by Deena Bright
Dear Steve Abrams (Owner of Magnolia Bakery):
Yeah, you’ve got some damn good cupcakes. Delicious, worth every penny, and the excruciatingly long wait. However, the banana cream pie is even better, TO DIE FOR. It’s a good thing you aren’t located in Northeast Ohio. I’d have to live in your bakery, which would be horrendous for my health and girth. I’ll see you next time I’m in New York.
Dear my totally-in love-lesbian friends:
I am sorry that you have a TOUGH road ahead of you; the general public is ignorant and intolerant. Don’t give up. There will be happiness at the end of the rainbow. Get it? Rainbow! Thank you for helping with the lesbian sex knowledge. I appreciate your help and honesty. May each state wake up and realize that two people, despite what they’re packing (or not packing) between their legs have the opportunity to get married. Love is love.
Dear Chelsea Handler:
You rock my life. I started reading your books shortly after having a baby, and damn, did I need that. I think you cured my post-partum depression with full out belly bouncing laughter. Your books are amazing. You are the “funny” I want to be. My girlfriends and I saw you in Cleveland—hilarious. I often thought that I could be the comedienne you are, if I were tall, blonde, thin, and sexy. Yes, mark that down, I called you thin. Thank you for the laughs.
Dear Henry David Thoreau:
I like you. I love what you stand for, olden-day tree hugger! Although, I believe in your “Simplify, Simplify,” I am so not that person. I have totally sold out and love the luxuries in life. I’m sorry. But, I do enjoy teaching your works to my students. Even though, I am a materialistic mess, maybe I can convince my students not to be. Can we call it even?
Dear Dan Brown:
When I read your books, I feel really smart. While reading Angels and Demons, I got so scared that I actually hid my book under my bed, away from me for six weeks. Finally, I got it back out and finished it. That dirt part was crazy scary. You must do a ton of research. The only research I did for my book was to ask my daughter how many characters were allowed in a Twitter post. Dare to dream…
Dear David Baldacci:
I’m sorry to admit this, but I’ve never read anything from you. However, I needed to give you a shout out, because you are my husband’s favorite author. If you read above, I cannot handle scary or suspenseful material. My husband said that I should probably steer clear of your books. I’m sorry.
Dear Cosmopolitan Magazine:
You were my 20s. Without you, my husband wouldn’t be married to the ever-horny vixen that he is today. You taught me a lot. Just recently, I got another subscription, and was disappointed that I may have “outgrown” you. I think you are for the 20-somethings, teaching them to be experimental, but safe. I loved you; I think you are an important magazine for young women to read and explore. Thank you. My husband thanks you.
Dear Facebook and Twitter:
Facebook, I may be a little addicted to you. I love posting the crazy things my kids do and say; I love showing anyone who will look pictures of my family. I really think I could be a spokeswoman for Facebook. I still cannot believe that there are still people, people I actually know, who don’t have an account. Stupid asses. I would like to recommend a “dislike” button. That would make me uber happy.
Twitter, I don’t have an account. I am not that technologically savvy. Actually, I think I do have one, but I’m not really sure what to do with it. How do I get people to “follow” me? Where am I going? It’s probably something that I should have, considering I have a book to advertise and all now. I’ll ask my students to help me. They do all that junk for me. Oh wait! They cannot know about my dirty book. Ah, forget it.
Add on for the rewrite of the book: I also write books as Angelisa Stone “She” has a Twitter account. Follow me if you desire. @Angelisaauthor
Dear Alcoholics Anonymous (AA):
I’m sorry I only referred to you as a joke. You are no joke, but yet a very important organization, changing and bettering lives every day. Please keep up the good work, helping individuals stay sober. For any readers interested, you can visit the Alcoholics Anonymous website for local listings and meeting locations. Telephone directories will assist you in finding a local chapter near you. If you think you should probably go, then you probably should. Just saying…
Dear Robert Frost:
My favorite poem to teach by you is “Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening.” I did a whole lesson on imagery with it. It was pretty cool. If you were, you know, alive, I think you’d have liked it. My second favorite is “Fire and Ice,” but neither fit into my book/dream scene. Therefore, I went with your most popular, making it seem like I just do what everyone else does. And you know those two roads, the ones in the woods? I wouldn’t have taken either of them. I would never be alone in the woods. Too scary, and plus, the woods have creepy scurrying things. Maybe, I’ll write a “Frost” poem about choosing between two flavors of ice cream—now that is something I often struggle with.
Dear michigan:
Here’s a secret, I don’t hate you. Actually, I don’t hate you at all. Without you, where would the fun be in the rivalry? Being an Ohio State alumna, I enjoy the “smack talk” with michigan fans, but I understand the importance of our relationship. Mid-November every year wouldn’t be what it is today without y’all up north. Looking forward to seeing you again soon, and until then, GO BUCKS! mICHIGAN SUCKS!
This book is dedicated to all educators, who are changing lives and making a difference in children’s lives each and every day. The work may be hard and oftentimes feel thankless, but so many of those kids and adolescents need you, need someone to believe in them. You are making the world a better place.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
In case you missed it the first time:
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
And in case you have no freaking idea what that even means:
According to Webster’s New Dictionary:
fic tion(fik shon) n. 1. an imaginary statement, story, etc. 2. literary narratives, collectively, with imaginary characters or events, specif. novels and short stories.
