients for a successful book. Have finally written something that hopefully will pull me out the the depression of not succeeding as a writer. Because I'm saying it now, I think this book will be a turning book for my career. Now, let's see if you all agree when you start reading it.
*LOVE HATE LOVE is due out October 30.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Crying Out Silent is on NetGalley and Amazon

Crying Out Silent is now live on both NetGalley and Amazon. It's a Read Now for NetGalley reviewers, so you don't have to wait for approval, it's already been given. The links for the book as well as it's blurb are all below. Though, please note that the book will only be available on NetGalley for July.

Two high school students make an unlikely alliance - one their friends must break before death does. 

The day I met Ash Rata was the first day I started dying, not because of Ash, but because of one of his friends. Ant Torres made me suffer, tormenting me because he thought I was a pretty boy. I am a boy, yet I’m also a girl. Neither one nor the other, but both.


While Ant was a closeted gay rugby player who used violence to get what he wanted.


But I didn’t want him – I wanted the unattainable.


The beautiful boy who was hiding a secret as big as mine, one that would unite us... until death do us part.

Please note that this book contains sensitive topics such as suicide and assault. (R18)

Thursday, May 3, 2018

CRYING OUT SILENT Chapter 1 Sneak Peak: Where it began for L & Ash.

Trigger Warning: Chapter 1 contains violence, sexual assault, and bad language. Bullying and Suicide are Crying Out Silent's main themes, depicting how two teens came to consider taking such drastic measures to stop their pain. Crying Out Silent is the prequel to Ash and L's book Ashes to Ashes. Ash is Dante Rata's older brother, while L is Dante's guitarist. L is an intersex character, who is a partial hermaphrodite. This chapter will also introduce you to Anthony "Ant" Torres, who will be the main character in Stepped On, which is the second story in the A Broken Lives Short Story series. That story also has Murderer and Nike in it, detailing what happened when they went into Ant's place to get Kara back, not knowing she wasn't there.
So, let's get down to actually reading the chapter!
Crying Out Silent
Copyright 2018 © Marita A. Hansen
Editor: John Hudspith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email:
All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
UK English is used due to the New Zealand setting.
All other variations are also due to where the book is set, as well as the characters’ cultural and socio-economic backgrounds. This is why some characters use different speech patterns from others, such as in the use of cos versus ’cause or wuz versus was. In the case of cos and wuz, the dialogue is used to represent a Māori accent. Though, please note that not all Māori speak the same way, plus many of my characters are of mixed heritage, such as Ash Rata. Ash is half Croatian, almost half Māori, and the rest Romanian. But due to where he grew up in South Auckland, he speaks more like his father than his mother.
I hope this explains the way in which dialogue is presented in Crying Out Silent.  
February 2000
The boy was sitting on the other side of my new homeroom, staring at me like he wanted to play dot-to-dot with the freckles on my face. It reminded me of the bullies from my last school, which I had to leave due to being picked on relentlessly. And he was big like them, even looked a bit like the ringleader with his number one haircut and rough features. He was the type of guy who’d be at home on the rugby field or in a WWF ring. I tried not to look back, knowing it could get me hurt, but I couldn’t help it, because his stare was like a magnet, drawing my gaze to him.
“Anthony Torres!” the teacher called out.
The boy’s gaze snapped to the teacher. “It’s Ant, and you know it!”
The teacher visibly tensed. “Watch your tone! I won’t put up with it this year.”
A smile split Ant’s face, which made the teacher shake his head. The man didn’t look much older than Ant. Even from across the room I could see the stubble on Ant’s face, not something that was common with Fifth Form students. I wondered whether he’d been held back a year or—with the way he looked—five, because there was no way he could be fifteen or sixteen.
He looked back at me and lifted his chin up in what appeared to be a friendly hello. The dreadlocked kid sitting behind him glanced my way, probably wondering who Ant was looking at. He frowned when his gaze landed on me. He said something to Ant, which wiped the smile off Ant’s face. Looking angry, Ant snapped something back, then his gaze returned to me. He scowled for a second, then a mean grin split his features. He pushed his tongue against his cheek and moved his fist in front of his mouth, doing the cock-sucking gesture. My face heated, my complexion no doubt resembling raspberries splattered across snow. I was pale-skinned and had orange hair, which I’d inherited from my Welsh ancestry. My family had moved to New Zealand five years prior—when I was ten.
Both Ant and his friend laughed, the third boy in their group looking like he wanted to be in on the joke.
“Ant and Joel, please be quiet,” the young teacher said, glancing up from his desk. I couldn’t remember his name since he hadn’t bothered to write it on the whiteboard. Though, he didn’t look like someone who got called Mr. often due to having as many, if not more, zits than the teenagers he was paid to teach.
Ant grinned back at the teacher, while Joel, who I assumed was the dreadlocked kid, sniggered. The teacher sighed then looked back down at his list, continuing to call out students’ names.
The door banged opened, pulling my attention away from the man. A tall boy walked into the room, looking out of breath, as though he’d run a mile. His wavy black hair was a mess, but to my eyes it looked perfect. If it wasn’t for his scruffy uniform, he could’ve walked out of a fashion catalogue, the guy model-beautiful.
“Ash,” the teacher said, sounding exasperated, “it’s not a good way to start the year by being late on your first day. I hope this isn’t going to be a repeat of last year.”
Ash grimaced. “I had to take my bro to school. The li’l shithead totally made me late.”
Watch your language.”
“I didn’t say anything wrong.”
“You swore.”
“No I didn’t.”
The teacher exhaled loudly, like it pained him to be here. “Just take a seat.”
Mumbling something under his breath, Ash weaved his way between the desks, grinning at a pretty blonde girl with pink streaks in her hair. He blew her a kiss, causing the girl to giggle, then climbed over the dreadlocked boy’s desk to get to the one by the window.
“Ash! Do not climb over desks,” the teacher snapped.
“Sorry,” Ash said sarcastically.
His mates started sniggering, Ant the only exception. I blinked, realising he was still staring at me, no, he wasn’t staring, he was glaring. He looked like he wanted to punch me, something I’d seen on too many bullies’ faces. I dropped my gaze to my desk, which was where I should’ve kept it in the first place.
As soon as the bell rang, I jumped up and grabbed my bag, heading for the door as fast as I could, but two girls at the front of the class stopped to talk to each other, blocking my way. Apologising, I pushed between them, then had to stop again as a massive girl stepped in front of me. She peered over my head, calling out for her friends to hurry up.
“Hey, new kid!” Ant yelled out.
I looked in his direction. He was heading my way, the dreadlocked boy behind him grinning.
“Ant, come here,” the teacher said.
Ant ignored him, pushing a student aside. He was so tall it made me feel even smaller. I was considerably shorter, only five-foot-four, while Ant had to be at least six foot, if not more.
“Anthony!” the teacher barked, his face going bright red from being ignored.
Ant stopped and turned to the teacher. “What?!”
Resting his hands on the desk, the teacher pushed to his feet, his expression furious. “If you keep this attitude up, you’ll be seeing the inside of the principal’s office more than my classroom.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I’ll be a good boy, just for you.”
The teacher’s jaw clenched, giving the impression he was going to give Ant a blasting.
The massive girl finally moved out of my way. Seeing my opportunity to escape, I took off out of the room, rushing down the corridor, slipping between the crowds of students coming out of their homerooms. I headed into the boys’ restroom and planted myself in one of the stalls, using the door as a barrier to the outside world. I was used to seeing the back of toilet doors. It was always the first place I went to when I thought I was going to be bullied, and right now, I had more than a gut feeling that Wera High was going to be no different from my last school.
Since everyone in my class had English next, I decided to skip the lesson, because there was no way I was risking going near Ant. Ignoring the crude drawings on the toilet door, I hung my bag on the hook and put the toilet lid down to sit on. I grabbed my novel out of my bag and started reading it. Over the next hour or so, students came in and out of the restroom sporadically. I lifted my feet occasionally, willing the minutes to tick by faster, while hoping I wouldn’t get in trouble for skipping class.
The bell for the end of English rang, which resulted in more people using the toilets, until it finally quietened down. I sat silently, continuing to read my book, totally wrapped up in the story. It was Carrie by Stephen King. I’d only just started it a couple of days ago, but I liked it a lot, and sort of sympathised with the main character, because she was picked on like I had been… no, was being.
Everything went quiet for a while, then the door opened. A male laugh filled the room, followed by a female voice shushing him. A bang on my door made me lift my feet off the floor. On the other side, I heard a noise, which suggested someone was looking underneath my door. I sucked in a breath, praying they didn’t see me. A few seconds later, the door next to mine closed, the lock clicking in place. I exhaled soundlessly, relieved that I hadn’t been caught.
The girl started giggling, which stopped abruptly. “Shouldn’t you wear a condom?” she said.
“Why? It’s not like I’m fucking your pussy,” the boy answered gruffly, sounding like Ant.
“But I thought you were.”
“Then, what do you want?”
“I wanna fuck your arse.”
“No way!”
“You said yes before.”
“Only cos I thought we were having normal sex.”
“Well, too bad, you agreed.”
A bang followed, the girl yelping in response. “Don’t, Ant!” she cried.
“C’mon, Kelley, you promised, and if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone you did it anyway.”
“I don’t wanna— Ouch!”
“Stay still.”
Another bang happened.
“Okay, okay!” she cried. “I’ll do it, just don’t hurt me.”
A scuffling sound followed.
“No, Ant, put on a condom.” She yelped again. “Let go, that hurts.”
“Then stop bitching and turn around.”
“Put on a condom first.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Then it can wait.”
“No, it can’t, you got me hard, so turn the fuck around.”
The girl let out a cry.
“Shut the fuck up or someone will hear,” Ant snapped.
“Just stop pushing me.” She let out a shriek. “What are you doing?”
“You said not to hurt you, so I’m loosening you up.”
“That feels wrong, I don’t like it.”
“Just shut up, you’re pissing me off.”
A rustling followed, along with a zipper being pulled down. The girl squealed, which was abruptly cut short, sounding like Ant had clamped a hand over her mouth. The girl sniffled while Ant grunted and moaned. I wondered whether I should say something, but instead pressed my lips together, too scared to open my mouth, Ant terrifying me.
Not long after, Ant let out a gasp, then everything went quiet for several seconds, even the girl silent. Rustling clothes followed, then they left, disappearing with the bang of the main door.
