Old Habits

by Tabatha Kiss

  I slip free from her grasp and barge into the gymnasium, instantly catching the attentions of people in the back row. A wave of silence passes through them all one-by-one as they each realize I’m here.

  “William,” Coach Rogers greets me from the front. “What, uh… what brings you here?”

  I make eye contact with a few of them as I walk between the scattered groups of folding chairs. They all turn away from me; Lucky, Mrs. Clark, even Marv. Faces I’ve known and looked up to since childhood now slink away with hateful, cowardly eyes.

  All because of my Jovie.

  “I was just passing by,” I say. “Didn’t realize there was a town meeting tonight. Guess I didn’t get the e-mail.”

  “Well, this was just an impromptu gathering of local business owners to discuss new policy changes.”

  “Then, where are my parents?” I ask, glancing around. “They run a business here, don’t they?”

  “Medical practices will not be impacted by the new changes,” he says quickly.

  “Oh.” I nod. “Okay, then.” I find the nearest empty chair and sit down. “Please continue. I apologize for the interruption. What was that you were saying about Jovie?”

  He sighs. “William…”

  “Because I find it strange that her name would come up at all in discussions about local business policies.”

  “That girl is a menace!”

  I look to the front row to see Mrs. Clark’s wrinkled eyes boring into me. “Why?”

  “She is rude and disrespectful and I don’t want her in this town!”

  Her voice echoes throughout the gym, slowly dying as all eyes shift toward me.

  “Okay,” I say, keeping my calm. “That’s one opinion. Anyone else want to chime in?”

  Lucky turns in her seat. “That’s not just one opinion, Will. We’re all in agreement here.”

  “Show of hands,” I shout. “Who here thinks Jovie Ross should board the next bus out of Clover?”

  Several palms instantly fly into the air. A few stragglers join them, most of them with their heads down.

  “And who here thinks you’re all nuts and that we should all leave Jovie Ross alone?”

  I raise my own hand. One other palm rises from the back corner. I look to see Mr. Trin sitting there, shiny head and all. People fire looks of disgust at the both of us but neither of us back down.

  “Over what?” I ask them. “Because she called out an old woman for being blatantly rude? Because she took offense to people stalking her around town, spying on her? What is it about Jovie that has the rest of you so hell-bent of casting her out?”

  Coach Rogers walks to his laptop. “It’s not about our feelings towards her, William. It’s about cold, hard statistics.” He taps the mouse a half-dozen times, flipping through the slideshow until it stops on a line graph.

  Clover Crime Rates, it reads along the top.

  He clears his throat and uses a long pointer to indicate a sharp dip on the line between February and March 2013. “The week Jovie left, crime in Clover shrunk seventy-nine percent.”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “Clover doesn’t have any crime.”

  “Not anymore.” He clicks to the next slide. “As soon as she left, vandalism dipped twenty percent, street drugs all but disappeared, and the biker gangs never came back.”

  I scoff. “There were never any biker gangs here.”

  He holds up two fingers. “There were two motorbikes registered at the local DMV that year.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “One of them was mine.”

  “Right. And you never registered one again, thus proving the theory of Jovie’s negative influence on the community.”

  My eye twitches as I push out of my chair to stand near the front. “Mr. Trin!”

  He looks up at me as people shift around in the chairs. “Yeah?”

  “Jovie works for you,” I say. “How’s that going?”

  “Well, she ain’t too great at counting back change,” he says. “But she keeps a little calculator by the register for when she needs it.”

  “Okay...” I hesitate. “Something to work on. What else?”

  “Her hair is long and flowy and she smells nice.”

  I exhale. “Okay, that’s not really what I’m looking for. Has she done anything at all, in relation to her employment, that is cause for concern for the community-at-large?”

  “No,” he answers, scratching his chin. “Jovie is, and always has been, a stellar employee. She arranges the dinosaur figures alphabetically by species. Very educational.”