In case you cannot understand what that means either, then (1.) you’re an idiot. (2.) you shouldn’t be reading this book.
Bottom line:
This book IS FAKE, not real, like totally made up. Do you think J. K. Rowling rides around on a broom chasing a golden ball that flies? Did Stephen King have a possessed car that killed people? No, they did not. FICTION!
Now, that we have all that cleared up and taken care of, let’s get on with The Final Lesson Plan.
DRIVING TO HIS apartment, my stomach is in knots. I’ve made my decision, a decision that took nearly two months to make. The bottom line is: I fell in love. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. I fell in love. Unfortunately, I fell in love with both Briggs and Leo. Head over heels, googly-eyed, take my breath away love with both of them. Sounds cliché, I know, but I did. Sadly enough, I couldn’t choose both of them; I had to make a decision. Like Sophie’s Choice. Holy Hell, not that hard, but hard nonetheless. I made the decision; it was crazy hard, heart-breakingly hard. Gut-wrenchingly hard.
Today is the day. I’m going to tell him that it’s him. I love him, and I already cannot imagine my life without him. I think he’s going to be shocked. After all that we’ve been through, he doesn’t think he stands a chance, shouldn’t stand a chance. Granted, he screwed up a few times this past month, making me question if he could really be the man that I need him to be, could really take care of me and love me like I deserve to be loved, especially after all of the heartache I’ve endured. It’s him though. I think I always knew it was him. I was just too afraid to admit it. I’m not
sure people think we’re right for one another, but this time, with him, I feel it. This is the real deal. This time, I’m thinking forever.
I put my car into park, get out slowly, and walk up the steps to his place, noticing how hot the handrail is in the late July sun. It burns my hand, like I’m getting too close to the fire. Icarus. No, not Icarus, this is not going to turn out badly; this is not going to crash in a fiery spiral downfall. I’m not afraid anymore. Let it burn me. I’m strong enough now to handle anything, endure physical and emotional pain, both, and still come out on top. That much I know for sure now.
I take a deep breath and knock, hoping he’s awake. There’s no answer. I knock again, a little louder with urgency this time. After waiting a few minutes, I hear footsteps. My heart flutters as I hear the approach, and I immediately think back to how much we’ve been through this summer, this past month. The door opens and…
Like seriously, did you really think I was going to tell you on page one who Janelle chooses? Give me a fucking break? Where’s the fun in that? How long did it take Dallas to reveal who shot Jr? What about Desperate Housewives? Every season Desperate Housewives started with some new scandalous murder/secret. We, viewers, had to wait until freaking May to find out.
I was certainly not going to say, “Hey guess what? She chose _______________ (fill in your desired name)” and then go into some other story.
The story is why she chooses whom she chooses. Don’t you want to know why she’s where she is or what went on over the past month? God, you people and your need for immediate gratification is so annoying, freaktastically annoying. Crimony. No wonder vibrators sell like hotcakes. Nobody wants to wait for anything these days, even when the wait is titillating and exciting. Geez!
EXACTLY ONE MONTH ago, I woke up a happily married, but sexually frustrated, woman with a budding career as a well-respected and dedicated high school English teacher. That was one month ago. Today, I am hiding under the covers, pillow tightly braced against my head, terrified to face the day. My soon-to-be ex husband ruined me. Broke me when he betrayed me. So, I slept with one of my students. Two of my students, if we’re really counting, but who’s wasting their time counting? Albeit, former students, they’re adults now. They were college-educated adults, perfectly legal, when I reached the highest levels of sexual passion and climax with them, a level that I didn’t even know existed. The escapades happened one at a time of course—never together—to my newfound sexually experimental dismay. Then to add to my misery, my husband, the man I vowed to love until “death do us part,” slandered me all over town, ruining any and all dignity and respect I’d ever earned.
One month.
Everything changed in one month.
I heard the door to the pool house open. I stopped caring if people walked in and out. They did so whether I wanted them to or not. I’d been staying in my brother’s pool house since the night I walked in on my husband banging the Hell out of his skanky, big-boobed, no-brained secretary in our marital bed. I groaned and rolled over as I heard footsteps walking toward my bedroom. I didn’t know who was about to enter my room. At this rate, it could be any number of people. My first guesses were Char, my best friend, or Jocelyn, my older sister.
“You have to get up, sooner or later,” my older brother stated, pulling the blankets off me. Hmmm, he would have been guess number six. See, with all this chaos in my life, all of my instincts are out of whack. At least it wasn’t the National Enquirer ready to do some expose on the horny teacher who likes to screw her students.
But hey, it was still early.
“No, I don’t,” I groaned, rolling over, nestling further under the pillow. “Go away, Jasper.”
“Janelle, my lawyer has some ideas he wants to run by you,” he explained, plopping down on the bed next to me. “He’s coming over on a Sunday, Janelle. It’s important.”
