Schooled 4.0

by Deena Bright

  “Of course you are! She was your sister. You’ll probably cry every day for the rest of your life… and guess what? That’s okay. Crying is therapy in itself.”

  “Thank you Dr. Sloane,” Vivian says, smiling. “God, why do you always know just want to say?”

  “Psychic powers?” I joke, hugging her tightly—just like a best friend would. That’s what she is. Vivian Marx is my best friend—and so much more.

  So much more.

  “Want to hear something pathetic?” she asks, dropping her head.

  “I love pathetic. I think I might even be the queen of pathetic,” I say, lifting her chin to look in her eyes. “Vivian, I want to know everything. All of it. The good. The bad. The ugly. The happy. The sad. The everything.”

  “When my sister was in college, we started emailing every day—like without fail,” she says. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, she states, “I still email her every day—well nearly every day. I feel like, I don’t know, that someway, somehow, she can still read them, and be a part of my life. I know, it’s stupid, but I can’t stop. I tried to, but I just—”

  “Vivian, I don’t think you should stop at all. I think it’s wonderful and powerful. It’s a way to keep her alive—in your heart and mind. Writing is therapeutic. It’s your own personal therapy. You better not stop,” I say.

  “Really? You don’t think it makes me whacko or something?” she asks, her eyes soft and innocent, not the fierce piercing eyes that I’m used to. I’m seeing Vivian for the first time now. There’s a soft, vulnerable, real side to her that I can’t resist, can’t ever let go of.

  “Well, there are some things that make you whacko,” I joke, “but that, that is not one of them. Those emails are what make you perfect—perfect in every way.”

  “Jesus Sarah, I am so lucky to have found you,” Vivian says, lying her head down in my lap.

  “No way, I’m the lucky one.”

  Looking down at her and the way her long hair splays over my legs and on the bed, I realize how blessed and truly lucky I am. I stare at her and take in the woman lying before me. The strong, but yet vulnerable woman who’s the answer to every question I’ve ever had—every doubt I ever wondered. Stroking her hair, feeling her breath against my legs, I know what I am. I no longer have to wonder. I no longer have to worry. I know, without a shadow of doubt what I am. I, Sarah Sloane, am…

  Without question

  Without fear

  Without remorse

  100%

  In love.

  Dear Science:

  Holy Mary Mother of God, are you hard. Now, I know you’re not a pop culture reference and all that jazz, but I had a few things to say about science. So, I figured what the Hell. Science and math are harder than shit. I have an overwhelming sense of awe and respect for people who are “good in math” and “good in science.”

  Here’s a good high school story for you. When I was a sophomore in Biology, we had to memorize all the wildflowers. (Seriously, what the fuck did that do for me?) Anyway, every day my teacher, a little tiny, skinny, bald man would show slides (yes, slides from a film strip projector) of wildflowers. The first person to call out the wildflower would get extra credit points for the day. (I desperately needed the extra credit.) Well, I knew every singe wildflower (memorization is/was easy for me), but I was never the first one to call it out. Finally, it was the last day he was going to this review before the test the next day. I swore I was going to get some extra credit, come Hell or high water.

  My teacher showed the slide for the “Virginia Creeper,” and I screamed its name at the top of my lungs, standing and pointing at the screen. The room went silent. My teacher turned off the projector, turned on the lights, took off his glasses and sat down at his desk, laughing uncontrollably. The rest of the class burst out in a fit of giggles and guffaws. I looked around the room confused, and my friend said, “Do you have any idea what you just said?” I just shook my head. He said, “You just screamed ‘Creeping Vagina’ as loud as you could.”

  Ps. I got an A on the test.

