“I got you, girl,” Izaiah said, pointing a finger at me.
“Thank you.” I shook out my air-dried hair and turned to face my new friends—Robert and Douglas. “As I was saying, I’d never cheated on a boyfriend before, and it brought up so many questions. Why did I really do it? Would I still be with Will if I hadn’t, or would he have dumped me anyway? And I question whether I was truly falling for him or just passing time like I’ve done with every other guy since Jake.”
I didn’t know if it was the beer (I was on my third) or the hot sun that provoked me to confide in two strange men. I was a skilled liar and could have easily concocted a fake story as to why I was in Barbados. For instance, I’d been left at the altar and celebrating my honeymoon solo. Or I was writing a novel set in the Caribbean and was there for “research.” But the truth felt good. It was liberating, and it might help me come to terms with what had gone down at Christmas three weeks earlier. I explained what happened when Perry outed our break-up at the Christmas table and how the members of my family chimed in about my relationship issues. “Once I got over the hurt and humiliation of being psychoanalyzed so harshly and publicly, I accepted the truth in their words. I’m so used to being the boss of me and everyone else, I never learned how to let someone else take care of me. I think maybe I want romance?” I spoke the words like a question because until that moment, I didn’t know how to articulate what was missing from all my romantic interludes. Romance. Jake had been a romantic, and I stomped all over it. And I never gave Will a fighting chance. Maybe if I’d confided why I didn’t want him to meet my folks, he would have understood and we could have figured it out together. Instead, I kept him in the dark.
Douglas, a stocky guy in his late thirties with thinning brown hair and tattoos on both his arms, raised an eyebrow. “I can’t comment about Will, but there must have been some crazy chemistry between you and Perry.”
I shook my head vehemently before taking a sip of beer. I wasn’t much of a beer drinker in the States, but this Banks stuff was more than decent. “No. He drove me bat-shit cray cray.” I shrugged guiltily.
Robert, the older of the two, with a shaved head and a fit body, motioned to Izaiah. “Two more beers,” he said, pointing to himself and Douglas. “And put Sid’s next one on our tab too.” The guys had met in a bowling league and won the trip for themselves and their significant others in a tourney. The women had gone on an excursion to see the turtles and weren’t back yet.
I was in my happy place. A nice buzz was the perfect distraction from guilt and contemplation. “Thank you so much, Robert.”
“My pleasure. Call me Bobby. How did Perry get you so wound up?”
I didn’t even know where to start. His first offense was changing the story of how we met to make me look like a pathetic stalker. It got worse from there when, no matter what nonsense he spewed and how dumb he made me look, my family members were charmed as if he’d put a spell on them. Then he repeatedly dissed me at my own party, embarrassing me in front of my relatives. I finally forgave him, just in time for his grand announcement of our breakup, resulting in my public shaming at the dinner table. And what was with the stupid nickname he gave me—Cherry Bomb? But my new friends didn’t need to know the details. “Basically, the swap was a genius of my creation, yet Perry refused to follow my rules. He insisted his way was more interesting. He couldn’t follow my lead—he had to be contrary every time. When I’d confront him about it, he’d play dumb and laugh at me. I couldn’t shake him and it drove me batty.” He was such a piece of work, I had to laugh. “It sounds silly now, but at the time, it really set me off.”
“It seems like Perry was trying to have fun and loosen you up. When you didn’t take the bait, he went out of his way to provoke you and push you out of your comfort zone,” Bobby said.
Bobby had a point. Even when Perry tried to be nice to me and free me from my father’s claws, I held it against him. It was like I was more comfortable working against him than with him.
“Maybe if you hadn’t insisted on taking charge of every moment, he wouldn’t have been so contrary,” Douglas said. “Sometimes, you need to be the woman in the relationship.”
My inner feminist didn’t like this and I scowled at him. “The woman in the relationship?”
Bobby laughed. Patting Douglas on the shoulder, he said, “I don’t think Doug means any disrespect.”
