Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
My alarm goes off, and when it does, I’m already awake, showered, and pouring a hot cup of coffee. I slept like shit last night, and truth be told, I kind of always do. The same way that I’ve accepted that Janie is gone and I will never love again, I’ve also accepted that I will never have a thoroughly decent night of sleep again, either.
I’m not good at sleeping solo. I reach, and when I reach into cold sheets and emptiness, my mind starts running, and my lower half starts humming at just the thought of having someone again.
This morning, instead of trying to make it happen, I decided to just get up and start the day already. With eggs fried and bacon going, I pour myself a cup of coffee and swipe at the rubber band keeping today’s paper closed.
Pulling the bacon off the stove, I grab a few pieces and settle in, spreading the newspaper wide as I load my tines with the first bite.
I stop short, and yolk drips onto the bottom of the newspaper with a thunk.
The front page headline of the Bluebell Leader, in tall, thick letters, boldly reads YES, YOUR HIGH SCHOOLER KNOWS ABOUT SEX . Below that, in smaller but no less bold letters, the subtitle reads AND THEY MAY BE HAVING IT, TOO: What you need to know about high school sex education, and how important it actually is .
I glance down the hall at Jo Jo’s closed bedroom door, and my heart begins to race. Jo Jo is not having sex. She’s never even had a boyfriend and I haven’t heard her mention a crush… though… would I? She doesn’t even want to tell me when cheerleading practice is over, why the hell would she tell me if she’s having sex?
I put my fork down, the egg no longer appetizing. Sipping my coffee, I get to work on the article, reading every sentence, every statistic, taking in every little chart and graphic printed in faded black ink. By the time I reach the end, I wonder who had the nerve to write this, considering Bluebell, like most small towns, likes to pretend that sex doesn’t exist. I can’t help but think of those yellow and white shoes and that fitted little sundress as I read the last line.
WRITTEN BY MISS RILEY RIVER S
BLUEBELL HIGH HEALTH TEACHER & CHEER COACH
She’s got courage, and as much as I wanna believe Jo Jo and her friends have no clue what sex is, I’m not that stupid. I was her age once, and so was Janie. Back then, all I could think about was getting into her pants.
The article, along with gobs of statistics relating to 14-16 year olds, also lays out the best way to talk to your kids about sex, and covers the way Bluebell High is dealing with it as well.
There isn’t a word of that article that surprises me, that I disagree with, or that I even dislike. I love the article.
The idea of putting this article into action at home, though, with Jo Jo hating my damn guts? There are pipe dreams more likely than this.
I fold up the paper, then head down the hall to annoy Jo Jo by asking her if she’s ready to go to school yet.
Around two in the afternoon, Jo Jo texts me asking if she can sleep over at Alexa’s house, telling me that all the girls are. After getting an address, a name and phone number for her parents, and verifying with them that there is an actual sleepover, I agree.
“Told me I humiliated her, and that no other parents called to ask if there was actually a sleepover,” I recall to Dean, who passes me my second beer, dropped off by the bartender. I take a sip, which turns into finishing my second pint in just a few swigs.
Dean blinks at me, his strawberry hair combed with product, his best plaid shirt and vest combo on. I rear back a little, assessing him. “Wait–do you got a date later?”
He looks at the surface of his beer. “I did until she cancelled.”
I let out a sigh and lift my finger to get the bartender's attention. “Two more.”
“I’m sorry about your date,” I tell Dean, who has now finished his second beer too. He catches a burp with the back of his hand and sighs.
“I don’t care. My heart wasn’t in it anyway.” He faces me. “Sorry about Jo Jo.”
I smirk. “Which part? Her hating me or her hating everything I do or… is it the way she hates how I breathe?”
Dean scoops a handful of mixed nuts from the bowl. “All of the above.”
