I didn’t let her launch into a lecture. I just swung back to the kids and told them, “Count on me to give you a shout out during the car wash on September twenty-seventh, and I’ll also make up a list of Eighties tunes that I can spin at the dance. About two-and-a-half to three hours worth of songs, if I’m right, yes?”
Stephanie nodded.
“Good. I can show them to you all beforehand, so you can let me know if you want any others added or some of them nixed.”
“That’s so great!” Stephanie piped up. “It’d be wonderful to have an idea of the playlist by our next meeting.”
Not to be outdone in the enthusiasm department, Alexis said, “Could you, maybe, email it to one of us before our meeting next Thursday? Would that be enough time for you?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You can send it to me,” Alexis offered.
“Or me,” Stephanie volunteered.
The girls were adorable—they’d grow up to be heartbreakers someday—but it was their teacher who kept snagging my attention, and she clearly didn’t appreciate my having any private interactions with her students.
“As the advisor,” Vicky stated firmly, “I’ll give you my school email address, and you can send it to me. I’ll read through the song list and pass it on to the committee.”
Ah. So she was going to play the role of the censor. That wouldn’t do. At all.
“You all meet next Thursday?” I asked. “Like now? Same time, same location?”
“Yep,” Matt said.
“Well, why don’t I just drop off the list in person then? That way, if there are any objections to the songs on the playlist—” I sent Vicky a pointed glance. “We can discuss it as a group.”
“Oh, you don’t have to take time out of your day again—” the French teacher began.
“Yes!” Stephanie and Alexis said together.
“Sounds great!” Matt added.
Heath smiled at me.
I couldn’t hide a small grin of triumph as the teens summarily outvoted their teacher. “There are some bad-ass lost Eighties hits,” I whispered conspiratorially to the kids.
“Like the extended version of Tone Lōc’s ‘Funky Cold Medina’?” Matt suggested.
“Oh, you like that one, do you?” I said with a laugh. “Okay. Let me see what I can dig up for you guys that might be fun and just a little lewd. Gotta keep those chaperones on their toes. We don’t want them falling asleep, and a couple hours of Journey ballads might just do that to ‘em.”
I nodded at Matt, who gave me a thumbs up.
Vicky opened her mouth to voice yet another objection, but I cut her off.
“Relax, Mademoiselle. It’ll be a clean program...mostly. Don’t lose your sense of humor.”
I caught a glint in her eye that I wasn’t sure how to interpret, but I could almost see the wheels in her gorgeous head spinning. I decided it’d be better if I directed the course of the rest of the discussion.
“Since you’re the advisor and all,” I said, “I take it you’re going to be there during the dance?”
She exhaled and narrowed her eyes at me. “Of course I’ll be there, Blake. And I’ll make sure everyone behaves themselves and has fun.”
“Two oxymoronic ideas if I’ve ever heard them, but whatever you say.” Then I addressed the kids again. “I’ve just got one piece of advice for you all. If you can’t be really good, at least be bad in a really interesting way.”
And with those words and a parting wave to the teens, I said goodbye. To Vicky in particular, I sent a special little wink and added, “Catch you next week, Mademoiselle.”
My guess was that, if I’d given her even half a second to respond, the teacher would’ve said (in English or in French) something like, “Not if I catch sight of you first.”
But I slipped through the door quickly, out of the high school, and back to the Land of the Free.
Damn. I might not be a shining example of adulthood, but I’d never been happier to be over twenty-one and out from under the thumb of authority.
Even if that authority came in the form of a foxy French-speaking babe who had lips like a cherry pop and tits that were so tempting it was going to take some serious effort not to reach out and touch her.
Aw, what was I saying?
It would probably take too much effort. And, as plenty of people loved to point out, self control had never been my strong suit anyway.
So, I’d just have to figure out a way to seduce her. With a little time, a little charm, and a little luck...I think I could get her to like me.
Chapter Five
~Vicky~
“I absolutely cannot stand him,” I said aloud. “He’s immature, unromantic, and inappropriate. He can barely suppress his vulgar impulses. He’s a bad role model for teens. And he’s far worse to deal with than any high-school kid I’ve ever met. And I’ve been teaching for eleven years!”
My companion just stared at me, occasionally blinking but not uttering a sound.
“He was in my classroom for what? Twenty minutes yesterday afternoon? Twenty-five tops? And he talked nonstop for most of it. Maybe I’m just being idealistic here, but I don’t think the kids would even think to behave poorly without a bad influence like that. He was actively encouraging them to bring liquor to a school event, grope each other under the bleachers and at the dance, disrespect authority, and perpetuate the stereotype that kids and chaperones had to be at odds.”
I paused, realizing that the latter was what pissed me off the most. I’d worked hard for years to develop a strong and respectful relationship with my students, and Blake Michaelsen had created a wedge between them and me in less than a half hour. Setting me up to be some kind of “enemy of the youth” or something, just because I wanted Homecoming Week to run smoothly and legally. The bastard.