I exhaled, relieved that they were gone, but still upset over what I'd heard. I wondered who the girl was, the name Kelley not meaning anythingto me. Was she from mine and Ant’s  class? Or from another one? And if she was from my class, should I speak to her, making sure she was all right? Because what Ant did...
Was it rape?
Feeling sick over it, I opened the door and went for the sink, freezing at the sight of Ant. He was leaning against the wall by the urinals with his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring at me. I blinked, taken aback he was still here, too tongue-tied and scared to utter a word.
He pushed away from the wall and walked towards me, making me back up fast. “Enjoy the show?” he said.
My back hit the stall frame. “I didn’t see anything,” I spluttered out, finally finding my voice.
He stopped in front of me, giving me a stare down. “Not even a peek under the door?”
“No,” I replied, realising he must’ve known I was there all along.
“What you heard is none of your business.”
I nodded vigorously. “I won’t say a word, I promise.”
“You bet you won’t.” He reached out to touch my hair, which was long, almost reaching to the small of my back. “Are you a girl or a boy?”
“A boy,” I replied with my usual answer, even though it was only partially true.
“Then why do you have long hair?”
“I like heavy metal.”
He wrinkled his nose, as though my reply offended him. “Well, you should cut it, cos it makes you look like a girl—or gay. Are you gay?”
I shook my head, telling the truth. I didn’t care what was in someone’s pants. I was equally attracted to both females and males—as long as they were beautiful. Not pretty or hot. Beautiful. Otherwise they didn’t capture my attention. As a small kid, I used to cut out pictures of models from my mam’s old magazines, fascinated by how perfect they looked. Back then I’d thought they were angels, graced by God’s hand, but now I just liked to look at them.
“Well, I reckon you are gay,” Ant said.
He glanced down at my crotch, making me worry that I hadn’t done up my fly. Unlike his black pants, I was wearing the summer version of Wera High’s uniform, which was black shorts and a white button-down shirt, my red jumper in my bag.
His hazel gaze returned to my face. “At homeroom, you were staring at my mate like you wanted Ash to fuck ya.”
My eyes widened in horror. “No I wasn’t!”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not!” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. I hadn’t even thought about sex, just had been enthralled by Ash’s beauty.
“Doesn’t matter anyway, cos you’re sweet outta luck with him. He’s straight.”
“I wasn’t looking at him like that, I swear.”
“Still lying, but I understand why you were lookin’. That prick’s a pretty bastard. Too bad he’s a pussy-muncher, totally into it, can’t get enough of slurping up those fishy juices...”
I gaped at him, his words shocking me.
He continued, “And Ash would pro’bly punch you if he knew you were eye-fucking him, so you’re lucky he didn’t notice.”
“I promise I wasn’t eye— Doing anything like that.”
“Quit it, I already told ja I don’t believe ya.” He looked me up and down. “You’re so tiny, a total pocket fuck. How old are ya?”
“Fifteen,” I said, not knowing what a ‘pocket fuck’ was.
“You totally don’t look it. I thought maybe you’d been put up a class.” He grinned. “I betcha your dick is small too, that’s if you even have one.”
“I have one!”
His grin widened. “Prove it, then.”
I took a step to the side. “No way!”
“Is it cos you’re a lesbo, pretending to be a guy?”
“No! And I’m not going to show you my...” I cleared my throat, not wanting to say it.
“Stop being a pussy-shit. If you’re really a guy, I’ll see it when you piss at the urinals, so you might as well show me now. Unless you sit on the toilet for a piss, cos you’re a girl.”
“I’m not a girl.” A lie, but only a partial one.
“Prove it.”
I glanced at the door, praying someone would come in.
He smiled knowingly. “It’s class time, which means no one’s gonna save your girly arse, so show me or I’ll make you.” He took a step closer.
Scared he would actually do it, I quickly unzipped my shorts and pushed them down, along with my briefs, my dick too small to pull out. Not only that, it was trying to disappear inside my body, fear shrivelling it up, making it even smaller than it was. The doctor had said that the abnormality was due to me being intersex—or a partial hermaphrodite, since I didn’t have a vagina.
“What the fuck!” Ant said, looking shocked. “What happened to your dick and balls?”
“Nothing.” I quickly pulled my pants up and did the zipper, wishing I hadn’t relented.
“Yeah, nuthin’ is defo the word, cos you’ve got nuthin’ down there. Even a baby has a bigger dick than you, and I don’t even know if you can call those balls. It looks like you’ve superglued your pussy together.”
Tears started to well up in my eyes. I wanted to hit him for saying that, but knew I’d be the only one getting hurt. Then to my shock, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his own dick.  My eyes went massive, but not because his dick was small—it was humungous!
“The head of my cock is bigger than your whole cock,” he said. “Hell, I could hardly see your cock it’s so minute. Have you had a sex change? Cos that thing looks like an oversized clit.”
“Well, if you’re lying, I’d ask for my money back, cos the cowboy doc did a shit job. Still, I’d hit that. You’re hot.” He reached for my shorts, unzipping them before I realised what he was doing.
I smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
His face turned vicious. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do, you li’l bitch,” he spat.
He pushed me against the wall, but instead of hitting me, he smashed his lips against mine. I was in too much shock to do anything, his kiss blindsiding me. He bit my lip, making me squeal. As soon as I opened my mouth, he slipped his tongue inside. I tried to shove him away, but couldn’t get him to budge, his chest as solid as a brick wall.
He stopped kissing me and spun me around, pushing me into the toilet stall. I righted myself and went to leave, but he slammed me against the stall’s wall, knocking the wind out of me. Then he was yanking down my shorts, making me panic. I went to scream no, but instead jolted as a door banged. Ant instantly let go of me.
“You in ’ere, Ant?” someone called out.
Looking panicked, Ant quickly stuffed his hard cock into his pants, then threw a punch at me, hitting me in the eye. I cried out and slumped to the floor.
“That’ll teach you for wanking next to me, you faggot!” he yelled.
The dreadlocked kid from homeroom appeared in the stall’s doorway. I quickly covered my groin, unable to stop from sobbing uncontrollably, the pain in my eye, as well as the horror of what Ant had done to me, fuelling my tears.
Joel’s expression turned from surprised to disgusted. “Fuckin’ pervo fag,” he spat, making me shrink in humiliation.
Ant snapped, “Let’s go!”
They moved away...
...and that was when I saw him.
He was staring down at me with a sympathetic expression. For a second, I thought he was going to help me, but then he followed the others out, leaving me on the toilet floor, crying my heart out.
I stayed there for what felt like forever, in too much shock to do anything else. I didn’t understand why this had happened to me, couldn’t even start to comprehend any of it.
Someone entered the restroom, finally snapping me out of my stunned state. I quickly pulled my shorts up just as a kid stopped at the urinals across from the toilet stall. I pushed to my feet, capturing his attention. He looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows winging up as he caught sight of me.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I shook my head and snatched up my bag, not sure I’d ever be right after what Ant had done. I was out the door before the kid could say another word, running home, only stopping briefly to use my inhaler. I let myself in, my mam and sister at work. And when my mother returned that night, asking what had happened to my eye, I lied, telling her a ball had hit me during P.E. She asked again, obviously not believing me due to my track record of being bullied. But I reassured her that it had been purely an accident, and that I’d tell her instantly if I was being bullied again. She relaxed a little after that, though still gave me worried glances over dinner. I knew what she was thinking—that someone had punched me. And I wanted to tell her she was right, but then I would have to tell her everything that came before it.
Which I could never do.
The next day I was too terrified to go to school, so I stayed home. It had been easy to do since my mam and sister left for work early. I sat down at my desk, detailing everything that had happened in my diary. I stopped at the part where Ant had pulled down my shorts. I closed my eyes, imagining what could’ve happened if his friends hadn’t walked in, but I couldn’t, or more like, I didn’t want to, because it was beyond terrifying.
I pushed up from my chair and turned to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, wondering why Ant had gotten hard over me. I was nothing to look at: too skinny, too pale, with freckles and orange hair that could blind you. I turned my face from side to side, not seeing anything that could be remotely hot. All I saw was me, a person who was both male and female, stuck in a world that only allowed me to be one or the other. Since I was born without a vagina, my parents had brought me up as a boy, something I knew didn’t feel right, but I didn’t think changing to a girl was right either. I was neither, yet both.
The phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. I ran for it, picking it up before I realised my mistake.
A woman’s voice came over the line. “May I speak to your mother?”
“She’s at work,” I answered.
“Is this Llewellyn?”
“Yes,” I said softly.
“Well, this is Mrs. Smithe, the school secretary, and, Llewellyn, you’re supposed to be at school. Are you ill?”
“Then please tell your mother that I called, and if you take any sick days off she needs to phone in, and if you miss three days or more you have to bring in a doctor’s note.”
I agreed, then hung up. My heart started racing at the thought of having to go back—of facing Ant, his friends, and the whole school. I imagined getting shouldered into lockers, taunts of being a fag thrown at me, sneers and jeers. Then what the woman had said about a doctor’s note gave me an idea. I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a chair, dragging it over to the cupboard. I climbed onto it and started searching through the med kit in the top cupboard, hoping to find something that would make me sick. I pulled out a box of pills, which only said to take two at a time. I wondered whether it would make me sick if I took five. I stuffed the box into my pocket, planning on taking the pills just before my mam got home.
For the rest of the day, I watched TV or read more of Carrie, then, as planned, I took the pills just before six. A little while after taking them I started feeling light-headed, but not sick. Not what I wanted. I slumped onto the couch, realising I hadn’t put the pill packet away. I reached for it, but my hand flopped down.
A noise came from the front door. I looked up, everything blurring, only the sound of my sister’s voice alerting me to who it was.
“Are you okay, Louie?” she asked.
“Tired,” I mumbled.
“Louie, what’s wrong?”
“Just tired.”
She went quiet for a moment, then screamed, “Mam!” I closed my eyes, hearing our mother’s startled voice a few seconds later. A slap stung my face, followed by Mam shouting, “Open your eyes, baby. Open your eyes!”
But I couldn’t. My head was all fogged up, taking me to another place. My sister started babbling, saying our address to someone before I lost consciousness.
If you would like to continue reading Crying Out Silent, you can either connect with my Patreon page to read the parts as they are uploaded or wait until it's published as a novel on Amazon, which will be either late June or early July. This chapter is taken from Part 1 on Patreon. Don't read Part 2 until you've finished Part 1 (Chapters 1 to 4).

