Schooled 4.0

by Deena Bright

  Continuing in my rage, “Ya know what? Just forget it. For-fuck it all!” I scream, grabbing my food and dressings, and walking out.

  I stop abruptly at the door.

  Gathering my composure at the door, I take a deep breath, count to twenty, and walk back to the counter. “Thank you for helping me today,” I announce, handing the kid a ten-dollar bill. “For your trouble.”

  As I start to leave again, I turn back around, walk around the counter, grab the geeky little twenty-something kid, kiss the shit out of him, and say, “You’re welcome,” before flipping my hair back and walking out of the establishment.

  Leaving the restaurant, I realize that I might have overreacted a little too much. I could possibly be a little on edge. It’s been three weeks since I “sold” Jasper his house. In those three weeks, I have seen him nearly every night—and morning. We have, however, dodged Janelle and Jocelyn at all costs. I’m afraid to see them with Jasper around. I’ve seen Janelle, of course, but never in the presence of Jasper. I’m afraid I have those telltale signs. You know, those stupid, bulging cartoon-eyes and that totally smitten pounding-heart. I’m terrified I won’t be able to mask my true feelings for Jasper in front of everyone.

  We should have told her by now.

  Definitely should have.

  But, I think the sneaking around has added to the excitement and mystery of it all. When something is this forbidden, it makes it more fun. The problem is, we’re just not so sure why this is so “wrong” and not allowed. Sure, Janelle really is having a horrible teaching year. The fucking kids that school gave her this year are either on parole or have the brain capacity of a squid. She’s a lump of frustration and exhaustion every night. She is so screwed this year at school. Plus, all the shit we know about Marcus; we’re worried that everything is just going to come piling down on her at once. What if she doesn’t take our… our… “having fun” well?

  Anyway, I’ve been a basket case for the past week. Jasper thinks I’m “futs.” (Fucking nuts). Apparently everyone around here is trying to coin words these days. They’re all a bunch of fucking weirdoes, but God damn, do I want to be one of them. I really do.

  That’s needy and desperate, isn’t it?

  Hey back the Hell off, I haven’t told anyone—him—that. This isn’t my first rodeo; I know how to ride this one out. Well, it actually might be a first for me, because I’ve never felt like this before—ever, which is probably why I’m so jumpy and bitchy. And why I almost shoved bleu cheese up that poor slightly post-pubescent putz’s ass. Now, don’t think I’m only into Jasper, because of the whole Garrity-family thing. That’s just warm icing on the cinnamon roll. Trust me, this particular cinnamon roll is quite decadent and appealing without a lick of icing. Damn, could I go for licking some icing off of him tonight.

  Shit, he’s got me all kinds of crazed.

  Today, we’re all going to Jasper’s for a dual housewarming and Ohio State/michigan game party. I volunteered to bring wings, 250 assorted sauce flavor wings. Jesus Christ, why am I talking about wings and wing sauce?

  I’ll tell you why!

  I’m losing my mind. I don’t know if I can play this off and fake shit in front of Nelle. She’s going to see right through it. Then, she’s going to freak her fuck out. And finally, Jasper will say that we probably shouldn’t see one another anymore, because it’s too hard on his family. Then, I’ll have to fuck ten guys an hour to try to forget Jasper. I’ll probably have to start with that the wings kid. God, it’s all going to suck. I don’t want to fuck ten guys an hour. That is just way too much. Maybe just eight. I’m just exhausted thinking about it.

  What in the world is wrong with me? I’ve never acted like this before. This is futs. Way too futs for me. I’ve got to pull it together. I’ve got to “Char-it-up,” be the life of the party, and turn on the charm.

  Pulling into his driveway, I only recognize a few cars. The entire wrap around driveway is filled with vehicles. I guess I hadn’t realized that Jasper invited all of Ohio to this shindig. Relaxing, I realize I’ve got this. Life-of-the-party Charlene Palmer can do big crowds. I can work this place and own it by the end of the game. Go Bucks! Fuck michigan!

  “IT’S NOT EVEN a rivalry anymore,” Rick, Jocelyn’s husband complains. “It’s a blood bath every year. Christ, remember when Appalachian State beat them?”

