Shelf Life (11 page)

“Well, yeah. Is that bad?”

Suddenly, Evan’s face lights up and his grin stretches from ear to ear. “My boy’s got skills!” He claps me on the back and does some little dance behind his stool. I smile, even though other students have turned around to see what’s going on. Just then, Dr. Kimmel enters the room. Ava is right behind him. I’ve pictured this moment a hundred times since Saturday night. In my wildest dreams, she comes in wearing a thin white tank top with no bra, tight jean shorts, and her hair long and straight. She rips off her clothes, throws me on the floor, and has her way with me in front of everyone. I’m so good, the students and Dr. Kimmel clap when it’s over, proclaiming me God’s gift to natural selection.

With a shake of the head, the daydream dissipates and it’s replaced by the cold reality that Ava probably doesn’t care or even remember my name. Except that her megawatt smile is aimed at me. I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s not grinning at someone behind me. What’s worse, I’m not sure I want her attention anymore. I mean, not if it means she wants me to be her pot puppy.

She stops an inch in front of me and looks up with doe eyes. “You didn’t call or return my texts yesterday,” she accuses. “I thought you were more of a gentleman than that, Pete. I had a really good time Saturday and I think you did, too.” A slow blush creeps over her cheeks and before I know it, I feel the same familiar burn spreading over mine, but it has more to do with anger than embarrassment.

“I didn’t return your calls because my mom found your pot in my pants pocket,” I whisper furiously. “She took away my phone on the weekends, I’m not allowed to be up here except for daytime classes, and they’re working me like a slave around the farm. No offense, but I’m not buying what you’re selling, not any of it,” I say, recalling Evan’s words.

The effect is immediate. She breathes in through her nose as her jaw clenches. “That’s not what that was about. Maybe at first, but not after…” She glances away. “You’re not my type, anyway. Scrawny redneck isn’t my thing.”

Suddenly, the mirage breaks. No longer the blonde bombshell that walked into class the first day, there are broken blood vessels in her eyes, her teeth are a bit stained—probably from smoking—and there’s a
palpable cloud of desperation around her. Smart-ass words threaten to leap from my mouth, but instead I answer, “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well, I need my stuff back.”

“No can do. My mom flushed it.”

“Then you owe me the money it was worth.”

“I didn’t ask for it. You gave it to me. You going to ask for a gift back?”

A quick look of panic crosses her face but it’s gone before I can analyze it and before I can be sure it was really there.

“Ava, you plan to take a seat today?” Dr. Kimmel’s voice cuts through the tension in the classroom. With one more hard look, Ava turns on her heel and struts to the front of the room.

Next to me, Evan clucks his tongue.
“Mmmm-hmmm. You in danger, boy.”

chapter twenty

“L
et me buy you a coffee,” Evan says after class.

“Don’t drink the stuff.”

“Lunch?”

“Can’t.
I have another class after this.”

Evan stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Then just walk with me.”

“Fine.” I begin to take the long way to DeBartolo Hall, but Evan nods toward the shortcut I took the first day of classes. I open my mouth to protest, but can’t bring myself to tell Evan I’m afraid of running into my jerk neighbor. There’s got to be safety in numbers, and Evan’s a little scary. I decide to take my chances.

“You inspired me to do a little research, Farm Boy.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got an idea for a final project that will benefit us both. Need to start working on it soon, too.”

“These summer classes are killer, aren’t they? I had no idea they’d go so fast.”

“Yep, exactly.”

“So what’s your idea?”

“We study the organisms in cow shit,” he says, obviously trying and failing to hide a smile.

“How is that a good idea?”

“I get to visit your farm and satisfy my curiosity about how you white freaks live, and you get to put together a paper that’ll look good when you apply for
vet school.”

“Huh.” I mull it over for a few seconds, ideas popping up faster than I can remember them. “That might be cool.”

“Could also tell you if your cows are healthy. I mean, I’m sure you know other ways, but by analyzing their output, you can tell what’s goin’ on in their guts. You know, without putting in one of them cannulas.”

Evan never ceases to amaze me. “How do you know about those?”

“Saw it on TV. Nearly puked up my chicken wings.” I shake my head and laugh. Cannulas are big, circular ports scientists put in the sides of living cows so they can see what’s going on inside their stomachs as they digest food. Doesn’t hurt the cows, but it sure is gross. I imagine I’ll have to stick my hand in one of those someday.