  Dear Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw:

  You’re going to share your accolade. I figure that you guys do everything together any way, why not? My husband is a huge Chesney fan. I on the other hand, roll the McGraw way. Mmm, Tim, the way you looked in those jeans, Browns jersey, and cowboy hat will forever be etched in my brain for my late night “need some archives” material. My husband and I have an ongoing debate. I feel like Kenny Chesney’s songs are always about how he wants to “Go Back” to when he was young and that old age sucks for me. I argue that Tim McGraw thinks that like just keeps getting better and that the “next 30 years” are going to be the best ever. Kenny’s living in the past; Tim’s looking forward to the future. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Both guys can “Come Over” and show me their “Indian Outlaws

  Dear Pierre Choderlos de Laclos and Selma Blair (Writer of Cruel Intentions and one of the stars of the movie):

  When I saw Cruel Intentions in 1999, I thought it was so freaking hot. I was squirming in my seat. I watched it again recently. It’s not so hot. I guess that says a lot about what age and experience does for the old sex drive. No wonder erotica keeps getting dirtier and dirtier and more graphic. God, by the time I’m 80, imagine what kind of sex scenes I’m going to be into. *Shivers and cringes*

  Selma, when I saw the movie, I fell in love with you hair. I may have cut my hair to mimic yours in the movie. GOD WAS THAT A MISTAKE! Yeah, I’m not Selma Blair. I tried though. Reader: Did you notice that in The Final Lesson Plan that Vivian had shorter hair? In my head, she did it to turn Sarah on and get her back since Sarah thought she looked like Selma Blair (with longer hair). Did you also notice that in Schooled Sarah is a runner, but hasn’t gotten into running yet in All Girls’ School? I like to play reading games. Maybe that’s the (former) English teacher in me.

  Dear Louis Vitton (or maybe my husband, I’m not sure):

  I need a LV purse! I need it. Can’t you just ship me one as a gift for these free promotional things here? Come on, just one silly purse. Every time I go to Vegas, I see all of these women sporting their Louis Vitton handbags, and I think “I deserve one, too.” I never get one.

  Dear Louboutin:

  I will never own your red-bottomed, sexy shoes. They are stunning and mouth-wateringly tempting, but I’ve got short, fat feet and heels kill me. Don’t even get me started on this giant bunion that sticks out of my foot, like a gnarly gourd at Halloween! Christ, it’s disgusting. So, you and I will never have any sort of relationship. Sorry.

  Kate Spade:

  You’re my favorite. My purses are Kate Spade. My cell phone covers are Kate Spade. Everything. I love you. Reader: If you’re planning to shower me with gifts (wink*hint*wink*hit), you can’t go wrong with Kate Spade. I especially love the “literature collection.” Have you seen those? TO DIE FOR!

  Dear Ellen:

  You crack my shit up. I love your show, especially the beginning when you dance and have a blast. I’m a fan of who you are and everything you stand for me. Just know, I’m standing beside you—standing for the same things.

  Dear Rosie O’Donnell:

  I have to be honest with you. I hated you for a very, very, very long time for my own personal insecure and selfish reasons. For as long as I can remember, I have been told that I remind me people of you. It’s always made me self-conscious. I’m sorry. However, I’ve grown and evolved. You rock my life! You are a strong, confident, secure woman, and I value that. I especially value your sense of humor and zest for life. So yeah, we’re a lot alike, and I embrace that—finally. Sometimes, it takes a while to grow out of your own “ass-hole-ness.” Oh guess what else, a few years ago, my students started tell me that I remind them of Jack Black. Yeah, I’m never ever going to find the silver lining in that one.

  Nielsen Ratings:

  How do I get to be one of the people who vote on TV shows? I need to be. Some of these shows we’ve got o
ut there are ridiculous. Every time I turn around, my show gets cancelled. THAT SUCKS! I loved October Road. I still feel slighted with the rushed ending and closure to that show. I also loved Life Unexpected with Baise and Lux. Again, cancelled. Eff you! Bring back my shows.

  Dear Eleanor Bergstein (writer of Dirty Dancing):

  I am in shock. I am so sorry, deeply sorry. I cannot believe after four books that this is your first accolade. How can that be? I feel like I’m a horrible fan. Believe me, I am a fan, a true fanatic. I apologize that I haven’t been more loyal and complimentary of your work. Please forgive me. I can carry a watermelon if you need me to do so? Dance the meringue? Whatever you need.

