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  Copyright © 2014 by Olivia Harvard

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  Handcuffs, Kisses, and Awkward Situations

  By: Olivia Harvard

  © Olivia Harvard 2014

  For my parents, Kaitlin, and Chloe.

  You all inspire me more and more every single day.

  One

  If you have managed to claw your way to your last year of high school, I congratulate you. I really do. Not only is there the expectation that you have to provide a minimum number of hours per subject to study, but there are other expectations, too. Some of them are unspoken, like the fact that you’re supposed to have kissed someone by the time you finish high school, or at least have been in a relationship. Because even though it isn’t a written rule, the student body expects you to have completed it by the time you step up and take your graduation certificate. Other expectations are more vocal.

  Like how you’re supposed to demonstrate a particular level of maturity because you’re suddenly given so much more freedom and opportunities. But when you’re seventeen and still have to have a teacher’s signature to go to the bathroom, it’s arguably difficult. When you have to have permission to wash your hands, how does society expect you to decide what you want to do with your life?

  Maybe it’s the stress of graduating. Maybe it’s the inner child in all of us, demanding release. Maybe it’s all the expectations being thrown at us. Either way, the graduating students of Gregory High were definitely not acting like the mature and responsible individuals we were expected to be. “Would you rate his butt a seven or an eight?” Mel whispered.

  Our school had been having huge career expositions for all graduating students, just to give us an idea of what our future options were. University professors and highly trained experts from various disciplines presented us with basic information on different courses. The lecture we were attending was hosted by the local police department. The two guys doing most of the talking looked like walking donuts, but at least they had brought along an undeniably fit rookie. “I don’t know,” I said as I squinted and leaned forward to get a clearer view. “His left butt cheek looks bigger than the right one.”

  Mel’s jade green eyes widened as she leaned forward. “Hey, you’re right.”

  Continuing our brilliant discourse on uneven butt cheeks, we compared it with other various human body parts. Before we knew it, the boring speech about Australian legislation and upholding the law seemed distant as we got lost in our own giggles.

  “Officer Brandy, I think Miss Montgomery just volunteered for the demonstration.”

  Realising I had sunk half way down to the floor in my own laughter, I straightened in my seat, eyes wide. “What?”

  Mrs. Coleman was this cranky, old woman, who allegedly had voodoo dolls stuffed in her teacher's pigeon hole. Her dull grey eyes seemed to taunt me with mocking satisfaction as she nodded towards the stage. Thin lips curled into a wicked grin as I grumbled something in gibberish and trudged onto the stage.

  I stood between the officers and waited for further instructions. They both smelled like strong coffee and being so close up, I could see a collection of sprinkles on one of the policemen’s moustache. My eyes fell down to his chest and caught sight of his golden name tag. His name was Officer Brandy.

  “And we need one more volunteer.” His deep, booming voice echoed through the large space of the auditorium.

  Instantly, everyone tried not to make eye contact. Being up on the podium meant each and every student was exposed to my examination. Guys kept their gazes anywhere but in the direction of the supervising students; up at the ceiling, down at their shoes, across to their friends. The girls had the same idea, hiding behind curtains of hair or suddenly finding an interest in their pleated skirts.

  “I think Ryder Collins is interested.” The icy tone of Mrs. Coleman sliced through the tension.

  At the start of high school, Ryder Collins’ popularity came with his varsity jacket, the same way girls got their popularity from their bras. And now that I think about it, when you’re twelve and just started high school, I’m not particularly sure how ‘cool’ you could get. At first, I didn’t think it would affect our friendship. But after three months of being on the footy team, he decided to use his position to hoist himself up on the highest possible level of the social ladder. He’d been bathing in fame ever since, while I had been trying to avoid the smallest attentions.

  Ryder tossed a filthy look of disgust to his friends, got up and walked towards the stage. He was one of the very few male students that could pull off his uniform. Who would have known clip-on ties and pinstripe trousers could look good on someone under twenty?

  I’d like to think that I bloomed in high school too, that I developed into a sophisticated and beautiful woman. But really, I was just as awkward and average as I was when I first started It was completely infuriating because Ryder was poster boy material. This only added to the uncomfortable tension between us.

  “Great,” Officer Brandy announced, clapping his meaty hands. “Now, as I was saying, the local police department has designed a new pair of handcuffs. They’re made out of metal that is up to three times stronger than the original material, and as you can see, has thicker links.”

