by Deena Bright
Or to Leo.
It’s just not fair.
It feels like an eternity with him staring at me, hurt and disappointed. Gaining strength, he sits up, straightens out his back, and chokes on the words, “I think… I think you better go, Miss Garrity.”
God damn it. Every time he uses “Miss Garrity,” it feels like a knife stabs me in the back—or the heart. I used to love the sound of a student saying, “Miss Garrity.” It made me feel so important, but now, hearing him say it only makes me feel worthless.
I know there is nothing left to say to him. Nothing can be said anymore. I throw on my shirt and shorts, grab my keys, and leave. I sit in my car for a while, hoping he’ll come down, take me back upstairs, and not make me choose. It doesn’t happen.
In the car on the drive home from Briggs’ apartment, I break down. I sob for my broken marriage, cry for my tainted reputation, and bawl harder for losing Briggs, causing him such pain. Pulling into my drive, I see Leo sitting on the porch, waiting for me. When I get close to him, he looks upset.
“Leo, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“I came back tonight to check on you. You seemed so distracted,” he explains. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, since you wanted to be alone tonight.” He stares at me, waiting for me to finish, to answer his unanswered questions. “Where’d you go, Janelle?”
I don’t respond. I don’t answer his question, his blatant accusation. I just stare at him, silently pleading with him to not make me give him the answer he doesn’t want. Can this really be happening right now with him, too?
“You said you were going to go to bed early, but you didn’t. Did you? So, where did you go?”
“I went…” I start, terrified of the truth, scared to lie to him again.
“Wait! Don’t answer that. I don’t want know.” He stands up and starts walking to his car.
“Leo! What’re you doing?” I ask, running back to him.
“What I always do,” he explains, “Walking away.”
Trying to stop him, I say, “But Leo, you don’t understand…”
He cuts me off, “You don’t understand. I can’t do this. I can’t share you. I won’t share you.”
But he isn’t sharing me. Briggs just kicked me out. I need to tell him, to explain. I want to tell him that it’s over with Briggs. Briggs doesn’t want me, doesn’t want to share me, and won’t play by my rules. Would Leo still want me if he knew Briggs no longer did either?
I stand there, frozen, not knowing what to do, what to say. I say nothing. He walks away, not looking back, shoulders slumped, head down. I hurt him again. I watch Leo get in his car and drive off, finally realizing that it’s probably for the best. A teacher has no business crossing those lines with her students, current students or former students. It’s unethical. It’s wrong. I know the truth. I’ve accepted it for what it is.
I sit down on my porch and bawl my eyes out, crying for all that I lost, for all the pain I caused. When I can barely keep my eyes open and my head up, I go into the pool house, walk back to my bed, and crawl into it. I pretty much sleep the entire next day. I stay holed up in my room, sleeping, crying and barely eating for the next week. Maybe Romeo and I are more alike than I thought. It’s comforting to hide away in my room, trying to forget my pain. So much has changed. So much still hurts.
IT’S BEEN OVER a week since I heard from Leo or Briggs. They both just completely cut me out of their lives. I know in my heart that it’s for the best, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Char, Sarah, and Jocelyn have tried all week to cheer me up, convince me to meet them for lunches, dinners, or drinks. I just can’t bear it. Char thinks that I should call Briggs and convince him that I made my choice and that it’s him.
Jocelyn wants me to get Leo back and forget about Briggs. Sarah wants me to date them both and have a Hell of time doing so. I’m learning that Sarah is more “Char” than Char actually is. They all have their opinions, but their opinions don’t matter. Leo and Briggs are done with me, as they should’ve been a long time ago.
Reluctantly, I agree to meet Char for a liquid lunch at a Mexican Tequilaria for her Golden Birthday; she’s 30 on June 30th. It takes everything in my power to actually get up, get showered, and look presentable for a lunch out. Finally, when I think that I’ve covered my puffy eyes and dark circles well enough, I lock the pool house and walk down the path to my car. I stop abruptly in my tracks, stunned, as Leo and Briggs both pull into my driveway—one right after the other. Leo gets out first and waits patiently for Briggs. Leo’s waiting for Briggs? That doesn’t make a lick of sense.
