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If you asked Eggsy, he would say he didn't deserve a detention. However, as it happened, you didn't exactly get much say in the matter if you smashed a car window to smithereens. And you definitely didn't get a say if the car belonged to the deputy head.
Now that being said, it wasn't even him that smashed the window, it was the bloody football that hit the window. Of course, the teacher on duty at the time didn't see it that way, and claimed he had kicked the ball with malicious intent and was 'setting a bad example for the younger students'.
If anyone was setting a bad example, it was the teacher. Which horrific creature dished out detentions on the last day of term? Now that had done more to terrify the tiny little year sevens, than some trivial broken glass.
But alas, the imminent threat of a phone call home was enough to force Eggsy to drag himself across to the English block in time for detention.
The classroom walls were a dreary yellow, blotched with dark, greasy spots of dampness. They might've been a brilliant white about eighty years ago when this building was first opened. Though whoever had the mind-blowing idea of building a basement, should've been sacked immediately. It was always raining here, and with the lack of ventilation, it was never exactly revolutionary.
Dotted across the walls were a few posters from last year's World Book Day. Or attempted posters, since most of them were blank pieces of paper, with hastily drawn stick figures.
He missed those sorts of lessons. Being in high school, dossing about during lessons as well as out of them. Falling asleep part way through maths, only to be elbowed sharply by his neighbour when the bell rang.
Sixth Form, in comparison, was a pile of horseshit. Mostly because Eggsy didn't want to bloody fail, which meant he had to pay attention, which left less time to mess about and so he had to make the most of his breaks and lunches, which in turn landed him in detention.
Eggsy was halfway through making a paper aeroplane when the door flew open, thudding against the wall. He could've sworn the crack hadn't been there before.
He scrunched the paper up into a ball and shoved it into his school bag. In the same movement, he pulled out his pencil case and a fresh piece of paper – lined, of course.
Eggsy glanced towards the teach- no.
His pencil case fell to the floor.
Roxy Morton, of all people, stormed into the classroom. She flung her bag onto the nearest desk, a resounding crack echoing through the room.
And she looked angry. Vexed, even.
This was going to be fun.
"Good day Roxy?" he asked the girl, mouth twitching.
She turned around, her eyes flashing as she pulled a chair out, the legs groaning across the floor.
"Shut up, Eggsy."
How utterly delightful.
"Careful there," he said, "Don't sound too excited."
The poor desk, already missing a chunk from one side, wouldn't stand for much longer if she didn't stop glaring at it like it was the sole cause of all the troubles in her life.
"Oh, I'm absolutely thrilled to be here," she said through gritted teeth.
"I can tell," he said, raising a brow. "Did you kick a football through Mr Wood's car as well?"
"I didn't do-" She turned to him, her eyes narrowed. "That was you?"
He shrugged slightly. "I didn't do it on purpose."
"I didn't think you were that shit at football."
"Oi."
That was uncalled for. Like, yeah, there was a reason he was still in school instead of the Arsenal Youths team, but that was bloody rude. He was plenty good at football and even got picked third once – it was a lunchtime game against the Year Thirteens.
"I'm well sick at football," he said petulantly. "I was captain in Year Eight."
"And you never played for the school team ever again." The words had an air of haughtiness, a tinge of arrogance.
"The P.E teachers wanted different things," said Eggsy, folding his paper in half, "so I decided to step down."
Roxy raised a blonde brow, perfectly arched. "Didn't know Year Eight football was that serious."
"It was best for the school," he said solemnly.
Well, it was the only option he had. With Daisy starting primary school, and his mum working overtime, something had to give.
"I'm sure it was."
"So you're still not going to tell me why you're in detention?" His eyes fixed on the paper as he spoke, carefully folding the top corners down to the middle.
"Oh," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "I didn't do anything."
"Really?" He asked, folding the sides in.
"Yes, actually."
And there really wasn't any need to be so angry with him. It wasn't his fault she was in detention.
"So what was it that you... didn't do?"
Roxy didn't respond straight away, and for a moment the room was silent. Before a faint scratching noise became apparent.
Eggsy looked up from the paper plane, only to find Roxy mauling the desk apart with her fingernails. Well, it wasn't exactly mauling, more like re-enforcing the vulgar doodles engraved by some former high schooler.