  I watched as he held up the handcuffs and the group of students eyed it in surprising curiosity. He had managed to capture the attention of the class as the jaws of the open cuffs dangled from his fingertips. Thinking it was stupid that everyone was so mesmerised by a pair of handcuffs. I snorted. Ryder must have had the same thoughts because he made an unattractive sound of dissatisfaction, too.

  “This particular pair of handcuffs was designed for our plus-sized criminals, so it has more links,” h
e continued, sliding his thick fingers down the long chain. The additional five links were hardly impressive, but by the way Officer Brandy was admiring them, you’d think they were solid gold. “The great thing about these new and improved cuffs is that they’re just like houses. Only one key fits per pair. Now, this is only a prototype, so we’re extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to feature it on this particular demonstration.”

  Excited murmurs came from a few members of the audience. Even Mel looked mildly interested. But then I realised she was only excited because Officer Brandy was now circling the stage. Before I could figure out what he was doing, he grabbed hold of my right wrist and snapped on a handcuff. The metal was warm from his hold as it clicked into place.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, wide eyed.

  Mrs. Coleman instantly scolded me for addressing a policeman in such an accusing manner. But I could hardly concentrate on what she was saying, because Officer Brandy had secured the other handcuff around Ryder’s left wrist. Panic washed over me, drowning me in complete terror. I looked down at the piece of silver that connected us together and directed my gaze to meet Ryder’s faded blue eyes. He looked just about as freaked out as I did.

  “Garret, can you please grab the hammer?” Officer Brandy asked as he gently steered us towards a table. “Kids, place your hands on the table.”

  “We’re going to die,” I whispered, all sorts of terrible thoughts running through my mind. My stomach tightened to a squeeze and a bitter taste formed in my mouth.

  When the hammer was in Officer Brandy’s hands, the audience seemed to be holding its collective breath as he lifted the tool into the air. When he slammed the hammer down against the woodwork table with force, a loud, sharp bang of impact echoed through the room like a gunshot. It scared me so much that my heart could have just fallen straight out of my butt. To emphasise his point, Officer Brandy continued to beat the hell out of the metal links that joined Ryder and I together.

  After another ten seconds of deafening hits, he placed the hammer down with a clatter and held up the undamaged chain. Impressed claps and a couple of cheers erupted from the students. Even Ryder’s entourage seemed pretty impressed and didn’t bother to conceal their interest behind their cool expressions. Admittedly, if I weren’t contributing to the demonstration, I probably would have been attentive too, because other than the police, the most exciting thing that had ever happened in these career talks was when the science department from the local university made elephant toothpaste. It was something we were all shown in year seven, but that didn’t make it any less entertaining.

  The bell rang not long after; it was the sweet chime of freedom singing into my ears. As the teachers stood to keep the students tame and explain further instructions, Officer Brandy gave us a grin.

  “Thanks for helping out with the demonstration, kids,” he said, grabbing his foam cup of coffee and taking a quick drink.

  Ryder, obviously getting impatient, held up his wrist, and the chain that bound us yanked my hand up with his. “Can we please go now?”

  Officer Brandy lowered the cup from his lips and made a sound of agreement. He placed the cup back onto the table and fumbled around in his pockets. All his pockets. His bushy brows knitted together as he patted himself down and each time he reached in and came out empty handed, my stomach squeezed in both irritation and panic. “Garret, do you have the key?” he called, looking over at his partner. Garret, who had been talking with a few eager students, turned. Shaking his head, he answered, “You had them with you.”

  Officer Brandy nodded in agreement. “That’s what I thought. Hey, Drew, have you seen the key?”

  The rookie policeman shook his head as he strode towards us, hands digging into his pockets. “No, Sir.”

  When Brandy turned to us, he gave us a tight smile. I think it was meant to be reassuring but the way his lips curled, said otherwise. I suddenly felt light headed, my knees about to give way. He didn’t have to say anything. His face said it all.

  Officer Brandy had lost the key.

  Two

  I wasn’t known for doing anything remotely badass, but being chained to Ryder was making me reevaluate my past motives. I considered doing a miniature protest in the principal’s office. But I didn’t have a sign and the closest thing available was someone’s report card sitting on the desk. So, screaming like a mad woman with someone else’s grades in your hands and doing a little too enthusiastic fist pump by yourself would have looked a little more ridiculous rather than empowering.

  “What do you mean you can’t find the key?” I repeated, my blood boiling in fury.

