Stirred Up (17 page)

“If everything about me is so embarrassing,
why are you even dating me?” she asked.

“I’m asking myself that same question.”

Of course she knew the answer. It was just
sex, a good time. Maybe he’d gotten carried away and started to
think it was more, but now he’d come to his senses.

He’d pulled up to the shabby apartment
building she could barely afford and looked straight ahead without
saying a word. She climbed out of the car and went inside, and
they’d never spoken again.

She couldn’t go through that again, even if
she and Jason weren’t in a relationship. It was too risky, and she
couldn’t bear the idea of Jason being embarrassed by her.

She picked up her phone and dialed his
number.

“Hey, what’s up? You almost ready?”

“I don’t think I can go after all.”

There was a pause and then he spoke. “I see.
Are you worried about something? Because you really don’t need to
be.”

A breath huffed out of her. He was confident
now, but what about when they started asking her questions?

“I’m not so sure about that. I don’t exactly
have the most impressive background, and it requires a lot of
editing when people start asking questions. I don’t think I’m up to
that today.”

“Cheryl, what are you talking about? You’re
about to become a teacher. What could be more respectable than
that?”

“Fine, that’s the one respectable thing about
me. The rest of it, not so much.”

“You don’t have to tell them anything you
don’t want to. But if you do, they’ll be even more impressed that
you’ve gotten where you are all on your own. My mom will probably
want to feed you more to make up for your lack of mothering as a
teenager.”

“Right. And I suppose they’d think it was
utterly charming that I’m a stripper?”

He sighed. “Look, what do you want me to say?
Yes, they’d be shocked. But that’s your call.”

“Of course I’m not going to tell them I’m a
stripper. I’m not crazy. But
I’ll
still know. I’ll be
sitting there trying to fool your family into thinking I’m a decent
person.”

“Jesus, Cheryl. Where did that come
from?”

“Oh God, I don’t know. Obviously I need some
serious therapy.”

“You’re one of the most decent people I know.
And you are who you are because of your past. You were able to help
Sara because of what you’ve been through. No one else had any clue,
and you got her to talk.”

“I never thought of it that way,” she said,
her mind reeling at the idea that maybe some good had come out of
her messed up life.

“No one is going to be giving you the third
degree. Even if they wanted to, I wouldn’t allow it. But if this is
going to stress you out that much, then of course you shouldn’t
come.”

She sat on the bed, her head in her hands.
Should she take the free pass and go have dinner with the other
dancers? She wouldn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing,
but she wasn’t crazy about some of the girls going, and she was
even less crazy about their boyfriends.

No she definitely didn’t feel up to that, and
she really wanted to see Jason. She couldn’t imagine him letting
her down like Tony had.

“Never mind, I’ll come. I’m sorry I’m such a
wingnut.”

She could almost hear his smile over the
phone. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

***

Cheryl dug into her pecan pie and looked at
Jason across the table. He’d sat next to her for the meal but
everyone had moved when they’d come back to the table for dessert
and coffee. He was eating some of the plum tart she’d brought,
licking his spoon after each mouthful.

That mouth of his was downright sinful, not
to mention that fine bod. He was leaning back in his chair, his
legs stretched out under the table until they nearly reached hers.
She listened, utterly content, as he and his cousin argued without
rancor about some football team or other.

“This tart was delicious, Cheryl,” his mother
said from behind her. She was coming round the table, refilling
coffee cups. “Maybe you’ll give me the recipe?”

“Of course,” Cheryl said, feeling herself
flush with pleasure. “I’m glad you liked it. You can use almost any
fruit and it tastes just as good.”

Patricia Shaw smiled, the same warm,
eye-crinkling smile Jason had. “Perfect. Maybe next time you’re
over you can give it to me.”

Cheryl just nodded her head and Patricia
moved down the table, chatting with her family. When Cheryl looked
back over at Jason he smiled and winked.

