The Final Lesson Plan

by Bright, Deena

  "Janelle, I don't think—"

  "Doesn't matter…go!" she instructed, pointing toward the door.

  After 30 minutes of Janelle being alone in my house with Tate, I started to get worried when I saw the door open. They both came out with smiles on their faces. Tate hugged Janelle. Then, she waved at him as she started back down the steps toward me. Tate watched her leave, staring at her every move. I wanted to walk right up there and pummel his face, but knew that she'd be pissed if I did.

  "What'd you say to him?" I asked following her back to the car.

  "Not much. We just talked," she said, getting in and buckling her seatbelt. "He's a good kid."

  Tate Alexander was not a good kid. Everyone knew that. I knew that. My parents knew that; every teacher in the school knew that. When I told her so, Janelle smiled sadly at me, nodded, and said, "I think that's the problem, Briggs."

  Man, was she good. Janelle Garrity was a bleeding-heart teacher through and through. If anyone could get through to Tate, it would be her. "So…? Are you really not going to tell me anything that went on in there?" I asked, probing her for answers.

  "There's nothing really to tell; he's a lost teenage boy, who's very jealous of his superstar brother," she said, looking at me intently. "This one's a piece of cake—nothing I can't handle."

  "Janelle, I—"

  "It's fine Briggs; we've all got our shit," she said, grabbing my hand. "Tate is going to be okay. I can guarantee that." I squeezed her hand and kissed it. She was extraordinary. Here, I just wanted to beat the thug right out of him. Janelle planned on loving the thug out of him. We'd make a perfect pair. We fit together perfectly.

  "Well, we've been driving down 71 South for a while now," she said, scooting closer to me. She smelled un-fucking-believable. "Are we going to Columbus?"

  "You'll see," I said, putting my arm around her, holding her closer to me. I never understood why guys wanted SUVs. They're probably making up for small things in other places. I'm just saying, you never see black guys with SUVs. Our cars don't need to be huge machines; we've got huge machines in other places. Plus, with a big SUV, you couldn't hold your lady close while you drove. Couldn't touch her; rub your hands up and down her bare arms. Shit. Getting hard again. I used to have a fucking lot of self-control. But with Janelle, she turned me into a pussy.

  As we pulled own Lane Avenue and passed a local bar, Janelle was on the edge of her seat, pointing things out to me. "Oh my God, I almost got arrested right there, but Char persuaded the cop to let us go," she said, explaining how she got busted for underage drinking in the parking lot of the stadium. I didn't ask what Char's method of persuasion was. I'd been around Char enough to figure that one out on my own.

  When we entered the parking lot of the Woody Hayes Center, Janelle looked at me incredulously, and said, "This really isn't open to the public, Briggs." The Buckeye football team practiced indoors at the Woody Hayes Center, and it was pretty much a sports shrine to all OSU football players.

  "Let's just say, I have some connections," I said, before walking around to open the door for her. I do that shit. My mama would bitch-slap me if I didn't open doors and shit like that for chicks…for girls. She'd slap me for calling girls, "chicks" too.

  I showed Janelle all around the Woody Hayes Center. She was as impressed with me and my connections as she was with the entire place. I felt like King of the World—or just of Columbus. Then after the tour, I said, "Okay Babe, let's get sweaty."

  Looking around and giggling, she said, "Here? Now?"

  Laughing, I said, "I love how you think, Nelle, but we're working out…like legit."

  "What? We came to Columbus to exercise," she asked her face fill of shocked disgust and disappointment.

  "Well, it's like this, one of the best dates we've had yet, started with yoga, because 'you said so.' This time, I say so," I argued, pulling her close me, looking into her green eyes. I knew that women loved my eyes; I could pretty much get what I wanted from a woman with my eyes. But Janelle had no idea how sexy and tempting her green eyes were.

  "But we'll get all gross," she whined.

  "Nothing those showers can't cure…those big, empty showers," I said, raising my eyebrows, then winking at her.

