Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Why would I want to stay?” I ask.

  Lance just offers a smile.

  “Your girlfriend’s going to get mad if you keep flirting with me,” I state.

  “Girlfriend?” Lance inquires.

  “Mavis,” I state.

  Lance chuckles. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Riiiiiight,” I mock.

  He returns to playing hoops with the boys.

  I keep my earphones out, but stay in my spot at the table that’s farthest from everyone as I start to pay closer attention to the people around me. I realize that the girls always stay together, even when they go to the bathroom. The boys are divided into four groups and one of the boys likes to be on his own.

  From what I remember when Mavis was yammering yesterday, the group usually remains in the gymnasium. Apparently, this is an after-school program for the school’s teens who live in the most troubled neighborhoods. From what I read on the school’s website, the program has been designed to help them stay off the streets and work through their issues without the use of their fists. Clearly, the teens are unimpressed by the idea of the program itself. I’ve seen a few things get heated between the boys the last two days.

  I can understand the challenges these kids are having just from watching them interact and from the lack of a structure in this program. Mavis, Lance, Tank, and Benji try, but their resources are obviously limited.

  The next day, I’m at the school again, trying to make up for some of my lost hours. The school day ended two hours ago, but there’s at least an hour or two left that I can knock off of my requirements. Mr. Hobbs is surprised to see me, but doesn’t comment when I drop off my sheet.

  “How you holding up?” a voice asks from my far left, catching me off guard.

  “Fine,” I say.

  Lance has a goofy smile.

  “What?” I check.

  “Nothing,” he denies.

  “Just tell me,” I demand, unamused by the game.

  It takes him a few seconds to answer. “You don’t remember me?”

  “Should I?” I check.

  Lance shrugs his shoulders. “You looked right at me.”

  “When?” I inquire.

  “When you were on the bus the other day,” Lance states.

  “Were you on the bus?” I inspect.

  “No,” he chuckles. “I was heading into a restaurant with a buddy of mine.”

  A grin pops on my face. “I get it now.”

  “Get what?” Lance asks.

  “Why you and Mavis aren’t dating,” I state.

  “And, why is that?” Lance checks nervously.

  “Because, you’re gay,” I muse.

  “I’m not gay,” Lance defends.

  I lift a brow in question.

  “Definitely not gay,” he repeats.

  “I’m not judging,” I reply. “My roommate is a lesbian.”

  Lance shakes his head.

  “You’re still in the closet, aren’t you?” I tease.

  “No,” he claims.

  “And, you’re a virgin, too” I goad.

  “What?” Lance gulps. His cheeks redden. “That’s not appropriate talk here … none of this is.”

  “I’m sure these kids know more about the birds and bees than you do,” I muse.

  “Inappropriate,” Lance repeats.

  “Maybe,” I say with a grin. “But, I got to you … and now, you’re thinking about it.”

  “So, Mavis said you’re a masseuse,” Lance states.

  “Yep,” I sigh.

  “Really? Where?” Lance asks excitedly.

  “I’m not telling,” I scoff.

  “What? Why?” he asks.

  “I don’t trust you,” I claim with a smile.

  “I’m hurt,” he returns.

  “You’ll get over it,” I laugh.

  “So, what landed you in here?” Lance asks, changing the subject.

  “Something stupid,” I reply. My eyes scan the room. “Do you guys seriously not do anything?”

  “We try, but the kids don’t seem interested in anything,” Lance informs. “With barely a budget, Mr. Hobbs struggles just to offer them safe transportation home.”

  “You might want to make your rounds,” I suggest.

  “Why?” Lance inquires, unsure of my words.

  “Your girlfriend might get the wrong idea about us,” I goad.

  Lance chuckles. “Mavis and I aren’t dating.”

  “Really?” I gasp playfully. “Then, you’re definitely gay.”

  “We’re back on that again?” he scoffs playfully.

  I smile.

  “What are we talking about?” Benji asks, interrupting us.

