Page 10 of Please, Sir

“School’s good. Getting A’s. All A’s,” she says easily, and I don’t doubt it. In my class, Jo Jo is excellent.

“Good. That’s good, Jo Jo. I know parents always say that school is important and good grades are like, totally critical, and I’m here to tell you as a young person—” I stop swiping the desk and stand, resting my cleaning rag filled hand on one popped hip. “I’m twenty-four. That’s ancient to you but young still. Trust me.”

Jo Jo giggles.

“Anyway, I’m telling you as a young person that isn’t a parent—it’s true. Good grades are important. So good for you. I hope you’re proud of yourself, because you absolutely should be.”

Jo Jo sighs, releasing her hold on herself, a sign that some of her insecurity is falling away, too. She smooths her wrists along the edges of the desk, tracing it out, watching herself as she speaks. “I’m always good at school. I mean–that’s not the issue.”

Hesitant and quiet, she’s unsure but opening up, and I have to respect and honor that. It’s hard at this age. Complicated.

I spray some more lavender-scented disinfectant. “Is there an issue?”

She wobbles her head, still tracing out her desk.

“How are you enjoying cheering?” I swipe through what Isprayed, and move to the chairs. Her eyes slide to me for a moment before veering back to her desk.

“I like it.” She ceases her tracing. “I mean, I know I don’t quite fit in. Yet. But… I really hope I make it.” The tracing resumes and I think she even sits a little taller, too. “I’ll fit in once I make it. It takes time. I know that.”

I nod my head, cleaning places on this chair I’m pretty sure haven’t been touched since Nixon was president. Gross. “Yeah, but the frosh squad seems to get along well, all of you girls.” I say, without naming Alexa and Jasmine, the girls she’s been hanging out with more and more. I understand it, but I wish for Jo Jo’s sake she’d make time for the Brownstock girls. When school started, the three of them had lunch together every day. Sometimes Peyton would come watch cheerleading practices. But in the last few weeks, I’ve only seen Jo Jo with Alexa and Jasmine. And it’s nothing against cheerleaders because–duh–I am one. I mean, I’m not currently, but once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader.

But they haven’t proven to be loyal just yet. Alexa has that streak in her–the dangerous one, the streak that makes a girl do anything for attention, even harm her friends. She’ll regret it later, but the damage will be done. And there’s always damage with girls like Alexa.

Jo Jo nods her head, lifting a hand from her desk to tuck hair behind her ear. Twisting in her chair, she faces me only slightly, but it feels like moving mountains. I spray the chair next to the now clean one.

“My mom is dead,” she says suddenly, no emotion, just plain fact, like one plus one is two, and my mother is not alive.

“Oh my God,” I rush out, setting the bottle and wad of paper towels down onto the desk.

She lifts a palm, her eyes falling closed. “No, she didn’t like, just die.”

I halt my urgency and sink into the seat across the aisle from her. She lets her head fall into her hand, propped up on her elbow. “She died when I was four. But anyway, I mean, what I was going to say is that I found a picture of my mom, and she was wearing this cheerleading uniform. And she looked so beautiful. She was smiling, the sun was shining, she was glowing, her uniform fit so perfectly and at the bottom corner, she had, like, signed her name in really pretty cursive. She did a little heart on top of the i.”

I can’t hide my smile. “She sounds gorgeous.”

Jo Jo smiles, and this time, her eyes lift. “She was. And I didn’t even know she was a cheerleader. I didn’t know… I mean, I don’t know like, anything about her. But–” she pinches her eyes shut, shaking her head as if to physically reroute her thoughts. “I saw that picture last year and I just… I wanted to do cheerleading to like, I don’t know…” she looks down, dragging the side of her fingernail down a striation in the wooden desk. Her cheeks flood ruby. “I wanted to like, feel close to her or like, connected to her or something? I don’t know.” She shakes her head, and begins burying her face in her hair.

I make a bold move and stand up, but choose to crouch in front of her desk. With my chin stacked on my fists, I sigh. “I think that’s beautiful.” I close my eyes a second then open them, fighting to focus on Jo Jo and her mother, and trying not to think of my own. My chest aches from unrepaired fissures. “Truly Jo Jo. I love that. I’m proud of you.” I get to my feet, and collect the bottle and paper towels. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

She stands up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. I watchher, waiting to see if she wants to make eye contact. When she does, I smile. She returns it.

“Keep working hard. If you need help catching up on any skills or dances, let me know.” I shrug casually. “I have no family in Bluebell and exactly one friend. So staying after practice a bit longer isn’t that big of a deal.” I smirk. “Netflix can wait.”

“Thanks,” she says, smiling.

“Anytime, Jo Jo. Have a good day.” I get back to my desk as she leaves, holding the door open for the next class of students who start to come in.

I teach the next period without a single bead of sweat, because I can’t take my mind off of Jo Jo and the story about her mother.

After sixth period,I cut across campus–changed into my Nikes a few minutes early–and barge into Leah’s office like I’m reporting a murder.

I’m literally panting.

She jumps up from her desk, her eyes wide. “What?”

I smooth my hands down the front of my pants, catching my breath a second. “I hoofed it over here because one of my students told me the most beautiful but sad story today and I just… I wanted to know more about her but then as soon as I pulled open these doors,” I say, hooking a thumb behind me to the office doors. “I realized that’s kind of gross. I mean, this girl opened up to me. If she wants me to know more, she’ll tell me. I shouldn’t ask you, right?”

Leah falls back into her chair, and studies me carefully.Those tiny little lines form between her eyes, and she even tips her head to the side a bit. “Who’s the kid?”

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