Chapter 3
chapter three
Emme
Today’s Learning Objective:
Students will take a walk down (naked, oiled) memory lane.
I stamped my boots on the mat, dislodging wet slabs of snow as I watched the last bus pull away from the school. Bus duty was far superior to putting up with the carpool loop. Even if some of the buses always ran late, I’d never find myself fighting with a minivan’s sliding doors or directing traffic out in the middle of the street just to get the line moving.
Still, bus duty days when the cold, damp winter wind seemed to cut right through my coat and drive all the way down into my bones were rough.
Or maybe I was overly sensitive to everything right now. Every chilly day, every traffic jam, every paper cut, every last minor inconvenience made it hard to breathe. Hard to stop myself from pulling the blankets over my head and hiding from the world until it learned to treat me a little better.
It was probably a bit of both.
With frozen fingers, I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick birthday text to my best friend from back home. High school home, as it was. I had a lot of homes. Asking me where I was from was a ride most people didn’t survive.
I returned to my classroom but headed straight to the adjoining door leading to Jamie Rouselle’s first-grade room. The heat really cranked in there and she always had top-shelf snacks. Another bonus: I didn’t have to pretend to be a functional human with her.
I was all right because I had to be all right.
Because it was frowned upon to be an unwashed hermit who ate dry cereal by the handful and watched rom-coms only to sob-scream “Lies!” at the happy endings.
Because I had a job that required me to keep twenty-six second graders entertained for seven hours a day.
Because Grace was never more than one feisty mood away from calling off the wedding. And it didn’t matter what kind of emotional shitstorm I was living through, I wasn’t about to let her do that or throw away the money I’d spent on that bridesmaid dress.
So, I was all right. I was okay. I was capable of functioning—but only when necessary.
I found Jamie pressing a can of Diet Coke to her forehead. “How long until April break?” she asked, her eyes closed.
“Fifteen school days.” I dropped into a seat across from her at the small group reading table and dug into the bag of popcorn waiting there. “Assuming we make it that far.”
She opened the Diet Coke with a sigh. “We’ll make it.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said, shoving a fistful of popcorn into my mouth. The manners on me were A-plus. “Your class doesn’t try to stage a coup every other day.”
“I survived them,” she said, “and you will too.”
My second graders had been her first graders last year, and they were a handful. I didn’t have enough paraprofessionals to support all the learning and developmental needs in my classroom, and the one I did have split her time with another class. The school had been trying to hire more staff all year, but now it was almost the end of March and I’d resigned myself to the situation.
Jamie tipped her chin toward the hall as she ate some popcorn. “Has Grace already left?”
Now that I’d staved off hypothermia, I shook out of my coat. “She’s meeting with the photographer before her shift.”
“You know,” Jamie started, frowning at her Diet Coke, “I want to support this side hustle of hers, but I’m worried things would change between us if I did.”
“Do you know what’s involved in a full bikini wax? I do—because I used to live with her and listen to her stories.” I shook my head. “Don’t do it. And not simply because you’d need to hold your butt cheeks open for her to get all the way in there.”
“I mean, I’ve been in stranger positions and with stranger people.”
I choked down a laugh. “You don’t need to get waxed. Moral support is enough.”
Grace had worked as an esthetician all through college. She still picked up shifts after school and over the summers, and she’d added more in the past few months to chip away at the wedding costs. From what I’d gathered, she was very good at her work—always in demand—though I wasn’t sure I wanted her ripping hair from my skin. I knew her evil side too well.
My phone buzzed several times on the table. I glanced at the screen while stuffing more popcorn into my mouth.
Wildcat: thanks
Wildcat: it’s good to hear from you
Wildcat: I was thinking about you the other day
Wildcat: any chance you’re free for dinner sometime soon?
Wildcat: I’m around this weekend
“If that’s Teddy hitting you up again, I’m gonna knock some sense into that boy with my—” Jamie leaned over to look at my screen. “Emmeline, my sweet, my heart, my love, who the hell is Wildcat ?”
“A friend from high school,” I said, laughing. “It’s his birthday today.”
