by Kendall Day
I’m a math and science girl through and though. My spelling is atrocious. Thanks to poor comprehension that requires lots of rereading, I don’t often read for pleasure, and I can’t write in cursive to save my life. Teaching language arts, even for two weeks, is going to be more than a struggle. It’s going to be nearly impossible.
But Roxie Rambling never says never, especially when she’s gotta prove she can slam dunk every ball her supervising teacher throws at her.
Mr. Slater rankles. “I hate to drop this on you, but the first unit in science is six weeks of health and sex ed, and, for legal reasons, I have to teach it.”
My stomach free-falls. I stare at him blankly. “You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head and tugs the knot of his tie away from his suddenly red neck. “I wish I were.”
McSlutbag teaching sex ed. Jesus. I’ll be even more embarrassed than the students.
Feeling my cheeks warm, I return to my notes and quickly regroup. “Okay, then maybe I need to focus on language arts.”
I can’t believe I just said that. I hate language arts as much as I hate Pitch Perfect. Seriously.
“That would probably be best,” he says.
“Originally, I was thinking about a video project integrating the performance objectives for the ‘Inside the Earth’ framework, but maybe we can hit a broad range of language arts state standards, especially the ones related to writing, researching, and presentation of knowledge and ideas. So many of these kids are hungry for attention. Why not give them a stage?”
McSlutbag’s expression sours. “The last things they need are more attention and freedom.”
I bristle and choose my words carefully. “I disagree. Kids crave the spotlight. They want their peers, their parents, and their teachers to notice them. Did you see the group dancing at lunch?”
He shakes his head. “I was too busy gobbling my protein bar in the five minutes we have to eat.”
“A few of them were rapping and dancing in their chairs over by the salad bar. Expressing themselves is important, especially at this age when they’re trying to figure out who they are.”
“I don’t need any more self-expression in my classes. I have enough with Attila the Hun, who’ll be joining us at the teachers’ table for lunch detention the rest of this week, by the way.”
I smack my desk. “That’s exactly my point. How else do you get a child with behavior problems to act right?”
“Giving him an open mic isn’t the answer,” he says, upping the volume. Like yelling over me will make him more right. Self-absorbed pig. “Come up with something else.”
I sigh. He just doesn’t get it. I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay. It’s your class. Your rules. Whatever you say.”
A knock at the door cuts the tension of our conversation.
Officer Acuff, wearing a plain white T-shirt with basketball shorts and shoes, fills the frame. “You ready?” he asks.
McSlutbag winces. “Shit, sorry, man. I forgot. I’ll be down in five.”
Acuff nods and leaves.
“Can we finish this tomorrow?” Slater asks, pointing a thumb after the officer. “I got a pickup game.”
My ears perk up.
“Staff development,” I assume.
“Smart girl.”
He did not just call me girl. Seething, I suck my teeth the same way I did to get a rise out of him when I was in his class. It’s immature, but man, it feels good.
Apparently oblivious, he stands and unlocks his storage cabinet. After rifling through its contents, he drags out a change of clothes. “You can use my computer if you want to stick around. Login as a guest. If you leave before five, shut the door behind you. We’ll talk more about your project tomorrow.”
Of course, we will.
I narrow my eyes, launching an arsenal of daggers at his back as he darts out the door.
With a loud huff, I assess the aftermath of the student tornado that whirled through earlier and straighten the desks, racking my brain for other unit ideas. Coming up empty, I glance out the bank of windows facing the main parking lot. Now that the buses have rolled out, the cheerleading squad is assembled on the blacktop. Sophie Snow, one of my fellow student teachers, is out there with her supervising teacher, Ms. Fortier, who directs the girls. She must be the coach.
Curious, I wander out to see what they’re up to.
“The end zone is what we’re looking for! So, come on, Bruisers! Take that ball and score!” Fortier shouts, demonstrating the motions for the cheer. Her round belly bounces as she kicks, and I do a double take. She’s a perky, petite little white woman with deeply muscled legs and arms. The only part of her that seems out of place is the half bowling ball stretching her shirt.