Jasper isn’t the most sensitive and warm person on the planet, but he’s certainly been helpful and caring since Marcus screwed Lauren and then destroyed me on local television. Jasper has “savior syndrome.” He’s always at his best fixing things for people, finding solutions to their problems. Let’s hope he can find a way to fix this shit, because I was in no mood to handle any of it.
Jasper and his lawyer, Gavin Greenwick, spent all evening last night going over files and files of paperwork. Meanwhile, while they were buried in documents, Char, Jocelyn, and my newest friend, Sarah were plotting against Marcus, figuring out a way to bring him down. Briggs and Leo were there too, teetering between the “Kill Marcus Planning,” and the “Save Janelle Planning.” Briggs spent more time planning Marcus’ demise, while Leo spent his time with Jasper and Gavin.
Briggs Alexander, golden boy athlete, was my student seven years ago, but now it would be more appropriate to call him my… my… lover. Leo Cling was also a student of mine that same year; Leo was the typical overachieving scholar, who also happens to be sharing my bed. So yeah, my husband screwed his secretary, screwed over my reputation, so I in turn screwed former students. Fair is fair, I suppose. Things were not going exactly as I planned them when I got married and started working as a high school teacher. Actually, things were exactly as I planned—up until one month ago.
One month.
Jasper shook my leg, forcing me to respond. “Fine, I call him later,” I relented.
“It’s 8:15. He’s coming by here shortly,” Jasper informed me. “You should probably jump in the shower now.” He patted my back a few times and got up to leave. “Nelle, it’s going be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Hold it!” I yelled, finally focusing on my brother “Holy fuck. Did you get your eyebrows done when you got your hair cut?” Jasper was infamous for his unibrow. Jocelyn and I had been begging him for years to let us pluck it, but he’d adamantly refused. “Where’s my phone? This is so going on Instagram.”
“Shut up, Janelle! You’re not taking a picture of me,” he said, rolling his eyes. I could finally tell he rolled his eyes, because I could actually see his eyes since the burly little caterpillars weren’t covering them any longer. I’d have to send a thank you note to his stylist for curing what ailed me. “Take a shower; you stink,” he added before walking away.
Watching Jasper leave, I wondered what my life would be like without my brother and sister. They’d always been there for me, especially when my parents up and left, following their dreams. And now, now when I was certain that my entire life was in shambles, and I’d never be able to show my face in town again, Joz and Jasper were right by my side, trying to fix it all. I wish I could just fast-forward the month and get past all of this chaos. It hurts my head and my heart. This was going to be the summer that Marcus and I started trying to get pregnant. I was going to spend the summer resting and writing a musical, following my dreams. But things changed. I guess people have to be ready for some major life changes at times. I never really handled change well, but now, I guess I’d have to learn. Vicissitudes were a common part of life.
In the shower, my mind kept wandering back to the surprise visit from Briggs and Leo yesterday. I’d been blindsided and ultimately swept off my feet by their overwhelming desire to be with me, so much that they agreed to share me. Share me? My heart fluttered at the thought that those two perfect men could actually want me, let alone share me. Granted, it seemed strange. If a man wanted a woman, then he shouldn’t allow anyone else near her, should never agree to that. Never. Christian Grey would never allow that.
But, they said that not having me wasn’t an option. They’d rather forfeit time with me, share me, than ever be completely without me. Wow. The truth was I missed them, and I hated being without them too. Both of them. I’d actually felt a moment of happiness, hope for the future, when they told me that I didn’t have to give them up—not yet anyway. I had a moment of complete happiness—until the television reporters arrived.
Apparently, after that fake-faced bitchy newshound told our entire town that Marcus informed them that I’d
been sleeping with underage boys, I passed out, like full-out, eyes rolling back, knees buckling, body slumping to the ground like a rag doll, pass out. Leo caught me; Briggs went after the reporters. Jasper was pulling in at the same time this went down, and didn’t know what was going on. After gauging Briggs’ anger and seeing Leo tending to me, Jasper jumped out of the car, spewing words like, “private property, slander, media abuse, and lawyer.”
Between Briggs’s brawn and Jasper’s brain, those reporters didn’t stand a chance and made a mass exodus away from our house. Despite being out, I knew the story, inside and out, I’d only heard it three times. I listened as Jasper told Jocelyn, Briggs told Char, and Leo told Sarah. All my forces knew. They spent the night trying to strategize a game plan against the media, against Marcus, and against anything else evil that may come my way. They were all my little army of Janelle warriors, fighting for my happiness and well-being. While they planned their warfare, I sat on the couch sipping wine, wondering what the fuck happened to my life.
After showering and drying my hair, I was straightening it when Gavin Greenwick, attorney at law, showed up. Jasper must’ve seen him arrive, because he came in shortly thereafter. Gavin reminded me of Professor Flitwick from Harry Potter. Actually, I was pretty sure that he was Professor Flitwick; his name was even Greenwick. Too close not to be suspicious. I think he is a lawyer by day and a Hogwarts Charms teacher by night. The more wine I drank last night, the more I referred to him as “Professor Greenwick.” Leo was the only one in the room who smiled. He caught my reference. Everyone else just thought I was drunk, which I was.
