Double Grades

by Kristine Robinson

  As she got into her car and drove away she thought about how things had been better with her mother around. Her father, although still not “good,” had been better. He'd ranted less, and been more likely to listen than to talk when it came to family stuff. But now it was as if her father just realized that his wife wouldn't be coming back, as if he'd really thought his position in life would be enough to convince her that she should stay.

  Of course, it hadn't. There just wasn't enough actual give a fuck left in her father to keep her mother interested. It was hard to explain to other people, but Chelsea understood completely. As she shifted gears in her car and pushed down on the accelerator suburbia whipped by just outside of her window. It was nice to see the night around her, a beautiful summer night with plenty of lightning bugs, was just as it should be. There wasn't anything about it off, or wrong. She loved the way the moon hung so high above her, heavy like an overripe plum. It was hard to imagine something that great being hung in the sky, but she knew it wasn't always like that. At some point, long ago, there had been no moon. Just the same way, at some point, long ago, her family had been happy.

  But now none of that mattered, now. She tossed her keys onto the coffee table as she walked into Shane's place. Billy was curled up next to her on the couch. Their energy, highly sexual, pulsed through the room. Chelsea smiled.

  “Ladies,” Chelsea said. “Once my father's campaign starts, we'll need to start meeting in secret. We were caught at the bath house by someone, and my father found out.”

  Shane and Billy eyes widened. It was crazy for them to think that others would be interested enough in what they did to spy on them, and Chelsea felt badly about that. The transition others went through when they realized that being around her would make things different sometimes turned them off. Chelsea hoped that reality wouldn't try to hard to drive a wedge between them. She wasn't sure the other two women would be able to handle it, but then again, that was easy for her to say. Both Billy and Shane were out as lesbians, and Chelsea knew that wasn't an easy thing. There were places that shunned lesbians like the plague, and other places that fetishized them. They weren't allowed to just be themselves. They had to really dig deep to find the courage to get up every day and face a world wich, for them, was uncertain.

  “It'll be all right,” Shane said. “There isn't any need to worry about it until your father starts his next run. Or at least that's how I see it. What about you Billy? I bet you have your own thoughts on the matter.”

  “I agree,” Billy said. “I know that your father can be a real asshole, Chelsea, so I'm completely on board with trying to minimize the fallout in your own life. I came out when I was still in high school in a really conservative town, so I completely understand why you'd not want your father in your business at every turn. And I'm sure it's hard for you on other levels, as well, with what just went on with your family and how the spotlight really multiplied the negativity for you.”

  Chelsea was glad they understood, as she sat down on the other side of Shane and snuggled up to her. It was nice to have friends and lovers like these, who didn't need to question her feelings, but instead understood them nearly instantly. It wasn't hard to see, either that there was a lot going on in both of the womens' lives who were next to her on the couch. Billy was a scientists at the local university, and Shane was looking toward the next football season. Chelsea was the only one who didn't have something going on for herself, but she didn't let it make her insecure.

  Chelsea might not have chosen to be her father's daughter, but that's how things worked out, and it made everything else fall in line behind it. There just wasn't anything in her life that wasn't affected by her father, and she'd decided long ago not to allow it to make her bitter. She still wanted to enjoy life to the fullest, to have fun and to try everything.

  If she could choose to have been born to someone else, she didn't know if she would choose it. There was something about who she was that she liked, and not just because she loved herself more than anything, as many narcissists are capable of only that. It was because there was something about a life under the eye of her father that wasn't entirely terrible, even though her father could be overbearing and quite the clown sometimes.

  The three women kissed each other, all at the same time, and Chelsea's thoughts faltered. It was so hard to be concerned with the petty trifles of her father when there were two beautiful women with her. She hope this was how the rest of her life would be.

  During sociology class, Chelsea is presented with a unique scenario from her teacher. Chelsea gets the impression that her teacher—a nerdy man, already balding in his thirties—is very pleased with himself concerning the anecdote turned koan. As Chelsea stars out the window, watching a few of the student athletes throw around a football, she listens.

  The teacher outlines how a child is born, how the child starts off as a blank slate, more or less. The teacher concedes that while there maybe be some genetic markers that predispose the child to certain ailments and protect it from others, more or less the child is able to be whatever it wants to be. That is, of course, if the child is affluent. But the teacher presses forward from these caveats quickly, moving into the meat of the example. He talks about how the child makes it to puberty, after a lifetime of being raised as a boy, and realizes that instead of being a girl, the child turned teen now identifies as a boy.

  The class gasps, but not Chelsea. She knew that this example would be headed into such waters. Around campus the rumors of what Chelsea, Shane, and Billy did together were circulating, to the point that her guidance counselor had called her and asked if she wanted to stay home for a few days. But Chelsea didn't see the point of hiding from it, and some of her teachers had upped the ante as far as content matter for class in an effort to compete with the rumor mill. All in all, if Chelsea had been a weaker person she would have buckled under the pressure. But Chelsea wasn't weak, she was strong. And she didn't really care what anyone had to whisper behind her back. If they were going to whisper, Chelsea figured, why not let them whisper?