Saturday, October 14, 2017

BROKEN ENGLISH SAMPLE (A Teacher/Student Story)


By Marita A. Hansen
Copyright 2016 © Marita A. Hansen

UK English is used due to the New Zealand setting.
All other variations are also due to where the book is set, as well as the characters’ cultural and socio-economic backgrounds. This is why some characters use different speech patterns from others. 
This book is set in the year 2002.

Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.
Thomas Boston
I turned into Wera High and parked in the teachers’ car park, so excited I was literally shaking in my seat. It was my first day as a permanent English teacher, something I’d been dreaming of since I was a kid. Prior to today, I’d only worked as a substitute, filling in when other teachers were away, which wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was to have my own class, one where I could foster a connection with the kids, and help them fall in love with literature like I had. Then a colleague had mentioned that Wera High was looking for an English teacher. I’d jumped at the opportunity, even more eager since the high school was in South Auckland, a lower socio-economic area in New Zealand, where I felt I could really make a difference.
I flipped the vanity mirror down and checked my appearance, making sure my lipstick hadn’t bled out like a vampire’s victim. I smiled at the metaphor. I was a huge Buffy fan. I not only watched the programme, but read all the books. My husband thought it was hilarious that a Lit Major loved ‘teenage, trash fantasy’, his description, not mine. He’d told me that I should be reading the likes of The Great Gatsby, Nineteen Eighty-Four, and To Kill a Mockingbird, all books he knew nothing about, since his idea of good literature was Sports Illustrated.
My reflection in the vanity mirror wiped the smile off my face. My rose-coloured lippie had indeed attempted to escape my lips, making a beeline for my chin. I licked a finger and ran it under my mouth. One would have thought that by the year 2002 they’d have invented a lipstick that would stay put, but no, it was a constant battle keeping it confined to one area. Or maybe I was just useless at putting it on. Regardless, I applied a fresh layer and smacked my lips together, fixing the problem—for the time being. Happy with the result, I slipped my lipstick away in my tan-coloured satchel and smoothed down my long blonde hair, which I’d freshly dyed to get rid of my naturally mousy-brown colour.
Eager to get the day started, I got out of my yellow Volkswagen, taking in the vibrant surroundings. Wera High was so much livelier than the middle-class and posh schools I’d substituted at in London. The South Auckland kids were louder, bigger, scruffier, and more disorderly. They were streaming onto school grounds, cutting across the road, car park, and grass, one even kicking down a ‘No Walking On Grass’ sign as he headed for a two-storey, cream-coloured building with a green roof.
I slung my satchel over my head, resting the strap across my soft pink blouse and the leather bag on the hip of my darker pink skirt. I went to head for the same building, which held the principal’s office and the staffroom, but quickly flattened my back against my car as three boys bowled past me, almost taking me out. They sprinted across the grass, with a monster of a boy leading the way, his wide shoulders deserving their own postcode.
I shook my head and turned to go, spinning around as a yell rented the air. On the far side of the lawn, the three boys were pushing and shoving another boy, as well as throwing punches at him. Their victim looked like he was struggling to fend them off, his arms and feet moving fast in self-defence. Then the big boy hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground.
I ran for the fight, yelling at them to stop. My right heel clipped a raised patch of grass, almost sending me falling onto my face. I briefly flailed, but righted my footing in time and continued on, closing in on the fight. Two of the attacking party took off as I neared them, while the bigger one remained. He started kicking the fallen boy, one boot connecting with his crotch. The boy cried out and curled up into a foetal position, clutching himself below.
I shot in front of the thug as he raised his boot again. “Stop!” I shouted, holding out my hands.
He lowered his foot, his expression an angry mask of brutality. He had a crooked nose, square jaw, and a prominent brow, his number one haircut finishing off his tough-as-nails look. He was also very tall, well over six-foot, dwarfing my five-foot-three frame. I swallowed and took a step back, realising the danger I’d unwittingly put myself in. I’d read about teachers getting hurt in South Auckland schools. Only the other day, one was knocked unconscious at a school that was barely five minutes from Wera High, and here I was on my first day, jumping into a situation where I couldn’t possibly defend myself.
“Go to the principal’s office,” I said, trying to sound assertive, although I felt anything but, especially with this colossus sneering down at me.
His angry gaze shifted to the fallen boy. “You’re so pathetic you need chicks to save you now. Just stay away from mine—”
“I don’t want your sloppy seconds!” the boy yelled on the ground, the kid obviously having a death wish.
Fury flashed across the other one’s face. The headline FEMALE TEACHER HOSPITALISED DEFENDING STUDENT jumped into my mind. Desperate to diffuse the situation, I whipped out my mobile phone. “I’ll call the cops if you don’t leave now.”
The thug tensed. “You should stay outta other people’s business, lady.”
“It is my business when you fight on school grounds,” I said, trying to sound authoritative. “What is your name?”
“None of your biz, bitch.” A second later he was gone, disappearing inside the school building. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding in, relieved that I hadn’t gotten killed before the bell had even rung. Behind me the injured boy moaned, pulling my attention back to him. He was still curled up and clutching his crotch, using curse words that would make a sailor blush.
I squatted down and placed a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
He mumbled something I couldn’t discern. He had his face turned towards the ground, his black crop of hair speckled with flecks of grass, mud, and a small twig.
I pulled out the twig. “Do you need help to get up?”
“I said, fuck off!”
I whipped my hand back, shocked by his vicious response. “There’s no need to swear at me, I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help.” He turned around and sat up, his angry gaze going to mine.
I froze, taken aback by his appearance. He was...
Dark eyes stared back at me, framed by even darker lashes, which matched his wavy black hair. He looked Italian or possibly Brazilian, his olive-skin and sculpted face reminding me of a famous male model I couldn’t remember the name of.
The boy’s glare dropped. For a moment he appeared as struck as I was, then he brought a hand to his brow, breaking the connection. He wiped some blood off it, drawing my attention to a small gash above his left eye. I quickly pulled open my satchel and searched for a tissue amongst the mass of receipts, finding an unopened packet. I removed a tissue and applied it to his wound.
The boy grabbed my wrist, freezing me in place. “I’ll do it,” he muttered, taking the tissue out of my hand. Letting go of my wrist, he placed the tissue to his brow and pushed to his feet, grimacing as he straightened. His other hand went to his crotch, reminding me he’d been kicked there.
I rose up too, feeling small in comparison. Even though he wasn’t as big as the monster that had attacked him, he was still close to six foot. His arms were also defined, the material of his grey short-sleeved, button-down shirt straining against his biceps.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll take you to the sickbay,” I said, feeling ashamed for ogling a schoolboy. Though, he looked like a senior, which meant he was either seventeen or eighteen, which wasn’t that much younger than my twenty-four years.
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He swiped up his bag, which was covered in writing reminiscent of graffiti. There was also a gang patch sewn into the black canvas. My husband had been concerned when I’d told him the position was in South Auckland. After watching the film Once Were Warriors, he seemed to think he was an expert on the area, calling it gangland territory. I’d teased him mercilessly over it, since he’d never even been to Auckland, let alone New Zealand. He was from London. I’d met him while on my OE—an overseas working holiday. We’d been together for a good four years, married for one of those. He was due to follow me in a few weeks, his documentation taking longer than we’d anticipated.
Brushing himself off, the wavy-haired boy headed for the main building, discarding me like the tissue I’d given him. I ran after him, holding down my knee-length skirt so it didn’t fly up.
“I think I should take you to the sickbay,” I said, speaking to his back.
He kept on walking. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not; you should get a bandage for that cut and check your—”
He came to a sudden stop, almost causing me to crash into him. I took a step back as he turned to face me, his glare making me take another one. “You better not say balls,” he said.
I snorted out a nervous laugh and waved a hand at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, I was referring to your other injuries.”
“The only thing injured is my pride, so just leave me the hell alone. I don’t need chicks fighting my battles for me,” he said, his accent sounding Maori, not Italian or Brazilian—like he looked.
He turned back around and awkwardly ascended the stairs to the main building, the kick below obviously still hurting, which was no doubt why he was being so grumpy with me. I followed him into the corridor, where other students were milling about, talking, stuffing their belongings into lockers, and generally being noisy, the bustle reminding me of the London Underground, just more suffocating. The smell of teenage sweat, cologne, perfume, and even mud permeated the air, along with the heat their bodies were generating, making the corridor a rather unpleasant place to be on a hot summer’s day.
I pushed past some students, not willing to let the boy get away from me. My husband described me as a pit bull when I was determined to do something, biting in and not letting go until I got my way. “You could at least tell me your attacker’s name,” I said, doing my best to keep up with him, the crush of students impeding me. “I have to report this.”
He shook his head. “Not happening.”
“It is, so I need his name.”
He stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face me, giving me another annoyed look. “Cut me some slack, lady. I don’t wanna start off the year in the principal’s office, defending myself, when this isn’t even my fault.”
“You won’t need to, you’re the victim.”
He grimaced. “Don’t call me a victim, I don’t appreciate it.” He turned to go.
I shot in front of him. “I still need to know the boy’s name.”
“You don’t give up, do ya?”
I shook my head, just as determined to get it as before, if not more.
He exhaled loudly. “It’s Ronald McDonald, but if I get called into the principal’s office I’ll deny it. I’m not a nark.”
I scowled at him. “Do I look like an idiot to you?”
His annoyed expression dropped, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips. “Do ya really want me to answer that?”
My scowl grew. “Don’t be cheeky. And you can’t seriously expect me to believe that boy’s name is Ronald McDonald.”
He blinked, then let out a burst of laugher. “That is his name. His father’s a big fat cunt who loves McDonald’s. Though, we usually call the prick Ron, Ronnie, or Happy Meal. We also call him Burger King or Wendy’s when we really wanna piss him off.”
“Are you playing with me?” I asked, not sure whether to believe him or not. Although he sounded genuine, I couldn’t fathom someone naming their own child after a clown.
He shook his head, his smile drawing my attention to his mouth. He had the most perfectly shaped lips, with a full bottom lip just made for nibbling on. His smile grew into a cocky smirk, alerting me to the fact I was staring.
I ripped my eyes away from his mouth. “What about you, then?” I asked, again feeling embarrassed.
“If you wanna know more ’bout me, I’ll meet up with you after school,” he said, appearing highly amused. “My number is—”
“I don’t want your number, just your name?”
“It’s Dante Rata.” He blew me a kiss, then spun around and disappeared into the mass of students.