  “Word, that was totes epic,” Marcus slurs, his eyes drooping.

  Totes epic? God, he speaks as intelligently as Janelle’s “bottom of the barrel” students do.

  “Sure was,” Rick states, rolling his eyes and turning to Jasper. “Want a beer?”

  “Nah, I’m good. I’m just drinking water, tonight,” he says, still cleaning up from the party. “I really haven’t missed it at all.”

  I barely said two words to him tonight, but from the corner of my eye, I watched his every move. I watched as some skanky hoes from his company laughed at his jokes and threw their heads back in overdone annoying laughter. I watched when his jaw tensed, and he eased toward the end of his recliner when michigan was close to the end zone. I watched when he tried some guy’s homemade spicy salsa. I laughed when he spit it in the sink and actually did squirt water in his mouth with the sprayer. I watched his brow furrow when I told Janelle and Joz about sticking my tongue down some fetus-like counter kid’s throat over a bleu cheese debacle. I also watched as the corners of his lips turned up when I explained that everyone in the place high-fived the kid, and that he looked like he just won the lottery while fucking Megan Fox on prom night.

  So no, I hardly talked to him, but I did stalk him like a serial killer with a quota. And Janelle sure as shit didn’t notice. She was so caught up in doting on Marcus and making sure his drinks were filled, and his plate was taken to the trash and his ass was continually kissed and pampered. Hell, she even pulled an ottoman out of the den to make sure he had somewhere to put his feet, while she stood idly by waiting for more things he needed.

  God, what the fuck happened to her? How can she be so caught up and blinded by something so glaring and obvious? He texts all the time too, nonstop. I can’t believe she doesn’t grab the phone and look to see who’s so important that he just has to talk to during a party with her family and friends.

  After everyone leaves, the six of us assemble around the dining room table, basically finishing off all the food and drinks. I love when it’s just the six of us; I always have. It’s even better when Mr. and Mrs. G are here. It really is like coming home.

  “Babe, do you care if I just get totally shit-faced?” Jocelyn asks, pouring herself a shot. “Now remember, if you say ‘yes,’ you do get blown tonight, but you also have to get up with kids at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow to take them to Sunday school. So weigh your options carefully,” she encourages, wiggling her eyebrow. “I want to get so obliterated that I don’t move until at least noon.”

  “Well hon, it looks like you’re nearly there,” Rick says, chuckling and handing her a beer to chase the whiskey shot. “Whenever this woman starts talking about sex, you know she’s loaded.”

  “I was going to say the same thing. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk like that,” I remark, shocked.

  “Ooohhh, let’s play ‘I never,’ you know that college drinking game,” Joz squeals, clapping her hands like a schoolgirl.

  “Actually, the first time I played, I was in middle school,” I joke, clinking my beer bottle with Janelle’s.

  “You realize that you’ll never get drunk that way, Sweets. You’ve never done anything worth talking about. Prim and proper won’t win this game,” Marcus quips, sneering at Joz. Laughing Marcus continues, “And Char here, won’t have a drop to drink, because there ain’t nothing—or no one—she hasn’t done.”

  “I don’t care. We’re playing,” Jocelyn states, holding her drink to her mouth. “I’ve never had sex in public.”

  Marcus, Rick, and I all drink. The Garrity siblings laugh and shrug their shoulders. I have to admit, I�
�m surprised Rick drinks. He’s pretty squeaky clean, but who knows how he was before Jocelyn Clorox-wiped the past off of him.

  “My turn,” Marcus says, “I’ve never had sex with someone smoking hot.”

  Everyone drinks—except for Marcus. Meanwhile, everyone glares at Marcus while Janelle drops her head in shame and embarrassment. “Dude, come on,” Rick says, shaking his head. “That ain’t cool.”

  “Hey it’s fine. He always says I’m cute—not hot. It’s no big deal, really,” Janelle soothes, averting everyone’s eyes.

  Turning to Janelle, he adds, “Yeah baby, you better drink, because this shit is tight.” Marcus then lifts his shirt, revealing his stomach. “Look at this. Even the trainers at the gym say it doesn’t get better than this.”

