In Stereo Where Available (15 page)

“Look, I really appreciate this,” I said as we stepped onto the sidewalk that led to the gym. “I know you could get fired.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Jerry pulled on a door. The chain clattered against the frame, and it jerked closed. “If it happens, I’ll let you support me.”

“Very funny.”

“I was glad to hear from you, actually. You seemed pretty ticked when you left.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a conversation for another time.”

“Sounds good,” he said. The next door opened easily, and we stepped into the pitch-dark hallway, cold as a mausoleum. I followed him down a side hallway and up a back stairwell, then through the labyrinth of hallways on the third floor.

“My classroom’s on the other side of the building,” he said, gesturing toward the main stairwell. “I’ll show you sometime if you want. When we’re not rescuing anybody.”

I laughed. “I’ll make my sister pay for this, I promise.”

“No need to. It’ll be a great motivator for the rest of the year.” He turned down a hallway and pulled out his keys. “The rats are still in the cages, right?”

“I hope so. I guess we’ll find out.”

He turned the key in the lock, and there was a scuffle of noise inside. When he pulled the door open, a whole group of faces stared back at us, ghostly white in the darkness.

“Mr. Sullivan?
” asked Alexa, her voice lyrical with wonder and horror.

“Everybody out,” said Jerry. “Game over.”

The five kids shuffled out into the hallway. Two were boys, three girls, all in black shirts and jeans. Jerry didn’t crack a smile. Alexa folded her arms over her chest and looked at me helplessly. She didn’t look like she was going to say anything more about taking the rats with us.

“Line up along the wall,” Jerry ordered.

They all hurried into place like a group of military recruits. One of the girls twisted the hem of her shirt in her hands. Her bottom lip quivered.

“I ought to write every last one of you up,” Jerry said sharply. “Better yet, I ought to call the police and have you arrested for trespassing. Attempted theft. Breaking and entering.” He held up his cell phone. “You want me to?”

“No,” said another of the girls in a small voice.

“I could call your parents instead,” he added threateningly. “Jackson, I’ll bet I have yours on my speed dial. Which one of you wants to call your folks and tell them where you are?”

All five of the kids cowered. I understood what Jerry was doing—he couldn’t give them the idea he didn’t take rule-breaking seriously. Even so, I felt kind of sorry for them. I stepped toward Jerry and touched his waist gently, and Alexa’s eyes bugged halfway out of her head.

“Go home,” he said. “If any one of you isn’t in class on Monday, I’m calling your parents. Let me see you screw up
once
this year, and I’ll make sure nobody on this faculty is willing to write you a college recommendation. I’m watching you, all of you. All year. Got it?”

They nodded avidly.

“Now go. Except you, Alexa. I suppose Phoebe wants to give you a ride home.”

The kids filed solemnly through the building, murmuring quietly to each other. They were paired except for Alexa, who followed behind us, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her black zip-up sweatshirt. She got in the backseat of my car and sat silently as Jerry played with the radio buttons.

“That’s more like it,” he said, settling on some screechy Iron Maiden song.

“Change it.”

“Let me see if I can find you some Barry Manilow.”

I smacked his arm lightly. “Hey. When we’re in
my
car, I don’t have to listen to your devil music. It’s only fair.”

“Sorry, Tipper.”

I shot him a dirty look, and he poked me in the side with his finger. He slid down in his seat and planted his foot against the dashboard, then reached for the stack of CDs in the console and started flipping through them.

“Are you guys going out?” Alexa blurted.

I glanced at Jerry and wrung my hands on the steering wheel. “In a manner of speaking.”

She leaned forward in her seat. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re going out,” explained Jerry.

I grimaced. “Sort of informally.”

He snapped his head to the side and looked at me. “What do you mean, informally?”

“You know. Like, casually.”

“Casually? Like, dating-other-people casually?”

“No, like just-sort-of-hanging-out casually.”