I glanced back at the teacher, thinking she was hot as fuck. Just a pity it hurt to look at her, my balls whining like a bitch. It felt like Happy Meal had left his boot-print on my gonads and all because I’d been nice to his girlfriend ... by letting her suck my dick. I’d gate-crashed a party with two of my mates. She’d been there, minus Happy Meal’s ugly mug. Before I knew what was happening, I had a stomach full of vodka and my pants around my ankles, with my dick down her throat. I hadn’t even remembered going into the bedroom with her. If anything, I swear I’d gone in there alone to sleep. But since she’d already gotten me hard, it was a no-brainer to let her finish the job, plus she was hot.
Just not as much as that M.I.L.F. of a teacher, that was, if she was even a mother, because that tight little bod didn’t look like it had shot out any bambinas. I grinned, finding it amusing she’d gotten all hot and flustered over me. I wondered how old she was. Early twenties at a guess. I’d cream my pants if she ended up being one of my teachers, because it would be so much fun to wind her up. But I didn’t get that kind of luck. I either got old hags, fags, or guys with Hitler complexes, like my drama teacher.
I pushed through the sickbay door, aware I could’ve let her bring me here. I just didn’t want to. It was humiliating enough that she had to save my sorry arse from Happy Meal and his halfwit friends; I didn’t need anything else from her. I could get to the sickbay all on my lonesome without some M.I.L.F. holding my hand like I was a primary school kid.
The nurse looked up from her desk as I entered the room, disappointment thinning out her lips. She was a large fifty-something Tongan woman, with a thick head of hair and čokolada skin.
“Already, Dante?” she said, slipping out from behind her desk. “The bell hasn’t even rung.”
I shrugged and lay down on the single bed. My torso felt like Mike Tyson had used it as a punching bag—with knuckle dusters on. “Can I have an icepack?”
“Say please.”
Pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top.
Smiling, she grabbed one along with the first aid box. She passed it over and sat down next to me as the bell rang. “Why can’t you keep out of fights, Dante?”
“If I did that I wouldn’t get to see your beautiful face.”
“Shush, Romeo.” She was used to my sweet-talking, but she still smiled as she cleaned the cut above my eye. I lifted up my shirt and placed the icepack against my ribs, although I wanted to stuff it down my pants to take away the ache from Happy Meal’s kick.
The nurse’s eyes widened. “Dante! What on earth!”
I looked down at my ribs. My torso was covered with blotchy red marks from Happy Meal’s and his mates’ boots and fists.
“I’ve had worse,” I muttered, laying my head back down. “And at least my stomach will look pretty in a day or too. I like purple and yellow.”
Her face hardened. “This isn’t a joking matter. Who did this to you?”
I shrugged, not interested in dobbing in Happy Meal again. I shouldn’t have even opened my mouth to the blonde teacher, but she wouldn’t shut the hell up. She was like a rabid little dog that wouldn’t stop yapping until I gave her what she wanted. I just hoped she didn’t blab to the principal, because I didn’t need that do-gooder interfering in my business. I could deal with Happy Meal all on my own.
“I really wish you would stop fighting,” the nurse said, cutting through my thoughts. Since I’d started Wera High two years ago, I’d been in and out of her office more times than I could remember.
She pushed to her feet with the first aid kit. “Will you be all right to go to class or do you need me to phone your father?”
“I’ll be fine after a few minutes,” I said, definitely not wanting the second option. My dad would bitch and whine if the nurse pulled him out of work, even more so since it was my first day back at school. Or worse, he’d probably beat the shit out of Happy Meal, which wouldn’t end well, since the prick’s father was the president of the Devil’s Crew, a bikers’ club that constantly clashed with my father’s gang.
The bell for the end of tutor class rang, signalling that I needed to get to my first lesson of the day: Drama. I thanked the nurse and left the sickbay, doing my best not to walk like I’d just had my balls crushed. I lifted my chin in friendly hellos at people I knew, giving a couple from my gang handshakes, all the while pretending that I wasn’t hurting like a eunuch who’d just had his nuts waved in his face. I wondered whether word had spread about me losing the fight. It didn’t matter to people that I’d been up against three good fighters or that I’d been sucker-punched from behind. All that mattered was that I’d lost. I just wasn’t willing to act like I had. Get your balls handed to you and you still had to walk like you could crush someone else’s. Appearance was everything where I lived. It wasn’t about fancy labels, it was about putting on a tough front, proving you were worthy of wearing the patch. That was what counted, no matter how much it hurt.
I stopped outside my drama class and opened the door, just enough to stick my face through. It looked like I was the last one to class. My classmates were sitting in the centre of the floor in front of our drama teacher. We didn’t have desks for drama, only a small stage and props.
I shouted, “Here’s Johnny!” doing my best Jack Nicholson impersonation.
Mr. Aston jumped a mile. He spun around, giving me a hundred-watt glare. He had reddish-brown hair and was built like a brick shithouse, with a chimney stack that constantly blew. Though, despite his solid build, he obviously couldn’t fight for shit, since his busted up nose had more curves than Happy Meal’s girlfriend.
Mr. Aston shouted at me, “Get in class!”
I didn’t know why he was so angry, considering I was only acting, and it did say ‘Drama’ on the door. I kicked the door open the rest of the way and sauntered in, lifting my chin up at him. “G’day, Mr. Aston, miss me?”
He continued to glare, looking like he’d pulled the short straw with getting me in his class again. “Cross me and I’ll slap ye with detention for the rest of the week,” he snapped. He sounded like a Scotsman who’d lost his balls to New Zealand, his accent a watered-down version of Billy Connolly’s, minus the sense of humour.
I resisted the urge to imitate his accent, wondering whether I could get through his class without receiving detention. He probably had a whole bunch of blue slips already printed out with my name on. The guy couldn’t stand me; thought I was an arrogant prick. He was right, but I thought the same of him, just didn’t get all red-faced over it. He really needed to chill the fuck out, because he had some serious anger management issues. If he hated teenagers so much why did he become a teacher? It was like working at a brothel and being allergic to condoms. Or being a nymphomaniac and signing up to a nunnery. Why would you put yourself through that?
He continued jabbering on about what he expected from me and how important Year Eleven was. I had to bite my tongue to keep a straight face, especially since I could hear my best friend sniggering on the floor behind me.
Mr. Aston finally finished his lecture. “Now, remove yer shoes and sit down.”
I kicked off my boots, sending them flying to where everyone else’s was. The array of black shoes and sandals were spread out next to the door, the drama teacher preferring the rank smell of foot odour to a little dirt on the carpet.
I sat down on the carpet by my best friend. Jasper was as tall as Happy Meal, just fat, the dude always smelling of meat pies and Coke.
Jasper held out his hand. I grabbed it and did a fancy two-tiered handshake, pumping our fists together at the end, our gang’s full greeting. We’d been best mates since we were little kids, going to the same kindergarten, primary, intermediate, and now high school, minus the short period of time when I got expelled and was forced to go to Claydon High. After that dive expelled me too, I headed right back here, the principal making an exception for me. I knew why he let me back in. It was because he felt like he owed my family since he’d done fuck all for my oldest brother, who’d almost killed himself in a suicide pact while he’d been going here.
Mr. Aston’s voice cut through my thoughts about my brother. He’d started calling the roll. When he got to my name, I held back from being a smart cunt and just answered with a “Here.” In return, I got surprised looks from half the class. They’d probably expected me to say something stupid, but I didn’t feel like it right now, my aching balls still distracting me.
I gently adjusted my crotch, noticing Phelia Lamar, a.k.a. Happy Meal’s girlfriend, ogling what I was doing. She was a Māori chick with the coolest afro hair, which was all fuzzed out in the old seventies style. She also had big tits and the shiniest, juiciest mouth that was made for sucking cock. Just a pity she didn’t know how to use it well, because she sucked in more ways than one.
She sidled up next to me. “Hi, Dante, you wanna come over to my house after school?”
I gave her an Are you fucking kidding me? look, definitely not interested. I didn’t care how hot she was. There were plenty of other good-looking chicks I could get without having to deal with jealous boyfriends.
She screwed up her nose, probably realising why. “What Ronnie did to you wuzn’t my fault.” Her gaze moved to my brow. “And you only got a scratch,” she said, reaching out to touch the bandage.
I jerked my head away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Oh, c’mon, babe, don’t be angry with me. We had fun, didn’t we?”
“We had fun. Past tense.”
She pouted at me. “It doesn’t hafta end. I’ve broken up with Ronnie.”
“He doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Well, I have. I wanna be with you.”
I went to tell her that I didn’t feel the same way, but got cut off by Mr. Aston.
“One more peep oot of you, Dante, and I’ll slap ye with detention so fast ye won’t know what hit ye,” he said.
I shot Phelia a glare, annoyed that she’d caused me more trouble. She gave me an apologetic look.