  I've got to say; it was the worst, mother-fucking, most awful workout I'd ever done. Usually when I work those machines and push my body to the limit, I feel great the entire time. This was the worst plan I'd ever had. It was hard to do the leg machines, sit-up incline, and abs machines with a fucking woody the whole time. Watching Janelle's leg muscles as she spread her legs, pushing the machines in and out, caused so much pain and strain between my legs, I could've done her right there in the workout facility, not caring who the fuck watched. Then, when she laid down, using her arms and chest to lift the weights, her tits looked so goddamn perky and hot. I physically could not take one more torturous second.

  "Let's go; we need to shower," I commanded.

  "I need to do one more rep, or I'm gonna be uneven," she countered.

  "You're fine," I said, throwing her entire body over my shoulder as I carried her to the showers, while she squealed and beat on my back.

  Looking around and double-checking that nobody was around, I started the water. I stripped out of my clothes faster than I'd ever undressed before. Then, I pulled her into the water, fully clothed, peeling each layer of her dripping wet clothes off, slowly, enjoying the unwrapping of the sexiest woman I'd ever seen.

  Janelle kept trying to not get her hair wet, but I couldn't stop myself from pushing her back into the water. I loved the look of the water streaming down her face and body, dripping tantalizingly over her shoulders and chest, just begging to be licked. I lifted her up as she wrapped her legs around my waist and pinned her against the wall. I knew we didn't have a lot of time before we needed to leave, but quite frankly, I didn't need much time. I'd wanted her since the second she got into my car.

  Knowing I'd get her even hotter, I whispered in her ear, "You're so fucking hot. Do you know how many men wish they were me right now?" I'd started to learn her body, understand how it worked, what it needed. Janelle was becoming an extension of me; if she wasn't ready and turned on, then I wasn't ready. My pleasure relied on her pleasure. I'd never known before how goddamn incredible it was to watch a woman climax, to feel her body give totally into her own pleasure. But I did now, and I was certainly never going back.

  It was tough convincing Janelle that she looked good enough to go out. Sometimes, I forgot how girlie this woman could be. She was paranoid, believing that since she didn't have more makeup, a blow dryer, and some straight thing for her hair that she couldn't go out. She was wrong. Janelle did some braid shit to hair, wiped the smeared makeup off with a paper towel, and put on the sexy dress she brought, and she was smoking hot. Real smoking hot. Janelle knew she was good-looking and sexy. She was confident enough to know that, but what she didn't know was that she didn't have to try. I liked that.

  Janelle refused to go to one of the upscale restaurants I suggested in German Village. She was set on a sub shop on campus. "Briggs, you've never had the hot turkey sub there?"

  "I've never even heard of it," I argued. "Don't you want wine and steak?"

  "No! Hot. Turkey. Sub," she stated with finality. "I swore that the next time I was in Columbus, I was getting one."

  We got takeout from the sub shop. Janelle and I ate subs and drank pop on the rundown, outdoor deck of the sub shop. She was 100% right. The sandwich was incredible. I couldn't believe I'd never tried it before. We weren't there for longer than ten minutes eating when a group of college kids came up, asking for my autograph. I ain't going to lie; I eat that shit up. But, I didn't want it to take away from my time with Janelle. I signed a few t-shirts and a notebook. Then when some sexy little number asked me to take a picture with her, I just shook my head and went back to the table.

  "Briggs, you could've taken your picture with her," Janelle said when I got back to the table. "I know th
at you're the king shit around here. I wouldn't have been mad."

  "Nah, no need. She'd just post it all over Twitter and Instagram, and the rumors would start flying all over again," I explained as I grabbed our empty cups to go back in and get refills on our drinks.

  When I got back to the table, Janelle was staring off, obviously thinking pretty deeply about something. "Whatcha thinking about?" I asked, putting our full cups down and grabbing the second half of my new favorite sandwich. God, this shit was good.

  "You're a celebrity around here; you need to play the game, Briggs," she said. "You can't let me stop you from furthering your name." I started to interrupt her, but she cut me back off. "I'm serious. Briggs Alexander the ESPN star and Briggs Alexander the guy I'm dating are two different people. You have to play the part." Janelle was being serious. She was incredible. Most women would've been jealous and territorial; Janelle could separate my professional life and personal life—even though it directly affected her.