Doug shook his head. “I don’t. Men like to show off to their women sometimes. Be the tough guys. The one who opens the tightly screwed pickle containers, mows the lawn, carries the heavy packages. If you can do it all yourself, what do you need us for?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I can think of one or two things.”
They laughed, and Bobby continued where Doug left off. “All we’re saying is there’s nothing wrong with kicking butt at work, but every once and a while, sit back and let your man take the lead at home. Even if you’re rolling your eyes on the inside, it will make him happy with little effort on your part. All you need to do is relinquish control and let go. Not all the time, but sometimes. You might even enjoy it.”
“We’re not excusing Perry’s actions, but they support our arguments that strong men don’t like to be controlled. And you,” Bobby said, nudging me lightly in the arm, “need a strong man.”
My head was spinning from the beers and the complimentary head-shrinking by my mini therapists. I needed a nap. I asked Izaiah to close out my bill and climbed off my barstool. I regarded my new friends with a weak smile. “Thank you for your interesting perspectives. You’ve given me a lot of food for thought.” With a final wave goodbye, I headed back to my room.
Robyn
“In a pot,” I sang.
“In a pot,” my kindergarten class repeated.
We sang together, “We stir the letters up and then, you boil it ’til it’s good and done.”
“Who’s got the K?” I sang.
Five-year-old Tommy Capshaw called out, “I’ve got the K!” When his classmates snickered, he threw his freckled hand against his mouth before repeating himself, this time in song and to the tune of “Hot Cross Buns.” Then he sprinted to the front of the classroom, affixed his magnetic letter K to the board next to the letter J, and rushed back to his fellow students.
When he sat back down, his breathing ragged and his normally fair cheeks flushed from exertion, I grinned at him and sang, “Alphabet soup.”
The kids repeated, “Alphabet soup.”
“In a pot,” I sang as my classroom phone rang. “One minute, guys.” My phone didn’t ring often during class, and it usually meant one of the children was needed somewhere else. I picked up the phone. “Hi. This is Miss Lane,” I said while keeping an eye on my students. If one restless five-year-old got bored sitting still, the rest would copy like monkeys at the zoo.
“Hi, Robyn. It’s Principal Hogan. Sorry to disturb your class.”
“No problem,” I said as my hands shook. Despite my promise to Lance, I hadn’t garnered the courage to confront Principal Hogan about the rumors since I’d returned to school a week earlier and, instead, was avoiding him. What I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. “What can I do for you?”
“Could you stop by my office after this class? I think you have a free period, right?”
I gulped. “Of course. I’ll see you soon.” This was it. He was going to deliver my fate.
After we hung up, I finished the last round of Alphabet Soup and turned the classroom into the Lane Discotheque. I let the kids choose a popular earworm from the radio, played it on my iTunes, dimmed the lights, and let them dance freestyle. The Lane Discotheque was a student favorite. I usually reserved it for special occasions, like holidays, student birthdays, and the last day of school, but I feared I might not see the precious faces of these twenty-three kindergarteners when they advanced to first grade next year. I wanted to remember them happy in case my
remaining lessons were tainted with the knowledge I wouldn’t be returning to the school. I knew I was getting ahead of myself, but between the rumors heard by Lynn and the strange conversation Lance heard in the teachers’ lounge, it was challenging to remain calm and optimistic.
I turned off the music two minutes before class was officially over to give the kids time to calm down in advance of being picked up by the kindergarten teacher.
A little while later, I knocked on Principal Hogan’s open office door.
He looked up and smiled at me. “Come in, Robyn.” He gestured to the guest chair on the opposite side of his cluttered desk.
I sat down, careful not to knock over any of the photos of his picture-perfect four-person family that lined the outer surface of his desk. Besides his multiple diplomas, the walls of his office were almost entirely hidden by pictures students had drawn for him over his years as a teacher, vice principal, and now principal. The students loved him, and he seemed to genuinely like children and his job. I felt very fortunate to work with him after all the horror stories I’d heard about school administrators while I was still getting my degree. The cynics, of which there were many, argued that only in his early forties, Hogan was still too young to be jaded.
