Stirred Up

by Isabel Morin

  Of course Jason wasn’t her boyfriend, but the same anxieties applied – what they’d think of her, whether she’d feel inadequate and uncomfortable about how many things she had to hide.

  She sagged against the wall, unwelcome memories of her one and only Thanksgiving with a boyfriend’s family coming back to her. She was twenty and had only been in Las Vegas about a year. When questioned by Tony’s parents, she’d told them how she was currently working a couple of different waitressing jobs to make ends meet. She hadn’t known better than to be honest. She was just excited about being with her first serious boyfriend and meeting his family.

  “Any plans for college?” his mother had asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she’d said, digging into the delicious stuffing. “If I can save up enough then maybe. But that’s probably a ways off.”

  “I see,” his mother replied, her tone cool.

  Cheryl looked around the table and saw the glances exchanged between his parents and siblings, and worse, the embarrassment and anger on Tony’s face. She barely spoke the rest of the day, afraid of saying the wrong thing, and when his family addressed her, it was stilted and without any of the warmth they’d had upon first meeting her.

  She and Tony left right after dessert and as soon as they got in the car he laid into her, telling her how she’d embarrassed herself and him.

  “But I didn’t know,” she said, starting to cry. “They asked me questions and I answered them.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to answer them quite so honestly,” he said through gritted teeth, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

  “If everything about me is so embarrassing, why are you even dating me?” she asked.

  “I’m asking myself that same question.”

  Of course she knew the answer. It was just sex, a good time. Maybe he’d gotten carried away and started to think it was more, but now he’d come to his senses.

  He’d pulled up to the shabby apartment building she could barely afford and looked straight ahead without saying a word. She climbed out of the car and went inside, and they’d never spoken again.

  She couldn’t go through that again, even if she and Jason weren’t in a relationship. It was too risky, and she couldn’t bear the idea of Jason being embarrassed by her.

  She picked up her phone and dialed his number.

  “Hey, what’s up? You almost ready?”

  “I don’t think I can go after all.”

  There was a pause and then he spoke. “I see. Are you worried about something? Because you really don’t need to be.”

  A breath huffed out of her. He was confident now, but what about when they started asking her questions?

  “I’m not so sure about that. I don’t exactly have the most impressive background, and it requires a lot of editing when people start asking questions. I don’t think I’m up to that today.”

  “Cheryl, what are you talking about? You’re about to become a teacher. What could be more respectable than that?”

  “Fine, that’s the one respectable thing about me. The rest of it, not so much.”

  “You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to. But if you do, they’ll be even more impressed that you’ve gotten where you are all on your own. My mom will probably want to feed you more to make up for your lack of mothering as a teenager.”

  “Right. And I suppose they’d think it was utterly charming that I’m a stripper?”

  He sighed. “Look, what do you want me to say? Yes, they’d be shocked. But that’s your call.”

  “Of course I’m not going to tell them I’m a stripper. I’m not crazy. But I’ll still know. I’ll be sitting there trying to fool your family into thinking I’m a decent person.”

  “Jesus, Cheryl. Where did that come from?”

  “Oh God, I don’t know. Obviously I need some serious therapy.”

  “You’re one of the most decent people I know. And you are who you are because of your past. You were able to help Sara because of what you’ve been through. No one else had any clue, and you got her to talk.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” she said, her mind reeling at the idea that maybe some good had come out of her messed up life.

  “No one is going to be giving you the third degree. Even if they wanted to, I wouldn’t allow it. But if this is going to stress you out that much, then of course you shouldn’t come.”

  She sat on the bed, her head in her hands. Should she take the free pass and go have dinner with the other dancers? She wouldn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, but she wasn’t crazy about some of the girls going, and she was even less crazy about their boyfriends.

  No she definitely didn’t feel up to that, and she really wanted to see Jason. She couldn’t imagine him letting her down like Tony had.

  “Never mind, I’ll come. I’m sorry I’m such a wingnut.”

  She could almost hear his smile over the phone. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  ***

  Cheryl dug into her pecan pie and looked at Jason across the table. He’d sat next to her for the meal but everyone had moved when they’d come back to the table for dessert and coffee. He was eating some of the plum tart she’d brought, licking his spoon after each mouthful.

  That mouth of his was downright sinful, not to mention that fine bod. He was leaning back in his chair, his legs stretched out under the table until they nearly reached hers. She listened, utterly content, as he and his cousin argued without rancor about some football team or other.

  “This tart was delicious, Cheryl,” his mother said from behind her. She was coming round the table, refilling coffee cups. “Maybe you’ll give me the recipe?”

  “Of course,” Cheryl said, feeling herself flush with pleasure. “I’m glad you liked it. You can use almost any fruit and it tastes just as good.”

  Patricia Shaw smiled, the same warm, eye-crinkling smile Jason had. “Perfect. Maybe next time you’re over you can give it to me.”

  Cheryl just nodded her head and Patricia moved down the table, chatting with her family. When Cheryl looked back over at Jason he smiled and winked.