“And now I’ll have to keep an eye on him at the dance, even more than the kids,” I added, “because if things spiral out of control at Blake’s urging, it’ll reflect poorly not only on me but, also, on the other staff members and parents who’ve agreed to chaperone.”
My companion made an odd sound. Sort of like a yawn.
“C’mon, Napoleon. I know you know what this means to me. I care about my students, and I’m hopeful they’ll grow up to be kind adults who have happy memories of high school. But Homecoming, with Blake involved, is going to be un cauchemar—a nightmare. He’s turning the dance from a sweet high-school romantic comedy into a rowdy teen party movie. It’s like the difference between The Princess Diaries and American Pie.”
My cat had apparently listened to my ranting long enough or had no interest in my pop-culture references because he got up from the sofa, went for a stroll around my apartment, and eventually headed to the kitchen for a snack from his food bowl. So much for my most trusted confidante.
Normally, I’d confide my school-related woes to one of my foreign-language department friends or to other teacher pals like Shar or Julia.
But, for obvious reasons, I didn’t feel comfortable whining to Shar about her big brother. Family ties had a tensile strength like platinum when it came to the Michaelsen clan.
And Julia hadn’t been around much lately. She was caught up in a whirlwind of change in her life, and I didn’t want to add any drama to it. As it was, she had a fairy-tale romance in progress, and I didn’t begrudge her that for a second. She’d had to walk through a trail of heartbreak first to get there.
But I had to admit that I envied her love story. Both of them really—the one she’d had with her late husband and the new one that was just developing. I’d been in several long-term relationships, but none of them had turned out a fraction as well. I’d never had a fling or a one-night stand. I kept trying to hold out for true love—like the kind my parents had—but it hadn’t worked out the same for me.
I glanced at the wall, which had a framed picture of my mom and dad. They’d been college sweethearts, who’d been happily married for thirty-seven years now. It
had been a little daunting to watch them and to always wonder, “Will I ever have a romance like that?”
Short answer: Not likely.
But it warmed my heart to see students like Heath falling for Alexis, or Carson’s blossoming love story with Amanda, and to know that their burgeoning young romances were promising ones. That, even if their relationships didn’t last beyond high school, these kids might just get a taste of that sweet young love fairy tale.
But a guy like Blake had a talent for leaching away the sweetness and innocence of first love. He made a romantic dance all about alcohol and sex against the wall and raunchy lyrics and bad-boy behavior. Small-minded, infantile guys like him, who still acted like the worst type of adolescents weren’t high on my list of people to associate with. Period. Didn’t matter how sexy his voice was. Or how hot his body.
I loved the men of romance novels and movies where the hero was not only dashing but moral. Men of high principles in the past or in the present. Chivalry and honorable behavior from any era turned me on, even more than six-pack abs and witty comebacks. If a man could be kind, clever, cute, and genuine, I’d fall at his feet.
But I wasn’t finding such a man...at least not outside of films and novels.
And I respected true romance too much to be willing to compromise love’s integrity by settling for anything less.
I finally dragged myself away from the sofa and decided it was high time to go grocery shopping, or I’d be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all weekend.
Friday night at Mirabelle Market was a quiet place.
No, that was a massive understatement. It was like going to the community swimming pool at the end of summer, once school was back in session. Anyone in town who had the remotest social life wasn’t buying fresh produce at 8:23 p.m. on a weekend night.
So, of course, the only person I ran into at the store was somebody from the singles’ group.
“Hi, Bill,” I said, waving to the tall, balding man.
“Vicky! Good to see you,” he said kindly. “How are the new students this year?”
Bill Dennon was in his late thirties, divorced, a former prosecuting attorney (“a recovering lawyer,” he often joked), and a good guy. Sadly, he wasn’t my type, but I always enjoyed chatting with him.
“The kids are great,” I told him, and I meant that, although thinking about Blake Michaelsen and the Homecoming frustrations made me scowl.
“You sure about that?” Bill said with a laugh. “Maybe I should be reading into what you didn’t say. ‘The kids are great...but the administrators suck.’ Something like that?”
I burst out laughing. “Definitely something like that. The adults are almost always harder to deal with than the students.”
“You need to have some fun and get away from it all,” he said. “I’m glad you’re around this weekend. You’ll be coming out with the group tomorrow night, right?”
“Um...” I picked up a random mango from the bin next to us and began examining it, to buy a little time. I’d put the next Quest group outing on my calendar a couple of weeks ago—we were all planning to meet for dinner at Drew’s Diner in downtown Mirabelle Harbor—but that was before this whole Homecoming thing started. Shar rarely missed a Quest gathering, which meant she’d be there. And I’d have to avoid her inevitable questions. “I don’t know, Bill,” I said finally. “It’s been a long week—”
“It was just four days,” he protested. “Although those week can seem like the longest. Trying to cram five days of work into only four.”
“Exactly.”
“All the more reason to come out with us. Just to relax and catch up with friends. There are plenty of other nights left to stay home alone and watch TV.” He smiled as he said this, but there was a ribbon of sadness and loneliness beneath the words. I recognized those emotions all too well.