  “It doesn’t, Marc, you’re perfect,” Janelle coos, leaning over and kissing him on the nose.

  I can feel the familiar bitter, burning taste of bile coming up through my throat. I look around and see the same sour faces on Joz and Jasper. The three of us eye each other with equal stares of fury and disbelief.

  Smiling, Janelle says, I’ll go. I’ve never… I’ve never… smoked pot.”

  The room stills. Nobody moves. Finally, I tip the beer to my lips, chugging it down. God, these people are so damn innocent. I’m surprised that Marcus hasn’t hit the bong—or at least tried to stick his dick down one. Anything to get off. Hell, maybe he should hit the pipe—mellow his ass out a bit.

  Then, shocking everyone, Jasper joins me and chugs his water. Fucking water!

  “Jasper!” Jocelyn squeals. “When? When did you smoke weed?”

  “Amsterdam, my junior year of college,” he explains. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Uhhh yes it is! You’re Jasper, you never do anything wild and crazy,” Janelle says, staring at him.

  “My wild side isn’t something for my sisters to see,” Jasper states firmly, staring only at me.

  “Well actually, marijuana isn’t that big of a deal anymore. My students smoke more pot than they drink nowadays. It’s more popular and mainstream than getting drunk these days,” Janelle states.

  “Jesus Christ, can we not go one night without a fucking monologue about your students and what they’re doing? God, nobody cares. Nobody has ever cared,” Marcus says, opening another beer and rolling his eyes. “Jesus! ‘My students this… my students that… ’ Nobody gives a shit. Put a cork in it—”

  “I particularly like her teacher stories. Keeps me in the loop and up-to-date about the shenanigans that these kids are up to. It won’t be long until D & D are in high school. I need to know what to look out for,” Rick states, extinguishing the situation, as always. Rick is like the family whisperer—no wonder Joz married him. Continuing, Rick asks, “Whose turn is it anyway?” Janelle’s smile is grateful and relieved.

  Smiling devilishly at me, Jasper adds, “I think it was my turn. I’ve never regretted playing with fire.”

  Silence.

  Stillness.

  My face reddens as I hide behind my beer.

  “Good one, dude, way to keep the party going,” Marcus says, snidely, rolling his eyes at Jasper. “I got one; I’ve never gone longer than a week without sex.”

  Every person in the room raises his or her glass slowly, eyeing Marcus, and drinks. Then, Janelle finally catches on and challenges, “Wait! Yes you have. You’re cheating! You have to be honest Marcus. Now drink. You’ve gone a lot longer than a week without sex.”

  “Oh yeah, right. My bad,” the fuck-tart says, smirking and shrugging his shoulders. “You caught me, Nelle. I’m a cheater.”

  “And I’m out,” Jocelyn says, dumping her drink in the sink. “I can’t… I’m not going to sit… I have to get up with the kids in the morning.”

  “But, I thought Rick was going—”

  Interrupting Janelle, Rick says, “I just remembered I have yard work to do.”

  “In November?”

  “Yeah, ya know, winterize the lawn and shit,” Rick stammers.

  “Marcus, should we winterize our lawn?” Janelle asks, looking back at Marcus.

  “Fuck if I know. If you want to winterize or sodomize—get it sodomize—the lawn, then have at it,” he says, walking to the fridge.

  Watching Jasper’s eyes burn in anger and nostrils flare, I’m not sure why we all don’t just accost Marcus now and call him out on everything and everyone he’s ever done. We’re all here—all in on it. Janelle would realize we have her best interest at heart. How long can we really hide something this tragic from her? Hating that Jocelyn and Rick are scurrying to leave, because Joz can’t stomach being in the same room with him gives me a sense of courage and purpose.

  “Ya know what? Fuck this,” I start boldly, walking toward Marcus and Janelle. “Nelle, we’ve got to talk—right now.”

  “Uhhh Marc, Nelle, I’m kind of tired,” Jasper says eyeing me carefully. “Let’s just all wrap this up. I’m sure you can talk to Char any other time, but I’m ready to close up shop tonight. It’s been a long night, and I don’t want to make it any longer.”

