“Don’t you know who your co-workers are?” Alicia asked. It was a pretty small school, after all—about 60 students in each grade.
“I know who my students are,” Brian said. “That’s all that matters. I try not to get too involved with my co-workers. They come and go.” He glanced at her briefly before turning his gaze downward to his phone. He was texting—or so she thought; she couldn’t really see the screen.
It seemed kind of rude.
“What do you teach?” Alicia asked.
“What?” he said.
“What subject do you teach?”
“Oh. Math,” he said, and returned to his phone.
This was like pulling teeth. Really aloof teeth.
“What grades?”
“Huh?”
“What grades do you teach?”
“All grades,” he said. “All levels, including AP Calc.”
“Wow,” Alicia said, impressed. “That’s amazing.”
“Not really,” he said, and for a moment she thought he blushed. But then, in the blink of an eye, he was back to doing whatever he was doing on his phone.
“To me it’s pretty amazing,” Alicia tried again. “I suck at math.”
“I’m guessing you don’t teach math, then,” he said, not taking his eyes off his phone.
“Social studies,” Alicia said. “Contemporary World Studies, History. I’m hoping they’ll let me teach Honors History eventually, but I think veteran teachers get first pick.”
“We do,” Brian said.
“Ah,” Alicia said lamely. She signaled the waiter for another margarita.
A full two minutes of silence went by, which is awful when you’re in a Chili’s and you’re mildly intoxicated and you’re not sure exactly why the incredibly cute guy with the perfect cheekbones is staring at his phone instead of you. By the time Alicia got a refill on her margarita, she was miserable enough to say something, anything.
“Texting your girlfriend?” Alicia blurted out. She hadn’t meant to say that. She drank more of her margarita.
“That’s kind of personal,” Brian said. Was he blushing? He was blushing. At any rate, he looked uncomfortable.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Alicia said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Brian said.
“Well, neither do I,” Alicia said brightly.
Brian looked at her for a moment, and then he did something that surprised her. He slid his phone across the table to her. Confused, she looked at the screen, which was a jumble of numbers and symbols.
“It’s an app,” he said. “One of my student mathletes designed it over the summer. I’m beta-testing it.”
“Wh-what does it do?” Alicia asked.
At this, Brian’s eyes brightened. “Well, it’s fairly simple,” he began, and then proceeded to speak uninterrupted for four minutes about stuff that befuddled Alicia. She nodded along, wishing she had paid more attention in math in high school, or middle school, or ever. Here and there she recognized a term or two, but the truth was that Alicia’s life didn’t require much math beyond basic arithmetic. This was true of most adults she knew, actually, but she wasn’t about to say that, not when Brian was finally warming up.
He paused, and looked at her curiously. “Am I making sense?” he asked, a little shyly.
“No,” she answered. “But I really like listening to you talk.” Oh, wow. Yep, that was the second margarita kicking in.
Brian looked at her for a moment, and then he did something really great.
He laughed.
It was a real laugh, one of genuine amusement, as if he were actually tickled by what she’d said.
“You’re funny,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it. “And I’m—a dork. Sorry. I have like, major social anxiety. I don’t know why I just told you that.” He immediately looked embarrassed.
“Well, I’m mildly intoxicated,” Alicia said, even though the truth was she was beyond “mildly intoxicated” at this point. She could handle marijuana fairly well, but alcohol was another story altogether.
“Oh, you are?” he said, concerned. “You aren’t driving home, are you?”
Oh, shit. She’d forgotten about the whole “driving home” thing.
“I guess I’ll just sit here until I’m sober,” she said finally.
“You’re tiny, and those margaritas are huge,” Brian said. “That could take a while.”
“Fuck,” Alicia said, a little loudly, and then clapped her hand over her mouth.
Brian seemed amused. “We’re allowed to swear, you know,” he said. “There are no kids here.”
Alicia sank into her seat. “I’m just so embarrassed,” she said. “I’m drunk. Like I’m actually drunk. And it’s my first faculty—thing, ever. Oh my God. What if the principal catches me?”