I stand motionless, catching my breath and wondering why they’re here. They approach me at the same time. Leo gives me a quick hug. Then Briggs follows his lead. I eye them quizzically, trying to figure out what the deal is.
Leo breaks the silence, “Janelle, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses. “Every minute of every day, you’re on mind,” he stops and glances over at Briggs.
“Me too, I’ve tried to forget you, hook up with other chicks, but it just doesn’t work,” he explains. “Everything I do, I want to do with you.” Briggs’ voice is raspy—his blue eyes sparkling.
Looking from one to the other, not understanding, I admit, “I don’t get it. What? What’s this all about?”
Apparently, Leo went over to Briggs’ apartment, asking him to step aside, give me up. Leo gave Briggs a list of reasons why he believed he was better for me than Briggs was. I cannot possibly fathom how he mustered up enough courage to do such a thing and plead his case to Briggs. To Leo’s surprise, Briggs explained that not only had it been a week since he’d seen me , but that he hadn’t even talked to me. Leo admitted that he hadn’t either. Neither man could believe that they both dumped me on the same night and that neither of them really wanted to do so in the first place.
Immediately, both Briggs and Leo wanted to call me, set everything straight. But Leo convinced Briggs that if they did that, then that would bring them right back to the same place they were a week ago, fighting like Hell over me. Briggs admitted that fighting with Leo over me was better than not having me at all. They finally came to a truce, an agreement.
“So, if you’ll agree, then we’d both like to start seeing you again,” Leo offers, “under your terms, your conditions.”
“No strings attached, if that’s what you want,” Briggs adds. “We won’t bug you. We won’t even bitch about which one of us you want.” They look at each other and nod, trying to convince me, and maybe even themselves.
“But the deal is: you have to make a decision on July 31st.” Leo states. “We both get this entire month to prove to you that we’re the one for you. Well, that I’m the one for you, anyway,” he laughs, his dimpled grin making me melt.
“They Hell you are,” Briggs shoves him with his shoulder. They both laugh, looking at me for approval. Briggs and Leo are being funny and cute, funny and cute together. Now, that’s new.
“Is this a joke?” I ask. “You’re telling me that you two, the two of you, won’t be at each other’s throats all month trying to kill the other?” There is no way this could work.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Briggs says, “but sharing you is better than not being with you at all.”
“I think I can make you happy, but to be honest…” Leo pauses, taking a deep breath, “I think Alexander could too,” They both just look at the ground, nodding their agreement. Finally Leo continues, “It’s ultimately your decision to make.”
Wow, that all took courage and maturation. Leo understands that Briggs has qualities that can satisfy me and make me blissful, just as much as he possesses those same qualities. Leo can see the truth and the tough decision that I’m facing.
I stand there in disbelief. Is there any way that these two guys can agree to something like this? Can I agree to this? There’s no mistaking it; I miss them. I miss them both, terribly. I’ve been thinking about one or the other nonstop for the past week, never o
ne more than the other.
“But Janelle, we get to do our magic, pull out all the stops to win you over,” Briggs explains. “That means we get to take you out, date you in public. You have to be okay with that.” Leo nods in agreement.
Finally, after standing there looking at the two most gorgeous men on Earth, propositioning me into dating both of them for a month, I agree. They smile, high-five each other, while I shake my head, staring at them incredulously.
“Leo’s going to make a schedule,” Briggs adds. “We have to follow certain boundaries, not try to kill the other’s mojo.”
A schedule? They’re making a schedule of when they can and cannot see me? Is this the most bizarre setup in history? Either way, I don’t care. I’ll take it. Sign me up and notarize the document. I’m in.
I miss them. There’s no denying it any longer, I have real, true feelings for Briggs Alexander AND Leo Cling. Maybe the next month will help me decide, because everyone is right. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to decide. I’m just thankful that it’s later—rather than sooner. I’m not ready yet.
Leo says that they have to get going, because neither of them are scheduled for June 30th. Shit. I need to meet Char for her birthday lunch anyway. This little bit of news will be the lickable icing on her 30th birthday cake.