  There was nearly no way for her to stop it anyhow. And now her Sociology teachers was getting his two cents in when it came to weird stuff to say in class. It was hard to understand how so many people could just be OK with adding her drama into their class, or trying to compete with it, which, in its own way, was not only acknowledging but accepting what was going on.

  The teacher at the front of the class went on, and eventually what he proffered to the class was the idea that there was no way for a child raised in a hetero-normative environment to really know who they were until their “reawakening” during puberty.

  Chelsea didn't know if she agreed or disagreed. The rest of the class seemed nearly demolished inside. They couldn't comprehend that the parents of a child would have a strong influence on the child, or at least that's what they were willing to show via their reaction. Chelsea wasn't surprised by this at all, in fact, it was what she'd been expecting the whole time. It was hard to understand how people such as her peers wouldn't get that if you raise someone, in an environment not friendly to it, that the person might have to adapt and hide who it really is in order to survive.

  Survival wasn't something that her classmates thought about much. And, Chelsea had to admit, she didn't think about it much, either. It was hard to know exactly how much of her own struggle was real instead of just the usual drama that embroiled her life. Lately, though, it had become clear that if she was anything but straight that there would be some kind of backlash, not only from her father, but from the public as well.

  Her father knew this, he'd made that abundantly clear. She also knew that many of her peers and teachers knew this as well, and that was way some people that had always been cold to her had warmed up, recently. For instance, the Principal of the school had always kept her at a distance, probably trying to stave off any criticism that he was sucking up to her father through being nice to her, but today he had stopped her in the hall and as
ked her if everything was all right.

  This had been something that had completely caught Chelsea by surprise. There was no way that she could have known that the man who ran the institution of learning she went to was going to show her some special favor in the hallway. Now, even though he'd try to be discrete, there were rumors flying that the administration was ready to expel anyone who played along with harassing her.

  Chelsea had to admit that she liked the idea that people wouldn't be allowed to fuck with her. She thought it was sad how people were always ready to tear someone else down, but that just seemed to be life. Lost in her own thoughts, Chelsea was the last person in the room when her teacher spoke to her.

  “Are you all right, Chelsea?” he asked. “I know you have a lot on your plate being who you are. Would you like to talk about anything?”

  Chelsea was horrified. She didn't want to be the kind of person who was a teacher's pet. If she'd had any idea that her daydreams would lead her to be singled out after class she would have guzzled two pots of coffee before hand. It was the last thing she wanted, to appear weak, to look as if she needed help.

  But maybe it was all right to appear so, especially because she did need help. Maybe she should tell her teacher the truth. Chelsea decided that she would.

  “I really need help in this class,” Chelsea said. “You know how much a C or a B can hurt someone's GPA. I'd hate to have my GPA take a hit when I'm going through so much outside of the classroom. I know you know how I feel. All of the teachers have been so understanding.”

  “Yes,” her teacher said. “Yes. You do need a little boost in the class to get an A. I'll tell you what. I'll make sure that you get a small boost for coming every day. I know that it takes a lot to come every day, and I know that you're busy. You aren't like most of the other students, Chelsea, you have so much potential while already fulfilling a great deal of it. It's like you know where you’re going, even though your father seems a little irrational sometimes. I really admire that in a person. I'll tell you what. You just do a little right-up, and I'll make sure to weight it so that it really matters, all right?”

  Chelsea nodded and left the classroom feeling happy. She was glad that she'd fallen into a day dream, now. She knew that she would be able to tell Billy and Shane about the incident, and maybe even relive the feelings with them egging her on. It was always nice to share experiences with her girlfriends. It made her feel more alive, more like she was really living, and not just coasting through it as if there was never any variation to what was going on. It amazed her that she was so ready and willing to share with her new friends, even though maybe it shouldn't have, considering they shared quite readily between each other already.

  They were all three in the study hall, lounging on the sofas in the back. This study hall used to be the veterans lounge, but then all of the veterans stopped coming around for some reason. No one really knew why, they just sort of disappeared. Chelsea thought about bringing it up to her lovers, how it was almost fitting that they be in this study hall because of how the special interest group, one whose members had all earned their place, which had once been here had gone the way of the buffalo was now being replace by a new minority of peoples. But were they really a minority?

  “Nom Chomsky says that everyone is bisexual,” Chelsea said. “Do you two believe that, or think like him? I'm not sure. I've met some really straight white dudes before who would never even think of touching the genitals of the same sex.”

  “I think the same,” Shane said. “I know that might sound silly, but I really do think that everyone has the capacity to love the same sex and whatever other sex they choose. I guess maybe I disagree, in that I think that people can choose.”

  “Yeah, it sounds more like you disagree while agreeing,” Billy said. “And I'm the same way, I think that people can make the choice whether or not they listen to their own feelings and desires. Some people just turn everything off and go from there, and maybe that's one way to do things.”