“What’re you laughing at, Twig?”

Really?
Doesn’t Jay have anything better to do than stand outside and bother people?

“Nothing,” I reply.

Evan’s eyes get wide. “You know this guy?”

I nod. “We went to high school together.”

“Don’t forget to tell him we live next door to each other and I bang your sister while you watch.”

The tips of my ears begin to burn. If Evan thought we were freaks before, this sure seals the deal. I decide to try deflecting him with humor.
“Jeez, Jay. Do you have to tell
everyone
our secret?”

“You think this is everyone?” He motions to Evan. Then he turns and shoves open the door to the sports complex. “Hey guys!” His voice echoes off the
metal walls and cathedral ceiling. “Remember that redneck chick I banged in an apple orchard? This is her brother,” he yells. “He likes to watch!”

My jaw goes slack as the entire Youngstown State University football team stops what they’re doing to stare at me and laugh.

“Freak!”

“Pervert!”

“Inbred!”

“He’s a sick fuck, alright, but I put up with him because his sister’s so good with her mouth.”

The guys chuckle and turn back to their practice.

Without a word, I turn on my heel and walk, not caring which direction. My feet can’t move fast enough but I refuse to run. I wish they’d carry me far away from this place. Evan pulls up alongside.

“I know him,” he says.

“What?”

“I seen him around.”

“He’s on the football team, so big surprise.”

“No, I mean I seen him around town. With certain people. Not good.”

“
Ya think?”

Evan shakes his head and snags my backpack, forcing me to a stop. “Listen, I know that chump’s bad news, and by the way you’re
shakin’ this ain’t nothing new to you.”

“You sure you still want to come to my farm?”

He laughs. “I’m sure. Also sure that I want to meet your sister, but you’re gonna explain that whole watching thing soon.” He grins and socks me in the arm before walking away.

The exterior bricks of the arts and sciences
building dig into my forehead when I lean forward. For a brief moment, I consider bashing my head into them until the craziness fades. A couple deep breaths later, I’m ready to walk into history class with some semblance of composure but that fades when I plop into my seat next to Jenna—or this creature that sort of resembles Jenna. Gone are the ponytail and headband, soccer shorts and bare face. In their place is long, wavy hair down past her shoulders, an electric blue dress, and olive skin surrounding big, dark eyes with long lashes and glossy lips.

Best makeover ever.

“Wow, Jenna.”

“Thanks,” she says, and turns her head to talk to the girl on her other side. So that’s how this is going to be. I don’t have the energy to play games today. I take out my old-school notebook and pen and prepare to take notes on Prohibition.

Dr. Roberts—Jeremy—walks across the stage carrying a large wooden crate, which he slams onto the table. I hear rattling glass.

“Today,” he says, “we’re talking about booze.” He pulls out one of the bottles from the crate and holds it up. The entire class laughs and claps. “This is beer,” he says. “This is wine. This is whiskey, and this is vodka. All illegal according to the federal government of 1918, which passed the Wartime Prohibition Act in order to save more grain for the war effort. Too bad it wasn’t passed until the war was over.

“Next came the Volstead Act in 1919, pushed through by Congress despite a veto by President Wilson. Thanks to Congress’s attempts to regulate citizens’ vices, the mob flourished. I’m sure no one from Youngstown knows anything about that.”

A few nervous giggles echo off the lecture room walls.

“Alcohol was deemed unsafe and unhealthy for human consumption. Another way to look at it is that Congress didn’t trust its citizens to use it responsibly. Either way, they didn’t allocate funds to enforce the law, so the bootlegging industry took off in various forms: backyard stills, speakeasies, and rich folks who stockpiled alcohol—including most members of Congress. Of course, when they realized there was lots of money to be made off taxing alcohol instead of surrendering it to the bootleggers, they changed their tune.”

I think about that for a minute. Something is either healthy or unhealthy. It’s not supposed to change just because someone in an office tells you so or because they want to make money off it. It’s kind of like my mom’s raw milk stuff. Sure, you’re taking the risk that you’ll contract bovine tuberculosis or brucellosis, salmonella or E. coli, but you take those same risks every time you buy meat at the grocery store or shovel down fresh produce, yet you don’t see the Centers for Disease Control outlawing broccoli.