  “Yes. J’s right. We need to all go home, get some rest, and talk another time—a time that is not now,” Joz emphasizes, nudging me backward.

  “Awww, I thought we were having fun,” Janelle whines, puffing out her bottom lip. “Fine shindig shitters,” she jokes, laughing.

  “Although I love when you try to make up cute phrases, that one is not going to work. You can’t change ‘party poopers.’ It’s here to stay,” Jasper says, hugging Janelle. “I do love you though.”

  “What? Come on, that was a good one. Shindig Shitter. That’s clever,” she argues walking out the front door. “Aren’t you coming?”

  Fuck. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice if I didn’t walk out with her. “Yeah, right behind you,” I say, grabbing my purse. “Thank you Jasper, it was fun,” I compliment, hugging him cordially.

  “Sure was,” he agrees. Pulling me in, he whispers, “Swing around the block and come back.”

  “Already planning on it.”

  WHEN CHAR RETURNS, I walk her straight back to my bedroom to show her the surprise I have for her. Covering her eyes with my hands, I guide her to the master bedroom. When I take my hands away, she squeals and hugs me.

  “I cannot believe you put a TV in here just for me,” Char squeals, jumping up and down.

  “I can’t believe you need one that badly,” I comment. “It’s odd, Char, really odd.”

  “First of all, people don’t use the word, ‘odd.’ It’s odd,” she starts sarcastically. “Secondly, everyone and their brother has a TV in their room. It’s odd not to. Thirdly, I’ve never been able to sleep from 2:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. It’s been like that since I was kid,” she explains, plopping down on my bed.

  “I’d hear my mom come in with God knows who, and they’d be up all night doing whatever drug they scored and doing each other. I never could sleep through it,” she admits, picking up the remote and flipping through the channels. “I guess it just programmed me to always be up at that time. I’ve never outgrown it. When nobody else was there for me, my good old friend the television was.”

  Whenever she talked about her past, even in quick little details like such, I felt my protective side go into overkill. I just wanted to fix that small, scared little girl. I wanted to take that little girl, who turned up her TV to drown out the horrors of a dysfunctional family, and shield her from the agony that she never should have endured. It kills me that I can’t. Destroys me really. How can you save someone from something she’s already suffered through?

  “Well, here you go, now you can turn the TV on … or you could wake me up any time you want… any creative way you want,” I offer, crawling over to her on the bed.

  “I’ve never slept through the night—not even when I was a baby,” Char says. “I guess you have to drink now, because you sleep like a freaking rock—a dead rock. Sometimes, I can’t even move your ass.” This was Char’s typical avoidance
method. She always turned the serious into a joke.

  “I sleep like a dead rock? Really? As opposed to a live rock?” I ask, kissing her hand. “Are we still playing? Trying to dig for dirt on me, are ya? Hold on, I’ll get more drinks.”

  I’ve found over the past nine years that it’s best to let Char take the lead, call the shots—in all areas—otherwise, you’re fighting a losing battle. Char wins. Char always wins. You can’t force anything out of her that she’s not willing to part with. However, if you’re slow, careful, and cunning, there are ways to coax some history and emotion out of her. She just likes to protect what she’s not sure she’s willing to give.

  I know that at some point Char and I need to come clean and tell Janelle and Jocelyn about us. I don’t really know what we’re so afraid of or why we’re so reluctant. It’s not like Janelle could forbid us to see one another. I think she’ll be mad that we lied to her and kept it from her, but she loves Char. She’s bound to be happy for us.

  Us.

  Damn, I’m getting ahead of myself. Jasper Garrity doesn’t speak in plural first person pronouns. But apparently, I now refer to myself in third person. Jesus, the things this girl does to me. I’m constantly thinking about ways to please her and make her happy. Last week at work, I called her, knowing she was at the gym during her lunch hour—just to listen to her voice on her voice mail.

  I know.

  Let’s just say it and get it over with.

  Whipped.

  So fucking whipped.

  Jasper Garrity is whipped.

  Done, now let’s move on and never speak of it again.

  “Jasper, bring some chocolate in here—if there’s any left,” Char yells from the bedroom. “And not squirt-chocolate either, you perv. I need some real chocolate.”