See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  Gunner: Agreed. I’m far too invested at this point.

  Greer: Think he’s on to me?

  Romeo: No way. He thought it was some kid adding shit to the water. You’re safe.

  Greer: Okay, so . . . blue pee?

  Gunner: Blue pee.

  Romeo: I need blue pee so much in my life.

  Greer: Okay, we shall commence blue pee Thursday next week.

  Gunner: God bless chemistry.

  Chapter Six

  ARLO

  “Coraline, dinner is ready,” I shout to the backyard, where my sister is buried deep in her phone.

  “Can we eat out here?”

  “If you come help me with the plates and drinks.”

  She pops up from a lounger and walks inside. I hand her a plate of salmon, rice, and asparagus, and an ice-cold water.

  “Water?”

  “Your wine consumption has been heavy lately.”

  “I’m getting a divorce at the ripe age of twenty-seven. I believe I have a pass when it comes to the amount of wine I’m allowed to consume.”

  “There’s no pass, and there’s no wine tonight.”

  Huffing, she walks her plate and water out to the back patio and takes a seat at one of the outdoor tables. I take a seat across from her and hope she’s feeling open enough tonight.

  Ever since she moved in, it’s as if she’s reverted back to teenage Coraline with her moodiness and evasiveness. I worry, because she’s exhibiting the same behaviors as before she ended up in the hospital, bleeding out of her wrists . . .

  I swallow hard, unable to get the image of my lifeless sister sprawled out on the bathroom floor, blood seeped into her clothing, out of my head.

  “Why do you have that look on your face?”

  “What look?”

  “That concerned, older brother look that says ‘I’m about to lecture you, so you better listen.’”

  I slice my fork through the salmon and scoop up the meat with some rice, not missing the mango salsa I decided to make last minute. “I’m not going to lecture you.”

  “Bullshit,” she says with a laugh. “You fail to realize that I know you—well—and you’re about to lecture me, especially after the enforced wine restriction.”

  Sighing, I push a piece of asparagus with my fork and glance up at my sister. “I’m concerned, Coraline.”

  “Ah, do I know you, or what?” she asks, placing a piece of asparagus in her mouth.

  “Do you blame me? Your behavior is erratic—”

  “How so?”

  “You’re drinking at night, you’re never here, you’re—”

  “And what exactly do you think I’m doing, Arlo?”

  Treading carefully, I say, “You’re exhibiting the same kind of behavior that—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there.” She holds up her fork for emphasis. “I might be sad that I’m getting divorced, but I’m also happy that I’m out of that toxic relationship. You don’t need to worry about me, Arlo. I know what I’m doing.”

  “And what is that?”

  She sips from her water glass and gently sets the cup down. “I’ve been seeing my therapist, trying to get my head on straight.”

  “You’ve been seeing Dr. Fulkner again?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I didn’t feel like falling asleep during my session from his boring voice. I found someone new.”

  “Who is it?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re insufferable.” She takes a bite of the salmon and groans. “Insufferable but knows how to cook one hell of a salmon.” I’m rewarded with a smile, which I needed. “I also appreciate you, big brother. I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s where life has me right now.”

  I wait a few seconds. “I know I’m badgering, but my concern runs deep, Coraline.”

  Her fork pauses on her plate and she looks up at me. Sincerity is in her eyes when she says, “I’ll never do that again, Arlo.”

  I solemnly nod. “If it’s ever in the realm of your thoughts, you come to me immediately.”

  She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I will. You might drive me crazy, but you know I’ll come to you.”

  “Thank you.” Knowing that’s the best I’ll get from her right now, there’s no point pushing. Times like these, I wish we had a proper, caring mom here. To be a kinder, more empathetic shoulder to lean on than I am. Coraline deserves the world, as her heart is gold.

  God, I hope I never see her so broken ever again. Not sure my heart would withstand that. Twice.