“That’s true,” I admitted. “I’m still tempted to stay in and read all night,” which was my favorite pastime when I was finished with grading and lesson plans. “But I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” he said. “It’s not the same without your bright smile, Vicky.”
“Aw, Bill, thank you.” How did he know I needed to hear some kind words tonight? I gave him a quick hug, and he left me to my mango selection as he headed off to finish his own shopping.
By the time I got home and unloaded my groceries, though, I was even more convinced that staying home tomorrow would be the better option. Sweet as Bill and the other Quest members were, I’d downloaded a new Jane Austen fan fiction story to my ebook reader, and it had been calling me all week.
But anyone who thought I’d get off the hook that easily, clearly hadn’t met Sharlene Michaelsen Boyd.
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Shar texted me the next afternoon when I replied to her message about the event. “OF COURSE you’re coming. I can pick you up.”
Shar and I lived only a couple of blocks apart. I was in an apartment complex near Bangkok Gardens and she was in the condo unit just west and south of me, further down Crescent Lane. It was not out of character for her to show up at my door either and insist on dragging me somewhere.
“It’s okay,” I texted back, relenting. “I’ll go tonight, but I’ll meet you there. I have some errands to run first.”
This wasn’t entirely the truth (I’d already run my errands), but it was safer not to be trapped in a vehicle with Shar if she got into one of her question-asking moods.
When I arrived at Drew’s Diner that night, more than half the Quest group was already there, Shar included. She waved me over to a section at the right, by the windows, where several tables had been pushed together and pitchers of lemonade and margaritas had already been ordered.
“Hey, great to see you here,” she said, giving me a welcome hug and pointing to an open chair across the table from her. “Get all your errands done?”
“Erm...yep,” I said.
“Excellent. That means you can stay out late with us,” Shar concluded. “I haven’t seen you since the school year started. How’s it been going for you?”
“Good, good,” I said, pausing to say hi to a new batch of people that just arrived and trying to gauge Shar’s nonverbal cues. I was torn. I didn’t want to bring up Blake and invite that kind of awkwardness into our conversation unnecessarily. But if she didn’t know about my having met her brother, it would be a weird thing not to tell her. When she found out we’d been working together, she’d wonder why I didn’t mention it.
Based on her good-natured grin and the lack of intensity on her face, I got the sense that she didn’t know anything about Homecoming yet, though, which was interesting. It meant Blake hadn’t said anything to her either.
“What’s with the funny look?” Shar said with a laugh.
“Nothing, I just was going to ask if, um—” I was debating whether to say something about Blake or inquire after the start of her new English classes at the junior high, when there was a squeal. Elsie, one of the Quest members, jumped up from her place down the table and waved frantically at someone near the door. “Julia!”
Shar swiveled around with a grin, and everyone at the table looked over at Julia Crane as she skipped over to us.
Shar beamed at her. “You came!” And I realized that I wasn’t the only one Shar had been badgering to come out tonight. “Glad to see you, girlfriend.”
“You, too,” Julia said with a wink at her BFF.
Julia and I waved at each other as Elsie pulled another chair over and made her sit down near the head of the table.
“Tell us everything,” Elsie insisted. “How was California? How is Dane doing? Will you be going back to see him anytime soon? Don’t keep us in suspense!”
Julia laughed and graciously accepted the rapt attention of the Quest group members, but she and I had talked on several occasions, and I knew she was a private person. One who had experienced the unexpected death of her husband last year and who was now dealing with the semi-surreal
challenge of navigating a new romance with a popular movie actor. The world wasn’t inclined to give someone in that position much privacy.
“The California trip was...incredible,” Julia said with a smile that infused her whole face with joy. “Dane was wonderful. Analise couldn’t have had a better time at the movie studio and the sites around L.A. So, if my daughter has anything to say about it, we’ll be flying out there every month.”
Elsie looked gleeful. “And you?”
Another woman at the table named Therese said, “Tell us about the man!”
It was a one-in-a-million love story that made my heart pound just thinking about it. Julia met her teen idol, Dane Tyler, twenty years after she’d fallen in love with him on the Silver Screen...and was now dating him for real.
Even if I met my British Dream Man someday (and, miraculously, he was straight), it wasn’t as though it would be likely that something similar would happen to me. Normal life for normal people just didn’t work like that.
Julia tried to satisfy the group’s curiosity by telling a few stories about things she and her ten-year-old daughter did with Dane. However, I couldn’t help but notice that, despite the blushes and the tone of secrecy, Julia didn’t tell the Quest group anything that they couldn’t have read in the tabloids or online. Shar, of course, by her noticeable lack of questioning, obviously knew the uncensored details. My guess was there were quite a few behind-the-scenes stories that the readers of the Tinseltown Buzz would have loved to have heard...
Me, too, for that matter. Although I could appreciate Julia’s need for discretion.
When I finally got a few moments to speak to her alone in the powder room, I figured she’d had enough of people trying to pry, so I only congratulated her on her promising relationship.
You Give Love a Bad Name Page 5
