by Deena Bright
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Excerpt
Crossing his arms obstinately, he said, “Sorry, not my problem.” Briggs was not being agreeable at all, not giving in.
“Janelle, can you help me here?” Leo asked, desperate to continue with the contract.
“Uh…no, y’all are on your own,” I said, throwing my hands back, rocking on two legs of the chair. “I don’t even know why you guys wanted me here.” They wanted me here as a mediator, referee, hell , as a witness when one finally killed the other. They’d argued over every last point and detail in this so-called amicable contract they wanted to draft. The bottom line: these two were never going to get along or make it easy for the other.
“Briggs, now listen,” Leo spoke to him like he was a toddler, and everyone knows you can’t reason with a toddler. “You have to give me all day Saturday and all day Sunday, it’s only fair…”
Briggs cut him off, “The Hell I do,” he stood up, yelling in Leo’s face. “It’s not my problem you work when we don’t.” Briggs wanted Saturdays, willing to give Leo Fridays and Sundays; Leo wanted both weekend days since Briggs and I were home, not working all day long throughout the summer. He wanted long, lazy afternoons with me too.
“Guys, can we just get this done? I feel like I’m a 10-year-old little girl witnessing her parents’ custody battle,” I whined, standing up. Leo grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me over to his lap. I giggled, missing his touch, his playfulness. He nuzzled into my neck; I giggled again. I hadn’t touched either of these gorgeous men in nearly ten days. I missed them. Every inch of my body missed them.
“Oh I seriously don’t fucking think so,” Briggs gritted through his teeth. “Nobody touches her until this contract is done. You said so yourself Cling.” I sighed, getting up and going into the kitchen. These two were killing me, frustrating the Hell out of me.
Leo told Briggs to go fuck himself and went to the bathroom. Through these “negotiations,” I kept seeing such a strong, masculine side to Leo. It was hot. The second Leo left the room, Briggs was all over me. His mouth was on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. I wanted him. I needed him. I pulled him tighter, pressing our bodies closer together, relishing the heat, the tension, the want.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Leo questioned, walking back into the room. “Now I can’t even take a piss?” Leo fumed, hopping up on the counter. I sighed, angry, frustrated , and horny as all get out.
“You’re the dumbass who left me alone with her,” Briggs countered. They started bickering back and forth, something they were getting very good at. I stepped out of the kitchen and walked into my bedroom, while they argued. Neither noticed my absence. Briggs and Leo continued to bicker at one another, never coming close to a truce, a resolution. The argument was heating up.
“Hey guys….guys…Hello?” They finally looked over at me, standing in the hallway in a black strapless bra, black thong, with garters and thigh highs, my hands behind my back. Their mouths dropped, silence filled the room. “Get the contract done,” I forcefully instructed. “Put someone, either of you, on it for tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m.” I unhooked my bra, letting it fall straight to the ground. I loved the look on both of their faces. They wanted me; this was just as frustrating and as hard for them too. Wanting to torment them more, I twirled a finger around my bare nipple and said, “I’m not waiting any longer than that.” I started to walk away. “Oh and another thing,” I added, holding out my vibrator. “I’ll be in my room with my door locked, thinking about BOTH of you.” I was definitely getting to both of them; their eyes blazed with lust. “Let yourselves out when you’re done…and for Christ’s sake, get the contract done.”
Dear Readers (Hopefully, there are a few of you out there):
When I set out to write a dirty book (ssshhh), I read a guidelines list of all the things that I should and shouldn’t do. One of the big rules that kept popping up was that I shouldn’t include any form of pop culture, because it “dated” your book, ruining it for the reader. I took out all references that would give away my time period of writing. I tried, I really tried, but I just couldn’t do it. This teacher, wife, and mother of four is a pop culture junkie. I love love love when movies, books, and television shows allude to other ones. Will and Grace always alluded to pop culture; everything now refers back to the Golden Girls or Harry Potter, so why couldn’t I? Let’s be honest, do you really think that writer of the Dos and Don’ts list is pulling in the bank roll that JK Rowling is? I don’t. I decided that I was going to forget that Dos and Don’ts list and do whatever the heck I wanted. Hopefully, I didn’t just destroy my book, turning readers off altogether. Not only am I keeping the pop culture references in, but I’m also going to explain why each one deserved a spot or some praise in my book.