  “Is that why you’ve been grumpy the last few days? I mean, you’re always grumpy, but the slamming of kitchen cabinets has been more frequent than normal.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve been around to hear the slamming of the cabinets.” I smirk.

  “Lots of walks,” she answers, and I hate that a part of me doesn’t believe her. “So, what’s going on? A new student driving you crazy? Remember that one kid you used to bitch about all the time? What was his name . . . Needlepoint, or something?

  “Neanderpoint. Will Neanderpoint.”

  “Yes, that’s him. He’d spend the entire class contradicting everything you said. That kid was my hero.”

  “That kid is currently failing out of college. His mom emailed me this past Spring asking if I would tutor him over the summer. I ignored that email.”

  “Hey”—Coraline tilts her head to the side—“you’re an educator, Arlo. You need to help out all kids, not just the ones who nod and smile at everything you say.”

  “Fuck that. I’m not about to be mentally abused because some dipshit kid doesn’t know how to shut up. He’s failing because he doesn’t believe what the professors are telling him, and he tries to tell them differently. There’s ignorance and there’s indifference. That kid is indifferent.”

  “But it’d have been fun for me . . . that’s what you’re not seeing here.” She laughs.

  “Glad my suffering is amusing.”

  “Just a little.” She swirls her fork around her plate. “So, what is it? What’s driving you crazy? New girl?”

  “No.” I shake my head, even though immediately I think of Greer. I haven’t spoken a word to her since the night we played pool. I see her everywhere, though. Not just outside her classroom, but all around campus. In the teachers’ lounge, in the hallways, talking with my friends, in the parking lot, running around in tiny spandex shorts with her volleyball team . . . yeah, that was—hell, that wasn’t something I needed to see. I can still envision her tight bubble butt barely covered in spandex, running behind her team, her hair swishing back and forth over her shoulders.

  And what’s with her dresses and skirts? Does she not own a pair of dress pants?

  Her goddamn legs are phenomenal and—

  “Hey,” Coraline snaps at me. “What the hell are you thinking about?”

  “Huh?” I look up and a smile spreads across her face. Shit, she caught me drifting off and if I don’t come up with something on the spot, she’s going to assume it’s a girl. “Oh, sorry, just . . . uh . . . just annoyed. I think the boys are fucking with me.”

  There, that’s true.

  Not the entire reason why I’m apparently slamming kitchen cabinets, but a big part of it.

  Another big part of it . . . the aforementioned dresses and skirts.

  And tiny spandex.

  “Gunner and Romeo are fucking with you?” she asks. “How so?”

  “Well, the stink bomb.”

  She chuckles. “Oh God, you were so angry that day.”

  “My classroom smelled like rotting ass and I had to wear gym clothes to teach, so, yeah, I was mad.”

  “Heaven forbid.” She dramatically fans her hand in front of her face.

  “And then at the assembly . . .” I cut off her chuckling.

  “What happened at the assembly?”

  I push my hand through my hair, still
trying to figure it all out. “Not sure how it happened, but when I went to honor the students who achieved academic excellence the year prior, my voice sounded like I just sucked down ten helium balloons.”

  “What?” she shouts and laughs at the same time. “Oh my God, seriously?”

  “You think this is funny?”

  “Arlo, how could you not?” She laughs some more. “And you have no idea how it happened?”

  “Not a single clue.”

  “And you were the only one with the helium voice?”

  “Yup.” I plop a piece of salmon in my mouth. “Lucky me.”

  She picks up her phone and starts typing away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing if there’s a video of it, I need to hear—”

  “Phones aren’t allowed in the assembly.”

  “Oh, you clueless man.” She shakes her head. “Aha, found it.”

  “What? Seriously?”

  “You’d be surprised what students will do.” She presses play and, lo and behold, there I am, standing at the podium, talking as if my balls are being squeezed with a vise.

  Coraline roars with laughter, and even though I don’t enjoy being the butt of the joke—and hate that my hard-earned respect is in jeopardy—I’ll admit, seeing my sister with a smile on her face, laughing . . . I’ll be okay with it, for now.