Jason had been right. His family did their
best to make her feel welcome and at home, asking questions to draw
her out, not trip her up. Sure, his mother had a gleam in her eye
when Jason introduced the two of them, but she seemed more
intrigued and curious than anything else. His father, Carl, had
shaken her hand and asked what her poison was.

Looking at Carl was like seeing into the
future to what Jason would look like in thirty years. They had the
same build and easy way of moving, the same handsome face. It
wasn’t hard to see what Patricia had seen in her husband all those
years ago.

They were all a pretty mellow bunch and
Cheryl couldn’t help but relax into their easy chatter. Before she
knew it the sun had gone down and the party was breaking up. She
and Jason each carried several plastic containers of leftovers when
they finally got into the car, enough to feed them for a full
week.

“I’m glad you came,” Jason said, his eyes on
the road. “Everyone really liked you.”

Cheryl sank back into the seat, enjoying the
lull of the car as he drove her home. She was so full and sleepy,
she couldn’t even keep her eyes open.

“I’m glad, too,” she said, cracking her
eyelids to smile at him. “You have a nice family.”

“There’re not bad for the most part. The
craziest ones weren’t there today.”

“Thank you for what you said earlier. About
how I helped Sara because of what I went through. It feels good to
have another way of looking at things.”

He took his hand off the gearshift and placed
it over hers, the warmth of it spreading over her skin. He left it
there and soon the warmth had gone deeper, into her bones, maybe
even her heart. They sat that way even after they’d arrived at her
apartment building. The car felt like their own little world, with
everything in it she wanted at the moment.

“Would you like to come up?” she asked, the
words out of her mouth before she’d thought them through.

She hadn’t meant anything by it really,
except that she felt good with him, and she wanted to feel good a
while longer. But Jason grew still, his entire body tensing, and
suddenly the question wasn’t so innocent.

He looked away from her, staring out the
front window at her building. “That’s probably not the best idea,”
he said, his voice measured.

“Right,” she said, trying to breathe past the
tension in the air. “Maybe I’ll just say goodnight then. And thank
you for today.”

She was still unbuckling her seatbelt when he
got out and came around to open her door. She stood up, barely
breathing. He was so close, and she could feel the need radiating
off him. Just one word from her…

“Goodnight, Cheryl,” he said, taking a step
back.

“Goodnight,” she said, heading through the
darkness to her building, already missing him.

The Praxis exam was coming up in the middle
of December, and Cheryl spent every free moment studying for it.
There’d be pedagogical questions, questions to make sure she was up
to snuff on all aspects of teaching secondary school English, and a
section on teaching English as a second language.

In a panicked frenzy she poured over her
books and notes from the very first class she took in the education
department up to her present courses, and took practice exams to
gauge her progress. Even doing well on these didn’t mitigate her
anxiety over failing.

A week before the exam she was sitting in the
classroom before school started, making notes for her class that
day, when something brushed by her. Startled, she yelped and flung
her hands up, sending her pen flying. Something else went flying,
too. She turned as a paper cup full of coffee landed with a wet
splat, spreading its contents over the dirty linoleum.

She looked up to see Jason standing there,
gazing down at the mess as though he weren’t quite sure what had
happened.

“I’m sorry. I’m such a freakin’ wreck,” she
said, pulling a couple of napkins from her lunch bag and bending
down to sop it all up. Looking again, she noticed the Blackwater
Café logo on the cup and froze, too devastated to continue.

This was not the sludge from the teachers’
lounge, this was the life-giving liquid that powered her through
her days and kept her alive and sane. Or almost sane.

She dropped to her butt on the floor beside
the mess and moaned.

Jason crouched down in front of her. “Um,
Cheryl? It’s okay. I can even go get you another cup. There’s
plenty of time.” A pause. “Or maybe I could get you something more
relaxing. Chamomile tea or one of those medicinal blends they
have.”

She looked up at him. “I’ll never forgive you
if you do that.”

