She had never gotten into trouble before. Not ever. She never played hooky or skipped school. She always turned her homework in on time, and was always nice. She was Rose Pennington, Jefferson High’s sheltered good girl. But on May 23rd, she was struck with a dose of reality.
Brock

He lived in detention. Not a day went by without him staying after school, forced to sit in a windowless classroom for hours. He didn't mind though because it was better than going home. Anything was better than going home. He was Brock Williams, the school’s bad boy. Someone who up until a special detention with a special girl, thought he would was living in a world of darkness.
Mr. Gillness

He was the most hated teacher in school. But believing that to be feared was equal to being powerful, he liked it. He knew his students respected him; and being respected leads to being seen as someone who has authority. And someone who has authority is not likely to have a fear of the dark. Mr. Gillness is not one to show emotions to students, but one afternoon, he did. Nothing would ever be the same.
May 23rd, 3:00pm

When the final bell rang, Rose could feel her heart beat in her ears. The throbbing was so loud that’s all she heard as she made her way to the Grey Cell. Never in a million years would Rose believe she’d be in the position she was that day. Detention? That’s one word that wasn't in her vocabulary.

Walking down the short hallway from her seventh period to the Grey Cell felt incredibly longer than when Rose would pass it during the day. Pink slip in hand she gingerly approached the door and took in an impossibly deep breath. This was it. After she stepped through this door, she would be alone with nothing but her thoughts for three whole hours. Rose sneaked her pinky out and gently touched the door knob. The metal was cold, intimidating. Snap out of it, she thought. Mustering up some pathetic courage, she opened the door and peeked in.

White walls greeted her as she looked around the classroom. No posters were hung and there weren’t any windows inviting in the rare sunshine they were experiencing today. The room seemed to be isolated, away from the outside world. Or so Rose thought. Her gaze came to rest on a pair of dazzling green eyes. The eyes of none other than Brock Williams, the one boy she completely despised. She sighed quietly. This is going to be a long afternoon.
~
May 23rd, 3:15pm

Tick. Tick. Tick. Brock watched the clock’s hands move at a mind crushingly slow speed. It’s better than being at home, it’s better than being at home. He repeated in his mind. Today’s incident had been slightly better than usual. Instead of getting in trouble for fighting or smoking on campus, it was for being tardy. It had been his sixteenth tardy of the semester. But who was counting? Apparently his teachers.

Brock groaned. Even though detention was ten times better than going home to his psychotic parents, it still was bad. Especially when Mr. Gillness was the teacher watching you. His eyes were so dark it’s like they could see into your soul and suck out any happiness you once had. Creepy.

Then something weird happened. The door to the cell opened. No one else ever got detention at Jefferson. Ever. Not even Brock’s loser stoner buddies he liked to hang out with. And who walked in? Rose freakin’ Pennington.

She was wearing an ankle length dress and her hair was in the usual tight bun. Everything about her needed to be loosened up, from her buttoned up sweater to her GPA. Out of all the students of Jefferson she was the only one with a 4.0. So why was she here? What could the most respectful, responsible student in the entire school possibly do to end up here?

As she looked around the room he saw her gape at the lack of windows. People call it a cell for a reason, he thought. Then her eyes came to rest on his. As he studied her huge doe-like eyes and small lips he realized she had an annoying innocence to her that bugged him. It was like she’d never seen anything bad before. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but it did.

After a full ten seconds he also realized she was staring at him. Then she sighed and sat down at the very front seat. Typical Rose Pennington. He fought a sudden urge to talk to her. Why would he want to talk to her? She’d only ever said a few words to him and he thought they went along the lines of “move out of the way.” This looked like it was going to be an interesting couple of hours.
~
May 23rd, 3:20pm
Huh. Rose Pennington and Brock Williams in the same room. They both seemed to be in their own little worlds so Mr. Gillness cleared his throat, making them jump.
“I’ll take your pink slips,” he said.
The two both stood and slowly walked over to the desk Mr. Gillness sat at. He rolled his eyes when Rose said “here you go, sir.” Once he had both slips he decided to find out why the perfect Ms. Pennington had been selected to stay after school and endure his company.
On the top of the slip was her name, printed in the curly grandma style handwriting of Mrs. Peach, a guidance counselor at the school. Under reason it read, “Non-responsible use of over the counter drugs for academic purposes.” So Little Miss Perfect earned her grades by popping pills. He never would have guessed that.
Deciding to excuse himself for a much needed break of his own, Mr. Gillness cleared his throat once again and stated in his most firm voice, “I’m going to be leaving for a couple of minutes. Don’t do anything you would regret.” With one final piercing glance at both students, he exited the room, leaving the goody goody and bad boy alone.
~
May 23rd, 3:45pm

Detention really was boring. With nothing else to do, Rose decided to finish up the review homework for Calc that was due next week. She rummaged through her bag for a pencil and when she successfully found one, started scrawling down the answers.

