“Joel has English in the same room as me, but in the next period.”
“That's it?”
I'm not making it easy for him, but I really don't want to talk. I've got a load of homework waiting upstairs. Besides, Dad and I have never been good at small talk.
“Any girls?”
He's asked me that every year since seventh grade. It irks me. “I have girls in every class except phys ed. Rules, you know.”
“Don't be smart. You know what I mean. Any girls that look good to you?”
“Shouldn't you ask if I look good to any girls? I'm not exactly a babe magnet.”
He gives me a long stare and I wait for his usual comeback: “Why not? You got my good looks.”
He says, “Sure you are… what with my good looks in your DNA.”
Predictable. He doesn't mention my mother. He never does. It's as if he found me in the backyard or something. As if I were an asexual experiment. I don't think much about my mom these days. I used to when I was a kid, but no more. Too much going on to think about that now.
“Anything happening this weekend?”
“Game tomorrow night. I'm going with Joel. In his car,” I add pointedly.
Dad ignores my transportation hint and begins to shuffle through the mail Mrs. Gomez has stacked on the table for him. “Have fun.”
“You around next week?” I ask.
“Off to Richmond on Sunday.”
I watch him sort the mail and I know I've been dismissed. I leave him and go up to my room. Welcome home, Dad.
Honey
The entire ride to the football game Friday night is spent talking about the new teacher, Lori Settles. I sit in the backseat and listen to Jessica and Taylor trash the woman. Not that I want to defend her. She really isn't the typical teacher, and for some reason, it bothers me. And not because she wears heels and body-hugging clothes every day.
“Stilettos?” Jess asks, and I know she's rolling her eyes. “Who wears stilettos to teach history?” She also has world history with Ms. Settles, but fifth period.
“Well, nobody's mind wanders,” Taylor says. “Not the guys' minds, at least.”
“Oh, their minds wander, all right,” Jess says. “Just not to history.”
They laugh. Taylor, in the front passenger seat, turns to look at me. “You're awful quiet. Do you like Stiletto Settles?”
“I haven't met her, but I hear all the guys talking,” I tell her. My mind is more on catching up to Ryan at the game. We've exchanged some e-mails. He thinks Settles is smoking hot. Of course. He's a red-blooded male.
“The best thing to come out of Settles' arrival is that now the focus is off Jordan Leslie.”
Jordan is captain of our cheerleaders: blond, pretty and always at the top of the lust list of the boys now talking about Settles. She's thought of herself as a princess ever since sixth grade, and none of us like her. Not that she cares, because my friends and I will never register on the babe Richter scale, so we're of no interest to her or her little followers and worshipers.
“True,” Jess says. “She was pouting, I heard, because Lars said Ms. Settles was giving him wet dreams.” Lars is Jordan's boyfriend.
“A well-groomed collie could give him wet dreams,” I say, and the others laugh hard.
We park in a crowded lot next to the field and walk to the stands, already full of students. I look for Ryan, but covertly, because I don't want Taylor and Jess to know. When I see him, my heartbeat picks up. He's sitting with Joel, sees us and waves.
“Ryan's saved us some space,” I tell my friends. “That was nice of him.” They exchange glances, but the cheerleaders finish a routine and the whole bleacher erupts into yowls, drowning out any comments Jess and Taylor might make. They know I've had a thing for Ryan for years, even though I don't talk about it.
“Hey,” Ryan says, moving his stuff aside so we can sit. Joel ogles Jess.
I sit next to Ryan, hoping no one can guess that my heart is thudding like a drum. “Think we can win this one?” I ask.
“Only if their quarterback drops dead during the coin toss,” Ryan says.
Joel nudges Ryan and says, “Whoa! Look at that.”
Lori Settles is passing below us along the bleachers. Her black hair is tied back and she's wearing a ballcap, a suede jacket and skintight jeans.
“Makes my knees weak,” Joel says.
“Isn't she wearing stilettos?” Jess asks snidely.
“Boots,” Ryan says, following her with his eyes. “Baby-blue cowboy boots. Would you look at that.”
The expression on Ryan's face tells me that's not all he's noticing. Her jeans follow the curve of her butt like a second skin, and Ryan sweeps her backside in one long admiring look. Behind us, someone whistles. Someone else shouts, “Bring it on home to me, baby.” Shushing and laughing everywhere. Settles appears to hear nothing. My mouth tastes sour. What I wouldn't give to have Ryan look at me that way. But he won't. I'm too big and horsey. I'm not pretty. I'm plain and ordinary. I'm just a girl he's known for years.
Jess leans over and whispers in my ear. “She's out of his league.”
I start, feel color rise to my cheeks. My pathetic thoughts must be written on my face. I glance at Jess, see understanding. “And he's out of mine,” I say.
A whistle blows and both football teams run onto the field. The stands on both sides of the field go crazy. My moment of unmasking passes, and I stand and shout for our team, pouring all my frustration into it.
a cognizant v5 original release september 20 2010
Ryan
I like sitting in front of her desk, doodling in my notebook and mentally undressing her. Her lectures are all business, but when she moves, my mouth waters. Okay, so I have the hots for my teacher. It's not the first time. My “love” was purer, but when I was in kindergarten, I loved Mrs. Knobler. In first grade, I fell hard for Mrs. Rubinstein. When I hit second grade and found out I wouldn't be in her room again, I had a meltdown. Dad took me to some shrink who talked to me endlessly and told Dad I was “projecting” and turning women who remained consistent in my life into “mother figures” because I had no mother. What a bunch of crap. There's nothing about Ms. Settles that makes me wish for a mother.
Three weeks into the school year, Ms. Settles asks me if I could come to her room after the last bell and I about fall over myself, telling her yes even though it means missing the school bus and having to take two city buses to get home. The rest of the day drags. I look at the wall clocks fifty times, wishing time away. When the day is finally officially over, I saunter back to her room, forcing myself not to hurry so that I don't get there out of breath