He crossed his ankle over his knee and sat back grumpily. “That wasn’t
my
interpretation.”

I glanced nervously in the rearview mirror. Alexa’s eyes were moving back and forth between us as though she were watching a tennis match. “We’ll talk about this when we get home, okay?” I said under my breath.

“Home?” asked Alexa. “You’re
living
together?”

“No,” Jerry and I barked in unison.

Alexa sank back against the seat. “‘Scuse me for existing.”

“I don’t see where you get ‘just sort of hanging out,’“ said Jerry. “We’ve got
standing dates
. I call you every day. I’ve got stuff over at your place, and—”

“Root beer doesn’t count as having stuff over at my place, and anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what
did
you mean?”

I took my eyes off the road long enough to give him a hard-eyed stare. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

His eyebrows rose with sudden comprehension. “Oh, that.”

From the backseat, Alexa made a retching noise. “Oh, gag.”

“Come on, Alexa,” I reprimanded. “Don’t be juvenile.”

“Well, that’s just
gross
. I totally don’t want to hear you and Mr. Sullivan discussing your sex life. That’s totally vile.”

“Thanks, Alexa,” said Jerry.

She sighed loudly and thumped her foot against the back of my seat. “Isn’t that, like, unethical?”

“Unethical?” asked Jerry. “For teachers to have normal adult relationships?”

“No, for you to be going out with my sister. That’s almost like you dating my mom, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly,” said Jerry. “Anyway, I didn’t know she was your sister until I was already going out with her.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “That’s a lame excuse. That’s like Oedipus saying he didn’t realize he was sleeping with his own mother.”

“Excellent association,” Jerry affirmed, “but I’m not going to claw my eyes out over it.”

Alexa shuddered and stuck her hands back into her sleeves. “Well,
I
might. And I thought I was catching a lot of crap because of Madison. Wait ‘til
this
gets out.”

“I told you, it’s just casual,” I reminded her.

She held up one hand. “Stop. Discuss it when you get home.
Please
.”

Fortunately, my father’s house was only ten minutes away from Jerry’s, and so I managed to keep the conversation on safer subjects until we actually walked in the door. It was two o’clock in the morning, and although Jerry appeared to be wide awake and ready to talk all night, I was on the edge of exhaustion. I could barely stay awake while driving, let alone handle a conversation that was going to require the diplomacy of North Korean nuclear talks.

“It wasn’t supposed to be an insult,” I explained as Jerry kicked off his muddy sneakers in the foyer. “I just didn’t understand that you were taking it that seriously.”

“Why wouldn’t I be taking it seriously?”

“I don’t know, Jerry. We get together, we have a good time, you kiss me like we’re related, you go home. You don’t exactly act like you’re consumed with passion.”

He laughed. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe I don’t. That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.”

He sat down on the sofa and ran his hands through his rain-dampened hair. “I’m trying to take it slow, that’s all. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“I don’t mean doing
that
, necessarily. I mean
anything
. All I said was that I’m a virgin. I didn’t say I was a nun.”

“Fine, I caught that part,” he said angrily. “And I’m an asshole. Now we’re clear.”

One of the cats tried to curl up on his lap, but he lifted her perfunctorily and set her on the floor. In the awkward silence that followed, I twisted my thumbs in the back pockets of my jeans and gnawed my bottom lip nervously.

After a moment, he brushed a scattering of cat hair roughly from his thigh and said, “It’s hard to stop. That’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once I’m wound up, it’s really hard for me to stop. I can be pushy. I turn into a jerk. That’s what I’m trying to get across to you. It’s the same way I am with drinking—once I get started, I’m no good at backing off. I’d rather not get started in the first place if I know I’m going to end up in trouble at the end of the night.”

I leaned against the wall and tucked my hands behind my back. “Oh.”

“It’s got nothing to do with whether I’m attracted to you, if that’s what you were thinking. Believe me, I’m attracted to you. But if I show you how much, I can bet you won’t be attracted to
me
anymore. Not once you see me all frustrated and pissy.”