  “Right. Thank you, Mr. Trin.” I address the rest of them again. “See, guys? Nothing to worry about. You’re blowing all of this way out of proportion!”

  “I would hardly call that nothing, Will,” Lucky says. “First, it’s dinosaurs. Then, it’s how to hide weed in the spines of their school textbooks.”

  I blink. “This is a joke, right?”

  “No,” Coach says. “You’re not being punk’d, William.”

  I cringe. “Literally no one says that anymore.”

  Mrs. Clark pops out of her chair in the front row. “I, for one, find it utterly offensive that she works in a toy store where children play.” She visibly shivers. “Who knows what she’s doing to influence them to crime or drugs or worse?”

  My mouth sags. “Are you kidding me? Can you people not hear yourselves?”

  “And she always wears those jeans!”

  “What jeans?” I ask, following the new voice across the room.

  Vice Principal Sanders shakes his head from the far corner. “The ones with rips on the knees,” he says. “You buy a pair of jeans because they last. What’s the point of buying them pre-torn?”

  “It’s a popular style,” I argue.

  “Not in Clover.” He scoffs. “Maybe in the big cities where she’s obviously been shacking up with weirdos for the last few years, but here in Clover, we keep our jeans hole-less and wrinkle-free!”

  I roll my eyes at the wave of agreeing voices. “That’s ridiculous. Who irons their jeans?” Several hands shoot up into the air and I sigh. “That was rhetorical but okay...”

  Coach points to his presentation again. “William, you should be more concerned about Jovie being back than anybody.”

  “Why?”

  “Your happiness index.”

  I pause. “My what?”

  He navigates to another slideshow, this one labeled ‘WMyers’ on his flash drive. “Overall happiness is a ten-point scale. Ten being full happiness and one being full unhappiness.”

  A new slide fills the screen. Another line graph dating back to the early 2000s with a photograph of my face in the top right corner.

  “Wait…” I squint in confusion. “What is this?”

  “It’s a measure of your personal happiness over time,” he answers nonchalantly.

  I stare at him. “You keep tabs on my personal happiness? What, do you keep psychological profiles on everybody in town?”

  He hesitates. “Well...”

  My eyes grow wider. “You keep psychological profiles on everybody in town?! How is this not common knowledge?”

  “Well, the profiles become tainted if people know about them.”

  “This is a serious invasion of privacy.”

  He shrugs. “It’s my job, William.”

  “You’re the PE teacher!”

  “And it’s my responsibility to monitor the physical state of this town’s citizens.”

  “No, it’s your responsibility to teach sex-ed and the rules of dodge ball.”

  “Oh, no.” He waves a hand. “We don’t play dodge ball anymore. It’s cruel and encourages bullying.”

  My jaw drops. “Oh, my God!”

  “This is your happiness profile,” he continues, pointing at the screen unfazed. “As you can see, you lingered at a steady 7.8 from age ten until your freshman year of high school when it dipped to an understandable 7.4. Now, half-way through your junior year, that spiked to an all-time
high of 9.1.”

  I nod. “That’s when I started dating Jovie.”

  “Exactly. Fast forward to February 2013 when Jovie left town.” His pointer crashes to the bottom of the graph and the crowd audibly cringes. “1.4, William. Usually, we reserve the low points on the graph for homeless people and the recently deceased.”

  Blood rushes to my cheeks. “So, what? Breakups are, in general, unhappy times. It’s not a crime to be sad over a breakup. Also, none of this affects any of you. It’s none of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He clicks open another document and I groan. “We like to keep the General Happiness Index of Clover — or G-HIC — at a healthy average of 7.3. If this point drops below 7, we start to worry, but if it goes anywhere near a 6...” He shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask. “You start sacrificing virgins in the town square?”

  “No, we call regular town meetings to address those who are messing up the curve and, William...” He lays a hand on my shoulder. “If history is going to repeat itself, as it often does, then this Jovie situation could plummet you right back down to low happiness ratings and that affects all of us.”