“And his name is Wildcat?” She laced her fingers together under her chin. “How have you never mentioned this to me?”
I kept laughing. It felt strange. Rusty. Like my body had to teach those muscles how to move again. I guess I hadn’t laughed much recently. “He played football at the University of Arizona. They’re the Wildcats. I had opinions about him going to Arizona so I passive-aggressively called him Wildcat. That’s how he’s stored in my phone. His real name is Ryan.”
“I’ll be honest, I was expecting a more amusing story. Something about growing up in a survivalist cult’s wilderness compound. Or maybe shape-shifting. That would’ve been a lot of fun.” She returned to her Diet Coke with a hearty purr. “Tell me about this Ryan fellow.”
I grinned at my screen as I shot back a quick response. “He plays football. Quarterback. For the Boston team. Or, New England. Whatever it is.”
“You’re on a birthday-text basis with a high school friend who went pro?”
I propped my feet up on the small chair beside me. I was exhausted . And I was wearing pants with an aggressive waistband-and-button situation that dug into my belly since I was painfully bloated. I should’ve remembered I was heading into the half of the month that necessitated soft, forgiving fabrics. “Yeah.”
“Again, I have to ask—you’ve never mentioned this to me?”
I motioned to my phone. “This is the most I’ve heard from him in the past few months. Usually we send birthday texts and maybe a random thing about back home. He has a million things going on. These days, I barely see him once a year.”
“But he’s been thinking about you.”
That could mean anything. He could’ve heard one of the songs we used to listen to on repeat while sharing earbuds or a line from a movie we’d quoted to death. He could’ve spotted some tangerines in the grocery store—if he even went to the grocery store for himself anymore. He probably had people for that. Most likely, he could’ve crossed paths with my current stepdad. Or any of the previous ones.
I reread the messages. I knew Ryan. It meant nothing.
“Is he a friend from high school or a boy friend from high school? Are we talking about some kind of first love situation?” she asked.
“Friend,” I said. “We were always friends.”
Friendship had always been a fragile, fleeting thing for me. Moving a lot as a kid meant I didn’t have many lasting connections. Just as soon as I’d get settled and find my place in a social ecosystem, we’d pick up and leave. For a long time, Ryan was my only friend. Only true friend. And the only one who’d lasted after we’d finished high school and moved away from home. There were people I knew, people I’d hang out with, but no one else like Ryan. Not until I met Grace in college. Jamie and a few other teacher friends came along later.
Jamie gave me an assessing glance. “Are you going to meet up with him?”
“Yeah,” I said, automatically. I’d really wanted to rot in bed all weekend, but I’d always make time for Ryan. Putting real clothes on and acting like a human for one night wouldn’t kill me. “Even in the off-season, his schedule is go-go-go.”
“In that case, I’m going to need to conduct a background check.” She reached for her phone. “For your well-being but also mine, you’re not allowed to mix and mingle with anyone who hasn’t been preapproved. This is part of my research-based post-breakup rehabilitation plan so I’ll accept no back talk about it. What’s this Wildcat’s last name?”
“Ralston,” I said, going back for the popcorn.
“Ryan…Ralston? Why does that sound familiar?” Her brow wrinkled as she typed. “No, no, no. That can’t be— no . You didn’t casually go to high school with one of the most famous players in pro football, Emme.”
She showed me a headline about Ryan’s contract extension making him the highest-paid player in the League. I nodded. “Yeah. He’s done well for himself.”
“I’m never not fascinated by your life, Miss Ahlborg.” Jamie huffed out an incredulous laugh before turning back to her screen. “There’s also the matter of this.”
She enlarged a photo of Ryan, completely naked save for the football loosely held over the juncture between his legs. He’d been part of a special feature in a sports magazine where all the athletes were tastefully nude. When it came out, he’d texted with a link and asked how much shit everyone from high school would give him about it. A lot, we’d agreed.
The hometown loved him, of course, but at their core, they were ballbusters.
“Someone’s entire job was rubbing oil on him for this photo,” she said. “They went to work one day, were handed a jug of the finest oil in the land, and sent in the direction of this naked, hulking man-beast. And they got paid for it.” She shook her head. “I’m in the wrong line of work.”