  Not forever.

  But for now, she can laugh.

  * * *

  My leg bounces up and down under my desk.

  Fuck, what is happening?

  After what feels like years, Gunner and Romeo open my classroom door with confused expressions.

  “Jesus, what took you so long?”

  “We were eating lunch,” Gunner answers, leaning against the desk directly in front of mine.

  “Shut the door,” I say to Romeo. “And lock it.”

  “Lock it?” His brows shoot up. “Dude, you’re sweating and you have a weird look on your face. Are you . . . are you losing it?”

  I shoot out of my desk and pull on the back of my neck.

  I think I’m losing it.

  There’s no other explanation.

  I’m fucking losing it.

  My only hope is that Gunner and Romeo are fucking with me again. That’s why I called them in here, to gauge their reaction. Because what just happened to me . . . Jesus Christ, please let them be fucking with me.

  Turning toward them, I take a deep breath. “I, uh, I have a man issue.”

  “A man issue?” Gunner asks, a crease in his brow.

  “What kind of man . . . ohhhh.” Romeo walks up to Gunner and knocks him in the chest with his finger. “Can’t get it up.”

  “You can’t get it up?” Gunner asks. “Who’s the lucky—or dare I say, unlucky lady?”

  “What?” I shake my head. “No, I can get it up just fine.”

  “When was the last time you tried?” Romeo asks.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Might be. Does this problem have to do with your penis?”

  “I mean . . . yeah.”

  “Okay,” Romeo says, “so when was the last time you got it up?”

  “That’s irrelevant,” I snap.

  “Seeming more and more relevant to me,” Gunner mutters to the side.

  “Jesus Christ.” I drag both my hands down my face. “This morning, in the shower.”

  “Hey, me too,” Romeo says with a little too much pep in his voice.

  “Fuck, me too.” Gunner laughs. “It was as if we were all circle jerking together. Like, we could call ourselves the Thursday circle jerkers.”

  “No,” I say flatly. “Don’t even say shit like that.”

  “Don’t want to know that I’m pumping my dick at the same time you are?” Gunner asks. “Doesn’t give you comfort?”

  “Makes me want to never touch my dick again,” I answer.

  “Given that there’s something going on down there, maybe you shouldn’t,” Romeo says, and I swear to God, I almost scream.

  Almost.

  This was a mistake. They’re going to be assholes, I can feel it.

  Hell, they already are being assholes.

  “Is it a rash?” Romeo asks. “I’ve had a rash down there before—well, what I thought was a rash. It was just my balls growing.”

  “What?” I ask, completely bewildered.

  Romeo scratches his neck. “Was it my balls growing? I can’t remember. It was back in middle school.”

  “Tingling sensation in the groin?” Gunner asks Romeo. “Totally ball growth. Did you have a lot?”

  Romeo nods. “I think that’s why my junk is so massive. Too much tingling in middle school.” He shrugs his shoulders.

  “Are you two morons done?” I ask, hands on my hips now.

  “Hey, we’re trying to help you out here. Now . . . is it a rash?”

  “It’s not a goddamn rash!” I shout.

  “Jeez, settle down, man.” Romeo crosses his arms over his chest. “Is it . . .” He leans in and whispers, “Venereal?”

  “It’s hard being friends with you two.”

  “Hey, I’m not doing anything wrong,” Gunner says. “And when you text us ‘911, penis problems’ how are we not supposed to act as if this could be venereally related?”

  “I never said penis problem, I said man issue.”

  “Man issue is code for penis problems. Read the handbook, man.” Gunner rolls his eyes.

  “You know what, never mind. Get the fuck out of here. I’ll figure it out on my own.” I take a seat at my desk and sift my hands through my hair, trying to come up with some sort of reasonable explanation as to why I’m peeing blue.

  Straight-up blue.

  From my urethra to the urinal . . . bright blue.