  “So you don't think there are any truly bisexual people, or straight people, at all? That's interesting,” Chelsea said. “It makes me wonder about my own sexuality a great deal. Do you two ever think about that?”

  “Not really,” Shane said. “I mean, I guess I did when reporters were asking me about it when I joined the team, but not since then.”

  Chelsea wondered why she thought so much about her own sexuality, while the same sex women she was exploring with weren't They seemed to be just enjoying what was happening, going with the flow and letting things sort themselves out. That was a hard thing to imitate, maybe impossible. Chelsea would have liked to think that she could just turn off her self reflection, but she wondered if it was really that easy. She thought that it probably wasn't, and the reason that Billy and Shane were so good at it was that they weren't new at it. Both of those women had been out for some time. Billy was a known lesbian, someone who was often harassed by straight guys who thought she was good looking and were instantly angered by the fact that she wasn't interested in them at all.

  Shane had famously, or infamously, just run the gauntlet of public opinion. It was crazy to see her blossoming now into who she really was, one of the most athletic people on campus, and one of the most sexual. Her sexual side was one she had to hide from everyone because she was already fetishized for being who she was. People from all over would write her letters telling her how they were in love with her and wanted to marry her. Virgins, both male and female, would send her cards of their naked bodies and ask her to take their virginity. It was crazy to think that all of these people were so willing to throw themselves at her. It made Chelsea turn her reflection outward, to be around women such as these.

  Chelsea moved over to sit on the couch beside Shane. Shane gave her a knowing look, one that said, “I know that you're about to make a move on me, but I think we should wait for class to be over so everyone leaves.”

  And that's exactly what happened. The bell rang, and everyone left except for Chelsea, Shane, and Billy. They had the entire place to themselves, and it was something that wasn't lost on them. The weight of the silence their peers left in their wake pressed in on them, making them push their bodies together against one another. It was amazing to feel the warmth, the heat, the vibration of their bodies against hers. Chelsea didn't ever want it to end, that was something she knew for certain. She wanted it to go on forever and ever.

  Chelsea slowly moved her hands over Shane's body, caressing and touching every curve and crevice. It was amazing how turned on she was, and how she could feel Shane's body and mood respond to her. It was something liked to experience, something that made her thankful and grateful to be the person she was. Getting lost in moments like these were all that Chelsea wanted, and it was amazing to think that, as far as she knew, they weren't going to stop.

  As Chelsea's hands turned from Shane to Billy, someone moved to the edge of the door from the hall and stopped. They stood still, peering into the room where the three women were fooling around. It was the study hall teacher, come back to grab the fountain pen he'd left on the desk—the pen was worth three weeks wages and had been given to him by his mother. He needed money, and badly, rent looming up on the next week. He had to figure out a way to raise some funds, and here he'd found some. He pulled out his smart phone and started snapping photos quickly.

  He wasn't a skilled photographer by any means, but he just needed one or two of the photos to come out decently well. They didn't have to be the vest photos ever, by any means. He wasn't looking to win a Pulitzer prize or anything of that nature. The photos only had to be good enough to run in the tabloid magazines that lined the end of every grocery aisle.

  His phone's camera happened to be one of the better one, so he was able to zoom in with crystal clear focus and get the shots of what was going on as if he were up close next to the action. That was really the allure of the photos, he realized as he snapped picture after picture. It wasn't so much who was in the pho
tos, or what was in the photos, it was that the photos gave the viewer what felt like control over the subject because they were so intimate. It was one thing if those being photographed knew what was going on, it was another thing if they didn't.

  The teacher knew that there would be many hungry eyes that would want to see every single inch of the young women pawing at each other. They were beautiful, and they knew what they were doing. The way they were so brazen and confident would also play into the public feeding frenzy that was about to go on. He didn't know if there would be any way for him to get in trouble or not, but because the study hall was about a public a place as it got, he didn't think there would be be anything those with hurt feelings could do besides promise not to behave so badly again.

  That was another thing that kept him from feeling to guilty of snapping shot that showed up the skirt of one of the females—the women all had terrible attitudes. Or at least at times. Sure, like most hormonal college kids, they had good days and bad days. But even on their good days the girls would come in and look at their nails, or stare off out the window. They were never locked into their books, or engaged with anything to do with school. And that was too bad, as far as the teacher was concerned, because they were cheating themselves. But now that wasn't his problem anymore. Now he didn't have to worry about correcting them for the hundredth time about how there was a strict no gum chewing policy in his class, and how if they broke it just one more time he really would make them pull all of the gum off the bottom of the desks.

  The teacher snapped a few more, and then, like the cop had, he just stood there and watched. The women looked so good touching and grouping each other that even though they all had their clothes on, it was the hottest thing he thought he'd ever seen. It was crazy to see three young women all in tune with each other, moving with each other as if there wasn't anything separating them besides clothes. There didn't seem to be any shame, at least, or any reservations about what they were doing that might be bashfulness. Maybe they wanted to get caught.