by Jamie Conner
They talked a lot about family stuff. Well, Brandi mostly talked and Megan listened. She was understandably still grieving her mother's death and it didn't seem like that was something she talked to her real friends about.
"Nobody wants do be around a Debbie Downer," she'd said one day. "So I just pretend like everything is okay most of the time. You're really the only person in my life who I can totally be myself with."
Megan held that confession like a badge of honor — she had to admit that it made her feel special.
When it finally came time for their history presentation the whole class sat riveted as they shared their research. Of course, Megan was pretty sure that had more to do with Brandi being a popular senior talking to a room full of impressionable sophomores than any great interest in French history.
Megan secretly hoped that after the presentation was over she and Brandi would continue to hang out, but things didn't pan out that way. The following Saturday Megan kept checking her cell phone hoping for a text from Brandi but none came. Brandi must have gone back to spending her Saturdays with other cool kids, leaving Megan to return to reading her novels for company. Then one Saturday about two weeks before the semester was over Megan's cell phone rang. Her heart fluttered a little when she saw Brandi's name flash across the screen.
"Hey! What's up?" Megan asked trying to sound calm when she answered the phone.
"I don't know. I was just sitting here doing nothing when I realized that I'd gotten kind of used to you coming over on the weekends while we were planning out little French adventure." Brandi laughed out loud.
Megan wasn't sure how to respond. She'd certainly missed hanging out with Brandi, but she never imagined Brandi might feel the same way.
"So, you wanna come over and go swimming?" Brandi finally asked.
Megan's mind spun around the offer. She'd planned to spend the day reading and maybe catch a late movie, but she certainly wasn't going to turn down an invitation from Brandi.
"Uh, s-s-sure," Megan said. "I need to see if I can use my mom's car, but I could probably get there by 12:30 or so."
"Perfect! See ya then."
Megan couldn't figure out why she felt so nervous when she got to Brandi's house. By now she'd been there often enough for the initial awe the house inspired to have dulled to a more general appreciation. Besides, after witnessing the tension between Brandi and her step-mother, Pam, Megan was well aware that everything wasn't perfect behind the ornate doors.
"Hi!" Brandi said when she opened the door. She gave Megan an uncharacteristic hug as she stepped across the threshold. Megan felt her whole body react to the touch.
Instead of heading upstairs to her room Brandi walked toward the kitchen.
"You want a beer?" she asked nonchalantly.
"No thanks," Megan said. "I'm not really a beer drinker." The truth was she'd never tasted one, but her answer sounded cooler than that admission.
Brandi shrugged and pulled a six-pack of beer and a container of guacamole out of the fridge.
"Can you grab that bag of chips?" she asked nodding toward the counter.
Megan picked up the chips and followed Brandi outside to the pool.
Brandi stashed the beer in a small ice-filled cooler and spread the snacks out on a table between two lounge chairs.
"My dad and the child-bride are out golfing so it's a perfect day to chill without anybody bugging us." Brandi smiled and let her cover-up drop to the ground. She was wearing a bright pink bikini that probably cost a fortune despite the small about of fabric it was made of. Brandi's full breasts threatened to spill out of the tiny triangles covering them and the thong-shaped bottoms revealed more than a little about Brandi's personal grooming habits.
Megan forced herself to look away. Between the sun and Brandi's barely-there bikini her temperature was rising uncomfortably.
Get a grip! Megan thought to herself. You managed to spend time alone with Brandi before without going nuts. What's so different about today?
Megan wiggled out of her shorts and pulled her t-shirt over her head. The plain sports-style bikini she was wearing made a much less dramatic statement than Brandi's and there was absolutely no threat of any part of Megan spilling out.
Brandi picked up a tube of suntan lotion sitting on one of the lounge chairs and began to rub some of the thick white contents into her skin.
"I don't know about you, but I burn like crazy if I'm outside for more than two minutes without this stuff."
Megan watched as Brandi bent over and rubbed lotion up and down her long legs.
"Yeah. I should probably put some on too," she said reaching for the lotion.
Brandi snatched it out of her reach playfully.
"Let me," she said with a smile. "It's not like you can reach your own back."
Brandi straddled the lounge chair where Megan was sitting and scooted up close to her.
Megan swallowed hard when she first felt Brandi's hands on her shoulders.
She's just being nice. She kept reminding herself. This is one of those things girls do. It doesn't mean anything.
"I think our project went pretty well, don't you?" Brandi asked as her hands swept across Megan's shoulders.
Megan was relieved to have something to talk about to distract her from the feeling of Brandi's hands touching her body.
"Yeah. I think it went well too. I guess we'll know for sure next week when grades come out."
Brandi's hands moved from Megan's shoulders, slowly down her back and around to her stomach. She made small circular motions across Megan's abdomen massaging in more lotion.
"So, I checked out that author you mentioned. Rachel Durand." One of Brandi's thumbs brushed across Megan's left nipple.
Megan felt her stomach do a back flip.
"Now I understand why you like her writing so much," Brandi said as she scooted her body even closer to Megan's. "She wrote some pretty hot stuff."