Holy crap, that woman is pregnant and doing cheers in eighty-degree weather. Respect!
“Hey, Roxie,” Sophie says with a friendly smile. She’s a redhead with big, beautiful blue eyes. “How was your first day?”
“Fantastic,” I lie. “How about yours?”
“Great. Ms. Fortier is an inspiration as a teacher and a cheerleading coach—they began practicing two weeks before school started. She also leads spin classes at night.” She nods toward the fitness gym catty-corner to Bracken Middle. “I can’t believe she does all that with a baby on the way. Such high energy.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.” I shield my eyes from the blaring sun. “Are you co-coaching?”
“Nah, just watching the magic. I know nothing about cheerleading.” She whirls on me. “Did you cheer?”
I shake my head with a smile. “No, I played basketball. But I remember a cheer or two from those days.”
On a whim, I jump into the line and shake out my arms and legs. The white girls look at me funny. The black girls nod guardedly.
I’m used to these stares. Being a mix of both races makes me a conundrum to a lot of folks. They aren’t sure which “side” I’m on. Truth is, I’m not on any side. I’m just me. Gramamma called me the best of both worlds. She was a wise lady.
Fortier grins. “All right! We’ve got a new member. Let’s show Miss—what’s your name?”
“Rambling,” I say.
“Let’s show Miss Rambling how the Bruisers do it. One, two, ready, go!”
“The end zone is what we’re looking for! So, come on, Bruisers! Take that ball and score!” I shout with the girls, going through the motions Fortier laid down, shaking my ass with extra sass.
Everyone laughs.
“Come on, let’s do it again. Miss Rambling, show Tanika how to work those steps.” Fortier points at a girl two places over who looks a little lost.
I slide in next to Tanika and walk her slowly through the moves while the rest of the squad runs through the cheer. It takes a few tries, but Tanika gets it. We high-five each other and rejoin the group.
I spend the next fifteen minutes rump shaking, yelling chants till I’m hoarse, and showing a few struggling girls how to execute the steps one-on-one. It’s amazing. Empowering. And so much fun.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong.
* * *
ASSESSMENT: Roxie Rambling taught cheerleaders a thing or two, and not just about cheers. Student engagement accomplished. EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS.
Pickup Games
[Slater]
* * *
LEARNING GOAL: Jack Slater will use his athletic talent to win a basketball pickup game.
Fueled by sexual frustration and the testosterone raging through my system after getting reamed out by the Dragonlady, I crash into Acuff’s side to throw him off his attempt at two points. He barely budges at the impact, but I wobble his aim just enough to make him miss.
“Robbed!” Acuff cries. “I was robbed!”
Savage snatches the rebound and fakes a shot, winging it over his shoulder to me. I dribble up court and pass it back. Acuff blocks Savage, who hurls the ball back to me. With a quick burst toward the hoop, I execute the perfect layup for one point.
<--It’s only one point per goal in pickup, for those who’re counting.
Skins snag the lead.
“Four to five.” Coach Poss announces the score and takes the ball.
He slowly makes his way toward the goal with Savage running tight coverage. Poss launches the ball to Acuff down court. I’m right on him and try to steal, but he maintains control and swishes the ball through the net.
“Five all,” Coach yells.
“Nice one,” I admit, snapping the ball to Savage.
“Payback,” Acuff grins.
A commotion interrupts our decompression session as the cheerleaders enter the gym with Coach Fortier, another perky young woman, and … Roxie.
Roxie’s eyes connect with mine and narrow. She lets her hair down from her usual ponytail and shakes the strands out. No longer cute, she’s officially straight-up sexy.
I wipe the sweat from my brow as Savage yells my name. From the corner of my eye, an orange projectile launches toward me. I snap out of my daze just in time to catch the ball. I hesitate for a split second. Remembering I’m supposed to be playing, I dribble down the court and lose the ball to an exuberant Poss, who fast breaks it into the net for another point for shirts.
