Page 33 of Rock Bottom Girl

Love, Mom

Jake’s eyebrows winged up in amusement. Embarrassed and touched, I stuffed the note in my shorts pocket.

Our feet were inches apart under the table. My sneakers near his comfortable loafers.

“Gurgevich, you coming to poker this week?” Jake asked.

I blinked.

Mrs. Gurgevich shifted in her seat. “You can keep your money this week. I have tickets to that nudie acrobatic art show they’re putting on in Lancaster.”

“Nice. You taking the Harley?” Jake asked.

I’d entered a parallel universe. One in which Mrs. Gurgevich rode a Harley and went to burlesque shows.

I ate quietly and listened to the conversations around me. Disconnected, out of place, but not uncomfortable. It was how I always felt in new work situations. But at least I knew this situation was just temporary.

“Five-minute warning,” one of the teachers announced, and everyone groaned.

“We better get going, Cicero. It’s a long walk back,” Floyd said, packing up his food pantry.

“It was nice meeting everyone,” I said. Jake winked.

“Whew. I thought Amie Jo was going to tear into us about Milton,” Floyd said when we were in the hallway. “She rarely eats in this lunchroom.”

“Marley, do you have a minute?”

Floyd’s face drained of color. “Shit. Evil Queen alert.”

Amie Jo tottered out of the lounge on her heels. Seriously, how did she even teach in those? My feet would have been bleeding by second period.

“I know you’re new here, but I really think you need to understand that my boys are angels. They are handsome, athletic, popular boys, and there isnevera reason to discipline them.”

“He was being a dick, Amie Jo,” Floyd intervened.

She held up a manicured hand. “Zip it, Floyd. Never. A. Reason.” She poked me with her Barbie Corvette pink talon to emphasize every word. “Got it?”

I was working up a response somewhere between “get your weird bird hands off of me” and “your son is a moron who’s too entitled to treat people nicely” when the bell rang.

The hallway instantaneously flooded with bodies and BO. I could hear the staccato click of Amie Jo’s stilettos on the industrial tile floor as she marched back to whatever ring of hell she occupied.

16

Marley

“Lunch dutyandparking lot duty?” Floyd asked when I headed in the direction of the student lot. “Somebody hit the jackpot this semester.”

Grimacing, I bumped the exit door with my hip as I shot him pistol fingers. “Lucky’s my middle name.” The late August swelter took my breath away when I stepped down onto the asphalt. I could bake a frozen pizza on this slab of parking lot.

Parking lot duty, as it had been mirthlessly described to me, entailed making sure students didn’t light up their cigarettes or run each other over on school grounds. Apparently there was something about liability insurance. I was to report to the top of the practice field hill that overlooked the student lot and yell disciplinary phrases if necessary.

There was a cute, petite Asian teacher in a flowy skirt and t-shirt already waiting at the top of the hill. I huffed and puffed my way to her.

“Hey,” I said, wheezing a bit.

“You must be Marley,” she said, holding out a hand to me. “I’m Haruko Smith. French teacher.”

I shook and tried to catch my breath. “Nice to meet you.”