by Laura Ward
Now, I was an underpaid teacher—begging for help with her classes—in a dimly lit, cinder block box of a building in the middle of Nowhere, USA. Teaching a bunch of bullying jerk-offs, one of whom spent most of the summer with his hand up my skirt. Fuck.
Daily football practice was held on the lower field, a poorer quality stretch of campus. Administration and coaching staff felt comfortable with the boys tearing up this land, as they drilled and worked their players for hours each day. It was agreed on by all the powers that be that the area where games occurred should be treated as sacred, protected ground. The vast majority of the school’s fundraising and family donations went toward the preservation and upkeep of the main field, where only football games and graduation were held. Nothing else.
I passed by the main field and took in the over-the-top surroundings. There were pristine metal bleachers surrounding the playing area, professional lights ready for night games, and an impressive announcer’s booth, high above. A local radio station broadcasted home and away Lions games. This was small town Indiana, but football was big-time.
I was chaperoning my first game that Friday night and was warned it would be packed. Everyone in Zionsville would be there, along with many fans and family from the opposing Fishers team. As I approached the varsity squad, the cheerleaders were off to the side, practicing their halftime routine. Cammie and Stephanie, both in my third period class, snickered as I approached the team. Several of the players must have seen me too, as the whistles and catcalls increased the closer I got.
The boys weren’t going to like my presence, but they could be as pissed as they wanted at my interruption. Landon and Dean skipped my after school detention, and I had a pretty good idea that this was where they went instead. It wasn’t surprising that they feared their coach’s anger over missing practice more than mine for skipping detention, but it didn’t mean I was going to just roll over and take it. Not a chance in hell.
A loud whistle blew and a deep growl overcame the noise from the team. They immediately quieted and looked downward as Tommy Stone walked through his players toward me.
“Ms. Harris. How are you today?” Coach Stone was married to Sam. He was kind and polite to me but an aggressive, punishing coach. In fact, I was counting on that.
I smiled at Tommy as he came to the fence where I was standing. He was in his late thirties, with jet black hair that was balding in the back. He wore a visor and sunglasses that were attached by a thick cord, so he wouldn’t lose them in one of his tirades. Sam told me this was usually when someone missed a tackle or ran a post, rather than a crossing route… whatever the hell that meant. Tommy was stocky and of medium height, but he looked like he could throw any one of his players against a wall with ease. Which was, again, exactly what I was counting on.
“Coach Stone.” I leaned against the fence as he leaned sideways towards me on the other side. “I am having some behavior—mostly respect—issues with a few of your senior players. In fact, I issued detention today to Dean Goldsmith and Landon Washington, but they never showed up. They aren’t here, are they?”
“They sure are. Sam told me those meatheads were bothering you. I am more than happy to help you end this right now.” He looked genuinely pissed and not like I was annoying him, as I feared. He was a man that demanded respect and demanded that his boys respect everyone around them, all the time.
The team watched our interaction as the coach motioned both boys over to us. In all fairness, Landon hadn’t been disrespectful to me in class and, in fact, was defending me from Dean’s comments, but he did choose to skip detention, and I couldn’t let him off the hook for that. If for no other reason than I didn’t ever want it to appear that I was taking it easy on him, or making an exception in his case.
Also, he may not have been rude to me, but he was rude to other students in the past, and I was still so furious at him for lying to me. He whipped off his helmet as he jogged over, his jaw tightly clenched in anger. I smiled, a little nervously, because I wasn’t exactly sure what was about to happen, and shrugged my shoulders at him. It was the same half-embarrassed shrug he gave me on the first day of school. He shook his head at me and finally grinned back, knowing he deserved whatever was coming. I inhaled sharply when I saw that grin. It was the same one he wore before he kissed me. A flood of memories raced through me, and I suddenly wanted to beg Tommy to not discipline him too harshly.
Tommy made Dean and Landon line up against the fence, and he laid into each of them for being disrespectful, threatened to pull them out of the game, and assigned them an extra hour in the weight room for the next two weeks. He then forced them to apologize to me and sent them off to run hills as the rest of their team yelled insults at them and pegged footballs at their heads. There was nothing off-limits when it came to Indiana high school football.
Tommy made me promise to tell him if they so much as breathed at me the wrong way and I thanked him profusely, feeling some guilt, but mainly control, over my life for the first time in many weeks.
Homecoming at Zionsville Academy was a huge ordeal. While the dance itself was held in the gymnasium, the kids treated it like a mini-prom. Not having attended many high school dances, I couldn’t believe the students rolling up in stretch limos. Girls with their hair professionally styled, and decked out in sequined dresses. Boys sporting new buzz cuts, or hair spiked with gel, and wearing tailored suits.
A disco ball spun around the ceiling of the gym, causing rainbow colored lights to scatter around the floor. The low-rent DJ was stationed underneath one of the basketball hoops, and he had fog machines billowing out clouds of a smelly burnt plastic stench into the air. This year’s theme was The Jungle, so several art classes had painted scenes with rainforest backgrounds and lions, elephants, and monkeys. That was about all the student council budget had allocated for the dance. Balloons and streamers were considered “fancy” decorations and were saved until Junior Prom. The DJ played the Katy Perry song, Roar, and the festivities were underway.