“Six-five,” he says.
Savage comes at me, scowling, arms out to his sides. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He follows my gaze to the cheerleaders lining up for a performance. “Oh.”
“Hey, are we playing?” Poss checks his watch. “I gotta finish wiping the floor with you two so I can get home to my wife. She’s having the kitchen redone and wants me to take her out for Thai.”
“Hold up, hold up,” Acuff says, joining Savage and me. Then, more quietly, “That little student teacher you got looks like a firecracker, Slater.”
I can only nod slack-jawed as Roxie uses her body as a weapon of mass distraction to the tune of, “It’s first and ten! Bruisers, do it again! Bruisers, hut, hut. You’re ready and set. Take that ball over the line, you bet! First and ten, first and ten, do it again!”
Her shapely legs kick, her arms wave, and her boobs bounce. The white smile beaming off her blinds me with the searing lust of my youth, back when my dick could spontaneously combust from a girl just looking at me.
That’s how Roxie Rambling affects me. She makes me want to burst into fucking flames.
I stamp a foot to keep the semi-erection from gaining steam.
The girls fall into giggles after the cheer, and Fortier reminds them about practice tomorrow. The team disperses to the locker room, and Roxie ambles confidently toward us three perverts who are staring like rutting dogs, tongues lolling. We straighten in sync.
“Got room for one more?” she asks, retying her hair into a ponytail. Her eyes flicker over my sweaty chest, lingering for a couple seconds. Were those embers smoldering?
“Poss has to go home,” Savage says, blatantly staring at her boobs. “Wife.”
I absently note his vocabulary has reverted to single-syllable words. I’ll bet he has a woody too.
Don’t look.
“So, you do have room?” Still focused on me, she licks her lips.
Acuff’s leer dissolves into a sly grin. He taps her elbow. “Come on. You can be on my team. You got hunger in your eyes like you wanna win. Those two don’t have what it takes.”
Poss wanders over, ball tucked under his armpit and lifts his hands. “What the hell?”
“You said you have to leave,” Acuff says. “Get yo’ ass to the Thai restaurant, mothafuckah.”
With a glower, Poss bounces the ball to Savage. “Let it be known that shirts were winning when I left. I’m marking it as a W in my little black book. Rematch next week.” He points at me and Savage, slaps Acuff’s raised palm, and wanders to his office.
Roxie hitches her hands on her hips. The pose makes her look imposing. Aggressive. And sexy as hell. “So, I’m shirts. Thank God for that, right?”
I exchange glances with Savage and swallow hard. His face says, Lawd, have mercy. Pretty sure he’s weeping inside.
I’m not sure I can play with the tentpole threatening to lift my shorts to new heights.
Think about the Dragonlady. And the Kuntzes having kinky sex.
Instant deflation.
Ah. Better.
“Six-five is the score,” Acuff says, backing up. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Savage dribbles slowly—both the ball and saliva from his mouth. He actually shoulders away a line of spit that escapes from the corner.
But Roxie doesn’t notice. Her eyes are fixed on me as she closes to guard. Her intense resolve confirms she wants my blood and vows to have it.
All ten pints. Stored in jugs. In her refrigerator.
And yet, visions of her straddling me on a red satin-sheeted bed, holding my hands down at the wrists and leaning in for a kiss cloud my sight.
Oh, shit. Here comes the wood again.
I feint left to evade her and to hide the growing erection, but she stays tight on me. A whiff of her perfume only muddles my senses further. I register Savage passing the ball a millisecond too late. Roxie’s reflexes are a hell of a lot faster than mine. Unimpeded by male hormones and fueled by some form of vengeance I don’t quite get, she turns and steals the ball, dribbling it easily toward the goal and stripping it effortlessly through the net.
“Well done,” Savage says, still ogling Roxie’s chest.
She arches a smug brow and flings the ball at me. Hard. It stings my hand when I catch it, and it’s all I can do not to yelp like a little bitch.