  I wanted to take Janelle to my favorite bar on campus, turned out it was her favorite bar when she lived on campus too. I liked the bar, because there wasn't a lot of loud music and drunk-ass losers falling all over the place. Usually, there was a DJ playing quiet alternative rock. You could sit and drink outside or sit inside. They had a few pool tables and a lot of open seating. Janelle said that she and Char liked it, because the bartenders always gave them free drinks. Stories like that still shocked me that she'd only slept with four people. If I would've known her in college, I would've died trying to get into her pants.

  After a few beers, I started feeling pretty good, pretty confident. I told Janelle that I had something for her in the car and that I'd be right back. I ran out to the car and got my guitar out of the trunk. I hadn't played in a long time, but lately, I'd been wanting to start back up. I'm telling you, she was turning into me into a Nancy. I walked to the DJ stand and asked if I could have a microphone. He looked at me like I was fucking nuts, but then the manager came running over and told him that I could have whatever I wanted. Man, ESPN was the shit.

  Taking the microphone, I tapped it a few times until everyone was looking at me. Then some drunk dude yelled, "Hey that's Briggs Alexandria." Janelle looked up at me with a questioning look.

  Some other guy corrected him and said, "It's Alexander, you asshole."

  I cleared my throat and said, "Hey dudes, I'm gonna play this guitar and sing a little something here tonight." The crowd went crazy. Janelle's eyes widened. "I wanted to play something special for someone special here tonight." Everyone started looking around, looking for whomever I was talking about. "Janelle Garrity, give 'em a wave." She looked mortified, but proud at the same time. Janelle gave the audience a modest and embarrassed little wave.

  Now, I just needed to be able to pull this off. I'd never really sung and played for an audience before. I knew I needed to get them on my side, cheering for me, before I even started. Otherwise, I'd crash and burn like Goose and Maverick.

  "I went through her car and I-pod looking for music that she liked, but holy shit. Do you know what this girl has in her car and on her I-pod?" I asked, waiting for someone to respond.

  "What?" came the crowd, totally shocking me. I wasn't even sure anyone would actually answer. Shit, I could eat this crap up.

  "Air Supply," I stated. The crowd roared with laughter. Some people looked at each other, not knowing what the fuck I was talking about, as they shouldn't. Janelle glared at me and smiled, shaking her head; I knew she wasn't really mad.

  "I'd never heard of them, this Air Supply, so I went home and YouTubed them," I admitted, shaking my head. "You know what I found? They all fucking look like Richard Simmons and sing the saddest shit," I said, making more people laugh. I had to admit; I could get into this attention.

  "So after I listened to the entire album a few times…Yes…a few times. Hey don't judge. They really get ya," I said, pounding on my chest, indicating my heart.

  I winked at Janelle, and the girls in the crowd all groaned, making me smile. Holy fuck, this was such a high. "Anyway, I decided against Air Supply and went with this song instead." I turned my head only to Janelle and said, "It was the only one on your entire I-pod that I recognized…This girl needs a music makeover." The crowd laughed; she just shook her head, shrugging.

  "And, to be honest, I also knew that I could sing it…and play it." The crowd was screaming and clapping. Pictures were being snapped left and right. I felt pretty damn cool.

  "So bear with me, if I fuck it up," I said as I began to strum the first few chords of Mr. Big's "To Be With You." A few people recognized the song right away and started cheering. I ended up singing the entire song twice, with the crowd singing along and videotaping my serenade to Janelle. She just sat glued to her seat, smiling and wiping her eyes. Janelle was a crier, a happy and sad crier. There were so many things I loved about her. Fuck, for the first time ever in my life, I was falling in love.

  Before I left the stage, I grabbed my guitar, and said into the microphone, "Janelle, I am the one who wants to be with you." The crowd went nuts. Two guys grabbed her and brought her to the stage. I took her in my arms and kissed her, as flashes went off all around us. I picked her up and carried her and my guitar off the stage.