I watch him chew old pistachios and cashews, tapping my boot against the floor, eager for the third beer. “Everytime I had sex with Janie when we were in high school, she was sleeping over at a friend’s house,” I say, throwing finger quotes around those last two words, “so I had to call. Especially after reading the paper this morning. Jesus Christ. Did you see that?”
He dusts his hands on his thighs. “Oh yeah. It went over like a fart in church on campus today.”
My brows pull together as I grow confused. “Why? Nothing in that article is a lie. Parents need to wake up.”
Dean lets out a sigh, as if he’s discussed this and is already fatigued by it. “If you talk about it in school, there’s a greater chance you’re gonna have to talk about it at home. And parents don’t wanna talk about sex with their kids. They don’t wanna know that their kids know about jacking off, orgasms, facials…”
“Facials?” I blink at him as the bartender brings the next round. I can’t help but laugh as I again repeat, “Facials? I didn’t see a damn thing in that article about facials.”
He laughs. “I know, I’m just making a point.”
I tip my hat back. “You’re dreaming of what could’ve been on that date, eh?” I tease, which makes us both laugh.
“It’s just… parents don’t wanna think about their kids doing all that stuff. The article, while yes, full of facts and reality, just rubs their nose in that one element they’re trying to avoid.”
I nod, understanding what he’s saying, even if I don’t agree to it. “So what’s the problem? They’re mad about the article or what?”
He scratches the side of his jaw. “I think the article was a response. Miss Rivers came in and started teaching the curriculum that should have been taught all along. Cunningham winged it, and kids took the easy A, parents were none the wiser. But when Ms. Mitchell hired Miss Rivers, they overhauled. Miss Rivers is teaching the exact curriculum, but it’s upsetting parents because it hasn’t been taught in years. They’re… as the kids say, shook .”
“As the kids say?” I shake my head. “When did we get so old?”
He flicks a peanut crumb from his vest. “I don’t know but… man, you know what I wonder sometimes? How did we do it? How did we get through high school so unscathed?”
I shrug, taking a drink of my beer as a woman slides onto the barstool next to me. The place is filling up, and I have half a mind to text Jo Jo and see how her sleepover is going, but remind myself that drinking at the bar and staying off my phone is probably best. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean, kids are so mean to each other. Over stuff they can’t even control. If a kid wears old clothes, they tease him and it’s fucked up man. Kids can’t control what they have. And the teachers, I’ll tell you what, they aren’t any better.”
I trace the rim of my beer glass with the blunt tip of my finger, my lips twitching with unanswered questions. I haven’t asked Dean about Riley all that much, so asking now won’t make me seem interested. And besides, I’m not interested, I’m curious. There’s a difference.
“How’d Miss Rivers fair after that article?”
Dean’s eyes go wide. “It’s not even the article. She’s… having a rough go. I feel bad for the woman, honestly I do. Bluebell is so amazing, but once you step foot on that high school campus, anyone is fair game, I swear.”
“What do you mean it’s not just the article?” I ask, remembering Riley’s sweet disposition behind the barn months ago. She encouraged Jo Jo to do cheerleading and while I wish that Jo Jo and I could still ride together, the hard truth of it is, I’m happy Jo Jo is enjoying her new sport. I’m also happy that she has an adult to look up to, if it can’t be me. Miss Riley Rivers is a teacher and a coach, and if Jo Jo is going to be persuaded or inspired by someone, I should feel lucky it’s Riley.
“Cadence Caine poured yogurt over her head in the lunchroom this week. I’m pretty sure Leah is her only friend,” Dean says, turning away from me for a moment to greet a few ranchers that sidle up next to him at the bar. Their sons are on the football team, and Dean coaches varsity. After a few minutes of on the field talk, Dean returns his focus my way.
“Leah’s her… friend? Isn’t she like… twenty years older than her?” The principal flashes through my mind. She’s been there since our junior year. How in the world did that friendship happen?
