Getting Played (Getting Some 2)

She covers her face with her hand, sobbing into it. “I thought Richard was into me like that.”

I open my arms. “Fuck, c’mere.”

Kelly steps into my arms, wailing, “I have to start all over again . . . and I’m so old now!”

She soaks my shirt with tears and snot, but it’s okay—that’s what friends are for.

“You’re not old now.” I pat her back. “You’re gorgeous and smart and in no time at all, you’re going to have some Chris Evans lookalike kissing your ass—literally. And Richard’s gonna be punching himself in the nuts for letting you go.”

She sniffles, looking up at me. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Her breath shudders. “The thought of Richard punching himself in the nuts does make me feel a little better.”

I wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. Then I scoop her dress up from the floor. “Let’s get you dressed. And we’ll go find Merkle and Jerry, and Alison, and Garrett and Callie, and we’ll make plans for Chubby’s tonight. We’ll get you trashed and talk about what a douchebag Richard is—that’ll make you feel even better.”

She takes the dress from my hands.

“Okay.”

It turns out, I’m a baller when it comes to being in a relationship. I can’t remember why I ever thought this shit would be hard. I keep my dick in my pants, except with Lainey, I hang out with her, make sure her and Jay are happy. And it’s all awesome. Piece of cake.

When you’re ready, and when it’s right—relationships are the easiest thing in the world.

~ ~ ~

After the Kelly incident, the morning moves fast and before I know it the first period bell is ringing. The kids work at their desk for a few minutes, on the problems I’ve written on the board.

Then I clap my hands. “Okay, pencils down—let’s see how you brainiacs did. Jason, how about you tackle the first problem?”

First red flag: Jason doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t look at me, but stares hard at his desk.

Second red flag: “How about you go fuck yourself?”

The air goes thick, like the molecules have frozen in place and a sudden, shocked silence cloaks the room. Every wide eye in the class is on Jason, because these kids—my kids—they don’t talk to teachers like that.

“What?”

He lifts his head and meets my eyes, and he doesn’t even look like himself. His face is tight and his mouth is twisted—like a furious parasitic alien has taken control of his features.

“I said, go fuck yourself, Dean.”

I look around the room.

“Is this a joke?”

Jason shakes his head. “Just leave me alone.”

I stand up from my desk. “Let’s go in the hallway and talk, Jay. You and me.”

“Are you deaf? Fuck off.”

“Jason!” Quinn calls, her voice bordering on panic.

But Jay keeps his furious right eyes on me.

I know how I’m supposed to deal with a student like this. It’s textbook attention-seeking behavior. I should clear the room, send the rest of the class to the auditorium, take the audience away.

But that’s not what I do.

Because I’m an idiot.

And because Jason Burrows is so much more to me than just a student.

“Hallway, now,” I bark in my coaching voice—the one that says do what you’re told and don’t even think of arguing. “I’m not asking.”

Jason sits back in his chair and folds his arms.

“And yet I’m still saying no. Funny how that works. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I can have you escorted to McCarthy’s office by security. You don’t want to talk to me—you can explain this temper tantrum to her. Is that how you want to play this?”

His mouth clamps shut and his chin juts out.

Goddamn it.

I move toward the phone on the wall, but even as I do, I don’t know if I’ll actually make the call. Because once I bring the administration into this, it’s out of my hands—I can’t protect him, I can’t fix this for him. A whole host of bad shit could happen and there’d be nothing I could do to stop it.

Jason’s chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes it back.

“You know what?” He stands beside his desk, looking like he wants to pop my head like a grape with the force of his eyes alone. “Fine. Let’s go in the hallway.”

The vise that was crushing my chest loosens.

“Okay, good.”

“Just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

But it loosened too soon.

Because this good, smart, amazing kid—who’s never had so much as a tardy on his record—picks up his chair and hurls it straight at the windows. The glass shatters—cracks and spiderwebs—as sharp shards of window pane fall in clattering chunks to the floor.

I stare at those broken pieces.

“Fuck.”

~ ~ ~

We all end up in McCarthy’s office. Me, Lainey and Jason sit in the chairs across from her desk.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”