  I shake his hand off. “No, it just affects these absolutely batshit insane charts you have.”

  “Language,” he warns. “You’re in a school.”

  “No! This is...” I turn to the silent crowd again. “Look, I get it. You don’t like change. No one does. That’s normal but Jovie Ross was born in this town and she deserves to be here as much as everybody else in this room.”

  Mrs. Clark leans forward. “But, Will, she...”

  “She what?”

  “She glued a rubber...” she hesitates, “you-know-what to the statue of George Washington outside the elementary school!”

  I hold back a chuckle. “Oh, come on. That was me!”

  They all gasp.

  “Yeah, that’s right!” I point at my chest. “I did that! You gonna drive me out of town, huh? You gonna start having secret town meetings about me behind my back to address the Will situation?”

  “Will, you’ve grown up,” Lucky says. “You come from a good family. Hank and Jovie Ross, well...”

  “Well, what?” I shrug. “Sure, Hank isn’t perfect but he’s lived here for nearly forty years. He’s worked the same job, paid the same taxes, contributed to the same local businesses for forty years. How many of you can say that?”

  Lucky sighs. “He’s just not what we like to call Clover Folk, honey.”

  Coach flicks his pointer and draws a line along the middle of the graph. “And his happiness level has never gone above a five. Even when Jovie was born. Usually, a newborn baby gives the curve a steady jump for several weeks. It never budged when Jovie was born. Bad omen right there.”

  The crowd nods in agreement.

  “How is that her fault?” I scoff. “You know what? Shame on you. Shame on all of you. Jovie’s had a rough life. Her mother died. Her father neglected her. She never had the opportunities the rest of us did. So, yeah, she acted out in her teen years but she’s an adult now and she’s trying which is a hell of a lot more than I can say about anyone else in this room.”

  Coach steps forward. “Now, hold on, Will—”

  “No, I’m done with this,” I say over him. “Jovie is a beautiful and wonderful person who deserves a second chance. If you refuse to see that, then I’ll...”

  They grow tense in their chairs.

  Mrs. Clark clutches her throat. “You’ll what?”

  I scan their terrified faces again. “Nothing,” I say.

  Whatever is going through their heads right now probably freaks them out more than what I was going to say. Good.

  Without another word, I walk toward the exit I came in from. Hushed whispers follow me across the gymnasium. A few say my name to try and stop me but I ignore them. I don’t want to hear another word from them about this or anything else. A man can only swallow enough bullshit before it makes him sick and I’ve never felt so nauseous in my life.

  I shove the door open, making it bang loudly against the wall behind it but property damage isn’t exactly high on my list of give-a-fucks right now. As I stomp into the hall, I instantly halt as Jovie comes into view. She flinches slightly at my sudden appearance, standing against the wall just a foot or two away from the door with tears in her eyes.

  She heard everything. All of it. Every damn word they said about her behind her back. Everything about her and Hank and them not being Clover Folk, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

  Jovie sniffs. “There really is no place like home, eh, Toto?”

  I step closer. “Jovie, I’m sorry you heard that stuff.”

  “No, I’m...” She wipes a stray tear before it falls. “I’m really happy I did.”

  “They’re full of shit, you know that, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Don’t waste your tears on them.”

  She looks up at me. “I’m not crying over what they said.”

  I smile. “I meant it,” I tell her. “I meant everything I said in there and I don’t care who knows it.” I reach for her hands and she lets me have them. “I want to be able to walk down the street holding your hand or kiss you in the park just because I feel like it. To hell with them. I want to be with you, Jovie. Officially, again. ”

  “Are you sure?” she quips. “There’s talk on the street that I might be involved in a dangerous, drug-running, biker gang.”

  “Even if you really were…” I smirk, “that’s kind of hot.”

  She laughs. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, you’d be a pretty badass old lady.”