"Did you kill someone?" He paused for a moment. "Or were you falsely accused of murder? Because you said you didn't do anything so-"
"It was Charlie," she spat.
"What?" he asked, brows scrunching up.
And yeah, he's a bit confused. Because he knows Roxy's posh and all, and so is Charlie, but they didn't exactly hang around together. Like, did she do Charlie, as in-
"You screwed Charlie Hesketh in a classroom?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she choked out, her hands curling on the desk.
It wasn't unheard of. It happened in other schools all the time. A few years ago, a couple of teachers had been caught at their own school. It's not like it was out of the realm of possibility.
"Is that what the slimy git told you?" Her head dropped onto her clenched fists.
Now, that was offensive. His heart might've shattered at the very thought. He didn't talk to the likes of Charlie Hesketh. Not civilly, at least.
"I'm appalled at the very notion of speaking to that dickhead," he said, crossing his arms. "I think you owe me an apology for that."
"If anyone's owed an apology," she said, her words muffled by the desk, "It's me. I can't believe you thought I- urgh."
"So why are you here?" he asked.
Roxy lifted her face from the desk a fraction, her cheeks tinged pink.
"I'm not telling you anything until you apologise," she said, wrinkling her nose.
And of course, he's bloody curious. What on earth had Roxy Morton done to get herself landed in detention?
"I'm sorry," he said, rolling his eyes. "Happy?"
Roxy huffed. "You were supposed to be all stubborn and stuff."
Eggsy Unwin, the boy who wasn't 'all stubborn, and stuff'. It'd go down on his gravestone.
"I'm sorry?"
She took a deep breath. "I punched him."
At that exact moment, the world stopped moving.
Or at the very least, Roxy did.
She didn't blink, she didn't breathe. She simply stared at him, her brown eyes awaiting judgement.
She looked like one of those people dressed as statues outside of Windsor Castle, painted in silver and gold. He'd been there on a school trip back in Year Six, and they'd absolutely terrified him.
Except Roxy wasn't like them. She wasn't all monochrome, and she certainly wasn't scary. At least not right now.
Right now, she looked like a bloody goddess. Or maybe she was a goddess, in a mortal's disguise.
"You," he breathed, "punched Charlie Hesketh?"
"According to Mr Wilson, that's what happened."
"So what did you actually do?"
She laughed quietly. "I elbowed him. Sir didn't believe me when I said it was an accident."
"Was it an accident?"
"Of course not," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Why did you do it?" he asked with a grin.
A flush rose to her cheeks.
"He was being a dickhead," she said quietly, biting her lip.
"He's always a dickhead though, innit?"
"Yeah, but it just pissed me off today."
She heaved her bag onto the desk and pulled out some paper.
"But you don't usually batter people when you get pissed off," he said, lifting his paper aeroplane and throwing it. It flew across the classroom, and hit the teacher's desk, crumpling onto the floor.
"I didn't batter him," she said quickly.
Eggsy waved her off. "Like, I've been next to you in Psychology for the past two terms, and we had loads of lessons together in high school. You haven't punched me yet."
"I didn't punch him."
"That's not the point," he said. "Why did you do it?"
"You must've heard the rumours," she said slowly.
She'd have to be more specific than that. Just last month the Year Tens had managed to convince everyone Miss Atkinson - not related to Howard Atkinson in their year - worked at a nightclub on the weekends.
And then someone in Year Twelve had apparently seen a teacher going at it with a student's parent. It made for a rather awkward Parents Evening, especially since they'd accidentally named the wrong teacher. It had been Mr Evans, and not Dr Evans.
That was the thing about rumours. They simply weren't all that reliable.
"Which rumours?"
Roxy had the nerve to roll her eyes. "You know the ones about me and-," she glanced at him "- and...erm, well..."
"You and...?"
"You really haven't heard?" she asked.
"I've been in isolation since break," he said. "Happens when you break a car window."
"So you have no idea the whole of Sixth Form thinks we're sleeping together?"
"I have abso- what?"
That couldn't be right. Where on earth did they get that idea from?