“How old are you, exactly?” Brian asked. He didn’t sound mean.
“Twenty-three,” Alicia said. “I’m too old to get drunk at a work party.”
“I don’t know,” Brian said. “I don’t think you’re the only one. You’re just the youngest one.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of a clique of English teachers who were screaming with laughter at some joke one of them had made. They all appeared to be in their fifties and sixties, at least. And they all appeared to be pretty toasted.
“Teachers drink,” Brian said. “A lot.”
“Not you,” Alicia said. “Unless that’s a giant glass of vodka.”
“Drinking’s not for me,” Brian said.
“I’m usually like that,” Alicia said quickly. “I really don’t drink that much ever. That’s why I’m like this right now. I’m not used to it. I just smoke weed.”
“You might not want to say that too loudly,” Brian said.
“Am I talking loudly?” Alicia said, loudly.
“Yes,” Brian said, laughing again.
“Oh, shit,” Alicia whispered. She knocked over her margarita with her elbow, and Brian jumped up to wipe the table with a napkin.
“I am so sorry,” Alicia said.
“Maybe it’s time for you to go home,” Brian suggested. He stood up abruptly.
“Oh, sorry,” Alicia said. “Bye, I guess.” She waved at him. He just stood there.
“Aren’t you going?” Alicia said.
“No, I’m taking you home,” Brian said.
“Oh, that makes more sense,” Alicia said. She stood up and wobbled. “I should say bye to the principal first!”
“No,” Brian said. “No, you really shouldn’t. And you definitely shouldn’t drive. Cops have nothing to do in this town. They love to pull people over.”
“You’re very smart,” Alicia said, and followed him out of the restaurant.
His car was immaculate, and Alicia clambered into the front seat, inhaling that new car smell.
“When did you get this?” she asked him as they both buckled themselves in.
“Six years ago,” he said.
“Oh my God, you’re so clean,” she said. “My car is like this total landfill.”
They were driving before she knew it. He asked where she lived, and she told him. They were maybe six minutes away, so there wasn’t much time for in-depth conversation, but Alicia kept up a steady stream of chatter about everything: her excitement about the coming school year; her nervousness about being a good teacher; the Buddha statue she’d just bought at a “sacred objects” shop in New Hope and hoped to put in the classroom if it was okay with her supervisor; how much she missed her Hampshire friends; and nearly anything else that came to mind. Brian drove silently, and she couldn’t tell if he was actually paying any attention to her or not, but in her drunken state she resolved that if only she spoke more, he would inevitably start to find her interesting. They pulled up in front of her apartment.
“This it?” Brian asked.
“This what?”
“Your place.”
“Oh. Oh! Yes! That’s my apartment! Oh my God, it’s so
cute. Do you want to see it?” She grinned at him. He was so nice, even though he was obviously a total dork. She liked dorks. Always had.
He smiled at her. “I would if we didn’t have that all-faculty meeting at 9 tomorrow morning,” he said. “Besides, you’re probably tired of talking to the old boring math guy.”
“How old are you?” Alicia asked.
“Twenty-nine,” he said.
“That’s barely even old,” Alicia said, laughing.
He laughed. “Thanks for the compliment, kiddo.” He paused and appeared to be struggling internally with something. Then he took a deep breath and said, “I like listening to you talk. I really do. Maybe we could talk again sometime.”
“I could talk to you for hours and hours,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh. She leaned in and kissed him. Then she pulled back and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I am so sorry,” she said.
Brian grinned at her and leaned in and kissed her.
“Me too,” he said.
She kissed him again.
“This is totally inappropriate,” she said.
He kissed her back.
“Yeah this is awful,” he said.
She kissed him again, and this time she bit his lip a little.
“Is this easing your social anxiety?” she asked.
He kissed her back, and this time he pulled her hair a little.
“I don’t know. We probably need to do it a few more times before I can give you a verdict.”