Mr. Aston resumed what he’d been talking about before Phelia had interrupted him. “We’re going to start off doing Space Jump,” he announced, which was an improv game. “Ye’re going to act oot a scene from something ye did during yer holiday break. Ye’ll get a minute each. So, everyone up.”
All the students pushed to their feet. Half the class who knew the game froze into a pose. I was tempted to face Phelia and freeze doing a cock-sucking action, but decided not to antagonise Mr. Aston further, because I kind of liked this game.
“Phelia,” Mr. Aston called out, “go first.”
Within seconds, she was dancing around me, which was what she’d been doing at the party before she’d sucked me off.
Mr. Aston finally called out another name, stopping Phelia in her tracks. She froze in a dance pose, allowing Mr. Aston’s niece to take over. The red-headed girl started pretending to swim. She had so many freckles on her face I had the urge to get a pen and play dot-to-dot. I smiled, wondering whether her body was covered with them too. I could spend a whole afternoon joining them together, then have a different kind of fun afterwards. Her eyes flicked over to me, giving me the same look the hot blonde teacher had. I winked at her, causing her face to go bright red. She quickly looked away and continued with her act until her annoyed-looking uncle called out my name, probably noticing his niece was eyeing me up.
Jasper started sniggering, fully aware of what I’d done over the summer holidays: selling drugs for my cousin and getting laid continuously. Though, I did visit my grandparents for Christmas, where I went surfing with my oldest brother and uncle. But pretending to surf for the drama class was lame in comparison to imitating sex, which... Fuck it, it was worth getting detention just to see the look on Mr. Aston’s face.
I cupped my hands in front of me, pretending to hold someone’s head and started moving my crotch back and forth, going, “Yeah, baby, take that cock. You know you want it. Yeah, yeah, ye—”
Before I could get the last yeah out, Mr. Aston grabbed me by the neck and hauled me to the door. He yanked it open and shoved me into the corridor, yelling, “Detention for the rest of the week!”
The door slammed in my face. I stood in my socks, listening to the class erupt into a fit of laughter on the other side of the door, Jasper’s laugh the loudest. Next thing, the door burst open and Mr. Aston threw my boots and bag at me, thankfully not hitting me in the balls in the process. Everything landed at my feet with a resounding thud.
“Principal’s office. Now!” he roared, slamming the door in my face once again. On the other side he boomed at the class, “Be quiet!”
I smiled and shoved my feet into my boots, not needing to fix the shoelaces since I never undid them. Instead of heading for the principal’s office, I aimed for the exit, intending on sitting out the back of the gym until the bell went. Mr. Aston never checked to see if I’d gone to the office, something I’d discovered last year. He probably didn’t care if I went or not, just that I was out of his class.
As I passed another classroom, a loud wolf whistle pierced my ear. I backed up and looked through the small square window in the door, instantly recognising the hot blonde teacher. She was standing in front of a class of Year Tens. One of the boys was whistling at her while his mates sniggered next to him. She fired back a retort I couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, it shut the boy up faster than my cock in Phelia’s mouth. A second later, I realised she’d be taking my English class.
A big smile spread across my face, the day suddenly getting a whole lot more interesting. I resumed walking down the corridor, looking forward to English for the first time ever.
After the bell had rung, I headed to my maths class, one of my least favourite subjects. As soon as I entered the room, the teacher told me that the principal wanted to see me. I trudged to Principal Sao’s office, annoyed that Mr. Aston had finally checked up on me. I wondered whether it was one of his New Year’s resolutions to make my life miserable.
At the end of the corridor, I turned right and entered the reception area, taking a seat on the navy-blue vinyl couch. The secretary looked over her desk at me with a slight shake of her head. She was an old bird in her sixties, with dyed blonde hair and a lady-boner for pearls. She gave me one of her disappointed looks, like she’d expected better of me, which always floored me, since I spent half my time here.
She indicated for me to go into the office. “He’s expecting you.”
I pushed up from the couch. “I bet he is,” I mumbled under my breath, again cursing Mr. Aston for finally doing his job.
I opened the door and entered the bland room, ignoring the painting on the wall, knowing it off by heart. It depicted two boys walking into the sea, one of them my brother—who’d painted it. It always reminded me of that fucked up year Ash had tried to kill himself, a year I wished I could wipe from my memory.
“Please take a seat, Dante,” Principal Sao said, indicating to the chair in front of his desk.
He was sitting in a swivel chair, looking at me with a serious expression, probably wondering how he could save me from myself. I slumped down into the cushioned seat and looked out his window, wishing I’d stayed in bed.
Principal Sao pushed out of his chair and walked around to me, seating himself on the edge of his desk, blocking my view of the window. He was a big Samoan man who had a penchant for smart suits. Right now he was wearing a navy-blue one, with a purple and white striped tie over a white button-down shirt.
He started talking, making me think of the actor who did Darth Vader’s voice, just without the breathing problem. “I was very disappointed to find out you were fighting with Ronald again,” he said.
Surprised by his words, I didn’t reply, all thoughts about Mr. Aston ratting me out gone. How’d he know? It hit me a second later. The blonde teacher had dobbed me in. I grimaced, now annoyed with myself for giving her my name, not to mention Happy Meal’s.
The principal continued, “It’s the first day of school and you two are already at it. I told you last year I won’t stand for this nonsense anymore. If I have to, I will suspend you, Dante, regardless of the connection I have with your family.”
Pissed off he was blaming me, I sneered at him, wanting to tell him he had no connection to my whānau. He wasn’t family, he wasn’t even Māori. He probably thought that since he was Polynesian he could identify with me. He couldn’t identify shit, because he hadn’t pissed blood from being beaten so hard, hadn’t had to deal drugs just to pay the bills, or gone hungry because his father took too many sick days due to being mentally ill. Instead, he was what my Tongan mate called a Pālangi Poly—a white Polynesian, who’d probably grown up in East Auckland instead of Wera’s streets.
He shook his head at me. “I wish you would stop fighting everyone, Dante. You need to learn to walk away.”
I remained silent, wondering how the hell he expected me to walk away from being jumped from behind. Then again, he was probably trying to get me to blurt out it wasn’t my fault, twisting things to get me to talk.
He narrowed his eyes at me, giving me one of his this-is-serious faces. But it wasn’t a serious matter to me. The beating Happy Meal and his mates had handed out was nothing in comparison to what my stepfather had done to me. This was no more than a paper cut, something I’d forget about once the bruises disappeared. But what my stepfather had done ... I could never forget that. I just wished I could.
Principal Sao sighed. “I can’t help you, Dante, if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need your help,” I finally said. “I need to be in class,” because it’s better than being here.
He indicated to the door. “Okay. Go.”
I pushed up and headed for the door.
“Dante,” he said.
I placed a hand on the door handle and looked back at him, waiting for him to get whatever he wanted to say off his chest.
He pushed up from the desk, giving me one of his soulful stares, something that I felt he’d copyrighted just for me. He knew too much about my family, things I didn’t want anyone to know. It just made me feel even more uncomfortable around him.
“I know you believe that everyone thinks you’re a bad kid, someone who’ll end up in jail,” he said, “but you’re not. Deep down inside you’re a good kid, who would do really well if you just applied yourself instead of creating your own personal warzone.”
I snorted out a laugh.
“This isn’t a joking matter, Dante. This year is important and I want you to treat it as such. Stop looking for fights and concentrate on your school work, because if you applied yourself you’d pass.”
I snorted out another laugh. “I’m gonna flunk. All my teachers know it.”
“It’s only you who thinks that.”
“Tell Mr. Aston that.”
“Okay, he’s the exception. But if you just concentrated you’d do well, especially in English and Music. You have a stunning voice and are great on the guitar and drums. You’re also a wonderful poet. You could get into university if—”
“I’m not goin’ to university,” I cut him off, not interested in his fantasies.
His shoulders slumped, the man appearing to deflate at my words. I didn’t know what he expected from me, especially since he knew no one in my family had ever amounted to anything, other than ending up in the newspapers for committing some sort of crime. Or worse, being a statistic like my mother, my stepfather having murdered her.
Wishing I wasn’t his pet project, I disappeared out his door and headed back to my maths class. As I walked down the corridor, my mind shifted to the English teacher, angry with her for ratting me out. I’d planned on going light on her, just a bit of teasing and flirting, nothing serious, since I liked the idea of having something pretty to look at during class. But now there was no way I was going to play nice. And like with any other rat, she was going to get what was coming to her.