She licks her lips. God, she’s gotta stop that. “Seven-five.”
Okay, I have to get serious. My man card is scheduled to expire in a blaze of hellfire and brimstone if I don’t do something to renew it quick.
With my back to her front, I fast-break toward the goal, driving past her waving arms on either side. She won’t let up. Behind her, Acuff goes man-to-man, covering Savage so I can’t pass. The shot is mine to make. I bump into her shuffling feet. Her tits press into my back, and I mentally whimper.
“Shoot!” Savage demands.
With Roxie all over me, I aim as best I can and lob the ball. It hits the backboard, banking into the net. Sloppy, but at least I saved my rapidly dwindling virility.
“Seven-six,” Roxie says, taking the ball back. The competitive intensity behind her eyes shifts from relentless to dangerous.
She jumps into action with no warning, hell-bent on the goal.
Dribble. Run. Layup. Score.
Talk about a smackdown. It’s like she shook her tits in my face and screamed “BITCH!” without even opening her mouth.
“That’s right. You show ’em, Rambling!” Acuff hollers. “Eight-six.”
Savage scowls as he steps out of bounds and smacks the ball at me. He hates losing, and losing to a hot woman only adds to the humiliation.
Join the fucking club, brother.
With Roxie’s tight coverage, I can’t go anywhere. I pass to Savage, but Acuff steals. He shoots and misses. Roxie snags the rebound from the three-point line, jumps, shoots, and hits again.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, wagging a finger at her. “You’re good.”
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” Her voice takes on the gritty arrogance of the smack-talking street urchin she used to be. “Ten-six.”
Thankfully the three-point line only counts for two points in pickup. Savage and I have to score at least a couple more points to avoid complete annihilation and mandatory induction in the Loser Hall of Fame.
I dribble the ball away from her, but she stays close, swinging and grabbing for it. She pulls no punches. Maybe I shouldn’t either. When she lurches around my back to try to steal, I use my bigger body size to block her. She bumps me again. I pass to Savage. He shoots between Acuff’s hands as they jump together. The ball bounces off the rim into the backboard, thinks about going in, and decides against it.
Acuff gets a little hang time with his attempt, but he overs
hoots, sending the ball right into Roxie’s waiting hands. She dribbles for a layup, but I dart in front. My chest collides with hers. A flash of surprise crosses her face at the contact. Her hesitation gives me the opportunity to steal and land another point with a swift rim shot.
“Not fair,” she breathes, her shoulders heaving.
I grin, chuffed to finally get the upper hand. “Don’t hate the player. Hate the game, baby.”
“Ten-seven,” Acuff announces, taking control with an aggressive run and gun.
Savage blocks the shot and catches the rebound. He goes in for the kill with a Hail Mary attempt from the three-point line. Time slows as the ball circles the rim twice. It looks like it’s about to tip out but hits the backboard and miraculously drops through the net.
“Yes!” I shout, slapping Savage’s raised hand. “Ten-nine.”
Acuff faces Roxie. “This is it. Show ’em what you got.”
She nods, a single fierce drop of her head with no trace of humor, only business.
Acuff passes to her. I guard her nice and tight, but she fakes right and drop steps, planting her foot in front of me and pivoting toward the goal. Roxie aims and shoots a floater that soars high above our heads as Savage and I jump to block.
On my way down, I notice something shiny glinting from her hand. I look closer, trying not to be obvious as the ball strips the net, earning shirts the win.
It’s a diamond.
On her left ring finger.
Acuff whoops loudly and smacks her palm. “Oh, yeah! Bad ass, Roxie Rambling. I got me a new teammate. Poss can suck it.”
“You call me anytime you wanna play.” Roxie’s stern expression cracks just enough to release a haughty grin.
“Ooh, baby, I sure will.” Acuff follows her with his eyes as Roxie swaggers slowly out of the gym, swinging her hips like she just set off a bomb behind her in a trailer for the latest Michael Bay blockbuster.
