You Give Love a Bad Name

by Marilyn Brant

  “It’s not a crime to like science,” he shot back, along with a teasing look that was more than a little menacing. “And it’s original. I don’t think any class before has used physics metaphors in their theme.”

  Stephanie squinted at him. And Heath, quiet as he was, slightly shook his head.

  “Fine,” Matt said. “I have other ideas. How about ‘Fairy Tales Come True’ then? Cinderella. Sleeping Beauty. Aladdin. Or whatever.”

  “That might be a big overdone,” Stephanie said diplomatically.

  “Which is a nice way of saying it’s majorly lame,” added Alexis.

  Heath was more obvious in his head shaking this time.

  Matt looked at me and shrugged. “Tough crowd.”

  I laughed. “They’re very good suggestions, Matt, but I think you can strike a balance between too unusual and not quite unusual enough. What’s your third idea?”

  “Oh, ‘Decades’ was number three,” he said.

  “All decades?” Stephanie asked with a hint of concern.

  “No,” Matt said. “We’d narrow it down to one and focus our theme around that. ‘Swinging ‘40s’ or ‘Psychedelic ‘60s’ or ‘Totally Rad ‘80s’ or whichever other one we want. We could decorate to match the era.”

  “I could actually go with that,” Alexis said.

  Heath, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the pretty and outspoken Vice President since he entered the room, was quick to agree with Alexis.

  Stephanie consulted her notes carefully and nodded. “I like it.” Then she looked at me. “Any objections to Matt’s ‘Decades’ idea, Mademoiselle?”

  “None at all,” I said. “That sounds fun.”

  “Heath,” Stephanie said, “didn’t you already design something with a Seventies theme?”

  “Yeah. In junior high,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, that’s right! The mock Watergate trials we did in social studies,” Alexis said. “Those backdrops were great.”

  Heath’s face lit up as he smiled his thanks at her, but he seemed rendered speechless by her praise. Wow. The boy had it bad.

  Alexis, however, didn’t seem to realize the effect she had on him. “I think the Eighties would be a cool decade. Our class hasn’t done anything with that, and the music is fun to dance to and sort of familiar. The Forties would be classy and all, but no one would know the songs.”

  “I know some of the songs,” Matt said, probably just to be contrary and to tease Alexis. “Not everyone in our class is ignorant of pop culture from prior eras just because—”

  “Oh, stop!” Alexis threw her granola bar wrapper at him and he laughed.

  Stephanie tried to rein them in. “So, Eighties will be our decade then?”

  All agreed.

  “Great. Moving on to colors...” she said.

  After some debate, the kids chose black and purple. They also made a decision on ticket prices, based on last year’s profits, and hashed out a basic budget for what they’d projected decorating and entertainment costs would be.

  Alexis had been in charge of collecting ideas for the music during the dance. “A live band is too expensive,” she said, “and hiring someone to spin records who isn’t a professional is risky. Remember what happened to my brother’s prom when they did that two years ago?”

  There were groans and nods from the other kids. I hadn’t chaperoned that dance, but I’d heard from the other teachers and the kids that it had been pretty bad.

  “So, I think we want a professional DJ, and last year’s committee chose someone from 102.5,” Alexis continued. “They’re local, they might give us a break on the price, and they’ve done a lot of events.”

  I couldn’t hear 102.5 mentioned without thinking about Shar’s brother. I imagined he wasn’t in very good shape this morning. I wouldn’t have been if I’d looked like that at the end of the night. But who knew with him? Maybe he had such a high tolerance for alcohol that he recovered quicker than most.

  “Didn’t Amelia Lockett spin tunes last year?” Matt asked. “Let’s have her do it again. She’s hot.”

  Heath cracked a smile and Stephanie nodded thoughtfully, but Alexis said, “I think Blake Michaelsen would be perfect.”

  Oh, my God. No.

  “Why?” Matt asked.

  Yeah, why? I asked Alexis in my head.

  “Because he’s funny. Even more in person than on the radio,” she said. “I saw him host a dance off in Eastman Field a few summers ago, and he was hilarious.”

  He hosted a dance off?