No snacks or drinks were allowed inside the gym, but I passed tables of sodas and chips for sale in the hallway. To allow room for dancing, only one set of bleachers was left unfolded and those benches were already filling with students whose parents had undoubtedly forced them to attend the dance against their will. I waved to a few of my freshman in the stands and assumed my chaperone post.
I was assigned a spot on the side of the gym, closest to the entry doors. I was to supervise the lower left portion of the gym, while another teacher monitored the upper left, another the lower right, and so on. Each of us would also take turns keeping an eye on the bathrooms, snack area, or parking lot during the dance. During my debriefing, I was surprised at how little intervening I was really required to do at a dance. Unless there was fighting, alcohol, weaponry, nudity, or actual fornication, I could stand by and smile. Knowing my students, they would be pushing the nudity and fornication rules to the absolute limits tonight.
From my position, I watched all the students enter the dimly lit gymnasium. As anyone could have predicted, the football team was particularly raucous. They had just won the game against their biggest rival. They were headed for the State championship game in a few weeks and were feeling very confident. Landon had caught two touchdowns during the game, one of which was an amazing one-handed grab that deserved to be on Sports Center—at least that’s what the teachers were saying in the lounge. The staff were also talking about how well Dean and Landon played together. I saw it firsthand the week before at the game I chaperoned.
As much I thought Dean was a pain in the ass, he threw really well for a high school quarterback. Watching Landon jump in the air and catch his passes was amazing. He looked tenacious, lean, and athletic. It was hard to not picture those large hands on me when I saw him cradle the ball. Lucky pigskin.
The students of Zionsville poured into the gymnasium as the music pulsed through the speakers. Couples were grinding, groups of freshman danced awkwardly, and loner
s stood off to the sides. I moved to the music, smoothing my dress down and already regretting my choice to wear heels when I would be standing for the next three hours. Sam had informed me that the teachers usually dressed up for the dances as well, so I chose a simple black sheath, which was form fitting but plain. And clear to me now—really uncomfortable, black leather strappy heels.
I was quickly joined by Amy, who was vibrating with excitement. “Love your shoes, Miss Harris!”
“Thanks, Amy! They’re wicked uncomfortable, though. I guess I thought I’d be sitting down at some point tonight. Wrong. Are you here with anyone?”
Amy looked down at her red satin pumps and frowned. “Never had a date before. I go to every dance, anyway. Mom tells me to come. Great memories or something.” She looked embarrassed as she watched couples slow dance around the room.
I didn’t have many high school memories of my own, and I found myself wondering why I wasn’t confident enough, like Amy, to attend the dances. I wished I had loosened up and lived a little more in my younger years. And my older years. Okay, all my years.
“She’s right, Amy. I think it’s great you attend dances, even without a date. You’ll never regret taking the chance and getting out there. Plus, now I get to see a friendly face. It’s a win for me!” A huge grin spread across her round face, and I couldn’t hold back my own.
Zionsville Academy had the honor of being a FALS school. FALS, or Functional and Learning Support, was a program that a few schools in the state offered so that students with special needs could find the right educational balance for their particular situation. Some students in the program were taught basic “life skills” in their classroom with a special educator and then joined the rest of the school population for classes, like physical education, art, and music—often with an assigned “buddy.” Students in the FALS program were elated to be a part of Zionsville Academy. I knew, unequivocally, that it was the broader student body that were the lucky ones—if they would only open themselves up to the experience.
Other FALS students, like Amy, were transitioned into academic classes with the help of a paraeducator to provide individual support. Amy had dealt with being teased by students, being ignored or babied by teachers, and progressing through high school with no real friends. Yet, she persevered. She continued to strive for more and more independence, and she showed us all that she wouldn’t stop until she got it.
I was in awe of her—and I could learn a hell of a lot from her.
Amy, like Evie, also loved to dress up and was wearing a tight, red sequined dress with her red heels. Her bright red lipstick enhanced her happy smile, and I watched her dance gleefully, alone but with abandon. Amy was another great example of bravery. I needed to wear more bright lipstick, sparkly dresses, and dance. Life was too short to miss any chance to dance. What had been holding me back before?
More raucous cheers announced the arrival of the rest of the football team and their dates. I scanned the crowd, anxious to see Landon and mad at myself for still caring.
Landon walked in, dressed casually compared to other boys, in khakis with a white dress shirt and tie. He met my eye and nodded at me as I smiled and felt disappointed that I couldn’t freely congratulate him on his game. Cammie clutched his hand and pulled him closer to her. The skin tight, silver dress, she wore was low cut in the front and backless. Cammie made sure all eyes were on her, and her intentions with Landon were crystal clear.
Thrift Shop, a popular dance song by Macklemore, came on and I moved just a little to the catchy beat until I saw it. My jaw dropped. Was I hallucinating? Cammie climbed up on Landon, wrapped her legs around his waist, and was grinding—humping, really—the hell out of him. He smiled at her and whispered something in her ear. Bile rose up in my throat.