Clearly, the rumour mill needed a complete overhaul. He didn't even have Roxy's bloody phone number, and his fellow peers thought he was-
He couldn't even think about it. No, because no one in their right mind would think that he and Roxy were actually, like, together.
She had to be messing with him. Surely.
"Erm, yeah," she muttered, staring at her desk.
Eggsy closed his eyes. "What's that got to do with Charlie?"
"He had a go at you?"
Was she out of her mind?
"So you decked him in the middle of the classroom," he said, exhaling slowly. "When you knew rumours were flying about?"
She nodded slightly. "We're, like, almost friends. I wasn't going to let him bad mouth you."
'Almost friends' was a rather apt description for acquaintances who'd gone to school together for five and half years.
He glanced at Roxy, and he knew there and then the rumours would haunt them until the end of Year Thirteen.
"So in your quest for justice, you decided to make these rumours worse?"
"They're not that bad," she said weakly.
"You stormed into detention like you were ready to end the world," he said, tearing some paper from his refill pad. "And now you're saying it's not that bad?"
"Could've been worse though?"
"I don't think it could."
"So you're saying if it was someone else," she said slowly, "it would've been better?"
"No?"
"But you just said this can't have got any worse," she said. "So clearly you think I'm the worst possible person to have rumours-"
"Are you high?"
It would be Roxy's reputation that took a hit, not his. It's not like the rumours were exactly bad for him. Quite the opposite.
She ran a hand through her hair, her hair falling over her grey blazer, a sea of blonde – shades of wheat giving way to the deepest of golds, interspersed with the softest of browns.
The rumours weren't bad for him, at all.
"Don't be stupid," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just can't believe you think I'm the worst possible person to go out with in the entire school."
While Eggsy didn't think that, it never occurred to him that Roxy would actually care. She seemed so aloof most of the time, unbothered by the stuff around her – apart from detention, it seemed.
"You want to go out with me?" He smirked.
"No," she spluttered. "It's the principle of the matter."
"Do you think I'm the worst possible person to go out with?"
"No," she said exasperated. "Shit-" her eyes widened considerably, "-Crap- I didn't... when does detention end?"
The door creaked open, and his eyes flew back to the paper on his desk. A very, very blank piece of paper.
Eggsy began jotting things on the sheet, turning it around for good measure.
"That would be exactly now, Roxy," Mr Hart said, strolling to the teacher's desk.
Detention rarely finished on time, but it had never finished early. He had about six years of experience, give or take.
It was truly a first for the ages.
"You heard that sir?" asked Roxy, horrified. She stared intently at the foot of the desk, fingers tapping on knees.
"Heard what?" Mr Hart peered at the girl from above his glasses.
Eggsy dragged his school bag onto the desk, and tore a strip from the paper, before throwing his pencil case into it. "Nothing sir. She's just worried about missing the bus."
Roxy didn't take the bus home, it was common knowledge at this point. Eggsy just hoped Mr Hart didn't give a toss.
"Before I change my mind," he said, his eyes sparkling, "I suggest the two of you clear out. Wouldn't want Mr Wilson to find out, would we?"
"Thanks, sir," she said, scrambling out of her seat. "Have a good Easter." She was out of the classroom in a flash.
Eggsy hurried after her, yelling a quick, "Enjoy the holidays sir," before the door slammed shut behind him.
Roxy marched away from him, her pace increasing with each step.
"Oi, Roxy," he said, as he caught up to her. "There's no prize for being the first one out of the gate, you know."
"Get lost, Eggsy."
He saved her from the evil clutches of Mr Hart, and this was how she repaid him. It simply wouldn't do.
He slung his arm over her shoulder, and unsurprisingly she shrugged it off.
"Don't be like that," he said. "I haven't even done anything."
"Stop bloody following me."
"We haven't even left the school yet," he said. "Come on Roxy, it's not my fault about these rumours, I didn't even know them until detention."
"Of course it's your fault." She threw him a glare, her hands clenched by her side. "If you weren't so bloody nice all the time then none of the rumours would even exist."
Obviously, he was nice, that was his thing. It had never led to any rumours before though. Clearly, Roxy had done something as well.
"Well, I'm sorry about that?" His eyes widened, his stride slowing a touch.