  “You,” I claim.

  “Me?” Benji says with a smile.

  “Lance was trying to figure out how to ask you out on a date,” I share with a straight face.

  Benji and Lance look back and forth between me and each other.

  “Funny,” Benji quips, unamused. “I was hoping you’d agree to go out with me.”

  “Awww,” I reply, pretending that I’m flattered. “No.”

  “Why not?” Benji inquires with a disappointed expression.

  “I don’t mix business and pleasure,” I reply.

  “What about me?” Tank asks from behind me.

  I jump a little in my seat not expecting him. “I dated a guy like you once,” I offer.

  “Yeah?” Tank says with a smile.

  “It didn’t go well,” I inform, “ … for him.” I chuckle internally at the uneasy expression that surfaces on Tank’s face, leaving him speechless.

  Delilah

  By the end of my fifth day, Mr. Hobbs has signed off on eleven of my sixty hours. He doesn’t like to round up hours, rather round down, and has yet to credit me my two hours from the first day I was here.

  With four weeks to go, I’ll have to cut back on my hours at work or change shifts just to be able to complete community service in time. I’m only concerned about finishing my hours because Tank explained that when he failed to meet the required hours in the designated time, missing it by only ten hours, the court tacked on another one hundred hours to complete.

  At the conclusion of my eighth day of service, Mr. Hobbs and I get into a heated argument about why he won’t sign off on my times for the day. He states that he wants me to apply myself more. I suggest that he apply himself more, as well as a better budget, since the teens don’t want to apply themselves at all to his boring-ass program.

  The following day, to show Mr. Hobbs and his stupid, balding self that I can participate, I bring in my large personal stash of nail polishes and manicure set. The second I start removing items from my bag, the teen girls rush me like kids seeing Santa at the mall. For the next two hours, the girls and Mavis gab as I paint their nails. The boys watch us as if this is their first time ever witnessing women in this kind of environment. Tank lets me paint his nails jet black and one of the teen girls gets him to let her put some shimmering grey dots on one.

  “Not bad,” Mr. Hobbs states as I enter his office. His hand is already extended in my direction with my sheet. He doesn’t bother to look at me as he offers what appears to be a possible compliment.

  “Huh?” I reply, hoping he’ll elaborate.

  “It’s not quite what I would have had in mind, but you did participate and you got the girls to interact,” Mr. Hobbs states.

  I don’t respond, concerned that I could fuck up the moment. My eyes flicker down to the sheet and I notice that he signed off on today’s hours.

  “Don’t make it a habit,” he instructs.

  “Wh… .”

  He looks up at me. “Don’t make it, the nail thing, a habit,” he expounds in a calm and less serious tone. “But, once a week would be okay.”

  I smile and nod.

  “Next time,” he begins. “Try something that could include the boys.”

  I raise an eyebrow in reply, but Mr. Hobbs doesn’t explain
or offer suggestions. My smile widens, more confident of my actions.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” Mr. Hobbs says, ruining my victory.

  “Buzz kill,” I whine.

  “What do you do for a living?” he pries.

  “I work at a spa,” I inform.

  “That makes sense,” he returns. “That’s all. Now, go away.”

  As I make my way out, I find Tank in the hall, waiting to walk with my to the bus stop as he has every day I’ve been here.

  “See you tomorrow, D?” Tank checks as his bus pulls up.

  “Most likely,” I return. “I need to get these hours done.”

  “Cool,” Tank says with a smile. “See you then.”

  “See you,” I reply with a grin. With no one left at the street corner other than me, I place my ass on the top of the bench back and place my forearms on my thighs and mess with my phone.

  “Need a ride home,” a voice inquires from a shiny car that just pulled up.

  “You’ll get a ticket if you stay there,” I return, peering through the passenger window that has been lowered.

  “Aw, you care,” Lance says with a smile.

  I shift back a little. “Nope,” I reply.