Megan's breath stuttered as Brandi whispered the next words in her ear.
"Maybe we should have included Rachel Durand in our report. I think there are at least a few students at Eastwood who'd find her writing interesting — don't you?"
Megan could feel Brandi's breasts pressing against her back. She turned her head slightly and could see Brandi's lips just inches from hers. Megan's heart was racing. Was this happening? Was Brandi about to kiss her? Megan held her breath and didn't move.
The next thing she knew Brandi leaned in and placed her lips on Megan's. A rush of heat swept over Megan's body as she slowly, tentatively at first, returned the kiss. Before long their tongues were dancing and Megan felt a wave of passion like she'd never felt before. She turned her body so that she and Brandi were facing each other. Megan reached up and gently touched the pink fabric covering Brandi's breast. Brandi let out a soft moan that sent shivers through Megan's body. This was the most passionate kiss Megan ever had — it was her first French kiss.
When they finally came up for air Brandi was smiling broadly while Megan was still trying to figure out what had just happened.
"I've been wanting to do that for weeks," Brandi confessed.
Megan couldn't help but blush.
"When I read that Rachel Durand book — the one about the two girls whose families were on opposite sides during the Spanish Civil War all I could think about was you and how terrible it would feel not to be able to see the person you loved."
Wait. Did she say loved?
Megan's heart swelled at the realization that she wasn't the only one experiencing more than platonic feelings in their interaction.
Brandi reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Megan's face. She was just about to lean in and kiss Megan again when the sound of a car door slamming shut filled the air. They both froze like statues.
Brandi pulled back and a flash of panic swept across her face.
"Yo! Brandi. Are you out back?" a male voice bellowed from the other side of the fence surrounding the backyard.
"Yeah. I'm by the pool," Brandi answered and then quickly got up from where she was sitting with Megan.
A moment later a guy and two other girls strolled through Brandi's back gate. Brandi didn't even look at Megan as the trio walked over.
"We figured you'd be home alone when your dad and Pam showed up at the club," one of the girls said. "We brought gifts!" She pulled a joint from her pocket and waved it in the air.
The other girl plopped down on the lounge chair next to Megan.
"Hey, I know you. You're the new girl right?"
"Yeah. I'm Megan." Megan's voice cracked as she spoke.
When Megan looked back in Brandi's direction she had her arms wrapped around the boy's neck and the two were engrossed in a sloppy kiss.
Megan felt like she was going to be sick.
"Give it a rest will ya!" the girl with the joint said. "We didn't come over to watch you two make out all day."
The two girls started laughing, but all Megan could do was cast her eyes toward the ground. She stood up quickly and grabbed her clothes.
"I should probably go."
"What's the hurry?" the boy asked. He'd released Brandi's lips, but now his arm was draped possessively across her shoulders. "We've got enough for everyone," he said pulling another joint from his pocket.
Somehow Megan found the courage to make eye contact with Brandi, but she just looked back at Megan with a blank face — like what had just happened between the two of them was a figment of Megan's imagination.
Megan felt a different wave of heat rush over her body. She didn't know if she was more embarrassed or angry. What she did know was she needed to get out of there before the tears forming behind her eyes burst to the surface.
"Thanks, but I've got to go pick my mom up at work. See you later, Brandi."
"Yeah. Sure," Brandi mumbled as she inhaled one of the now lit joints. "See you later." She exhaled filling the air with smoke.
Megan watched as a smokey wall formed between them. A moment later a breeze cleared the air and somehow Megan knew that smoke wasn't the only thing that had just vanished before her eyes.
Chapter 1
Megan stared at the top of her student's heads as they hunched over their desks hurriedly filling the blue test booklets with everything they could remember about a year's worth of English Literature. The scratching sound of pencils touching paper filled the air as the students did whatever they could to coax memories of the lectures they often slept through from the recesses of their brains. Some of them rubbed their temples, some stared up at the whiteboard as if willing the previous notes to reappear on its surface, others bounced their legs or fidgeted trying to shake the information loose.
It was kind of funny to watch. It reminded Megan of a poorly choreographed flash mob minus the innocent bystanders who gawked, wondering what they'd walked into.
Megan swiveled her chair and glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her.
"Fifteen more minutes," she said in a voice soft enough not to jar any students from their train of thought.
For a moment pencils fell silent and several heads popped up to look at the clock in disbelief. Once the unfortunate truth was confirmed, their heads dropped and each hunched even more intensely over their desks and continued writing.
Megan smiled at the memory of sitting in one of those very desks during her years at Eastwood. Of course, she'd always been a good student and tests — unlike navigating the rest of high school life — had never caused her any anxiety.
Megan's eyes scanned her classroom. She could point out the students like her. Smart. Shy. Gay. Of course, now they had some place to go since Eastwood had established an LGBTQ Club about five years ago. Megan wondered if her life would have been different if Lambda House had existed when she was a student here.
Megan was still considering the question when a flash on her cell phone screen caught her attention. She picked up the phone and eased it into her lap. She discouraged the use of cell phones in her classroom so she didn't want to be obvious about using one herself.
