Ramones Girl was paying attention. She left her friends behind as she undraped herself from Homecoming Boy. “Oh, my God,thatisso hot, too!”
This time instead of merely leaning her head against his shoulder and seductively running her hand down his chest, she wrapped both arms around Average Boy’s neck, plastered herself against him, and kissed the living shit out of him.
He, of course, was more than ready for it. No wonder this kid was smiling all the time.
Of course this was when a teacher descended, loudly clapping his hands as if they were unruly animals. “All right, all right, that’s enough, break it up, where are you all supposed to be? Not here. Get to class. Move it, come on, let’s go.”
It was Jules’s history teacher, who was a man about his mom’s age—definitely an education-as-a-second-careerteacher. There were a few of them in this school. Mostly retired military. This guy, Mr. Harrison, was a little gruff, a little scary, a little worn down by life. But the reading list he’d handed out for his class was excellent.
As the crowd dispersed, McSneerface and his merry band of mouth-breathers slunk off, too, leaving the acting troupe, Homecoming Boy, and the Madonna-wanna-bes behind with Jules and Mr. Harrison.
Ramones Girl was still soul-kissing Average Boy, though, and Mr. Harrison sighed heavily.
“Okay, Ms. Sanchez, that’s enough,” he said.
Ramones Girl broke off the kiss to loudly exhale her disgust, “Hello, I’m not kissing myself here!”
Average Boy was laughing. “Nah, Belle, I’m pretty sure I’m your prop in this skit.”
“Never,” she vowed dramatically, and kissed him again.
“Ms. SanchezandMr. McCall,” Harrison said again. “Your point was very clearly received.”
“Rodney’s pretty stupid,” Ramones Girl—Belle Sanchez—bounced easily from soul-kissing Average McCall to arguing with the teacher. “Sometimes it takes a while.”
“I swear, he used to be smart and funny,” the blond girl with the ready middle finger chimed in, “but now he’s got the IQ of an oozing pustule on an angry sphincter.”
Harrison, meanwhile, had turned to Jules. “I see you’ve met the theatre group, Mr. Cassidy.”
Jules had to clear his throat before speaking for the first time in a long, fascinating while. “I was thinking maybe it was the gay-straight alliance.”
Belle gasped and looked sharply over at the teacher. “Canwe...?” She turned back to Jules. “This stupid school doesn’t have one. Yet.” Back to Harrison. “We need one. Desperately.”
He sighed and shrugged. “You know the drill, Belle,” he said. “Find a sponsor.”
She smiled at him by bearing all of her teeth and stretching her mouth wide even as she lifted her eyebrows. “I think we just did.”
Harrison was unfazed. “Get twenty-five people to sign up and sure. I’ll do it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, then turned to her posse. “He doesn’t think we can. Hobbit, you got some paper?”
“Always, my queen.” The round-faced boy was Hobbit, which tracked.
“Get everyone here to sign up, please,” Belle ordered. She raised her voice. “Everyone! Don’t go anywhere yet! Sign our petition for a GSA!”
“That’s twelve,” Harrison pointed out. “Thirteen to go. Get to class.” But then he stopped and turned back to Jules. “You got a minute, after school today? You don’t take the bus right?”
“No, sir. I drive,” Jules said. One of the perks of having a dead father. Jules had inherited his car.
Harrison nodded as if he knew exactly that. “Stop in to my classroom,” he said. “Give me, you know, a few minutes after the last bell to hit the head. The bathroom.”
“Okay,” Jules said.Am I in trouble?
Amazingly, Harrison read his mind. “You’re not in trouble, kid,” he said quietly. “Just a quick check-in. SOP for seniors.”
“SOP?” Jules asked.
“Standard operating procedure,” Harrison said. “Sorry, military speak. Hard to break the habit. Today work for you?”
