(Florida, late August… hello? ). But she drew the line at the shoulder-padded number Margaret had tried to push on her, opting for a softball T-shirt instead.
How’s it going? Let’s see… I don’t know anyone in any of my classes. My one opportunity to spend with friends was preempted by your decision that I should eat out with The Seniors. And I’m starting to get that rash-like feeling I get around big crowds. Other than that, it’s going great.
“I started off with four killers.” Janis popped her last bite of burger into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of Coke. “Thought I was going to get a break with P.E., but all the guy could talk about was the F’s he gave out. Oh, and the time he made some big, burly football player cry.”
Margaret smirked. “The legendary Coach Coffer.”
“You don’t have him!” Feather Heather cried, spinning to face Janis. She made her voice low and husky. “If you don’t dress out, Graystone, that’s two F’s. One for not dressing out and one for not participating because you not dressed out. If you miss an assignment, that’s another two F’s. One for not doing your assignment and one for disrespecting me by not doing your assignment. And if you late for class, guess what? Two more F’s. One for being late and one for being plain ol’ stupid.”
“God help you,” Tina said, and the girls fell away into laughter.
Janis grimaced.
“He talks tough, but he’s not so bad,” Margaret said. “Just do what he says, and you’ll be fine. There will be plenty of ditzes and doofuses for him to make examples of. It’s not like Thirteenth Street High is in short supply.”
Margaret cut her eyes to a table where three boy-men were competing to put away their three-quarter pound triples in record time. A small, chanting audience had gathered. Jocks, Janis guessed. The boys’ cheese- and mayonnaise-smeared jaws smacked and churned until, at last, a boy with a blond crew-cut pounded the table with both fists, then opened his mouth to show he was finished. A chorus of cheers rose above feminine protests of “How immature!” and “Grody!” that only made the guys at the table laugh harder… all except for the one who hadn’t participated. His lips were pressed into a grin, but his indigo eyes winced.
“Blake Farrier,” Heather said from beside her.
“Who?”
“The boy you’re, like, staring at.”
Janis’s cheeks started to burn. “I wasn’t staring at anyone.”
“Sure you weren’t.” Heather nudged her with a bony elbow. “But in case you were, I hear he’s as sweet as he is cute. I could totally put a word in—”
Janis spun toward her. “Don’t you dare!”
“Oops,” Heather whispered. “Like, I think you just got his attention.”
Janis lifted her face. Sure enough, he was looking right at her. Janis’s immediate instinct was to feel terrified, but his eyes were cool, a little mesmerizing. Now a smile reached them, a soft-dimpled smile that seemed to say, Hey, I’m a little out of place here, too . Janis tried to smile back but dropped her gaze to the scatter of fries across her tray, the spell broken.
Heather nudged her again. “Sure you don’t want me to channel my inner Chuck Woolery and make a love connection ?”
“Oh, leave her alone,” Margaret said.
Heather opened her mouth to say something more but then got pulled into whatever the girls at the end of the table were shrieking and giggling over. Janis peeked beyond them, but Blake’s head was turned, the feathered sides of his sandy brown hair hiding his face. Soft ridges of muscles showed through his pink Polo shirt.
“Hey, did you have a nightmare last night?” Margaret asked.
Janis blinked. “Huh?”
“I heard you yell, I don’t know, around one a.m. I almost went to check on you, but you only did it the one time.”
Janis felt her stomach lurch. “I… I did?”
A huge mushroom cloud sprang up in her mind’s eye, like one in that movie on ABC
How’s it going? Let’s see… I don’t know anyone in any of my classes. My one opportunity to spend with friends was preempted by your decision that I should eat out with The Seniors. And I’m starting to get that rash-like feeling I get around big crowds. Other than that, it’s going great.
“I started off with four killers.” Janis popped her last bite of burger into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of Coke. “Thought I was going to get a break with P.E., but all the guy could talk about was the F’s he gave out. Oh, and the time he made some big, burly football player cry.”
Margaret smirked. “The legendary Coach Coffer.”
“You don’t have him!” Feather Heather cried, spinning to face Janis. She made her voice low and husky. “If you don’t dress out, Graystone, that’s two F’s. One for not dressing out and one for not participating because you not dressed out. If you miss an assignment, that’s another two F’s. One for not doing your assignment and one for disrespecting me by not doing your assignment. And if you late for class, guess what? Two more F’s. One for being late and one for being plain ol’ stupid.”
“God help you,” Tina said, and the girls fell away into laughter.
Janis grimaced.
“He talks tough, but he’s not so bad,” Margaret said. “Just do what he says, and you’ll be fine. There will be plenty of ditzes and doofuses for him to make examples of. It’s not like Thirteenth Street High is in short supply.”
Margaret cut her eyes to a table where three boy-men were competing to put away their three-quarter pound triples in record time. A small, chanting audience had gathered. Jocks, Janis guessed. The boys’ cheese- and mayonnaise-smeared jaws smacked and churned until, at last, a boy with a blond crew-cut pounded the table with both fists, then opened his mouth to show he was finished. A chorus of cheers rose above feminine protests of “How immature!” and “Grody!” that only made the guys at the table laugh harder… all except for the one who hadn’t participated. His lips were pressed into a grin, but his indigo eyes winced.
“Blake Farrier,” Heather said from beside her.
“Who?”
“The boy you’re, like, staring at.”
Janis’s cheeks started to burn. “I wasn’t staring at anyone.”
“Sure you weren’t.” Heather nudged her with a bony elbow. “But in case you were, I hear he’s as sweet as he is cute. I could totally put a word in—”
Janis spun toward her. “Don’t you dare!”
“Oops,” Heather whispered. “Like, I think you just got his attention.”
Janis lifted her face. Sure enough, he was looking right at her. Janis’s immediate instinct was to feel terrified, but his eyes were cool, a little mesmerizing. Now a smile reached them, a soft-dimpled smile that seemed to say, Hey, I’m a little out of place here, too . Janis tried to smile back but dropped her gaze to the scatter of fries across her tray, the spell broken.
Heather nudged her again. “Sure you don’t want me to channel my inner Chuck Woolery and make a love connection ?”
“Oh, leave her alone,” Margaret said.
Heather opened her mouth to say something more but then got pulled into whatever the girls at the end of the table were shrieking and giggling over. Janis peeked beyond them, but Blake’s head was turned, the feathered sides of his sandy brown hair hiding his face. Soft ridges of muscles showed through his pink Polo shirt.
“Hey, did you have a nightmare last night?” Margaret asked.
Janis blinked. “Huh?”
“I heard you yell, I don’t know, around one a.m. I almost went to check on you, but you only did it the one time.”
Janis felt her stomach lurch. “I… I did?”
A huge mushroom cloud sprang up in her mind’s eye, like one in that movie on ABC
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