The message was from her best friend Angie.
Have you seen this?
Megan clicked the link and scanned the New York Times headline.
Best Selling Indie Author Tonya Pendleton Inks Three Book Deal At Random House.
Megan let out a sigh so loud that a few students looked up from their tests. She waved her hand and mouthed an apology and then went back to reading the article. Apparently, Tonya's first novel had found a fan base large enough to attract the attention of the major publisher.
Megan closed the link to the article, texted an aghast emoji back to Angie and set her phone back down on her desk. This was all too depressing to think about.
Megan and Angie were still in grad school when they met Tonya at the Brooklyn Book Festival. The three of them had been sitting near each other during on of the lectures about the publishing industry and they'd struck up a conversation afterward. Things quickly turned adversarial when Tonya announced that she thought M.F.A. writing programs — like the one Megan and Angie were in at Columbia — were a waste of time and money.
"If you're a writer, just write!" Tonya had declared.
Needless to say, the three woman hadn't kept in touch.
Now three years later there was Tonya's name — above the proverbial fold — in the Books section of the New York Times.
Megan looked up at her students and felt a sickening feeling rumbling in her stomach. How in the world had she ended up back at Eastwood ten years after her own graduation? And what happened to the writing career she'd dreamed of ever since reading her first Rachel Durand novel?
She picked up her phone.
Yogurt Shop. 7pm? I need comfort food!
She got a thumbs up emoji in response.
***
When Angie arrived, Megan was already sitting at a booth several bites into a multi-scooped concoction covered with hot fudge and pieces of Oreo cookie.
Angie purchased her yogurt and then joined Megan at the table.
"What a bitch!" Angie blurted out as she stabbed her frozen dessert to emphasize her point. "I could be a famous writer too if my mother got me booked on the Today Show just because she plays golf with Kathy Lee."
"You're turning green," Megan said with a giggle. She was upset about the news but not as much as her friend.
"Have you read it? Angie asked scornfully.
Megan shrugged one shoulder and let out a dismissive guffaw.
"I only peeked at the sample pages online. I couldn't bring myself to actually buy it. It was one of those post-apocalyptic space traveling vampire love stories."
"She'll probably sell the movie rights before the week is over," Angie said not even trying to mask her jealousy or literary disdain. "It's totally unfair that someone who didn't even study the craft now has a book deal."
Megan just nodded and scooped another bite of yogurt into her mouth. She agreed with Angie in principal but she also knew Tonya had one thing going for her that Megan didn't.
"At least she finished writing her book," Megan said. "That's more than I've done."
It was a sobering confession.
Shortly after earning her M.F.A. Megan had written a treatment for a novel and submitted sample pages to several publishers. She got some positive feedback but no publishing offers. At first, the rejection didn't get her too down. It was to be expected, rejection was a part of the process for all — well, most — new writers.
Megan had continued to plug away tweaking and revising her treatment, sending new sample pages to different publishers, and all the while trying to find an agent but time flew by and sooner than she knew it she'd exhausted the six-month student loan deferment period and then she had both undergrad and graduate loans to deal with — not to mention basic living expenses.
She had almost reached panic mode when she saw the job announcement for a full-time English teacher in the Eastwood Alumni Newsletter. It seemed like the perfect solutio
n. She knew as an alumna of the school, she'd get preference in the hiring process and a full-time teaching gig at the elite institution would pay her enough to live on plus give her summers off to write.
"You know it's been three years since I started teaching at Eastwood," Megan said admitting to what Angie already knew. "And I still haven't finished my novel. In fact, last summer I didn't write anything at all. Not a word." She sighed in frustration. "How am I supposed to be mad at someone like Tonya when she's at least finished what she started?"
Angie pushed her empty yogurt cup to the side and reached across the table and patted her friend's hand.
Megan knew Angie understood even though her own writing dreams had partially come true. Two of Angie's children's books had been published and even though she still had to supplement her earnings writing freelance pieces she had at least achieved some of her goals.
"What do you think is keeping you from finishing," Angie asked.
Megan leaned back into the leather booth and let her thoughts drift toward the ceiling. If only she could answer that question. She knew the story she wanted to write, but for some reason, she kept avoiding the process.
"Maybe you need to go skydiving?" Angie said.
Megan looked up to see if her friend was speaking with a straight face.
"Excuse me?" she said. "Are you having some kind of yogurt brain freeze?"
"I just mean, maybe if you do something you've been afraid to do it will unblock whatever is in your subconscious that's keeping you from writing. Think about it. The characters in your novel are risk takers right?"
Megan thought about the two heroines in her story. She'd set the novel in France in homage to the country her favorite writer called home after leaving the United States in the 90's. The two women were caught on opposite sides of the French Revolution because one was the daughter of a wealthy aristocrat and the other the daughter of a poor commoner.
"Okay, you may have a point, but skydiving?"
"It doesn't have to be that, maybe you could do one of those mud runs or go to a club and dance alone in the middle of the floor or do naked karaoke."