  “No as in you don’t care or no as in you don’t want a ride?” Lance searches.

  “I don’t take rides from strangers,” I state noncommittally.

  “Yet, you take public transportation,” he returns snidely.

  “Gerry and I have an understanding,” I mention.

  “Gerry? You know the driver’s name?” Lance checks.

  “Not that it’s your business, but yes,” I inform.

  “How well do you know this Gerry?” Lance teases.

  “None of your business,” I reply. “Besides, everything is public and out in the open. If I took a ride from you, you could end up being a serial killer or some shit and no one would know.”

  “We could keep the windows down if that makes you feel safe,” he offers.

  I study him for a second, not sure if he’s serious or joking. “Ever offer Tank a ride?” I inspect.

  “Didn’t know he needed one,” Lance returns. “Does he? You both can hop in.”

  “He took the one-eighteen,” I inform.

  “So?” Lance breaths slowly.

  “So, that’s not my bus,” I state.

  “Seeing that your bus isn’t here, why don’t I take you then?” Lance pushes slyly.

  “I told you I don’t want to come between you and your girlfriend,” I tease.

  Lance smiles though his eyes give off an unamused expression. “At least we’re not on the gay things again.”

  I grin, knowing that I’ve gotten to him. “You know … a guy looking like you could get your ass jumped for driving a car like this around here,” I comment.

  “The school’s got the parking lot gated,” Lance states.

  “So … preppy does have a set of balls,” I gloat. “Still small … but, I’m impressed.” I get down from my perch and head toward the car. I lean into the window suggestively on purpose. “So … how do you want to do this?” I ask with a widening smile.

  “Do what?” Lance checks. “I offered you a ride. That means, you get in.”

  “You know,” I begin. “I don’t just get in a car with anyone … especially a nice car like this. Someone might think poorly of a girl like me.”

  “No one will think you’re a prostitute,” Lance says coldly. “Get in.”

  “Ouch,” I whine, opening the door. “You sure know how to woo a girl.”

  “I thought you don’t mix business with pleasure?” Lance inspects.

  “I don’t,” I return.

  He rolls his eyes as I get situated in the passenger seat.

  “Where to?” Lance asks.

  “Cherry and Oak,” I inform.

  “That’s not too far from me,” Lance shares.

  We ride in comfortable silence for a bit.

  “So, why do you do the program?” I inquire.

  “I have my reasons,” Lance replies with a smile.

  “As in… .”

  Lance just smiles wider.

  “As in looking for a girl … or guy … who will pop your cherry?” I snicker.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not a virgin,” Lance mentions.

  “Really?” I gasp. “I guess some like the preppy, virgin look.”

  “What about you?” Lance pushes playfully.

  “What about me?” I ask snidely. “I’m not into the preppy, virgin thing … Wait! Do you think I’m a virgin?”

  “Why did you pick the program as your community service?” Lance clarifies, unimpressed by my dramatic response.

  “I didn’t … it was given to me,” I mention.

  “Everyone gets to pick their community service,” Lance claims.

  “Well, I didn’t,” I sigh.

  “Did you have a public defender?” he checks.

  “Yeah … why?” I pry.

  “I’ve heard of a few cases where they don’t bother asking you and just assign you something,” Lance shares.

  “Great,” I huff.

  “At least you got to meet me,” Lance adds with a smile.

  I glare at him. “Yay,” I say sarcastically.

  Lance chuckles and we don’t say much until we get to my building.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say, opening the door. I hop out and Lance lowers the window.

  “You’re welcome,” Lance returns with a smile. “Do you need one tomorrow?”

  “Delilah, honey,” a male’s voice shouts from behind me. “Who’s that?”

  “None of your business, Gene,” I sigh, rolling my eyes.

  Gene is one of the creepy guys who live in my apartment building and hit on every woman who lives here—single and married.

  “Are you cheatin’ on me?” Gene questions.

  “Can’t be cheatin’ if we ain’t datin’,” I remind.