He started to laugh, like he thought she was
joking, before his smile slowly faded. He stared at her for a few
seconds, like she was some wild animal that needed to be dealt
with. But not a sexy, exotic animal. More like a raccoon or possum,
one of those small but annoying animals that tipped over garbage
cans, strewing trash and food around.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “What exactly is
going on in that brain of yours?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. Even if I
pass the Praxis, the timing’s all wrong. Hardly anyone’s looking
for teachers in the middle of the year.” She dropped her head into
her hands. “I’m better off subbing next semester.”

“Maybe. But if you pass the test next week,
then you’ll be ready if anything does open up. And you’ll be in a
better position to beat out other subs for jobs.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why don’t you come with me for a little
spin. I’ve got my bike today, and I think you need to unwind a bit
before you snap.”

“But I–”

“I’ll have you back here in fifteen minutes.
We’ll even get you more coffee on the way.”

“But what about this?” she asked, gesturing
toward the spilled coffee. It might as well have been an EPA
Superfund site for how insurmountable it seemed.

“That can wait. Come on,” he said, more
firmly this time, and she let him take her hand and pull her
up.

Steering her out of the classroom and down
the stairs, he set a brisk pace toward the main doors, as if afraid
she’d change her mind if he didn’t get her outside fast enough. But
she was glad to have someone else take over, even for a little
while.

It was maybe sixty degrees out and slightly
overcast, but as soon as she climbed on the bike behind Jason, her
body softened, the tension draining out as she molded herself to
him. Why hadn’t she thought of this herself? It was the one
sanctioned way she could press her body up to his, absorbing his
heat and energy. Maybe if she got to do this every day she’d stay
sane.

Or possibly go even crazier.

He drove around for a bit before stopping at
the cafe so she could run in for another coffee, which she
carefully wedged into one of his saddlebags. By the time they
returned to the high school she was once again feeling like a human
being.

“Thank you. I obviously needed that,” she
said, grimacing at her own craziness as she handed back his
helmet.

“The signs were subtle, but I’m a pretty
sensitive guy.”

She was still smiling to herself when they
got to his classroom, and after a few sips of coffee, she felt
confident she would survive the day without another breakdown.

Of course, that was before she knew the
principal would be sitting in on her class.

As a student teacher she was accustomed to
the idea, if not the actual practice, of people coming to observe
her teach. Two of her professors from Nevada State had done so, but
she’d assumed that was it for the semester.

But in walked Laurie Holmes with the first
period students, who looked at the principal and whispered, no
doubt wondering if someone were in trouble.

Laurie sat in the back of the class, in the
same seat Cheryl usually used, and smiled warmly, as if to assuage
her terror. That was the last time the principal made any sort of
sign. For the rest of the period she listened and jotted down
notes, but Cheryl purposefully made sure not to pay attention to
her. A feeling of calm descended over her as she focused on the
next hour. She had a class to teach, and she’d learned that the
only way to do a good job was to be herself.

This particular class could run hot or cold.
It was a level one class, full of kids who mostly did the work and
had reasonable things to say, but there were a couple of boys who
were clever enough that they sometimes got bored. When that
happened they tried to provoke either her or the other students
into arguing.

Joe tried to do just that when she asked a
question about subtext in the Hemingway story “Hills Like White
Elephants.” She saw the glimmer in Joe’s eye as he waved his hand
around, desperate to be called on for his moment in the spotlight.
She didn’t bat an eye. All she needed to do was direct his
cleverness and energy in the right direction, and he’d be useful
instead of distracting.

“Yes, Joe?” she asked.

He leaned back in his chair for full effect
and gazed around the room. “I don’t know why we read Hemingway
anyway. Everyone knows he’s sexist. Just because people have always
read his stuff doesn’t mean we should keep on reading it.”

Cheryl nearly smiled. He was trying to be
provocative, but she had no problem discussing this.