I considered that. “So it’s all or nothing for you, huh?”

He looked pained. “I don’t know. Not necessarily. Your being a virgin—it’s sort of scary, to tell you the truth. The stakes are a lot higher. If I offend you, I’ll feel terrible afterward. I’d rather just keep the nice-guy thing going for a while.”

I smiled. “I’m sure we can strike a compromise. You promise to ease up on being a perfect gentleman, and I’ll promise to poke you in the eyes if you cross the line into being a butthead.”

He grinned and looked away. The cat tried to climb onto his lap again, and this time he let her. He looked at me questioningly. “Look, you want to spend the night?”

The rain outside was picking up, pattering softly against the windows and the gutters. I thought of the way Jerry’s broad back had looked as he walked through the football field, and the idea of curling up with him under the covers in his orderly bedroom seemed particularly inviting and homey. But I was tired and rattled by the argument, and I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

I sighed. “I’m really sleepy right now, to be honest with you.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I really don’t want you driving home half-asleep. Just come to bed with me, all right? I won’t try anything funny.” He laughed. “Unless you want me to.”

He turned out the light, and I followed him up the stairs to his bedroom. The covers were pushed back, the cordless phone off the hook, just the way he’d left it when I’d called. The window shade was still up, letting in just enough light to cast the room in a palette of gray shadows. Jerry handed me a T-shirt and shorts from his dresser, then pulled off his shirt to change back into his pajamas. On his hip, half-hidden by the waistband of his jeans, was a tattoo of a griffin spreading its wings. I reached out to touch it, and he moved toward me, slipping his hand under my hair, his lips relaxed and expectant as he tipped his head toward mine. Drowsy and unsettled, but eager for his touch, I curled my hands around his waistband and drew him closer. And soon I learned that Jerry was the same in bed as he was everyplace else: once he was comfortable and in his element, he wasn’t uptight at all.

I placed a loaf of French bread in the kiddie seat of my shopping cart and then stopped short before getting in the grocery line, lifting a copy of
People
magazine from the rack. Flipping quickly to the “Reality TV Update” section, I scanned the page until I saw a photo of Madison at dinner with Ashley. Her elbow rested against the table; she held her wineglass close to her face, smiling.
Don’t tell Marci! Grace’s date with Ashley went off like a dream, but will she be able to keep Rhett’s eye on her after his hot-and-heavy date with Debbie Jo? Up next week: Marci and Grace face off over a stolen kiss, and the girls make a touching visit to the National Civil Rights Museum. Tune in Thursday at 8!

“Phoebe?”

I ruffled the magazine closed and turned around. Standing behind me with a red plastic shopping basket in his hand was Bill, his blond hair uncombed, wearing a faded black Pink Floyd T-shirt and black jeans.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Great,” I smiled. I was happy to see him, much happier than I would have anticipated. All afternoon my mind had been on Jerry, calling up the memories of our previous night like a slide show, feeling the roller-coaster surge in my stomach over and over again. Never had there been a better time for Bill to show up in front of me with his sticking-out ears and socks with sandals and hair that needed to be washed. I felt like kissing him with gratitude for the fact that he had dumped me.

“Yeah, wow. Hey, you look great. So whatcha doing?”

I looked over at my cart. “Well, shopping.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, evidently. Me, too.”

I peeked down at his basket, filled with TV dinners and Red Bull and a multi-pack of highlighter pens. I looked up at him and grinned. I couldn’t
stop
grinning at him. I’d once heard that there was a warehouse in DC where they stored examples of the perfect measurement of everything—a one-liter bottle, a one-kilo weight, a yardstick precisely three feet long. I could imagine him sitting on a shelf somewhere in there, cross-legged, wearing exactly that ratty Pink Floyd T-shirt and with those grubby fingernails, with the word
Wrong
on a sign hung around his neck.