  The rest of the night, there was a crowd of people around us. Our night of romance was now everyone else's business. I felt guilty, because I'd brought it on myself. Janelle didn't seem pissed though; she just smiled at me and let me bask in the limelight. I kept her close to me, with my hand on her thigh or my arm around her shoulder the rest of the night. I didn't want her to think that anything was really going to take my attention from her. She was the reason I was there. She was the reason I wanted to be there. She was the reason for the entire night. None of these people mattered if Janelle Garrity wasn't right next to me.

  Before we left the bar and started our drive back up north, Janelle went to the bathroom. She was gone quite a while, which made me start to worry. I went to the entryway of the bathroom. Finally, she emerged with the rest of her make up smeared, wiping her eyes. "What's wrong? What happened?" I asked, worried. Janelle left the table happy and came back out of the bathroom in tears. She just shook her head, and walked right past me. Now, I'm not some expert on chicks, but teary eyes and a head-shaking "No" was definitely something. Something big.

  Janelle was quiet most of the drive home. We hit Mansfield, and she was still staring out the window into the darkness. I'd tried talking to her, but she "uh huhhed" and nodded whenever I said anything. I pulled off and bought us each a milkshake, remembering that girls love ice cream when they're down. She took a few sips, then the cup just sat on the counsel getting warm and milky. Man, something happened in that bathroom. She was nearly giddy all night long until she went to the bathroom. Fuck that bathroom. I wondered if she got a text from Cling, something that hurt her, broke her heart. I'd fuck him up; I swear to God.

  When I pulled into the driveway, she unbuckled her seatbelt and immediately started getting out of the car, even before I turned the engine off. Then, as I was about to take the keys from the ignition, she said, "Thanks B, I had fun today." And got out of the car.

  B? When did she start calling me "B?" That's it! Holy shit. I will burn that bathroom down. Son-of-a-bitch.

  I got out of the car and caught up to her as she was unlocking the door to the pool house. "Whoa, slow down Babe, ya gotta tell me what's wrong—"

  "Briggs, nothing. It's all good...I'm just tired. I'm not used to all that exercise," she explained. This was not good at all. She never said, "It's all good." That's what people fucking say when it's all bad.

  "Janelle…please," I grabbed her hand, as she pulled it away, slowly, not angrily. But she definitely pulled it away.

  "It's been a long day," she said as she kissed my cheek. Cheek? Shit. "I'll talk to you soon, Briggs. Goodnight." And that was it.

  Janelle walked in the door and closed it behind her. What the fuck did I do? I stoo
d on her porch and recapped the day. 1. Tate. She seemed like she was in her element "fixing" him. It couldn't have pissed her off 12 hours later. 2. Working out. That was fun. It was sexy. She was sexy. We both obviously enjoyed ourselves. 3. Sub shop. It was so good. I wish I had another one. Focus. The people took pictures. I signed autographs. Janelle was completely fine with it. At least that's what she said. 4. Bar. She loved the song. We kissed a lot after the song. She held my hand, rubbed my neck, and seemed like she was totally into it—into me. 5. Bathroom. Janelle went to the bathroom. 6. After the bathroom. Janelle was upset, crying, and quiet. Something fucking happened in that bathroom. What could happen in a bathroom? Fuck that bathroom.

  I decided against sleeping at my apartment. I figured that I better go check on Tate. I should've been sleeping there all week while my parents were out of town. I'd known better than to leave that dickhead alone all week. He's constantly screwing up his life; he's just so thickheaded. I was never that stubborn. Shit, I should've stayed at home this summer. Why would I sublet an apartment if I was only going to be home for three months? That was stupid. I had one last quarter at Ohio State; I'd be out on my own soon enough. The ESPN signing bonus was so incredible though. I couldn't stop myself from blowing a lot of it. The car. New clothes. Giant-ass TV. I wanted my own place—even if was only for the summer. Dumbass. I should've stayed home and worked on Tate, kept on his ass until he started making the right choices. The kid's got talent, charisma, and athleticism. More than I ever had. Since I couldn't figure out what the shit was going on with Janelle, I was going to get to the bottom of Tate and why he constantly chose to fuck up his own life.