Shit
. I sit up straighter in my seat. When did my dad begin talking in my head? I look around the room to see if anyone’s heard my thoughts. To my relief, everyone’s eyes are either on Dr. Roberts or their notes, Jenna being the one exception. She raises her eyebrows, but then smoothes out her features like she remembered she’s supposed to be ignoring me. I scribble a note and slide it over to her fold-out desk thingy.

“Having a tiny freak-out here!”

Stupid Dr. Roberts. That reverse-psychology crap won’t work on me.

She writes back, “What’s wrong?”

Yep, she still cares.
“Got an idea for our final project. Still interested?”

Her lips twitch while she reads the note. Inside, I chuckle.

“Maybe,” she writes.

She’s a stubborn one, I’ll give her that, but as her leg begins to bounce while she waits for my reply, I’m confident I’m back on her good side. I write down my idea then return to Dr. Roberts’ lecture.

“Why is this a turning point in our history? Because it was one of the first instances where the federal government officially mandated that its citizens couldn’t consume a certain product. Sure, there were war rations during World War II, but nothing was completely off-limits, and when the war ended, rationing ended. Same thing with materials like rubber and nylon. The government used much of it to create gun powder sacks and parachutes, but it wasn’t illegal to own and use it.

“If your guy put four new tires on his car, he wouldn’t go to prison for it. If your girl wore nylons with the line up the back, they couldn’t be fined for it.”

An odd memory pops to the surface: my great-grandmother telling my mom that when she was young and nylon was scarce, she and her friends drew black lines up the backs of their legs to make it look like they were wearing stockings. I imagine Sarah smearing strawberry juice on her lips if lipstick were outlawed. She’d have a shit-fit.

“Their neighbors probably accused them of being unpatriotic, but that’s not technically a crime in the U.S. Not yet, anyway. My point is
, this was the first time U.S. citizens were told by their government what they could and could not put into their own, sovereign body. Today we think nothing of it because it’s so commonplace. Someone give me an example. Call them out.”

“Marijuana!”

“True. Something other than drugs.”

“Lots of elementary schools can’t have soda.”

“True, but that’s the school system’s decision, not the federal government’s.”

“Peanuts?”

“Again, that’s the school’s decision, but let’s talk about that. Many kids have life-threatening allergies. Do they have the right to a peanut-free environment—and therefore a reduced chance of illness and possibly death—or do the other students have the right to eat peanut butter? Hell, my kid went through a phase where that’s all he ate for a year.”

A few of the students murmur.

“That means no peanut butter and jelly, no cheese crackers with peanut butter filling, no peanut butter cookies, no candy bars with peanuts in them. Plus, there are many products produced in factories where they may have been exposed to peanuts, even though they don’t actually contain peanuts. You see where I’m going with this? You ban one thing and it sets off a cascade. Where does it end?”

The guy has a point.

“Obviously, if someone’s life is in danger, normal people willingly make concessions, but that’s ordinary citizens like you and me doing the right thing. We make that choice for ourselves and our community. Now, what if the government said, ‘You know what? Some people die from peanut allergies so we’re going to outlaw the production, sale and consumption of peanuts.’

“What then? Seems silly, right? Yet that’s what happened with alcohol. Congress listened to a relatively small group of U.S. citizens—mostly Methodists, by the way—and pushed through a federal ban on alcohol despite the president’s opposition.” Dr. Roberts lifts up a case of beer. “I don’t need to tell you how that ended. Have a good week and read chapters three through five for next time.”

Jenna stands, offering me the full affect of her blue dress. Now it’s my leg that’s bouncing.

She makes a face.
“Raw milk?”

“Yep.”

“What is that?”

“I’ll explain if you stop being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”

Nailed it.
“Okay, so you’re not mad. Does that mean we can work together on the final project?”

“I guess,” she says, and shrugs, but her cheeks turn pink.

“Listen, you were right about that party last weekend. It was a bad idea and I didn’t know what I was getting into. Some stuff happened and I got in big trouble. I know this sounds stupid, but I’m kind of grounded by my parents.”

I expect her to laugh or scoff or at least make a
face. She does none of those.

“Anyway, if we work together, we’ll have to meet on campus during the day on weekdays, or else you’ll have to come down to my family’s farm.”

“Farm?”

“Yeah.
That’s where I got the raw milk idea.”

“Okay,” she says, “but I still don’t know what it has to do with American History.”

“Walk with me and I’ll explain.”

She grins.