“Did you have a nice holiday, Robyn?”
It was a loaded question, and I bit back a giggle picturing his reaction if I answered him honestly. What would he say if I told him I’d brought someone else’s boyfriend home and pretended he was mine? The temptation to laugh disappeared as soon as I remembered how much I missed Will, and I answered with a simple, “It was nice. How about you? Your daughter’s a Christmas baby, right?”
Hogan’s light blue eyes widened in surprise. “Yes. My son was born on Valentine’s Day and my daughter on Christmas Eve. You think we should try for Thanksgiving with our next?”
“If you can make that happen, you might end up with your own reality show.”
He scratched his wavy brown hair. “On second thought, I think we’ll try for June. No holidays in June.”
“Smart,” I said with a laugh.
“I heard you had a little disruption during your holiday.”
I blinked in confusion. How could he possibly know what happened?
“I’m referring to Aimee Clay’s unauthorized phone call.” He leaned forward.
“Oh, yes. She was so upset about her polyps. It broke my heart.”
Hogan nodded. “Mine as well. But her parents said she felt much better after speaking to you. I wanted to personally commend you on how you handled the situation.”
I smiled timidly. “Thank you. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“It was a brilliant idea suggesting she work as your assistant. A plan both her parents and I support wholeheartedly. I also appreciate you telling her you’d need to check with me first.”
“Of course.” I planted my feet securely to the ground to stop my legs from shaking in anticipation of Hogan’s next words.
“Keep up the good work.”
I stared at him. “That’s it?”
He smiled. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”
I licked my lips. This was it. I could either face my fear by asking him straight out, or I could leave his office and continue to toss and turn at night waiting for the delivery of my pink slip. “Can I be blunt?”
He looked at me strangely, presumably because it was a strange question. “Shoot.”
I let out a long exhale. “Is my job in jeopardy?”
Hogan jerked his head back. “I certainly hope not. You’re one of the favorite teachers here.”
I was too nervous for the compliment to register. “I’m not so much worried about me as I am about the music program in general. There’s been talk about budget cuts.” My heart raced just saying the words.
Understanding washed across his face. “You’ve heard the rumors, huh?”
I nodded, resisting the urge to chew on a fingernail.
“Between us, there was a danger due to an increased interest in foreign language curriculum at the elementary level. We were discussing possible work-arounds to avoid a complete shut-down, but it won’t be necessary. At least not in the immediate future.”
My eyes widened. “What? How? Why?” I realized I probably sounded like a high school journalist and blushed.
Hogan chuckled. “I don’t have all the details because it went through the superintendent, but the funds came from a law firm’s private charitable fund and were specifically allocated to the music program at this school for the next five years.”
My mouth fell open, but the only word I could form was, “Wow.”
“It looks like you’re stuck with us for a little bit longer, Ms. Lane. Are you okay with that?”
Faking calmness, I answered, “Yes. Yes, I am,” and presented Principal Hogan with a smile. But as my legs resumed shaking like tree branches during a hurricane, I feared they’d give out before I made it back to my classroom.
The funds came from a law firm’s private charitable fund.
After work, I (easily) persuaded Anne Marie to meet me at one of our favorite neighborhood bars, Dive 75, for happy hour.
“Cheers to you not being out of a job and me not needing a new roommate after you’re forced to move back in with your parents in Philly.” Anne Marie raised her five-dollar pint of Bud Light and clinked it against mine. We were sitting at the bar so Anne Marie could flirt with her crush, Steve the bartender, but the place was at capacity and he had little time to chat.
I took a gulp of my beer. “And cheers to the students not missing out on a music education because they’re too busy learning to converse with German tourists.”