Thanks for reading my book! I am honored that you took the time to read Schooled. I hope you were amused, interested, and a little titillated as well.
Sincerely,
Deena Bright
Accolades In Order of Appearance
(If you get a “shout out” in the accolades page, you’re not getting your own accolade.)
Dear my former students,
Let me start by saying that I just adore you, not, absolutely not, in the way that Janelle adores Briggs and Leo. Give me a break, by the end of the school day, the last thing I want is some adolescent boy hanging around for further tutelage. I DO want to take a moment to thank you for sharing your lives with me, trusting me, and brightening the MAJORITY of my days. Let’s face it. I like writing. I like reading. But here’s the raw truth: reading and writing are not my passion. Shocking, I know. People, their lives, their stories, hardships, successes, and humor, are my passion. I have always loved being surrounded by friends, by students, and by strangers. You guys are a part of me.
My sister has always told me that I’m too invested in my students’ lives. Well, that’s why I love teaching. You give me purpose and worth. You were my first “kids” before I had kids. I cried when you dropped the ball at the playoff game. I beamed with pride when you were crowned Homecoming queen and then when you married the man of your dreams. I held you and cried with you when your dad died. I wrote letters of character for you when you were expelled for marijuana possession. I especially love that you are my children’s nanny, loving them almost as much as I do. The list goes on… I’d do anything for all of you; you guys know who you are. My kids.
Dear J. F. Lawton (Writer of Pretty Woman):
I remember it vividly, my friend’s parents dropped us off at the mall to see a movie, and she and I wanted to see some other flick, but it was sold out. We didn’t know anything about any of the other movies. We decided that we’d go ahead and see Pretty Woman, not knowing anything about it. This was before the big push to actually card people at the movie theater; we were only 16 at the time.
The movie opened that day. The theater was sparse; nobody was there. My friend and I loved the movie. The next weekend, we saw it again. The theater was packed. Apparently, everyone heard how truly wonderful it was and wanted to jump on the bandwagon. Thank God for that bandwagon, eh? The one-liners in Pretty Woman made it what it was—perfect.
My favorite line in the movie is when Kit is explaining to Vivian that “Cinder-fucking-rella” made it from rags to riches. Love it. Nice work Lawton!
Dear Robert Mark Kamen (Writer of Karate Kid):
I was in love with Ralph Macchio; I honestly had a scrapbook filled with pictures of him. Therefore, I went into your movie, already loving it, but ended up loving it for more than just Ralph. What a great movie! It was clever and creative how all the “tasks” taught him the right form, cute twist. Thank you for sharing it with us. Bonsai!
Dear “The One-Armed White Bitch” (Bethany Hamilton/Soul Surfer):
By no means do I think that you’re a bitch. On the contrary, you are truly amazing, an inspiration. I “use” your story in my classroom. Being a high school teacher, I encounte
r many student-athletes who injure themselves, ending their athletic careers. I incorporate your story for inspiration, hoping to give my students some of the courage you possess. You are remarkable. Thank you for sharing your story with us, bravely and honestly.
Dear Nationwide Insurance (“Life comes at you fast.”):
I’m not afraid to admit it, I have cried watching your commercial. When that little boy is suddenly a grown man in the car seat, I just lose it. You are so right. It goes by so fast, “life comes at you fast.”
Dear ESPN:
Dudes, you are killing me. For a long time, I thought that an orgasm had to be followed by Sportscenter. It wasn’t until recently, during a power outage, that I actually experienced a complete orgasm that didn’t end with the opening music from Sportscenter. I do however have two sons and a husband that think the world, life, revolves around you. I suppose if your channel, heck channels, keep my sons off the crack pipe, then I am grateful for you. But what do you think about throwing in a chick flick movie, like Steel Magnolias, every now and then? Any chance?