And then they were making out, and it was totally hot, and Alicia was having the best time she’d had in years. Like, years. Maybe it was because he was a few years older and therefore vastly more mature than the college boys she’d made out with at Hampshire. At any rate, it was fucking awesome, even if she was increasingly dizzy. She put her hand on his thigh, and he was immediately hard, and she actually said out loud, “Fuck it,” and he laughed and she unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick and started jerking him off.
“Oh my God,” Brian moaned, closing his eyes. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you,” Alicia said.
And that’s just about when she puked all over his crotch.
“Oh my God!” Brian gasped, opening the door to his car and hopping out. He did a kind of spastic dance, which would’ve been funny if he hadn’t been doing it in order to shake Alicia’s puke off his penis.
“Oh God!” he said, as Alicia shakily got out of the car and ran around to his side. “This is—oh my God. There’s puke on my dick. Like, on my actual dick.”
“I’m so sorry!” Alicia shrieked, trying hard not to cry. “Oh my Gooood. I’m so sorry. Wait, I can help!” She pulled up her long, organic cotton skirt and tried to wipe some of her vomit off the crotch of his pants.
“No, you don’t have to do that!” he said quickly, backing away and zipping up. “Oh, God, it’s squishy.”
She tripped and fell in the street.
“Are you okay?” he said. “Aw, Jesus, Alicia.” He gingerly helped her to her feet.
She stood up as straight as she could, ignoring the scrape on her knee. She was going to fix this. She was going to make it okay.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asked, her voice tinged with hysteria. “I can clean off your pants. I have a washer dryer. You can take a shower. You can wear a blanket while you wait for your clothes. I have a really comfortable throw. It’s an afghan. It’s actually from this women’s collective in Afghanistan so it’s like literally an afghan.”
“I should go home,” Brian said. “I’m sorry, I just—I have this thing with puke. Like it really grosses me out. I’m so sorry. It’s kind of a phobia. It’s why I can’t have a dog. Do you have your keys?”
“Yes,” Alicia wailed, producing them from her little woven hemp purse. “They’re right here!” She held them up in front of his face.
“Um, okay,” Brian said. “I’m gonna—okay … I’ll, um—see you tomorrow. This … let’s just … this never happened. Okay?”
“Okay,” Alicia said, trying really hard not to cry in front of him.
And he got in his no-longer-immaculate car and roared off down the street, leaving her standing by the curb, her knee starting to bleed a little, her face crumpled. She cried all the way up to her bed, where she fell asleep in a heap. When she woke up, there was dried vomit crusted on the hem of her skirt, where she’d wiped some of it off his pants.
That was nine months ago, in August. He’d not spoken a word to her since, unless you counted the occasional nod and pained smile when she said hello in the hallway. She’d thought about him often, particularly since she passed him every day on her walk from third period to the faculty lounge. He was even handsomer than she’d realized when she met him at Chili’s, and she couldn’t bear to think that their only real interaction would be that night. It was just too embarrassing to contemplate, and besides, she’d felt like they had a real connection, maybe, for a moment, before she blew chunks all over his junk. She knew his reputation as a stickler, a really tough teacher who brooked zero insubordination from his students, but she knew he must love them, too. She could just tell. And if he’d only give her another shot—if he’d only talk to her, or even make full eye contact, maybe she could make things right.
But Brian Kenner seemed utterly, completely, and totally uninterested in Alicia Deats. Clearly, she had used up whatever chance she’d had with him, and she wouldn’t get another one. Alicia thought about that night every single day at work, every time she passed Brian or heard a student complain about what a hardass Mr. Kenner could be.
It wasn’t the only thing she thought about, of course. She loved her job immediately and adored her homeroom full of sophomores (she would never have said she had a favorite, but she had a special fondness for little Gertie
Santanello-Smith. What a sweet kid. Just needed to spread her wings a little.) Every class section was new and different and challenging and amazing in some way. She even managed to make a few friends in the social studies department, and bonded with one of the gym teachers, Patti Bump, who brought her in to teach yoga once a week. (Alicia didn’t realize that the boys in the class greeted her so enthusiastically because her butt looked so cute in yoga pants, or that Patti Bump also enjoyed the view, but that was probably for the best.) As a first-year teacher, she was constantly busy, constantly trying to figure out how to manage her time, constantly trying to navigate the occasionally confusing political waters of a public high school. But with the help of Patti Bump and the other social studies teachers, she found her way. She even found a nice group to sit with in the faculty lounge during lunch.