  Dear Jennifer Grey (Frances Houseman):

  Of course, I loved you as “Baby” in Dirty Dancing, who didn’t? You were “wild, wild!” But honestly, I loved you more as Jeanie Bueller in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Isn’t that when you started dating Matthew Broderick, too? I also heard you were engaged to Johnny Depp at one point, too. Man, you’ve had some serious “scores.” Impressive work, Baby. I just think you’re adorable. Thanks for the fun over the years.

  Dear Rick Springfield:

  Alright, my husband is right. “Moot” doesn’t belong in a song. “Jessie’s Girl” has always been such a fun song otherwise. I know you were trying to rhyme “cute.” Isn’t there a way that you could’ve changed the line to something like: “I wanna tell that I love her, but I know I won’t do it?” and say it in a way that it rhymes with “cute.” Something… anything but “moot.” Stupid.

  However, Mr. Springfield, you will forever be “Noah Drake” to me. I loved when you were on General Hospital and in love with Bobbie. (God, I am fucking old and living in the past… so so far in the past.)

  Dear Josh Schwartz, Stephanie Savage, and Cecily Von Ziegasar (Writer and creators of Gossip Girl):

  I miss the show—a lot. My husband and devoured it every week. My husband had (has) a strange fascination/obsession with Chuck Bass. I’ve got the same one for Nate Archibald (my muse for Leo Kling). I was glad when Jenny was no longer on the show. She was a total buzzkill, but I loved Blair. A LOT. I wish we were friends, and I could borrow her clothes, sans the obnoxious headbands. The episode finale was perfect. I cried. I love my TV shows.

  Dear Readers:

  I can’t believe I actually have readers. It’s still so humbling and surreal. Thank you for sticking by me through all of this. It has been a seriously fun ride—and quite the “learning” experience. I hope you got your closure. I know I have. I keep telling myself that Tate Alexander (Briggs’ baby brother) and Jake Tyler (Sarah’s ex-boyfriend) do NOT, absolutely DO NOT, need their own books. I’m just going to keep telling myself that.

  I am pretty sure that “Deena Bright” is done writing. . If you enjoyed my Schooled series, I do hope that you’ll check out my other author personas, Angelisa Stone and Carol Ann Albright-Eastman. Angelisa’s books are steamy and funny. Carol’s book is a tear-jerker with thought-provoking elements. Give my other personalities a whirl.

  Again, thank you for all your support over these past two years. It means the world to me. I am truly touched.

  Heartfelt Gratitude To:

  My family: Thank you for bearing with me and understanding when I spend hours on end tapping away at the keyboard, responding only with random “uh-huhs” and what not. Your love, support, and patience helped make my dreams come true. Having a family who believes in you and loves you throughout all of your journeys makes everything worthwhile and possible.

  The Book Enthusiast Promotions: Thank you for all of your promotional expertise and advice. The only following I have gained is because of you. Please contact The Book Enthusiast Promotions if you’re looking to market your novels. http://bookenthusiastpromotions.com

  Fictional Formats: Thank you for making my book so beautiful and visually pleasing. Thank you for bearing with my technological inferiority. My covers are artistic masterpieces that I just cannot believe are really mine; they’re stunning. Fictional Formats is an incredible company, creating the most gorgeous books and eBooks. Check them out! You won’t be sorry. https://www.facebook.com/FictionalFormats

  My friends and beta readers:

  Stephanie Bailey: Gazoo, I just love you. Our chats, our laughs, and our vulgarity brighten many of my days. Thank you for always reading whatever I send your way and offering your kind words. You are insightful and wise. I was lucky to be one of your “quarters.” I can’t wait until the day we watch a football game together. I MISS YOU WITH EVERY OUNCE OF MY BEING! (That’s a lot of ounces!)

  Michael Burhans: You truly are “the bomb,” even though it’s an outdated phrase. It fits you literally and figuratively. Thank you for helping me with my technological inadequacies and always reading whatever junk I send your way. It’s nice to have a male perspective on my writing. You have the kindest and most giving heart. Maybe that’s why it’s acting up so much lately—you’re using it too much!

  Virginia Tesi Carey: You make me feel like the world’s best comedienne. Thank you for always supporting me and trying to get my book noticed. I appreciate all you do for me and for all other indie authors.