The staffroom at lunchtime was considerably quieter than the outside mayhem of the school grounds, a caffeinated oasis devoid of teenagers. Although I’d managed to get through my first classes without too much trouble, it had been hard work. Some of the students had taken it upon themselves to see how far they could push me. I had to tell off quite a few, mostly boys, whose wolf whistles and comments about my looks weren’t appreciated.
I glanced to my right as I poured a cup of coffee, noticing two male teachers eyeing me up, their gazes not that dissimilar to the male students. I knew what they saw: a good-looking woman in her early twenties, with defined cheekbones and full lips. The only thing I lacked was height, which they didn’t appear to care about. The shorter of the two dropped his gaze as soon as he noticed me looking, while the other one continued to stare, seemingly unconcerned he’d been caught out.
Feeling uncomfortable, I finished filling my cup and headed for a table the furthest away from him, smiling at the thirty-something woman sitting behind it. She was slightly overweight, frumpy closer to the mark, and colourfully dressed, her thick-rimmed glasses matching her red cardigan. She also had a head full of soft black ringlets, which looked like her pride and joy.
I placed a hand on the chair across from her. “Can I sit here?”
Nodding, she swallowed what she’d been chewing on and put the rest of the sandwich down on her plate. Rising to her feet, she held out a hand for me to shake. “You must be the new English teacher,” she said, smiling at me.
“Yes,” I replied, noticing mayonnaise smeared across her thumb.
She glanced down at it. “Oops, sorry, I’m such a messy eater.” She quickly wiped her hand on a tissue and extended it again.
“No worries,” I said, shaking it. “I’m Clara Hatton.”
“Nice to meet you, Clara. I’m Beverly Torino.” She let go of my hand and spread her arms out wide. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
I smiled, finding her quirky. “What do you teach?” I asked, guessing her to be an art or drama teacher.
She tucked a ringlet behind her ear. “Drama.”
I mentally patted myself on the back at my correct guess.
She indicated to the far corner of the staffroom. “Tall, red, and handsome over there is another drama teacher. He’s the head of my department.”
I glanced over my shoulder, spotting the man she was talking about. He was the one who’d been staring at me. He looked a lot like Liam Neeson, just thirty-something and with a reddish-brown buzz cut. He smiled at me, prompting me to look away instantly.
Beverly sat back down. “Looks like you’ve attracted Britain’s attention.”
“Britain?” I asked, taking her lead and sitting down too.
“Paul is Scottish while the teacher standing next to him is English. We call them Britain, because they usually hang out together. Though, I really don’t understand why, since they’re always arguing. Anyway, forget about them, I’m more interested in you. How has your first day been so far?”
“Good.” I took a sip of my coffee, grimacing at the awful taste. It felt like an atom bomb had gone off inside my mouth, the nuclear sludge contaminating my taste buds.
Beverly laughed. “Yeah, the coffee here is godawful.” She patted the top of a striped flask sitting on the table. “That’s why I bring my own. Would you like some?”
“No, thanks.” I pushed my cup away and grabbed a bottle of water out of my satchel, more interested in decontaminating my mouth.
She grinned, looking like I was entertaining her greatly. “No worries. So, what do you think of Wera High?”
I took a gulp of water, swishing it around my mouth and swallowing it down before answering her. “It’s nice.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Nice is not a word I’d use for this place. Rowdy, rude, loud, I could go on forever.”
I smiled. “It is loud, and I must admit the kids are slightly ruder than what I’m used to.”
Slightly? Well, you mustn’t have had the juvie class yet.”
“What’s the juvie class?”
“It’s a nickname we call the class that has all the bad kids. Your opinion will not be the same after teaching that one.”
“Maybe I won’t get them.”
“What years do you teach?”
“Ten and Eleven.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry to say, but they’re Year Elevens. If you’re unlucky and do get them, don’t react to their baiting. If they ask you any inappropriate questions, ignore them, like they haven’t even spoken. They’re also very liberal with their use of swearwords. Unless you want to constantly tell them off, translate the f word to fabulous, the c one to cute, s to super, and the m word to magnificent.”
“What’s the m word?”
Beverly lowered her voice. “Motherfucker. They love that word.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You seriously expect me to let them get away with saying that?”
“If you don’t want to send half the class to the principal’s office every lesson, yes. My suggestion is to only kick a juvie kid out if they take things too far. As it is, you usually have to send at least a couple of them to the principal’s office every lesson.”
My mind went to the tall bully who’d beaten up Dante, praying he wasn’t in the class. I shook the thought out of my head. He was too big not to be a senior. Still...
“Do you know of a boy called Ronald McDonald?” I asked, expecting her to laugh at me.
“Unfortunately, everyone who works here does.”
I blinked in surprise, taken aback that Dante hadn’t lied about the thug’s name. “That’s really his name?”
She nodded. “How do you know him? He’s in Year Thirteen, so he shouldn’t be in any of your classes.”
“I caught him and two of his friends beating up another boy. I had to step in to stop him.”
Beverly’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Wow! You’re brave, because Ronnie’s one scary kid. I always get the male teachers to deal with him. Is the other boy all right?”
“He said he was.”
“Did you report the fight to the principal?”
“I told his secretary since he was busy at the time, but she said he already knew about it.”
“Well, don’t approach Ronnie again. He’s one of the gang kids. You have to think about your own safety first. It’s best to inform the principal or Paul Aston,” she said, referring to the other drama teacher. “They know how to deal with those kids.”
I nodded, again realising how lucky I was not to have gotten hurt. “By the way, what kind of parent names their own child after a clown?”
Beverly rubbed her thumb and fingers together, flicking some crumbs off her fingertips. “I’ve heard worse. A couple of years back I had twins in my class called DB and Lion Red.”
My eyes widened. “Their parents named them after beer?”
She nodded. “I even taught one kid called Painkiller.”
“Are you serious?” I gasped.
She nodded again, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Welcome to South Auckland, where you might run into Arnold Schwarzenegger or Rocky Balboa, though, those will be their first and middle names, and they won’t look anything like their namesakes.”
“You must be having me on,” I said.
She shook her head. “I’ll bet you a fifty that you’ll get at least one kid in your class with a whacky name.”
“Looks like I should turn that bet down after meeting Ronald McDonald.”
She chuckled. “A wise decision. Just one word of advice. When you get a whacky named kid, don’t stumble over their name. They’re usually oversensitive.”
“I don’t blame them, but I’m not sure I could say a name like Painkiller without feeling as though someone was playing a joke on me.”
“I know. At first, I had a hard time saying his name, but I eventually got used to it. Though, I ended up calling him Killer, which he liked.”
“So, you’ve been working here for a while, then?” I asked, wondering whether she knew the boy who’d been attacked.
“Yes siree, ten years.”
“Have you heard of Dante Rata?”
Her smile instantly dropped. “W-h-y?” she said, drawing out the word, suspicion prickling her expression. “What has he done now?”
“Nothing. He was the one being attacked by the McDonald boy.”
“Probably for a good reason. Dante’s pure mischief. The best way to deal with that ratbag is to ignore him. If you don’t, he’ll commandeer your whole lesson. Also, don’t take what he says personally; he’s just an arrogant so-and-so, who needs a swift kick up the backside.”
I smirked at the last comment. “He didn’t seem that bad and it really wasn’t his fault.”
Beverly pulled a cookie out of her lunchbox. “Mark my words, he is. I pity you if you get him. Fingers crossed the other English teacher is lumped with that troublemaker.”
I nodded, wondering why I would even get him since I didn’t teach the seniors. I opened my mouth to say just that, but Beverly cut me off before I could get a word out. She moved onto another topic: Me. A barrage of questions came my way, asking how old I was. Twenty-four. Whether I was married. Yes. And where I’d previously taught. England. And so on. Before I knew it, the bell had rung and I was on my way to my next class.