But there were moments—like when she passed him in that hallway, or heard his name—that Alicia thought about Brian and felt a mixture of anxiety, embarrassment, and longing.
So when the principal announced at a faculty meeting that they would need one more chaperone for the sophomore D.C. trip “to help Mr. Kenner out,” Alicia’s hand shot up as if she were an eager teen herself. The other teachers chuckled good-naturedly—except for Brian, they were all older than Alicia by at least a decade, and found her youthful energy to be entertaining.
“Yes, Alicia?” the principal said, amused. “I love that you raised your hand.”
Alicia hadn’t realized that she had raised her hand. She lowered it sheepishly.
“Um,” she said. “It’s just—I love Washington, D.C. I’ve been there a few times.”
“Ah, for peace and love marches?” said the principal teasingly. The principal was a Republican and got a kick out of Alicia’s liberal leanings, even when some of the parents didn’t.
“Well, and climate change protests,” Alicia said. “Anyway, I’d love to help Mr. Kenner—Brian—I’d love to help Brian out.” She looked at him hopefully and he studiously avoided her gaze.
“It’s like watching Bambi,” one of the teachers whispered to the other, and Alicia overheard, but she didn’t care.
“Well
, Brian,” the principal said with a smile. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a partner. May the Lord protect you both from the evils that teens do.”
Brian did not look pleased. He opened his mouth to speak, and then seemed to think better of it. He nodded his assent.
And that’s how Alicia ended up on that bus, wondering if she and Brian would get to spend any time alone. School protocol dictated that chaperones on trips figure out twenty-four-hour coverage for student safety, meaning someone had to be up at any given hour, prepared for disaster. Patti Bump and the social studies teachers had assured Alicia that none of the teachers actually adhered to the rule, and that everybody deserved a good rest after a day chasing the monsters all around a museum or a landmark or whatever, and if the kids got up to some shenanigans in the wee hours, well, it was no problem so long as they didn’t get themselves hurt or arrested. Alicia got the distinct feeling Brian would not have approved of that laissez-faire policy, and that she and he would stick to school protocol.
Alicia looked over at Brian, and he met her gaze. She smiled hopefully, and he hesitated for a moment before nodding politely. Then he looked away from her, out the window. Deflated, she sank back into the uncomfortable faux-leather seat.
There had to be a way to get through to him.
But how?
Near the back of the bus, seated out of earshot of the teachers, Gertie was listening to “Kids in America” by The Muffs. It’s a 1995 cover of a 1981 Kim Wilde song, and it’s amazing. The lyrics are all about being bored in suburbia, so Gertie, born in China and quickly adopted by parents in tiny-ass Flemington, could totally relate. Her mom always asked, “What’s this song about? Is it about drugs?” whenever she played any music at all, but Gertie was pretty sure “Kids in America” had nothing to do with drugs. Or if it did, it was only tangentially related to drug use. The song was about wanting to party, and Gertie was well aware that for some of her fellow sophomores, partying meant getting high. Not for her, though. She’d never done drugs. Rachel, her best friend—she was another story. Even Sivan smoked pot sometimes, but she got straight A’s so it obviously didn’t hurt her at all.
Gertie’s dad always said, “Gertie, we trust you completely. It’s these other kids we’re not so sure about.” They didn’t mean Rachel and Sivan, of course—they meant strangers, kids they didn’t know. The imaginary big bad wolf that was always hovering on the edge of every experience. Rachel once said to Gertie that it must be because she was their only child—and adopted at that—and Gertie tended to agree. Rachel could be insightful about human behavior. She wasn’t just book-smart.
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