  “Would you join up, too?”

  “Oh, hell yes. I’ve already got the bike and I’m pretty sure I could pull off the leather. I don’t know about the tattoos, though. I have this thing about needles…”

  Her smile deepens. “Sounds like fun.”

  I pull her closer and lay a hand on her warm cheek. “It’s you, Jovie,” I say, kissing her forehead. “It’s always been you. I don’t care about anyone else.”

  She hugs me and settles her head on my chest. I hold her a little tighter, too scared to release her in case the angry mob lynches her from me forever.

  After a few deep breaths, she raises her head. “So, what do we do now?” she asks.

  I push a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know about you but I feel like giving George Washington a massive boner.” She leans back and furrows her brow as I do. “Okay, that’s a really weird thing to say out of context.”

  Her lips twitch. “It’s not so great in context, either.”

  “Yeah, let’s just forget I ever said that.”

  “Done.”

  “Thank you.” I take a step back and smile. “You wanna just head back to my place instead? Watch a movie, relax, and forget about all this crap?”

  “Can we watch half a movie and then make out through the rest of it?”

  “That was kind of implied.”

  She laughs and wipes another rolling tear off her cheek. “A little bit of Netflix and Will sounds perfect right about now.”

  I throw an arm around her as we head toward the exit, glancing once over my shoulder to make sure no one’s following us anymore. If they haven’t sent someone out by now, maybe they won’t at all. I’d like to think I got through to somebody in there but I can’t say how likely that is, either.

  They can try to run Jovie out of town all they want.

  But they’ll have to get through me first.

  Chapter 23

  Jovie

  If Trin’s Toys weren’t closed on Sundays, I’d take a sick day.

  That town meeting last night rattled me plenty but my illness stems a little deeper than having my name dragged through the mud by those who claim to know me. My heart rate is constantly elevated, my body heat is dangerously high, and I can hardly walk more than two feet without a dull aching in my thighs threatening to k
nock me down.

  But these are all common side effects of being pinned in Will Myers’ bed all night long.

  Just like the early days of our teenage love affair, going all the way has awakened something in us. Before, it was quiet trysts in the janitor’s closet over our lunch period or late night neckings in my car on the outskirts of town. We were just kids that couldn’t get enough of each other but there were limits to what we could get away with and you can be damn sure we took every opportunity to push that boundary just an inch further.

  Now, we’re adults. It’s whenever we want, wherever we please, and I can’t think of anything more intoxicating than that. Sure, bills must be paid and responsibilities exist to be dealt with.

  But not on Sundays.

  My lips graze Will’s ear as I moan softly with my arms and legs wrapped around him. I round my hips, taking his cock a little bit deeper each time as he meets me with sudden, hard thrusts.

  Will kisses my breasts, teeth etching lines in them to mix my pleasure with mild pain. I gasp with each bite and he laughs at me, getting off on the reaction.

  He reaches between us and cradles my clit in his fingers, adding in the last ingredient necessary to make me come with ease.

  I smother my open mouth into his shoulder, moaning against him as it happens. He keeps moving, grinding his cock in me as his fingers work their magic.

  “Stop, stop, stop,” I say, unable to handle the sensitivity.

  Will withdraws his hand, smiling wider as he kisses my cheek. “Are you cold?” he asks.

  I laugh. “No. Why?”

  “You’re shaking.”

  He grabs the bedsheet behind me and tugs it closer, pulling it up and over my shoulders to keep me warm.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling, “but trust me, I am very, very comfortable.”

  His arms slide around me. “Oh, I can tell.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You look comfortable,” he says, kissing my shoulder. “And tired… yet completely satisfied.”

  “Not completely,” I say.

  Will lies down and I straddle him. The sheet falls away, revealing my naked breasts and he cups them as I lower myself forward to kiss him. His erection eagerly stands between my thighs and I grin as I guide it back inside of me.