I entered my classroom, the place I was making my own—a small pocket in the school, where I wanted to foster literature. I also wanted to help the students pass the year with flying colours, like no other teacher could achieve in such a challenging environment. My smile dropped and shattered against the floor at the chaos before me. Half the students were sitting on their desks, looking like they were at a party, not school. They were too busy talking to notice me standing in the doorway, staring at them in shock. In the far corner, a group of boys had gone a step further and pushed their desks together, forming a makeshift stage. They were staring up at a Maori girl, or more accurately up her short skirt. She was dancing on the desktops, shaking her arse to a rap song, which was coming from a giant boom-box—a metallic remnant of the eighties. She had dusky skin and a sultry face, with a halo of afro hair framing it. One of the boys, a fat kid who was probably twice my size and weight—if not more, ran his large hand up her leg. She kicked his palm and continued dancing, looking like she was enjoying the attention. The handsy boy stood up and yanked her off the desk. The girl squealed, while the other boys laughed.
“What are you doing?” I shouted, making them all jolt. “Put her down, now!”
Young faces all turned my way, noticing me for the first time. They were a group of Year Elevens, mostly made up of fifteen-year-olds. There was a mixture of ethnicities, a real melting pot of diversity.
“I said, put her down!” I repeated, knowing this had to be the juvie class. My previous classes weren’t exactly angels, but they were cherubs in comparison to this motley crew. “And turn off that music.”
The mountainous boy let go of the girl and held up his hands as though I was pointing a gun at him. “We were just having fun, miss.”
“Yeah, miss,” the girl said snidely, looking annoyed I’d interrupted her Stripping 101 class. “It wuz just fun.” She switched off the music and leaned in to give the large boy a hug, the top of her head level with his chest. “He’s my friend.”
“Just get back to your seat,” I said, pumping up my voice, knowing I needed to sound authoritative, especially with my youthful appearance. Since I looked more like an older sister than a teacher, the kids in my other classes had assumed they could push me around, but I’d put them all in their place, quickly mapping out who was boss. And I had to admit, it felt good, like an initiation I had to pass to get their respect.
My attention moved to the other boys in the group. “And put those desks back where they belong.”
“They belong right where they are,” a male voice answered from behind the large boy.
“No, they don’t,” I said, angling my head to see who’d spoken, the fat boy blocking my view. “So put them back.”
“Since you’re new here, I’ll give you a word of advice.” The owner of the voice rose up.
My eyes widened. It was Dante—the student I’d helped.
He grimaced at me, not appearing surprised to see me. “Don’t rat people out if you want them to play nice,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You dobbed me in to the principal.”
I glanced at the messed-up desks, wondering whether this was some sort of misplaced revenge. “I never spoke to him. The secretary said he already knew what had happened.”
Dante narrowed his eyes. “Which means, you were gonna rat me out, just someone else beat you to it.”
“I had no intention of getting you into trouble, if that’s what you’re inferring,” I replied, the fact he wasn’t a senior finally dawning on me.
I’d been attracted to a fifteen-year-old!
No, he couldn’t possibly be that young. With the way he looked and talked, he must have been held back by at least a year.
Dante tilted his chin up, a slight sneer pulling at his lips. “I’ll let you off this time, just don’t interfere in my business again. I won’t be so nice next time.”
My eyebrows shot up at his audacity. “Is that right?” I said, thinking Beverly’s observation was spot on. He was an arrogant so-and-so.
He nodded. “And just so you know, English is our free period, where we do what we want.”
“Not in my class,” I said, heading for my desk, knowing he was testing me. “So, how about you and your friends straighten the desks so we can get started.”
“On what?”
“English, of course.”
“Why? It’s a pointless subject, especially since we already speaka de Engleesh.”
“It’s not pointless,” I replied, not letting him provoke me. “It’ll help you develop your understanding of the language so you can articulate yourself better.”
“Did you just trash how I talk?” he snapped, his dark eyes flaring at me.
I shook my head. “No, I was being general. English is also important for a number of professions.”
A smirk wiped away his annoyed expression. “As long as I can spell marijuana, coke, and heroin, I’m sure my future,” he made quote marks with his fingers, “profession is safe. It’s the only reason I pay attention in Science. Now, that’s a subject worth doin’.”
His mates laughed, a few of them pumping fists as though they thought Dante had one-upped me. He sat down on his desk, looking like he thought so too.
Keeping my cool, I pulled off my satchel. “Get off the desk.”
Dante’s butt remained where it was. “Why?”
“You have a chair for a reason.”
“I’m comfortable right ’ere.”
“Well, I’m not comfortable with you there, so how about you do me a favour since I did you one.”
He smirked. “Did’ja say you did me once? Cos I must’ve been really drunk since I don’t remember it. Or maybe you weren’t that memorable.”
More laughter followed, this time from the whole class.
Not rising to his bait, I crossed my arms over my chest. “You know what I said, so get off your desk.”
“No, my Engleesh isn’t very good. You Pākehā chicks are real hard to understand,” he said, calling me white, which I thought was hypocritical. Despite his Maori accent, he still looked like a Pākehā himself, just with an olive tint.
“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” I said, “so get off your desk or sit on the principal’s.”
“Don’t think he’ll be keen on that, miss,” he said with a grin.
“That’s not my problem.”
He winked at me. “’Kay, babe. I’ll let ya win this round.”
He slid down into his chair, ordering the other boys to fix their desks. He was obviously the motley crew’s leader, a dictator in scruffy, grass-stained clothes.
Once the desks were fixed, he winked at me again. “I expect special brownie points for this, babe.”
“It’s Mrs. Hatton to you,” I said, heading for the whiteboard. I picked up the marker and spelled out my name in large black letters.
After I’d finished, I turned to face the class, feeling nervous for the first time as all eyes zeroed in on me. The adrenalin that had been pumping through my veins only seconds ago dissipated at a rapid rate. I cleared my throat, assuring myself that I was going to get through this lesson like I had with all my other ones.
“As you can see, I’m Mrs. Hatton,” I said, sweeping my gaze over the class. “I will be your...” I stopped talking, noticing the wicked smirk on Dante’s face. He looked like he was up to something. Or maybe he was waiting for me to make a fool of myself, which I wasn’t going to do.
I went to continue with my introduction, but faltered as his dark gaze started travelling down the length of my body, lazily taking in every curve. His gaze swept back up quicker, pausing on my chest for a brief moment, before settling on my face again.
“I-I’m obviously your English teacher,” I stuttered out, “so...”