A few minutes later, Blurred Lines, by Robin Thicke, played and students screamed and began to dance in small groups. The irony of the title of the song was not lost on me. How I had unintentionally let the lines blur between my personal and professional lives still astounded me.
I looked over to check on Amy, still alone, but dancing wildly to the beat. When I turned around again, I was surrounded. Dean, Jon, and Ricky were dancing crudely around me in a circle. They weren’t touching me, but they were jutting their hips forward, hysterical in laughter. I frowned, feeling bewildered, when Dean leaned in closer.
“We’re sorry about how the year started, Ms. Harris. We were just having fun. We’re all excited to be assigned the hottest teacher at the school. We’ll behave, though—promise.” He winked and continued his crazy dancing. I couldn’t contain my laughter at their wild moves. I had to give it to them—they never crossed the line, but they did cause quite a scene. Landon watched the group carefully, still wrapped tightly around Cammie. Just when I thought I would die from laughing, and mortification, two arms broke through and wrapped around me in a tight, protective grasp.
Turning back, Ford was there holding me. Landon’s expression changed from playful to stormy as he untangled himself from Cammie’s claws and approached the group. Ford leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Here to rescue you, Ms. Harris.”
I smiled and he released me, putting his arm around my shoulder.
“Back off boys. A real man is present.”
Dean, Ricky, and Jon took off to find their dates, howling with amusement, while Landon glowered furiously as Ford focused on him.
“Problem, Mr. Washington? Don’t you have a very eager date to get back to? I saw you before. Your method of dancing is illegal in most states.” Ford stared straight at Landon coolly, challenging him, and I glanced over to see Cammie glaring at me.
Landon turned around without acknowledging Ford and grabbed Cammie. She pressed against him and they began to sway, intimately, to the music.
“Drinks later, Emma? I’d love to fill you in on all the good school gossip,” Ford whispered in my ear. Daringly, I raised my eyes to see Landon still watching me. This was dangerous. Neither one of us could stop seeking each other out. It had to stop.
“I can’t, Ford. I have to get home. But thank you for the help. You bailed me out, once again.”
A slow song began to play and Ford guided me closer to the dance floor. “Pay me back with one quick dance?” Ford moved my arms up and onto his shoulders, while lightly placing his hands on my hips. We were the antithesis of how the rest of the student body was dancing. It was very chaste and proper, yet I was concerned. I didn’t want to dance with Ford. I didn’t want to dance with anyone. Looking over Ford’s shoulder, Landon had maneuvered Cammie so her back was to me and he could watch us freely. The look of betrayal on his face was almost comical to me.
Except none of this was actually funny.
He could be as jealous or as mad at me as he wanted. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t lie. I didn’t ask Ford to dance. We no longer meant anything to one another. I broke away from his angry scowl and peeked at Amy over my other shoulder. She swayed to the song solo, but she gave me a thumbs up and a smile. I needed to remember what she showed me. I should never turn down a chance to dance.
The song ended and a loud rap song began beating out over the crowd. Ford squeezed my shoulder and winked as he took off, sauntering over to the other end of the gymnasium.
I was soon relieved of my gymnasium duties and began the ever dreaded girls’ bathroom check. It was now my job to make sure no girls fought, drank, smoked, or did drugs in the bathroom. After spending a few minutes in the crowded room which reeked of perfume and hairspray, I was content that there was only drama, and not illegal paraphernalia inside. Exiting back into the hallway, I ran straight into Landon’s sweaty chest.
Why was I always running into him? And he always smelled so blessed good. My mom told me constantly as a child to stop looking down at the ground while I walked. Now I saw that shyness actually encouraged one to run into human walls.
“Oooh… sorry, Landon, I was just checking in there.” I grabbed his forearm, as I stumbled
back gawkily.
“I got you.” He steadied me and then looked at me with irritation.
“Thanks.” I moved back several steps and smoothed down my dress. Distance and control. Distance and control were what I needed around him.
“What are you doing with Ford?” He spoke quietly but with palpable disgust.
“I’m an adult. I’m allowed to talk to other adults. Should I be asking what you’re doing with Cammie? Or should I ask what aren’t you doing?” I whispered with equal disdain. His white dress shirt was untucked and his tie loosened, no doubt the result of Cammie’s hands.
“You don’t get to care, MS. Harris.” He seethed as he emphasized the Ms. in an attempt to taunt me.
“And neither do you.” I turned away and walked down the long hallway to my classroom to get my purse.
“Wait.” Landon grabbed my arm and I wheeled around, pulling out of his grasp.
“Landon, please. Someone will see you. You have to go. You have a date and I have responsibilities.” I started to sweat as my panic rose, and he stood in front of me panting. Sweat rolled down his face as he wiped it away.
“Emma, I just needed to tell you, nothing is happening with Cammie. She wants to, but nothing is going on.” He bent his knees, trying to make eye contact with me.
I looked away, refusing to listen. If I looked in those eyes, my resolve would soften.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m your teacher, nothing more.”
I stomped back down the hall with Landon following me closely.
“Believe me or not, she isn’t who I want,” he murmured softly.
I turned to him, frowning, just as the DJ announced the final song of the night.