“Honey, they would’ve fired you the second you dropped to your knees and said, Yes, Daddy .”
She thrust the screen toward me. “Can you blame me?”
I held a hand up to shield my eyes from the dark whorls of tattoos running over his glistening shoulders, down his arms, over his chest. The impossible indents of his abs and the cuts that bracketed the football. “I don’t need the close-up.”
“Well, I do.” She tipped her head to either side as if she’d be able to sneak a peek behind the football. “Emme, he’s beautiful . He’s like a statue. Michelangelo could not have imagined anything like this. And his hair, my god.”
I couldn’t argue with any of these points but especially the last. It was unfair that Ryan’s dark chestnut hair spent so much time trapped inside a helmet because it was glorious . Thick, lustrous, and always falling back into its proper shape no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it. Natural, sun-kissed highlights that a stylist could only dream of replicating.
I’d always teased him about having a secret hair care routine but the annoying truth was that he didn’t need to put in any effort. He could wash his hair with bar soap and leave it to air-dry, and he’d still look like he belonged in shampoo commercials.
These days, he had a huge endorsement deal with a high-end hair care brand.
“He did not look like this in high school,” she said. “Nature requires balance. Swear to me that he was gangly and awkward.”
I opened my photo app and scrolled way, way back in time. “This,” I started, “was from junior year. I will accept no criticism of my highlights or the amount of war-paint bronzer caked on my face. I was a child.”
I handed her my phone. She lifted her fingers to her lips, tapping lightly as she swiped. “Nature must be getting its balance from somewhere else because it took nothing from him.” She paused to awww at the screen and then reached over to pinch my cheek. “Weren’t you the cutest thing ever? Look at that little face!”
I swatted her away. “You’re embarrassing me, Mom!”
Laughing, Jamie said, “Now explain why you’re holding two oranges in front of your eyes.”
“Probably because my frontal cortex wasn’t fully developed and I did ridiculous things just like everyone else at that time in their life?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was really into those little tangerines. I’d have a whole bag of them in my locker, shove a few in my pockets, and eat them throughout the day. My nails were always orange from the rind.”
Jamie hummed to herself. “I’m sure I did weird shit like that in high school too but I can’t think of anything other than conducting séances in the bathroom. But that’s pretty ordinary.” She pointed to the screen and a photo from the sidelines after a game. Ryan had his helmet tucked under one arm, me under the other. A serious, scowling set to his jaw like always. “You two were awfully cozy. Just look at this arm around your shoulder. See the way his forearm is braced high across your chest? It’s like he wants to paw at your neck. It’s possessive.”
It’d never been like that between us. We’d always been close but we were friends, the best of friends. We shared everything. Even sandwiches. There were no secrets between us. Our other friends joked that we spoke a different language when we were together and, all these years later, I thought that was right. We shared a mother tongue spoken in lands where everything was fucked up beyond reason and you just had to survive, to get through it, and that was why we fit together so well.
But there was no heat, no romance.
We both dated other people throughout high school. There was never a moment when it seemed like there could be more for us. If I had to choose, I didn’t think I would’ve chosen more. He was the only person I had and I couldn’t lose him. It wasn’t the sort of thing I’d gamble on.
“And let’s not forget about the fact he’s soaked in sweat,” she went on, “and you don’t seem to have any problem with that. You’re right up in there. It’s like you’re letting him mark you with his scent. It’s very primal.”
“He was not marking me,” I said. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“I’m merely telling you what I’m seeing, love.”
“Trust me, we’re just friends. That’s all it’s ever been. I’m sure you’ll uncover plenty of red carpet photos of him with supermodels and pop stars getting even cozier. He’s made the rounds since being in the League.”
“Oh, tell me more.” She handed back my phone and returned to her own. “I’m in the mood to decode some more body language but I’m betting there are zero supermodels jumping into his arms while he was dripping with sweat, unlike some people.”
I turned all of my attention to picking at my nails. I shouldn’t have shown Jamie that photo. It was too hard to explain how it was with me and Ryan. We’d always been…close. You had to be there to understand it. “I’m sure there’s something from after a playoff game, down on the field.”