Dear Keurig:
I’m sorry; I don’t drink hot liquid. Sorry, it grosses me out. The thought of swallowing hot fluid just gives me the heebie jeebies; soup included. (Yes, that is very sad for my husband; I never swallow anything warm.) However, you’re doing something right. People are raving about you. The teachers in my building even got together and bought one to “get through the day.” Nice work, thank you for making my colleagues’ jobs more tolerable. Sorry, I burned you to a crisp in the book.
Dear I-hop:
Lately, I am OVERLY into you. I love the Healthy and Fit pancakes—delicious. My kids are thrilled, because we have been frequenting your establishment quite a bit lately. They love the whole “breakfast for dinner” thing. With that said, is there any way you could add some banana batter to the Healthy and Fit pancakes? If you add bananas, then I’ll probably need to be physically removed from the premises. Just saying….
Dear Apple and iphone creators:
You complete me. Enough said.
Dear William Shakespeare:
Dude, you’re dead! Why am I still talking about you? You died hundreds of years ago. You didn’t cure Cancer, free slaves, or anything. Why do you matter? I don’t get it. I know it is an aberration for an English teacher to loathe Shakespeare, but listen closely, there are a bunch of us who do! No kidding! I mean A Mid Summer Night’s Dream is a damn good play, easy to read, easy to understand. You obviously had it in you, but then what happened with the other junk? And another thing, Romeo and Juliet knew each other for like 48 hours before wanting to die for the other. Seriously? I’ve been married for 12 years and I’m not even certain that I’d take a bullet for my husband. That’s just ridiculous. And, Romeo was in love with some other chick at the start of the play. I’d vow chastity too if that pansy-ass kid wanted in my pants!
You’re probably wondering why you got into my book then, right? Truthfully? I’m not sure. I teach English; I’m stuck with you, for what feels like eternity. You just won’t go away.
Dear Jim Tressel:
I adore you. I forgive whatever acts the BCS have nailed you with. The BCS is jank anyway. Nobody likes them. Every year one of my students wants to do a research paper on why the BCS rating system should be changed. Everyone still loves you. You’re totally adorable, completely approachable, and surprisingly witty and funny. I am proud of what you did for and with my Buckeyes. I spent many years watching and wondering what was going on with John Cooper. Good guy, not a great coach. Thanks for coming in and making me a proud Buckeye Alumna again.
Dear Starbucks:
Before reading your letter of praise, please refer back to Keurig’s letter. I’m sorry, but hot liquid doesn’t do it for me. In the winter, I do hit the drive-through and get the Unsalted Hot Chocolate every so often. It’s pretty good; I do let it cool before drinking it though. Coffee tastes like my husband’s butt. Don’t ask. But in the summer, oh Starbucks, that Vanilla Bean Frappuccino is an important part of my life. I even like to dunk the Vanilla Biscotti into the Vanilla Bean Frapp. Scrumptious.
I do have to say, I’m never going to get on board with your sizing. I don’t want to learn another language to order a milkshake. I order the small, medium, or large, only to be corrected by the drive-through BARISTA! Seriously, barista? I’m in the Midwest here. Anyway, you obviously know more than I do. I teach in one classroom all day long; you’re on every corner throughout the freaking country. I digress. You’re better than me! Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to allow my fictitious characters to worship you.
Dear William Bickley and Michael Warren (the creators/writers of Family Matters):
I’d do Stephan in a heartbeat. Beautiful specimen of manhood. I’m glad y’all created that transformation chamber. I also liked that crazy girl that played Steve Urkel’s girlfriend, Myra. She was a great character.
Now, here’s what really bothers me. Did you think your viewers were idiots? The Winslow family was larger, with more members, during that first season. Where did those people go? You cannot do that to people; we need clarification. Granted, it was MUCH BETTER without those additions. You should have included some sort of voiceover after the opening theme song, saying something like “Due to the boring creation of asinine characters, we cut them from the show. Hope you like it better now.” We’d truly appreciate stuff like that. Remember Happy Days? Did you not learn anything from the elimination of “Chuck,” Ritchie and Joanie’s older brother. Where the Hell did he go? People don’t like that crap without an explanation. Am I right? I liked your show though. Stephan could enter my chamber any day.