  “Are you going to be okay, Delilah?” Lance inquires.

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “See you next week.”

  “So, You are cheatin’ on me,” Gene claims as I walk past him.

  Delilah

  The following day, I bring a few items with me. The girls rush me, eager to see what I have. Their voices rise about an octave or two as they chat about the stuff.

  “What the hell is this?” Benji inquires.

  Everyone around me stops talking.

  “What do you think it is?” I inspect.

  “I’d say bringing in vibrators is going to get you kicked out,” Benji states.

  “What!” shouts Mr. Hobbs from the doorway. He storms over to us.

  “They’re massage tools,” I clarify.

  Mr. Hobbs inspects the few items that are on the table as Benji peers into my bag.

  I have to admit, a few of these items could be mistaken for pleasure toys because of their shape.

  “Is this lube?” Benji blurts, holding up a bottle.

  “It’s oil,” I return, snatching from him.

  Mr. Hobbs regards me and then looks to Benji. “Keep it clean here, Benji. This stuff is clearly for massages. I’ll allow it as long as no one continues with that kind of talk.”

  A few of the teens snicker, but nod their heads in agreement.

  As Mr. Hobbs’ phone rings, I start explaining how to use the different massage tools. A few of the girls try it on themselves or a friend. Tank starts using the scalp massager which gets the teen boys more curious. Mavis asks me to show her how I did a few of the things I did to her during her massage and it doesn’t take long for some of the students to follow suit.

  “Next, you’re gonna tell me that you’re teaching a class,” Mr. Hobbs claims when I enter his office to pick up my sheet.

  “I interacted, didn’t I … and I got several of the boys involved this time,” I state.

  “I know,” Mr. Hobbs sighs. “I saw.”

  “You saw?” I question.

/>   “Yeah, I did,” he confirms.

  “You mean … you left your office?” I tease.

  “Watch it,” he pushes. “I can take those hours away just as easily.”

  “Yes, sir,” I mock with a smirk, rushing out of his office before it’s too late.

  “Hey, D,” Tank calls from the hall.

  “Hey,” I return.

  “You ready?” Tank asks, walking closer.

  “Yep,” I answer.

  Tank and I make our way to the bus stop.

  “Need a ride?” Lance’s voice booms through the window.

  “You asking me or D?” Tank checks, eyeing Lance.

  “Both of you,” Lance says.

  Tank looks to me. “You going?”

  I shrug.

  “If you go, I go … if you don’t, I don’t,” Tank informs.

  I smile and nod, wanting to see how the two males will get along in a new environment. As I get up from the bench, Tank holds the front passenger door open for me.

  “Where do you live?” Lance asks, looking back at Tank.

  “I live just south of the bridge, two blocks east of Independence,” Tank answers gruffly.

  “Cool,” Lance replies.

  “Where are you, D?” Tank searches.

  “Off of Cherry and Oak,” I reply.

  “Good to know,” Tank says lowly.

  “We’ll drop you off first,” Lance says as he pulls away from the curb.

  “Why?” Tank huffs.

  “I live near Delilah,” Lance explains.

  I watch Tank’s face in the rearview mirror. I can tell he’s looking for an objection, but nothing comes to mind. When the guys continue their strong-silent mode, I flip on the radio. Lance doesn’t offer an expression to my choice in hard rock, but Tank smirks and starts bobbing his head to the beat.

  “Got your phone?” Tank asks me when Lance pulls up to his house.

  “Yep,” I confirm.

  “Let me see,” Tank instructs.

  I hold it up, shaking it.

  Tank snatches it from me.

  “Hey,” I whine.

  Tank is silent while he performs an operation on my phone. I try to get it from him, but he slides further back in his seat. A few seconds later, he hands it back right as his phone vibrates.

  “Dude … not cool,” I proclaim.

  “If preppy decides to get handsy wit you, you got my number if you need me,” Tank informs as he glowers at the back of Lance’s head.