  My throat was making a squeaky, protesting sound, but it was too soft for the VP to hear.

  Stephanie jumped in and said, “I like Blake, too. His sister, Ms. Boyd, was my favorite teacher in junior high, and he came into her English class once to give us a talk on radio and communications. He was really good.”

  He gave talks to Shar’s students? She’d never told me that.

  “And he’s really cute,” Alexis added with a snotty look in Matt’s direction.

  Heath’s brow crinkled. Ah. That was an observation he didn’t like.

  I finally found my voice so I could jump in. “Well, I feel it’s important to point out, as your advisor, that you’re going to want to make sure to choose someone you can rely on and work well with. Blake has a very, um, distinctive personality. But Amelia has more recent experience DJ’ing the dance. So, perhaps, it’d be a bit easier to plan the event with her, being that she’s more familiar with Homecoming specifically.”

  Stephanie nodded at me. “We could take a vote,” she suggested. “Blake or Amelia. And Mademoiselle Bernier could be our tie breaker.”

  I grinned at her. “That sounds fair.”

  More truthfully, it would at least seem fair, but the outcome would turn out exactly as I wanted. The guys would vote for Amelia. The girls would vote for Blake. And then I’d choose Amelia to break the tie and to keep my blood pressure at normal levels. All would be well.

  “Okay,” Alexis said. “I vote for Blake.”

  “Amelia, hands down,” Matt stated.

  “Blake,” Stephanie said.

  All eyes turned toward Heath. But his eyes turned toward Alexis, and I immediately realized the error of my assumptions.

  Oh, damn.

  “Blake,” Heath said.

  “Yes!” squealed the girls.

  “Aw, man! Why d’ya pick him?” Matt asked.

  Heath shrugged. “’Cuz he’s cool.” That was what he said aloud anyway. What his body language conveyed, however, was Whatever Alexis wants, I want.

  And, so, it was three to one. I didn’t even get a chance to vote.

  Merde.

  I’d have to work with him on this event. Sexy but oh-so-irresponsible Blake Michaelsen. What a way to start the new school year...

  The kids ran through some tentative ideas for the Homecoming Week schedule, but I’d stopped actively listening.

  Alexis called the radio station and left a message for Blake.

  Stephanie made check marks next to just about every item on her agenda.

  Matt recovered his good humor quickly by brainstorming a bunch of Eighties fads that they could incorporate into the week of activities.

  And Heath was still beaming from the grin Alexis had given him after he’d voted on her side, along with an offer from her to help him this weekend as he sifted through images for logo ideas. The kid looked like he was flying through the air as if on a levitating (à la Back to the Future) skateboard when the two of them walked out of the classroom together.

  Well, at least someone was having a good day. My week was getting worse by the second. And now I’d not only have to be present at the next meeting on Thursday, but if Blake accepted the job, he’d be there, too.

  I sincerely hoped he’d behave himself. Or at least try to refrain from slugging anybody.

  Chapter Four

  ~Blake~

  Oh. My. Effing. God.

  My head was filled with those little cotton balls that they us
ed at the doctor’s office to swipe an injection site before giving a shot. Everything was fuzzy. Except when it was not. Because, unfortunately, my head also seemed to be filled with a handful of loose razor blades that felt a helluva lot like they were slicing up bits of my brain when there was the slightest sound.

  So when the phone rang, it was like shrapnel exploding in my cranium, paired with the sound of a cannon ball going off in stereo in both my ears.

  I reached for the phone, just to make it stop. “Wha—” I said.

  “Blake?” a voice I recognized as one of my bosses said. But which boss?

  “Mmm?” I managed.

  The man cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked, incredulous.

  I glanced at the time. 11:46. Not bad. It was still technically morning.

  “No, no. I just had a headache, so I was resting.” Totally true, at least that first part of the sentence. I gripped my forehead like a vise, trying to keep my brains from spilling out of my skull. “What can I do for you, uh...Leonard?” I said, hoping I’d guessed right on the name.