  I had a blueberry smoothie this morning, but I have them almost every morning and this has never happened before.

  Would it be the culmination of blueberries?

  Jesus, that’s a moronic thought.

  Just shows that I really do need new friends.

  “Look at him thinking so hard over there. See the steam billowing out of his ears?” Gunner says. I glance to the side to see my two friends, arms crossed, shoulder to shoulder, studying me.

  “If he’s not careful, he might set off the smoke alarms.”

  “Be nice,” Gunner says. “He looks really distressed. Maybe he needs a shoulder to cry on.” Raising his voice, he asks, “Do you need to cry?”

  “I need something to punch. Mind lending your head?” I ask, twisting to make eye contact with him.

  The idiot taps his chin, giving it thought. “You know, normally I’d volunteer, but I have to see my son this weekend and, even though I hate to admit it, you’re strong enough to leave some damage, don’t want to scare the little guy. I say you give Romeo that old one-two blow. He has nothing going on this weekend.”

  “You don’t know that,” Romeo defends.

  “Well, do you?” Gunner challenges him.

  “Yeah, I do. I have plans with my Xbox. I’ve been neglecting him and I promised him some personal one-on-one time.”

  “You’re a grown-ass man, you shouldn’t be playing video games. Pick up a goddamn book,” I say.

  “I did, just yesterday, I picked up a light read about RBI 20, bettering my pitches.”

  “For a video game . . .” I deadpan.

  “Hey, it was reading.”

  Standing now, I grab my water bottle for a refill before lunch is over. “Whatever, I’m out. Thanks for nothing.”

  I try to walk past Gunner, but he places his hand on my chest and stops me. “Dude, in all seriousness, what’s going on?”

  Sincerity reads in his eyes, and I know if I’m going to talk about it, this is my window.

  Letting out a long sigh and unable to look my friends in the eyes, I stare down at my worn brown boots and the cuff of my jeans right above them. “My pee . . . it’s blue.”

  “What?” Gunner asks.

 
; “I went to the bathroom and, well, my pee was blue.”

  “Are you . . . sure?” Romeo asks, concern growing in his voice as well. “Maybe it was one of those toilet tablets.”

  “I thought maybe that’s what it was, but there weren’t any and the pee coming out of my dick was actually blue.”

  “Huh.” Gunner looks to Romeo, Romeo to Gunner, and then they both turn toward me. “When was the last time you had sex? Maybe it’s the blue balls leaking out.”

  Romeo snorts.

  Gunner snickers.

  And I push past both of them.

  “Fuck you both.”

  I’m halfway out of my classroom when I turn toward them and say, “If I find out you’re behind this, you’re both dead. Do you understand?”

  “What are you going to do? Try to dye our hair with your dick?” Gunner fluffs his short hair. “I’m all for trying something new.”

  I hate them.

  Tossing them the middle finger, I walk out of my room and head toward the teachers’ lounge.

  From the way they reacted to the look of humor on their faces, I know they have something to do with this.

  I fucking know it.

  And they will pay.

  * * *

  “Hey, Kelvin,” I say, walking through the teachers’ lounge.

  “A-r-rlo,” he stutters. “G-good to see you.”

  “Nice start to the year?”

  “Y-yes. Thank you.” He gives me a flat smile and then takes off. Despite Kelvin’s stutter, the students claim him as one of their favorite teachers every year. I’m pretty sure it’s because he dresses up every Friday and uses Star Wars to help teach geometry. Not quite sure how it relates, but we also have very high math scores.

  Greer’s teaching techniques come to the forefront of my mind. How is what she’s doing any different than Kelvin?

  Well . . . she uses CliffsNotes—yeah, I’ve seen them in her room—for one, a flat-out way to cheat the system.

  She also plays movies in the classroom . . .

  Yeah, there’s a difference.

  Kelvin draws a Darth Vader mask using different angles.

  Greer sits back and lets the TV do the teaching.