  Juliana Cabrera: Thank you so much for my sexy and beautiful teasers. I’m lucky to have such an “artsy” friend.

  SK Jean: I need you in my life. I need your fun and flirty ways, coupled with your insight and wisdom. I’m lucky to have you as a friend.

  Skye Jordan: I love your spunk and fire; it inspires me. (And scares me a little.) I love that friendships can occur miles and miles away through type strokes. Readers: You need The Renegades Series by Skye Jordan. SO FREAKING HOT.

  Tiffany Kasmetskie: Your last name sucks. It’s way too hard to spell! But I love you nonetheless. I’m grateful for your help and encouragement. I feel like Harper Lee when you’re around; you’re always praising me and making me feel confident in my writing. Thank you.

  Joy Kriebel-Sadowski: You make me want to write. You make me feel like my writing is worthy. Thank you for always reading whatever I write and giggling with me over it.

  Angela McLaurin: Friendship occurs even when distance separates those two people who are destined to be friends. Your friendship means the world to me. I have never had such a selfless, loving friend like you. It humbles me and makes me want to be a better person. I’m not too fond of the distance though. I love that I was able to hug the person who means so much to me. I hope it happens many more times in the years to come.

  Verna McQueen: I want to thank you for making my first ever book trailer and always being there to support me in my endeavors.

  Janessa Osborne: I love my “horny” unicorn. Thank you for always encouraging me and being there for me.

  Chrissy Sharp: You are one fun lady. I’m a “laughier” person when you’re around. Thank you for the fun.

  Missy MacKenzie Swain: You’re the good-ship lollipop. You are all smiles, hearts, hugs, and rainbows. You brighten my days and remind me why life is the gift that it is.

  Denise Tung: You are my sweetness; the one person who understands what writing and creating means to me. My heart belongs to you. Thank you for being there for me through everything. One day, I am going to hug you and it’s going to take four people, four extremely hot men, to get me off of you.

  Christine Zolendz: You’re my literary soul mate. I want to be a writer/author just like you. You are kind, gracious, and an inspiration. You write from the heart with feeling and purpose—never backing down from what’s in your heart and mind. I’m lucky to have met you. Now, if I could just do it in person… Readers: Please check out Christine Zolendz and her Mad World Series, starting with Fall From Grace. You won’t be sorry. Shane Maxton is a dream. If you want to go a little darker, then check out Brutally Beautiful and Cold-Blooded Beautiful.

  Keep going for a sneak peek into Can’t Go Home by Angelisa Stone.

  (Sorry Gitte Doherty, I know you hate when writers do this!)

  HER NAME IS Ka
thryn Denise Howell. She used to go by “Katie” when she was in high school, even into college, but when she moved here, she became “Kathryn” to her new friends and co-workers. It’s amazing what you can learn from social networking and even just from random people on the streets. When I scrutinize her, she looks like a “Katie.” She has one of those angelic, “girl-next-door” faces, the kind that when you look at her, you just know that you’d never be able to lie to such an innocent and naïve face.

  I understand why she’d choose to go by “Kathryn” now; it’s more mature, more professional, and demands respect. As for me, I already respect her; I respect the fuck out of her. She solidified my opinion of her the moment I heard her speak.

  The problem is when I actually meet Kathryn and talk to her all I’m going to do is lie like crazy to her. Basically, I doubt anything I ever say to her will be the truth. The feel-good, glowy, little angel on my shoulder keeps whispering that I should most definitely stay away, should move on, should forget I ever heard her on the phone. I should walk away and do her a favor. A big fucking favor.

  But, I can’t. The evil devil in my pants won’t let me. Kathryn got to me—and to him. She got to us bad. Despite my better judgment, Kathryn Howell will be mine, come Hell or high water. I know I sound like a creepy-ass stalker. I’m not a stalker in the “cut ‘em up and eat ‘em sense.” I’m a stalker in the “I know what want, and I’m going to get it” sense. Normally when I see a woman I want, she’s mine within in the night, sometimes within the hour. My life has been a series of wanting and then quite easily getting. But lately, what I want and what I have are two very dissimilar things, even very different from what I used to have. It’s all changing, and quite fucking frankly, that’s just fine by me.