“I’d guess but obviously I don’t know for sure since I’m not asking my boss how old she is,” Dean says, laughing. “I don’t know how they became friends but… they are. Leah goes into her classroom all the time. And Riley goes to Leah’s office a lot, too. It irritates the other teachers.”
I laugh at that. “Why? It doesn't got a thing to do with them.”
“I don’t disagree but… I don’t know. Jealousy, maybe?” He finishes his beer. “I think the article she wrote was smart. I’m not a parent, so I know I don’t know that I get a say in all this but I’ll tell you what, Jake. I’m around teenage boys all damn day and half the weekend for half the year. They are not too young to hear this stuff. Trust me. I am a walking thesaurus for all the ways in which teenage boys talk about getting laid.”
I can’t help but snort at that. Even if you’re having sex at that age, you’re not doing a good job. “That was us, too,” I recall, almost embarrassed now.
Dean clinks his glass against mine, albeit they’re both empty. “I gave her one of my couches a couple days ago,” he says.
Confusion knits my brows together, and he clarifies. “I was waiting for my new one to be delivered and wanted to get rid of the old one so I posted it in the break room. I didn’t know it was Miss Rivers who took the flyer. She called, gave me her address, and I showed up to an empty little house on the north side of Bluebell and she helped me drag it inside.”
Jealousy that I haven’t felt in years runs through me, making me curl my toes in my boots. “Is that right?”
He nods. “Yep. I asked her how she’s doing, since, you know, that yogurt thing happened right in front of me. And I’ve heard the teachers talking shit in the halls about that article.”
“I still don’t get the harm in that article where teachers are concerned,” I admit. “Parents not liking it, I get it. I don’t agree but I get it. But why the hell do the other teachers care?”
“They think she only got to the front page of the paper because of her ties to Leah. They think she’s gonna get whatever she wants. Better coaching gig. Newspaper articles. Whatever she wants, Leah makes it happen, I guess.” He waves a hand through the air. “I don’t know. I honestly try to stay out of all the drama on campus.”
I chew the inside of my cheek while I count a few seconds, trying not to look overly interested. “So how’s she holding up?”
“Everyone ignored her today.” He looks down at the bar, lines etched across his forehead as he struggles to recall something through the haze of three beers.
I shake my head.
“I like her. I think it was a good article. The cheer girls like her. I think she’s great.”
“Great, huh?” I eye him skeptically and before I can catch myself I ask, “You wanna sleep with her?”
My stomach twists, but it makes no sense that it would get all twisted and hot over Dean liking Riley. It’s gotta be all the beer on an empty stomach. I lift a finger to catch the bartender’s attention, then order myself a burger and fries.
“Sleep with her? No, not at all. I can’t really even be too friendly to her because she’s single and I’m single, and if I’m too nice, everyone’s gonna accuse me of wanting to sleep with her.”
“You really don’t?”
He shakes his head. “She’s sweet. Funny as all hell. She told me a joke at her house that had me in tears. But no. She’s not my type. And even if she were, it’s football season. I don’t need dick-stractions.”
“Cute. ”
He grins. “Gonna call your girl and check up on her?”
“Miss Rivers?” I nearly fall off my barstool. “Why would I call–”
“I was talking about Jo Jo ,” he replies, wearing a smirk. “But good to see who you’re thinking about.”
I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, you still got some high school in you, too,” Dean says, his cheeks red from how much we’ve been laughing. Or maybe the beer. Could be both.
“Learned from the best,” I tell him, then look at my phone. “Nah. I’m not gonna call her. I’m just gonna let her enjoy her sleepover. After I finish my burger, I’m gonna go home, take a hot shower, and–”
“Jerk off?” Dean offers, lifting his brows. “I gotta imagine jerking off with a teenage daughter at home is pretty… hard.”
“Shower, truck, garage,” I tell him, because I do not have a lock on my bedroom door.
“The nomad of jerking off,” he says, clinking his fourth beer against my water glass.