  “We did not lose the key. It’s just been temporarily misplaced,” Officer Brandy corrected me for the seventh time, running a hand through his thick, brown hair. “We have a search party on the case.”

  In other words, Officer Garret was searching the police car while a few extra staff swept through the auditorium. I had been stuck with Ryder all afternoon and we were seconds away from the final school bell. And though I was standing there, hand on my hips and glaring at the adults in outrage, Ryder was perfectly cosy sitting on the armrest of the small leather couch in the corner of the office. He had his third can of orange soda in his hands; complimentary from the police department because of the inconvenience.

  “Listen here, you incompetent fool,” I growled, pointing an accusing finger at him like a scowling mother, surprised at how sassy I was being. “I am chained to Ryder Collins. We have a past and I’m not particularly comfortable with the situation you have burdened us with. So, if I’m not released in the next hour, I will sue you.”

  To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure I was completely clear with the definition of ‘incompetent’ and I wasn’t sure how to sue anyone, but with enough unspoken television show addictions, my vocabulary had expanded. Besides, out loud, it sounded pretty legit.

  Mrs. Westfield, the principal, slid her glasses up her nose and narrowed her eyes at me. “Miss Montgomery,” she warned, “watch how you address your elders.”

  Officer Brandy seemed more interested in what I had said, rather than what I had called him. His caterpillar eyebrows rose up to his hairline. “A past?” he questioned, eyes flicking from Ryder to me and back. “Bad relationship?”

  I shivered in disgust and Ryder choked on his drink. Wiping his mouth from the orange splutter on his lips, he said, “As much as I’d like to date someone as predictable and petty as Nora Montgomery, it’s with deep sympathy that I have not had the pleasure of being in a relationship with her.”

  “I think you meant pretty,” I snapped.

  “I really didn’t.”

  My eyes met his raging blue ones and I gave him a look that could kill. But before I could shoot back a witty remark, the door to the principal’s office swung open. Officer Garret looked flustered. His cheeks had bloomed into a rosy pink and his hair was tousled from the winter wind outside. He looked at us all, pulled his sagging trousers over his beer belly and marched into the room. My stomach tightened as I held my breath and waited to listen for the search update.

  “I’ve thoroughly examined the police cruiser and there was no sign of the keys,” he announced grimly.

  I clenched my fists and narrowed my eyes at the officers. This was ridiculous. What kind of policemen were they? They couldn’t even keep track of a key! Anger flamed inside me as I grinded my teeth together, trying to compress another round of harsh words threatening to slip out. Mrs. Westfield’s lips pursed into a tight line as she exchanged quick glances with the police officers. Placing her hands on the desk in front of her, she pushed back the leather office chair and paced around the small space of her office. You could practically see the unspoken tension and frustration that simmered in the room as everyone brainstormed resolutions to our situation.

  Then there was a knock on the door and the discomfort momentarily lifted as we all directed our attention to who it was. There was a moment of fumbling outside before a happ
y little boy walked in. He wore a dinosaur backpack and was carrying a small box of rocks. It was Sam, Mrs. Westfield’s nephew. He was a mixture of strange and adorable and was going through an obsessive phase of being a palaeontologist. Really, it was probably just an excuse to get his hands dirty, but who was I to judge his childhood motives? Some kids liked playing dress-ups with their parents’ clothing, some kids liked cooking mud pies in the kitchen and other kids liked collecting rocks –some of which were evidently mouse poop, but he was five and didn’t know the difference.

  Mrs. Westfield smiled at Sam. His mother constantly dropped him off for play dates and he was around the school a lot, usually accompanying Mrs. Westfield while she roamed the school halls in search of reasons to give out detention slips. However, that particular afternoon, she seemed clearly irritated by the added responsibility of looking after him and although she smiled, it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Any suggestions on how to carry out the situation?” Mrs Westfield asked, directing her attention back to the policemen.

  While the adults were talking strategies, Sam pulled out his rock collection. He popped the lid open and took a small rock, smaller than a fingernail, out of its compartment. Then, with complete and utter excitement, he held it up in his palm for us to examine. Up close, it looked exactly like a little chocolate drop. It took another few seconds of observation before I realised, to my delight, that Sam was showcasing a mouse dropping.

  “Oh, look, Ryder,” I smirked, “he’s showing you his collection of faeces. You should be able to decipher which dropping comes from which species. You come from a family of animals, don’t you?”

  He lowered the can of citrus fizz and raised an eyebrow at me. “Gee, Nora, that’s rich, coming from the bitch of the pack.”