The words left my mouth again as he licked his upper lip, giving me a blatantly sexual look. He wasn’t the first kid to check me out, but he was the first to make my mouth run dry, the boy far too sensual-looking for my own good. His friends started sniggering, no doubt realising he was distracting me. I quickly looked away, ignoring the boys elbowing each other in amusement.
I cleared my throat once more, determined to get through the class. “So, I’m going to call attendance now,” I said, picking up the roll call folder. I started reading their names out. To my relief they replied without giving me trouble, only a few sniggers stopping it from being perfect.
Everything was going fine until I came to Dante’s name. Without thinking I called it out, stupidly asking whether he was here, something I should’ve known not to do, since it was an invitation for trouble.
He closed his eyes. “Oh ... yes, yes, YES!” he shouted, sounding like he was coming. He expelled a huge sigh, drawing it out. “I’m here.” He opened his eyes, his smirk growing as the other students burst out laughing, some of them hooting, “Yeah, boy!” like they were giving him some sort of verbal high five.
“A simple here, miss would’ve been sufficient,” I replied. “And the rest of you, stop laughing,” I added, controlling my voice, not letting on that they were annoying me.
I resumed taking the roll, now even more determined to get through the lesson without losing my temper. Luckily, the rest of the kids answered their names without issue, Dante obviously the class clown. After I’d called out the last name, Dante piped up again.
“Do you give private lessons?” he asked, his leer telling me he wasn’t referring to English ones.
The tenuous thread, that had been barely holding the class in check, snapped. Hoots and childish remarks bounced off the walls like cannon fire, ripping holes through my eardrums. I was sure the far end of the school could hear them, the noise they were making ridiculous.
“Be quiet!” I hollered, having to shout it more than once before they settled down. I levelled a glare at Dante, who looked like he was having fun, his eyes shining so brightly they could have had their own solar system.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying my class so much,” I said dryly. “But please keep your comments class related or I will send you to the principal.”
He smirked. “Aye, aye, darling, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He pretended to zip his lips.
Shaking my head at him, I went to start the lesson, hoping I could get through it all with the amount of time he’d wasted. But before I could get a word out, rap music started up, the sounds of California Love making me jolt. My eyes snapped back to Dante, who’d shifted the boom-box to his desk, the tin can blasting loud.
“Turn that off,” I yelled.
Smiling, he leaned his arms on the boom-box, resting his chin on top.
“Turn it off!”
He turned it up.
Finally losing my temper, I stalked over to his desk and leaned across the boy sitting next to him, reaching for the boom-box’s switch. Dante clamped a hand over it.
“Move your hand,” I ordered.
He turned the music even higher.
“That’s my name, what’s yours?” he asked, finally speaking.
“It’s on the whiteboard, so turn it off!”
“No, I wanna know your first name. Gimme it and I’ll do whatever you desire.”
Smiling wickedly, he switched the music off. “Cool, now I have sumpthin’ to call out when I come.”
The class burst out laughing yet again.
“You just earned yourself a detention,” I snapped.
He snorted. “You’re really threatening me with detention?”
I nodded, thinking one wasn’t enough for him. “For today and tomorrow.”
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?!”
He stopped laughing, although a few sniggers escaped as he answered me. “Another teacher has already given me detention for the week, so you’ve gotta give me more incentive to shut my mouth.”
“An education.”
He snorted out another laugh. “You don’t needa educate me.”
“Yes, I do, it’s what I get paid for.”
“Nah, you’re gettin’ paid to babysit us, cos once this year’s up, you and every other adult can’t make us do jack shit.”
“Why are you being so rude to me?”
“I’m just stating how it is, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart and you can go to the principal’s. I’ve had enough of you.”
“Mmmh, I’ll never get enough of you.” Keeping his eyes on me, he placed his hands on his desk and pushed back, scraping his chair across the lino flooring, probably damaging it in the process. He rose to his feet and hooked his bag over a shoulder. His friend moved his chair forward, letting Dante squeeze past him. He grabbed the boom-box and pursed his lips, giving me an air kiss. “See ya later, sweetheart.” He strutted towards the door, leaving it banging in his wake, making me shake with fury.
“Ignore him, miss,” a soft voice said. “Dante’s rude to everyone.”
I turned to search for the owner of the voice. A girl raised her hand in a friendly hello. She was sitting in the front row, smiling at me with sympathy. She had a mouth full of braces and soft grey eyes. Her hair was dyed-black, which made her fair skin appear even paler. She looked like an emo, the black tie around her neck not part of the uniform. She also had dark eye makeup and a lip ring, which definitely went against regulations. But I wasn’t about to mention it, especially since she was the only kid being nice to me.
“I wouldn’t take what he said personally,” she continued, “if anything, you got off lighter than the last teacher he ran out of here.”
“What did he do to them?”
“He constantly called her a racist bitch and mooned her, telling her to kiss his hori arse if she didn’t like how he spoke. That’s a racial slur referring to Maoris. It’s like how the Americans use the N word.”
“I know what hori means.”
“Sorry, miss, you have a posh accent like a Pom.”
“I spent some time in England, but I’m still from Auckland. And I hope Dante was suspended for what he did,” I said, not believing my ears.
“Yup. Dante collects suspensions like Jasper collects boogers.”
A yell came from beside me, the boy who’d been sitting next to Dante obviously Jasper, the nose-picking offender. The rest of the class started laughing, this lesson turning into a comedy-fest. I quietened them down, along with the boy who was spluttering that he didn’t pick his nose.
The girl grinned sheepishly at me. “Sorry, miss, couldn’t resist that. Anyways, no matter how many times Dante’s been suspended he always comes back like a bad smell. He’s even been to youth prison. One time the cops came into class and arrested him. He’s evil to the bone.”
Jasper yelled at the girl to shut her “dyke face” about Dante. She flicked him the finger, not looking worried that she’d angered a boy three times her weight, another thing that shocked me. I didn’t expect a fifteen-year-old to be so big or look so old. Not only did he have stubble, he could have easily passed off as a twenty-something. Though, he didn’t act like an adult, the words coming out of his mouth extremely childish.
My eyes zeroed in on the loud-mouthed oaf, already forgetting his name. Jester? Casper? No, it was...
Jasper,” I said, his name finally coming back to me, “you can leave too if you’re going to speak that way in my class.”
He pushed up, his glare making me take a step back, the boy a lot scarier than Dante. He grabbed his bag and lumbered towards the door, disappearing out it. I shook my head, thinking Beverly was right about how many kids I would send out.
Gathering my composure, I headed for the front of the class, hoping this was just a rough start to an otherwise brilliant year.

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