"You better be," she huffed. "All these years without a detention and now because of you-"
"I'm not the one who punched Charlie Hesketh."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Roxy stopped abruptly; he would've barrelled into her if she hadn't sunk against the glossy, black railings separating the English Block Entrance from the road up to the school. Her bag strained against her shoulder – did she pack it with bricks? – and her phone protruded from her front blazer pocket.
"I know," she groaned, placing her head in her hands.
"What's wrong then?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said, settling herself on the floor.
He'd be a liar if he said he wasn't tempted to pull his phone out and take a picture. Roxy Morton sitting on faded concrete tiles.
But he also valued his life, and there was no point in tempting fate right before the holidays.
"It clearly isn't nothing."
"I didn't mean it," she said quietly.
"Mean what?"
She moved her hands down her face, so they only covered her mouth and nose. There was a faint blush on her cheeks, surrounding two pale thumb-sized spots where her fingers had been pressing into the skin.
"It doesn't matter."
"Is it the rumours?"
She nodded slightly, her hands absentmindedly roaming the uneven ground.
"Everyone'll forget by the time we come back to school," he said. "It's pretty funny, though. Can't believe there's people out there who think you'd actually go out with me."
If someone told him, these sorts of rumours would be flying about, he'd have laughed for about two weeks straight. He supposed he had two weeks now, didn't he? Not that it felt like a laughing matter now.
Roxy winced.
"You'd reject me before I even finished asking," he said. "Probably take the piss in the middle of assembly-"
"I told Charlie we were going out."
"What?"
But she'd just told him that she didn't like him and rumours had already been flying about-
"I didn't say it in those words exactly," she said. "We were arguing and then I said something like 'so what if I'm going out with Eggsy'-"
"You had an argument about me," he said slowly, gesturing at himself, "in the middle of maths?"
"That's besides the point," she snapped. "The point is the rumours only started today. So if you get a bunch of texts from your mates-"
"You told your whole maths class we're going out," he interrupted her, brows furrowing, "and then you decked Charlie Hesketh?"
"I elbowed him first."
"That is sick," he said.
"Have you forgotten the part where the whole school thinks we're together?"
He shook his head, taking a seat next to her.
"That's the best bit, innit. Wouldn't have minded a warning though."
"What was I supposed to do? Message you in the middle of maths? I don't even have your phone number, how was I-"
"Check your top pocket," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Roxy's hand went to the breast pocket of her blazer, her eyes narrowing as she pulled something out. A small shred of paper.
It had eleven digits scribbled in black ink from a roller ball pen. A pen which currently sat in his in his pencil case, because only an idiot would risk a second pen imploding in just as many weeks.
"When did you do that?" she asked, scrutinising the paper.
Eggsy grinned, winking for good measure.
"I'm not going to use it," she said firmly but clutched the paper in her left palm.
"I'm sure you won't." He could almost feel his eyes brightening.
She stood up, brushing herself off. "I won't."
And she didn't.
At least not for the first three days of the holidays.
Then at about one in the afternoon – Tuesday afternoon – his sister, dropped her Lego tower, breaking it into two.
"Who's Roxy?" she asked, holding half of the former tower.
Eggsy, who'd been eating a cheese sandwich, choked as the bread went down the wrong way.
"No one," he gasped, reaching out for his glass of water. He finished the whole glass in one gulp. "Why are you asking?"
"There's a text on your phone," she said, holding the mobile up. "It says-"
"Pass it here," he said, scrambling towards her. "Oi Daisy-"
She jumped onto the sofa, phone gripped tightly.
"It says 'Have you started the Approaches homework?'" She held the phone aloft.
No, he hadn't started the psychology homework. The holidays had barely started, and quite frankly he didn't want to think about why humans behaved the way they behaved.
"Oh."
"It finishes with 'x, Roxy." She climbed on the frame. "Mia from Mrs Salt's class said an 'x' in a text means love." Her large brown eyes stared at him unblinkingly. "Is Roxy your girlfriend?"
"No," he spluttered. "Pass me the phone."
Daisy hopped off the sofa and held the phone out, beaming at him.
Have you started the Approaches homework?
-Roxy
That little shi-
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