As they start to leave, Leo stops, winks at me and says, “May the odds be ever in my favor.” I laugh, my heart melting a little more.
“Cute Trinkett, very cute,” I say, giggling.
Pissed, Briggs counters, “That shit’s not right; inside jokes? That’s not fair.” I laugh and kiss him quickly as Leo looks away. “Damn that’s right,” Briggs boasts. “I can do inside jokes too, Cling. Hey Janelle, what time is it?” he asks.
Confused, I look at my phone, and say, “1:25.”
Smiling broadly, Briggs says, “… and michigan still sucks! Bam!” Briggs is laughing. I laugh with him. Leo just looks at us and shakes his head. I kiss Leo quickly too.
Watching us with envious and angry eyes, “That sucks more than a filthy Wolverine,” Briggs whines.
At that moment, three local news vans pull into my driveway. Reporters come at us with full force. A blond, overly made-up woman in an ugly olive-colored suit, sticks a microphone in my face and says, “Mrs. Flowers? Mrs. Flowers, what do you say to the allegations made against you?”
Leo and Briggs stand protectively on either side of me. Confused and terrified, I question, “What allegations?”
Can this be about Vince and his posts? Would the local news team get involved, because I slept with former students?
The reporter sighs, rolling her eyes and says, “Mrs. Flowers, your ex-husband, Marcus Flowers, claims that he left you, because you’ve been sleeping with your underage students for years.”
My jaw drops. My knees weakens. Leo and Briggs hold me up. My only thought before I faint is, “It’s going to be a long summer.”
Dear Readers (Hopefully, there are a few of you out there):
When I set out to write a dirty book (ssshhh), I read a guidelines list of all the things that I should and shouldn’t do. One of the big rules that kept popping up was that I shouldn’t include any form of pop culture, because it “dated” your book, ruining it for the reader. I took out all references that would give away my time period of writing. I tried, I really tried, but I just couldn’t do it. This former teacher, wife, and mother of four is a pop culture junkie. I love love love when movies, books, and television shows allude to other ones. Will and Grace always alludes to pop culture; everything now refers back to the Golden Girls or Harry Potter, so why couldn’t I? Let’s be honest, do you really think that writer of the Dos and Don’ts list is pulling in the bank roll that JK Rowling is? I don’t. I decided that I was going to forget that Dos and Don’ts list and do whatever the heck I wanted. Hopefully, I didn’t just destroy my book, turning readers off altogether. Not only am I keeping the pop culture references in, but I’m also going to explain why each one deserved a spot or some praise in my book.
Thanks for reading my book! I am honored that you took the time to read Schooled. I hope you were amused, interested, and a little titillated as well.
Sincerely,
Deena Bright
Dear my former students:
Let me start by saying that I just adore you, not, absolutely not, in the way that Janelle adores Briggs and Leo. Give me a break, by the end of the school day, the last thing I want is some adolescent boy hanging around for further tutelage. I DO want to take a moment to thank you for sharing your lives with me, trusting me, and brightening the MAJORITY of my days. Let’s face it. I like writing. I like reading. But here’s the raw truth: reading and writing are not my passion. Shocking, I know. People, their lives, their stories, hardships, successes, and humor, are my passion. I have always loved being surrounded by friends, by students, and by strangers. You guys are a part of me.
My sister has always told me that I’m too invested in my students’ lives. Well, that’s why I love teaching. You give me purpose and worth. You were my first “kids” before I had kids. I cried when you dropped the ball at the playoff game. I beamed with pride when you were crowned Homecoming queen and then when you married the man of your dreams. I held you and cried with you when your dad died. I wrote letters of character for you when you were expelled for marijuana possession. I especially love that you are my children’s nanny, loving them almost as much as I do. The list goes on… I’d do anything for all of you; you guys know who you are. My kids.
Add on for the rewrite of the book: Yeah, so I quit my teaching job since the district tried to fire me. But as for my students, I will always adore you and keep a special place in my heart for you. If you ever need anything, then you know where to find me.