A few moments later, a deep voice spoke up from behind and to the left of her. “Are you always this quiet?”

Rose turned around from her work and was met with the smirking face of Brock. His eyes sparkled mischievously as he twirled a pen in his left hand. Black curls covered his forehead and shifted slightly when he tilted his head, waiting for her to respond. Should I talk to him? she thought. No. she decided. If she spoke up, that might start a conversation and she couldn’t risk that. She was on the honor role; he smoked in the back of the school. The two of them could and would never associate with each other.

Turning back around, Rose scribbled the answer to one of the problems in her notebook while Brock sighed loudly and exclaimed, “It wouldn’t kill you to socialize a little bit!” pause. “Okay, fine, don’t talk to me.”
~
May 23rd, 4:00pm

Why wouldn’t she talk to him? It was bad enough being ignored at home, but being ignored by Rose? She was nice to everyone. Why couldn’t she just talk to him to pass the time? Brock then realized why her innocent look bothered him so much. She didn’t know. She didn’t know why a guy like him purposely got himself into detention and avoided going home. He assumed everyone knew his secret. Maybe it was time to tell her.

“Hey, Rose,” he said. No response. “Rose, I have something to tell you.”

She slightly moved her shoulder like she was going to turn around but stopped herself. He smirked. Typical Rose always interested in things she doesn’t know about.

“You see, I actually like detention.” Her head turned. “Because it’s so much better than going home for me. I bet your little home life is perfect, right? White picket fence, dog, parents that tuck you in at night. Not mine though.” She stared back him. “My home life is nothing but yelling. WHY CAN’T YOU BE A GOOD STUDENT? WHY CAN’T YOU BE A NORMAL KID? I never know what to say back. They want me to be just like you. They want something to be proud of. When they don’t get it they…tend to get angry.” He frowned at her. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

Apparently frozen, it took her several moments to shake her head and mumble “No.”

“Of course not,” he replied angrily. “You’re Rose Pennington, the perfect girl. The daughter everyone wants.” he laughed bitterly. “Just look at your hands. That explains it all.”

Rose narrowed her eyes slightly and asked, “My hands?”

“Yeah, Rose, your hands. They’re pale and perfect, just like you. Your nails are perfectly manicured and there’s not a stain in sight.” she studied her hands in the light. “Now look at mine. They’re far from perfect.” He held up both of his hands and saw her eyes widen at all of the bruises and scars.

Brock looked at them too, his ugly, fat hands. Each mark represented an event in his tortuous childhood. Being burned, punctured, and stabbed; awful memories that haunted him in the middle of the night when he was trying to sleep. The demons inside of him were buried deep, but if you hit a sore spot, they came spilling out.
~
May 23rd, 4:30pm

Rose and Mr. Gillness couldn’t move. Rose sat frozen to her desk chair, not being able to take her eyes off of Brock’s hands. Mr. Gillness stood with his forehead pressed up against the cool tile of the hallway, listening in to their conversation. He didn’t dare breathe. Brock. He should have known. Brock acted just as he had when he was his age. Suddenly, he was back in his teenage years.

Pain. That was all he could register as another blow hit him in the back. It would be hard to hide these wounds from the teachers up at school tomorrow. He groaned loudly as another one came down, this one right on his spine. He wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but he knew that was a sign of weakness. And weakness would not be tolerated in a home like his.

Once the memory was gone, he couldn't stop the bile from rising in his stomach. With clammy hands, Mr. Gillness grabbed the nearest trash can and puked. He hated reliving his past. He hated admitting he still flinched when someone took out a belt or asked him to walk down a dark hallway. His childhood was something he wished he could forget forever. But it was a part of him now; it’s what made him such a stern teacher.

Gathering himself as best he could, Mr. Gillness stood up and attempted to open the door to the classroom. After several attempts, he wiped his sweaty hands on his khakis and took a deep breath before going in.

Two pairs of eyes followed him as he sat down at the desk once more. Rubbing his temples he took some shaky breaths before facing the students. This was when he realized how wet his face was. During his episode he had failed to realize he was crying. Both Rose and Brock were looking at him with wide shocked eyes. But they weren't looking at his eyes; they were looking at his hands.

His hands were big and beefy, with several pale patches of scars covering them. Mr. Gillness had always been self conscious about them and knew right away they knew. They knew his biggest weakness.

“You can – go, now.” He choked out.

Brock and Rose both rose together and exited the room, their footsteps in sync. He noticed Rose looking between Brock and his hands. Realizing how similar they were. Someone’s hands can tell a lot about a person, especially if they have a troubled past.