  Jason had been right. His family did their best to make her feel welcome and at home, asking questions to draw her out, not trip her up. Sure, his mother had a gleam in her eye when Jason introduced the two of them, but she seemed more intrigued and curious than anything else. His father, Carl, had shaken her hand and asked what her poison was.

  Looking at Carl was like seeing into the future to what Jason would look like in thirty years. They had the same build and easy way of moving, the same handsome face. It wasn’t hard to see what Patricia had seen in her husband all those years ago.

  They were all a pretty mellow bunch and Cheryl couldn’t help but relax into their easy chatter. Before she knew it the sun had gone down and the party was breaking up. She and Jason each carried several plastic containers of leftovers when they finally got into the car, enough to feed them for a full week.

  “I’m glad you came,” Jason said, his eyes on the road. “Everyone really liked you.”

  Cheryl sank back into the seat, enjoying the lull of the car as he drove her home. She was so full and sleepy, she couldn’t even keep her eyes open.

  “I’m glad, too,” she said, cracking her eyelids to smile at him. “You have a nice family.”

  “There’re not bad for the most part. The craziest ones weren’t there today.”

  “Thank you for what you said earlier. About how I helped Sara because of what I went through. It feels good to have another way of looking at things.”

  He took his hand off the gearshift and placed it over hers, the warmth of it spreading over her skin. He left it there and soon the warmth had gone deeper, into her bones, maybe even her heart. They sat that way even after they’d arrived at her apartment building. The car felt like their own little world, with everything in it she wanted at the moment.

  “Would you like to come up?” she asked, t
he words out of her mouth before she’d thought them through.

  She hadn’t meant anything by it really, except that she felt good with him, and she wanted to feel good a while longer. But Jason grew still, his entire body tensing, and suddenly the question wasn’t so innocent.

  He looked away from her, staring out the front window at her building. “That’s probably not the best idea,” he said, his voice measured.

  “Right,” she said, trying to breathe past the tension in the air. “Maybe I’ll just say goodnight then. And thank you for today.”

  She was still unbuckling her seatbelt when he got out and came around to open her door. She stood up, barely breathing. He was so close, and she could feel the need radiating off him. Just one word from her…

  “Goodnight, Cheryl,” he said, taking a step back.

  “Goodnight,” she said, heading through the darkness to her building, already missing him.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Praxis exam was coming up in the middle of December, and Cheryl spent every free moment studying for it. There’d be pedagogical questions, questions to make sure she was up to snuff on all aspects of teaching secondary school English, and a section on teaching English as a second language.

  In a panicked frenzy she poured over her books and notes from the very first class she took in the education department up to her present courses, and took practice exams to gauge her progress. Even doing well on these didn’t mitigate her anxiety over failing.

  A week before the exam she was sitting in the classroom before school started, making notes for her class that day, when something brushed by her. Startled, she yelped and flung her hands up, sending her pen flying. Something else went flying, too. She turned as a paper cup full of coffee landed with a wet splat, spreading its contents over the dirty linoleum.

  She looked up to see Jason standing there, gazing down at the mess as though he weren’t quite sure what had happened.

  “I’m sorry. I’m such a freakin’ wreck,” she said, pulling a couple of napkins from her lunch bag and bending down to sop it all up. Looking again, she noticed the Blackwater Café logo on the cup and froze, too devastated to continue.

  This was not the sludge from the teachers’ lounge, this was the life-giving liquid that powered her through her days and kept her alive and sane. Or almost sane.

  She dropped to her butt on the floor beside the mess and moaned.

  Jason crouched down in front of her. “Um, Cheryl? It’s okay. I can even go get you another cup. There’s plenty of time.” A pause. “Or maybe I could get you something more relaxing. Chamomile tea or one of those medicinal blends they have.”

  She looked up at him. “I’ll never forgive you if you do that.”

  He started to laugh, like he thought she was joking, before his smile slowly faded. He stared at her for a few seconds, like she was some wild animal that needed to be dealt with. But not a sexy, exotic animal. More like a raccoon or possum, one of those small but annoying animals that tipped over garbage cans, strewing trash and food around.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “What exactly is going on in that brain of yours?”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Even if I pass the Praxis, the timing’s all wrong. Hardly anyone’s looking for teachers in the middle of the year.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I’m better off subbing next semester.”

  “Maybe. But if you pass the test next week, then you’ll be ready if anything does open up. And you’ll be in a better position to beat out other subs for jobs.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Why don’t you come with me for a little spin. I’ve got my bike today, and I think you need to unwind a bit before you snap.”

  “But I–”

  “I’ll have you back here in fifteen minutes. We’ll even get you more coffee on the way.”

  “But what about this?” she asked, gesturing toward the spilled coffee. It might as well have been an EPA Superfund site for how insurmountable it seemed.

  “That can wait. Come on,” he said, more firmly this time, and she let him take her hand and pull her up.