“Hmm. Nope. Not seeing any of that. Just your boy squeaky clean with a bunch of copy-and-paste blondes. Can we talk about all this pouting though? Never a smile from this one. Are those the only muscles he doesn’t have?”
I shrugged. “He’s intense.”
She dragged her gaze away from the screen to eye me for a second. “You two must’ve been peas in a very dark and broody pod.”
“We were not.” And I wasn’t. Moody, perhaps. Serious for no specific reason, yes. Completely unimpressed with the world and everyone in it, always.
“What was high school Emme into? Did you have a subversive Tumblr? Did you fall down the Star Wars fandom hole? I bet you could write some top-shelf Reylo filth. Or were you a Paramore girlie who couldn’t pull back on the eyeliner to save your life?”
I blew out a breath. “I was a Les Mis girlie.”
“Well, fuck.”
I nodded. “My fanfic handle was Eponine1817.”
“Mhmm. Yep. That checks out.”
“That’s how I met Grace, actually,” I said. “We were both wearing Anne Hathaway Theater Camp t-shirts at freshman orientation. Spotted each other across the student union. Love at first sight.”
Jamie’s brow quirked. “I thought you two were roommates.”
“We were. Once we convinced our assigned roommates to switch.” After a moment, I added, “We played that soundtrack to death that first year. The RA on our floor was so sick of us. I ended up with a minor in French.”
She took another sip. “But you weren’t broody.”
“Nope. Never broody .”
She gave me a thumbs-up that said she’d let me believe my lies before slapping a hand on the table. “Wait! Wait. Now I remember why his name is so familiar.”
When Jamie turned the screen toward me this time, it showed a photo of Ryan on the sidelines of a pro game, sweat pouring down his face. His jaw a hard, severe line. His eyes dark with that ruthless focus of his I knew so well.
But none of that concerned Jamie. No, she enlarged the image and jabbed her finger at the noticeable bulge in his game pants. “I remember when the internet was on fire over this last year.”
I plucked the phone from her hand and set it facedown. “I don’t think that’s what you think it is. There’re all kinds of padding and protective thingies in there. It’s very complicated. Think about it—they wouldn’t be slamming into each other without making sure their downstairs affairs were protected.”
“It’s like a topographical map.”
She tried to grab her phone, but I beat her to it and held it close to my chest. I didn’t need another eyeful.
Despite being there to watch Ryan win it all in high school, I didn’t like football anymore. I wanted all the best things for my old friend, but I went out of my way to avoid Boston sports talk. But I knew a lot about the game. The players, the positions, the rules. And the equipment. And I knew Jamie’s assessment of that topography was probably accurate.
Not that I’d ever tell her. We needed some shred of boundaries around here.
“Honey, I get it,” I said. “I’m just saying I don’t need to be involved in the Where’s Waldo? search of Ryan’s pants.”
She sipped the last of her Diet Coke, her eyes narrowed. Eventually, she set the can down and folded her arms on the table. She tipped her head toward my phone, asking, “Did you tell him you’re available?”
I reached for my phone and glanced at his response.
Wildcat: Saturday? 7? 8?
Wildcat: I’ll handle the reservations
Emme: Saturday at 7 works for me
Wildcat: I’ll shoot you the details when I have them
Wildcat: can I send a car to pick you up?
Emme: no, I’m good. thanks though
“I did and?—”
“Let me see.” She snatched my phone away and scanned the messages. After a moment, she handed it back to me. “You’re legally required to tell me everything that occurs.”
I laughed again and this one didn’t feel like such a strain. It felt better. “I already knew that.”
“As the coordinator of your post-breakup rehabilitation, I could always come along with you. For support and supervisory purposes. I’d be completely silent. No talk of body oiling or topography. You wouldn’t even notice me.”
“I think we’d notice a third person at the table, James.”
“I’d say nothing. Unless you tried to do something stupid,” she added.
I stared at her. “I don’t think there’s any stupid thing I could do with Ryan. He doesn’t function that way.”
“Let’s just wait and see, shall we?”