  “We got a call on the main line just a few minutes ago from the high school. It was a message for you. A bunch of kids with the Homecoming committee were hoping you might be available to DJ the dance in a few weeks. Said they had a meeting this Thursday afternoon and were hoping you could be there to talk over the details with them.” He paused. “I know Thursday is one of your longer days at the station, so I wanted to give you a heads up so you could check your schedule about that afternoon and about the dance on Friday, October second.”

  “High schoolers,” I murmured. “Homecoming dance...” My head felt like it was going to implode. I could only repeat key phrases in hopes that something would sink in. “This Thursday and October second?”

  “Yeah,” Leonard said. “What’s your schedule like? Can you do them?”

  I would’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. My “schedule” for this week revolved entirely around just showing up to my job and managing to stay upright. Ambition at its finest. And I hadn’t given a single thought to what I was doing next month. But I said, “Let me just check my calendar.” Then I paused, appreciating the momentary silence and rubbing my temples with both hands. Finally, I picked up my phone again. “Both of those dates look open right now.”

  “Great!” he said. “I’ll call the kids back and let them know that you and 102.5 are officially on board for Homecoming.”

  “Excellent. See you...later,” I muttered. Hopefully much later. I clicked off, collapsed onto my pillow, and moaned, but no one came to my rescue.

  Aw, that wasn’t strictly true. Winston bounded over to me, licking my face. Then he dashed to the front door, scratched on it, and barked a couple of times.

  Yeah, I didn’t doubt he needed to go out. So, for his sake, I dragged my hung-over body out of bed and forced myself to start the day.

  ~*~

  One of the perks of working for a radio station was that it wasn’t a nine-to-five kind of job. There was some built-in variety.

  I worked almost every day of the week, but some days I was only on the air for a couple of hours, and then I did paperwork or answered phone calls. Other days it might be a straight six-hour shift or a split shift with two- or three-hour rotations—one morning, one night—along with an outside event, like a party. Because we were a small crew at a privately owned station, we covered for each other and took turns doing late nights, weekends, and out-of-town gigs. It helped to keep the routine from settling in my bones and boring the hell out of me.

  So, after a long on-air rotation on Thursday, I was still technically on the clock when I arrived at Mirabelle Harbor High School around 3:15 p.m. and was greeted at the office by a chatty member of the Homecoming committee. Alexis something or other. She escorted me to the meeting location.

  Whoa. And there was the French teacher babe, pacing in the middle of her classroom.

  Gotta love “community outreach” and the surprises it could bring. I had a fresh appreciation for the variety of my job. Spice. Of. Life.

  I removed my baseball cap and slid off my sunglasses when the babe—Vicky—looked my way.

  “Hey, there,” I said, extending my hand to her.

  She looked at me suspiciously, like I might be holding a grenade or something. So I twisted my hand a bit, so she could see my open palm. Her smile seemed forced as she reached out to grasp it.

  Small hands. Soft skin. So feminine. I reluctantly let go as she pulled away. She seemed a little off kilter, still staring strangely at me. I sent her my most charming smile.

  She took a literal step back, cleared her throat, and said stiffly, “Hello, Mr. Michaelsen. I’m Vicky Bernier, staff advisor to the Homecoming committee.”

  Very formal and controlled. Hmm, that was no fun. I wanted to throw her off balance again because she was cute when she was flustered and, hey, I was that kind of guy.

  So I beamed an even bigger grin at her. “And you’re a friend of my sister’s,” I said, curious to see if that would disarm her or make her more concerned.

  From the expression on her face, definitely the latter. Huh.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Shar.”

  Damn. What did my sister tell her to make her scowl at me like that? Couldn’t be good.

  But I said, “Praising my awesomeness, no doubt, right?”

  She didn’t deign to reply, which was a bad sign. I’d have to have a little chat with Shar later.

  I turned my attention to the four teenagers in the classroom who were gaping at us like we were cast members on some reality TV dating show.

  The chatty girl who’d met me at the office was the first to speak. “On behalf of the Homecoming committee, we’re all so glad you could meet with us today, Mr. Michaelsen. And we’re super psyched that you’ll be DJ’ing our dance.”