  Steering her out of the classroom and down the stairs, he set a brisk pace toward the main doors, as if afraid she’d change her mind if he didn’t get her outside fast enough. But she was glad to have someone else take over, even for a little while.

  It was maybe sixty degrees out and slightly overcast, but as soon as she climbed on the bike behind Jason, her body softened, the tension draining out as she molded herself to him. Why hadn’t she thought of this herself? It was the one sanctioned way she could press her body up to his, absorbing his heat and energy. Maybe if she got to do this every day she’d stay sane.

  Or possibly go even crazier.

  He drove around for a bit before stopping at the cafe so she could run in for another coffee, which she carefully wedged into one of his saddlebags. By the time they returned to the high school she was once again feeling like a human being.

  “Thank you. I obviously needed that,” she said, grimacing at her own craziness as she handed back his helmet.

  “The signs were subtle, but I’m a pretty sensitive guy.”

  She was still smiling to herself when they got to his classroom, and after a few sips of coffee, she felt confident she would survive the day without another breakdown.

  Of course, that was before she knew the principal would be sitting in on her class.

  As a student teacher she was accustomed to the idea, if not the actual practice, of people coming to observe her teach. Two of her professors from Nevada State had done so, but she’d assumed that was it for the semester.

  But in walked Laurie Holmes with the first period students, who looked at the principal and whispered, no doubt wondering if someone were in trouble.

  Laurie sat in the back of the class, in the same seat Cheryl usually used, and smiled warmly, as if to assuage her terror. That was the last time the principal made any sort of sign. For the rest of the period she listened and jotted down notes, but Cheryl purposefully made sure not to pay attention to her. A feeling of calm descended over her as she focused on the next hour. She had a class to teach, and she’d learned that the only way to do a good job was to be herself.

  This particular class could run hot or cold. It was a level one class, full of kids who mostly did the work and had reasonable things to say, but there were a couple of boys who were clever enough that they sometimes got bored. When that happened they tried to provoke either her or the other students into arguing.

  Joe tried to do just that when she asked a question about subtext in the Hemingway story “Hills Like White Elephants.” She saw the glimmer in Joe’s eye as he waved his hand around, desperate to be called on for his moment in the spotlight. She didn’t bat an eye. All she needed to do was direct his cleverness and energy in the right direction, and he’d be useful instead of distracting.

  “Yes, Joe?” she asked.

  He leaned back in his chair for full effect and gazed around the room. “I don’t know why we read Hemingway anyway. Everyone knows he’s sexist. Just because people have always read his stuff doesn’t mean we should keep on reading it.”

  Cheryl nearly smiled. He was trying to be provocative, but she had no problem discussing this.

  “It’s interesting you say that. Hemingway has fallen in and out of favor over the years for that reason, among others. What do you all think?” she asked, addressing the room. “Is it the author who’s being sexist, or the character speaking in the story? And what if an author is sexist? Should we avoid reading writers who are sometimes offensive?”

  A number of hands went up, and Cheryl let the class digress for a bit, delighted that they were having such a sophisticated discussion. Joe, having said all he appeared to know about sexist writers, kept his mouth shut. He did seem to be paying attention though.

  Eventually Cheryl brought the class back to the story, and by the time the bell rang they’d covered everythi
ng she’d planned.

  Only when the students were filing out did she allow herself to look directly at the principal. Laurie closed her notebook and rose from the chair. For a moment Cheryl thought she was going to leave without saying anything, but she stopped a few feet away and gave her an appraising look.

  “That was very well done, Cheryl. I’m pleased that everything I’ve been hearing about you is true.”

  Before Cheryl could form a reply, the principal continued.

  “Jason tells me you’ll be taking the Praxis in a week?”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s right,” Cheryl croaked out.

  The principal nodded her head, as if satisfied by this answer. “Good luck then. It’s a bitch but it’s all we have.”

  Cheryl was still standing in the same spot when Jason moseyed in a minute later.

  “Did I just see Holmes leave here?” he asked.

  “The one and only. She observed the entire period.” She grinned at him, finally relaxed enough to appreciate how well the class had gone. “If that’s why you drove my crazy ass around before class, then thank you. God knows what I’d have been like if you hadn’t intervened.”

  “I didn’t know anything about her coming. How’d it go?”

  “I rocked,” she said, a huge grin taking over her face as she held her hand up for a high five.

  He grinned and slapped her raised hand, clasping it for just a moment before releasing her.

  That was all they had a chance to say, since kids were streaming back into the classroom. Cheryl retreated to the back of the room, where she watched Jason pace back and forth, cajoling the class into caring about twentieth-century poetry.

  Though there was a week left of classes at the high school, the Nevada State semester ended that Friday, and her teaching obligations with it. So on Friday she spent the last few minutes of each period saying goodbye to the students, and it was a surprisingly emotional day. She spent extra time with Sara after class let out.

  “Are you gonna be a real teacher now?” Sara asked.

  “I certainly hope so,” Cheryl told her, making a face.