Dear J. F. Lawton (Writer of Pretty Woman):
I remember it vividly, my friend’s parents dropped us off at the mall to see a movie, and she and I wanted to see some other flick, but it was sold out. We didn’t know anything about any of the other movies. We decided that we’d go ahead and see Pretty Woman, not knowing anything about it. This was before the big push to actually card people at the movie theater; we were only 16 at the time.
The movie opened that day. The theater was sparse; nobody was there. My friend and I loved the movie. The next weekend, we saw it again. The theater was packed. Apparently, everyone heard how truly wonderful it was and wanted to jump on the bandwagon. Thank God for that bandwagon, eh? The one-liners in Pretty Woman made it what it was—perfect.
My favorite line in the movie is when Kit is explaining to Vivian that “Cinder-fucking-rella” made it from rags to riches. Love it. Nice work Lawton!
Dear Robert Mark Kamen (Writer of Karate Kid):
I was in love with Ralph Macchio; I honestly had a scrapbook filled with pictures of him. Therefore, I went into your movie, already loving it, but ended up loving it for more than just Ralph. What a great movie! It was clever and creative how all the “tasks” taught him the right form, cute twist. Thank you for sharing it with us. Bonsai!
Add on for the rewrite of the book: What in the world was up with the remake of Karate Kid. Alright geniuses, listen up. The little boy was adorable, a great little actor. Was he a Smith kid? You know, I’m going to have to Google that, right? Now this is the important part, so pay attention, you cannot, I repeat cannot, cater to a young audience and expect little kids to read subtitles for two straight hours. I have pretty smart young boys, who read well-above grade level, but they couldn’t keep up. That was some seriously poor planning. I spent the entire movie answering the question, “What did that say?”
Dear “The One-Armed White Bitch” (Bethany Hamilton/Soul Surfer):
By no means do I think that you’re a bitch. On the contrary, you are truly amazing, an inspiration. I “use” your story in my classroom. Being a high school teacher, I encounter many student-athletes who injure themselves, ending their athletic careers. I incorporate your story for inspirati
on, hoping to give my students some of the courage you possess. You are remarkable. Thank you for sharing your story with us, bravely and honestly.
Add on for the rewrite of the book: Guess what? I never saw your movie until last summer. Holy Mary Mother of God, that was some scary-ass shit. Honey, I am so sorry that you had to endure that. Guess what else, I still have never SEEN the movie. The boys watch it in the van while I drive. I can just hear it and just the audio of the movie alone shatters me to a sobbing mess. You poor thing. You are amazing. (My sons think the girl who plays you is hot, too.)
Dear Nationwide Insurance (“Life comes at you fast.”):
I’m not afraid to admit it, I have cried watching your commercial. When that little boy is suddenly a grown man in the car seat, I just lose it. You are so right. It goes by so fast, “life comes at you fast.”
Add on for the rewrite of the book: I have to admit, I wish “Life would come at me at little faster.” Holy Godiva, my 4-year-old’s bitchy phase needs to be put in fast-forward.
Dear ESPN:
Dudes, you are killing me. For a long time, I thought that an orgasm had to be followed by Sportscenter. It wasn’t until recently, during a power outage, that I actually experienced a complete orgasm that didn’t end with the opening music from Sportscenter. I do however have two sons and a husband that think the world, life, revolves around you. I suppose if your channel, heck channels, keep my sons off the crack pipe, then I am grateful for you. But what do you think about throwing in a chick flick movie, like Steel Magnolias, every now and then? Any chance?
Add on for the rewrite of the book: God, it just keeps getting worse. It’s ESPN all day, every day in my house—unless the 4-year-old gets to watch, God forbid, an episode or two of that damn Caillou.
Dear Keurig:
I’m sorry; I don’t drink hot liquid. Sorry, it grosses me out. The thought of swallowing hot fluid just gives me the heebie jeebies; soup included. (Yes, that is very sad for my husband; I never swallow anything warm.) However, you’re doing something right. People are raving about you. The teachers in my building even got together and bought one to “get through the day.” Nice work, thank you for making my colleagues’ jobs more tolerable. Sorry, I burned you to a crisp in the book.