Dear Pearl Jam:
I’m sorry; I’ve never listened to your music. I’m not all that into music. My college roommate was totally, head over heels in love with you. One night, she actually tried to come up with a way to move to Seattle, Washington, so she could meet Eddie Vedder and marry him. I didn’t even know who she was talking about. She was convinced that she could make him fall in love with her. Granted, we may have been a little “out of it,” but hey, she was determined.
Dear McDonald’s:
The 300 calorie Egg McMuffin is the start of many of my mornings. I wake up happy, knowing that I’m going to consume it shortly. It truly is a wonderful start to my days, keeping me full and satisfied until my 42-minute lunch break. Ahhh, the joys of teaching. Please never discontinue the Egg McMuffin; it would ruin my life.
Dear Sophocles (Writer of Oedipus Rex and Antigone):
I suppose I like you a little more than Shakespeare, but you’re still old and dead. I don’t like that. But dude, you’ve got issues. Jacosta was Oedipus’ mom, and they had four kids together. That is some messed up crap. And to think, I was worried people would condemn me for writing about an adult teacher sleeping with adult students. I think I like you better than Willy, because you’re an olden day Jerry Springer episode. That’s pretty cool. Well, rest peacefully.
Dear Disney Productions and Writers/Animators for The Little Mermaid:
I love that Flounder. What an adorable little fella! I put my nieces in Ariel bathing suits, because every time I think of Ariel, I am reminded of my junior year of high school. That year, my best guy friend, (completely platonic relationship, to my dismay) seriously wouldn’t date anyone, because she wasn’t “as hot as Ariel.” He was so in love with your cartoon depiction of a gorgeous mermaid that it ruined him for all of us: living, breathing, and willing young adolescent females. All he talked about that year was “Ariel this, Ariel that.” So yeah, thanks for that.
Dear Catherine Johnson (Writer/creator of Mamma Mia! the musical):
Great musical! You should be proud of yourself. I thoroughly enjoyed it, even though my butt barely fit in the seats in the theater in Vegas. Seriously, like the Mandalay Bay doesn’t have enough money to extend their theater seating. I sat down, and was like “Mamma mia! I’m neva gonna leave here.” Normally, something like that wou
ld ruin a show for me, but I kept with it and still enjoyed it.
Dear Billy Joel and Twyla Tharp (Writer and Choreographer of Movin’ Out):
Billy, like my main character, I don’t listen to music. It bores me. You however have always been the exception. I love your music, your voice, everything. You’re wonderful. I’ve seen you in concert six times, once front row. The last time I saw you in concert, I was 9-months pregnant. You can park your piano in my house any time, if ya know what I’m saying. Twyla, I’m jealous of you; I want to work with Billy. Your choreography was phenomenal though. Loved it.
Dear Madonna Louise Ciccone:
Madonna, you, unlike William Shakespeare, are timeless. Granted, I probably stopped really listening to music when you were at your peak, but that never made me stop loving your Immaculate Collection. I think that you really should consider having someone write a musical that coordinates with your songs. Maybe you could talk to Stephen Schwartz, Winnie Holzman, or Catherine Johnson; they seem to know their crap. Or Hell, you could even take a risk, go out on limb, and say have me, Deena Bright, write it for you. I know I’ve never written a musical and am “Like A Virgin,” but I think I could do it justice and “Justify My Love” for you. All kidding aside, you are a great artist, singer, and performer. I am planning to attend your concert in Ohio this winter; I’m very much looking forward to it. You’re my favorite “Material Girl.”
Dear Justin Bieber:
I’m sorry; I don’t know anything about you. I think you’re adorable, and so is that Selena girl you date (dated?). I know my sons’ little girlfriends and even my freshman female students are infatuated with you, so I figured that I’d use you as my heartthrob icon. I hope that is flattering to you. Since I don’t hear a bunch of rumors and crap about you, then you must be a pretty good kid. Nice work Bieber parents. Stay cool, make smart decisions, and don’t become a douche-y jitbag.