“On behalf of my German ancestors, I must defend the ability to speak fluently in German. Prost,” she said before lifting her glass again and smiling at Steve, who grinned back and slid a bowl of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in front of us. Besides the cheap happy hour specials and friendly bartender, another reason we loved Dive 75 was the free candy. The place didn’t serve food, but patrons were allowed to bring it in from other places. Most of the millennials who frequented Dive 75 were more about liquid sustenance than solid eats anyway.
I pulled a piece of chocolate from the bowl. “The only word you know, I presume?”
Anne Marie shook her head. “Nein. I also know bier, lederhose, and Oktoberfest.”
“All of the essentials.” I chuckled. “I’m not adverse to foreign language curriculum, but I’m happy my school doesn’t have to choose.”
Despite being thrilled my school’s music program had been rescued, I couldn’t get over Principal Hogan’s comments that the hero was a law firm. “Do you think it was Sidney’s way of apologizing for kissing Perry?” I asked Anne Marie, who had pulled her blonde hair out of the ponytail holding it captive and replenished her lipstick, presumably because Steve was now talking to two cute girls sitting at the other side of the bar.
She smirked at me. “Not likely. How would she know about your school? It’s not like she asked me. And besides, she’s on a leave of absence from work.”
I didn’t truly think it was Sidney, but I felt the need to rule her out as a possibility before letting my mind wander to who else it could be. “Why is she on leave?” I asked, before taking a bite of my peanut butter cup and snarling because beer and chocolate were as bad a combination as toothpaste and orange juice.
“Harvey cited personal reasons.” In response to my blank expression, she clarified. “Mr. Bellows. Her dad. Big man on campus.”
I smiled. “Gotcha.”
“I’d like whatever personal issues she’s having. She’s in Barbados.”
My stomach dropped. “You think she’s with Will?” Maybe they’d gotten back together. They’d only been broken up a matter of hours before he called me. For all I knew, they’d made up. Maybe he
realized I was right about his interest in me being directly related to losing her. What if she begged him to take her back with reminders of her advanced sexual talents and he caved? This possibility should have made me feel justified in my decision to turn him down and it did—a little. But it mostly made me mad with envy.
Anne Marie looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. “You’re joking, right? You know it was Will, and all you need to confirm it is the name of the law firm.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Or you can just ask him yourself.” She chugged the rest of her beer and called out for Steve. When he glanced our way, she said, “Can we get another round and two Redheaded Slut shots?” before typing something on her phone.
I narrowly escaped choking on my beer.
Anne Marie looked up from her phone. “According to food.com, it’s Jägermeister, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice.”
“I know how to make them, Marianne,” Steve said, using his nickname for Anne Marie. His nickname for me was Lainie. This worked well when we were hit on by undesirables, although up until recently, Perry was usually with us.
“Make one for yourself too,” Anne Marie said.
Steve wordlessly placed another clean shot glass onto the bar, finished mixing the ingredients, and placed one in front of each of us. “What are we toasting?”
Anne Marie lifted her shot glass. “To banishing all ginger-haired sluts to Barbados.”
Steve and I raised our shot glasses to our mouths, but Anne Marie held up her hand. “I’m not finished yet.” She stared me down. “And to childhood crushes and sexy attorneys slash saviors of music education.” She slid the shot down her throat.
Steve looked at her curiously and held his glass up to mine. “To what Marianne just said.”
I clinked my glass against his and whispered, “To Will,” before slamming the shot.
Chapter 19
Sidney
I was bored. The life of leisure wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. On the plus side, lack of activity and plenty of sleep provided much opportunity during my waking hours to consider the advice bestowed upon me by Bobby and Doug. Once my buzz faded, I wished I hadn’t confided in them. Their suggestions to let my man take charge in the relationship, or least think he was, bothered the feminist, stubborn, and competitive side of me. But the part that craved the romance, or even someone to nurse me sometimes, wondered if they were right. I was tired of always taking care of myself.
The Boyfriend Swap Page 24