  One of the two guys, who turned out to be the junior class president, looked a little less enthusiastic than the rest, but all the kids cheered.

  “It’s gonna be so great, Mr. Michaelsen,” another girl who introduced herself as Stephanie Little said.

  I grinned at her. “Call me Blake. All of you. Please.” I glanced over at the French teacher as I said this. She was as impassive as granite. “And thanks for the warm welcome, everyone. I promise we’ll make this more fun than a Roman orgy.”

  The class president’s eyes brightened about as much as the French teacher’s darkened when I said those words. Kinda high strung, wasn’t she? I had a memory flash of Vicky outside the bars on Monday night with that same disapproving expression on her pretty face. She might have the body of a hottie, but her attitude was a real chiller. Too bad.

  Chatty Girl/Alexis said, “We wanted to share with you our plans for the week and some of the details we’ve worked out so far, just to make sure the music at the dance would reflect our theme.”

  “Yeah, shoot,” I said, sitting down in one of the student desks. That brought back such an unwelcome wave of recollection about being in high school that I stood back up and leaned against the desk instead. I’d felt so damn trapped in this building when I was a teenager. Kind of eerie to be back here. Even for a half hour.

  Stephanie said, “I’ve got the tentative schedule right here.” She handed Alexis a sheet of paper, but all the kids seemed well versed on the upcoming events, which involved window painting and school spirit days.

  Matt, the class president, said, “We’re planning to have a car wash Sunday afternoon the twenty-seventh to kick off Homecoming Week and to raise extra money for refreshments for the Friday night dance.”

  “It’ll be an Eighties theme,” Stephanie explained, “so we’d love a bunch of music from that era.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “And the car wash will probably be during your shift at the radio station,” Alexis added. “We’ll be playing 102.5 all afternoon while we work.”

  I nodded. “Sounds cool. How about I gi
ve you kids a shout out on the air. Would that help? Tell the listeners to come down to the high school for a car wash because you all need to make money to, uh...pay for the beer you’re bringing into the dance.”

  Matt laughed and even the quiet guy of the group—Heath—cracked a smile. Mademoiselle Frenchie did not.

  “Mr. Michaelsen—” Vicky began.

  “Blake,” I reminded her.

  “Blake,” she repeated. “I know you’re just joking around, of course, but you really can’t say things like—”

  “Oh, relax,” I interrupted. “I’m sure the kids were aware that I was completely kidding. Right?”

  “Right,” they all chorused.

  “Because everyone knows it’s a lot harder to sneak beer into a dance than it is to bring in hard liquor,” I continued with a straight face, just to needle her. I turned to the teens. “My advice is to go right for the vodka. It’s clear and nearly odorless. It can pass for water, unless someone tastes it.”

  Matt laughed so hard he literally fell out of his desk chair. He fist-bumped me from the floor. The other kids were laughing, too. Vicky remained very unamused. I’d have to tell Shar what an uptight stick-in-the-mud her friend was.

  “You were totally right about this guy,” Matt said to Alexis. Then, to me, “You’re awesome, man.”

  I shrugged with faux modesty. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  The French teacher crossed her arms. “Blake, I’ve already said—”

  “Oh, c’mon,” I cajoled. “You’re telling me you never snuck a flask of an alcoholic beverage into an event when you were in high school? You know, some night after a big game when you met your friends under the bleachers. When you grabbed a few swigs of something to, like, loosen up a little, so you could work up the courage to kiss that person you’d been scoping out in math class all semester. When you maybe found a dark corner of the gym during the dance and ran your fingers down—”

  “No!” she insisted, although I saw the color rushing to her cheeks, heating them. I would’ve paid hard cash to know what memories my comments dredged up in her mind.

  The teens couldn’t have been more riveted if this had been the final episode of The-freakin’-Bachelor, complete with roses and a fantasy suite and filmed right in front of them. I had to admit, it cheered me up to see Vicky look so uncomfortable. If she was going to act like I was an immature, terrible influence then, hell, I could play the part better than she could ever imagine. I was born to be a bad boy. And someone needed to get this chick to lighten the fuck up. Guess that job was gonna fall to me.