Page 48 of Please, Sir

“Hi Miss Lori,” I greet from my position in front of the communal microwave.

With her nylon lunch bag in her clutches, she moves between the tables to her usual spot and takes a seat. Her blouse, covered in illustrations of beakers and microscopes, is so Miss Frizzle, and I love it. After my freezer meal is done reheating, I sit next to her at our table.

“I love your top,” I say, using the tines of my black, plastic fork to point toward her top. She pinches the fabric, lifting it away from herself.

“It’s so soft. I know it doesn’t look soft, but it’s very soft,” she beams before getting to work mixing up her mixed greens and salmon salad.

Coach McAllister comes in, and Jake’s words about how Coach agrees with and enjoyed the article I wrote flow through my mind. I pat the seat next to me and smile, which earns me a look of confusion. Slowly, Coach comes my way, taking a seat with his white and red Igloo lunch box.

“Hi,” I greet as he slides into his seat. “Thank you, by the way, for understanding the purpose of my newspaper article.”

Coach Dean freezes, his plastic container of rice and curryin one hand, his thermos of sweet tea in the other. “Okay,” he says, drawing the word out. “Wait–what?”

Lena, who slipped into the break room when I was fawning over Lori’s top, takes a seat at our table just as Cadence enters. Only, I don’t even get to enjoy the moment because Lena pokes me in the arm, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“Hey, Miss Riley, I just wanted to tell you that… I thought that article you wrote was brave.”

Printing state-mandated high school education in a newspaper is not brave, but I’ll take any compliment I can get these days. Apparently. “Thanks,” I reply, but her eyes shine as she scoots her chair nearer to me.

“Two years ago we had a… scare,” she says, choosing that last word carefully. “My daughter was a junior and–anyway. Learning that the pull-out method doesn’t work is important. And I hear you’ve been fielding some hate for that article so I just wanted to say… I think the article was important, and you were right to publish it.”

“Thank you,” I say again, this time pointing my little black plastic fork at Dean. “You two,” I wave my fork between them. “Great minds.”

In my pocket, my phone vibrates and while everyone is quiet from eating, I take it out, my heart racing. My parents don’t text. I blocked Michael’s phone number ever since he showed up at my house like a creep.

It’s gotta be…

Jake

Hey. It’s Jake.

I can’t help but laugh out loud at his text. Dean eyes me while Lori and Lena listen to something Denae is saying,talking with her hands. Without prying eyes, I feel comfortable writing back.

You text me already, I know it’s you. You don’t have to announce it’s you.

I didn’t assume you programmed me in.

Had to make sure I didn’t hit ignore. I never respond to strange numbers.

Smart

Yes I am, thank you very much

Is that why you texted? To tell me how smart I am

I texted to see if I could give you a call tonight

I’m sorry, the way to plan a phone call with me is to put in the request by horse carrier

I snicker at teasing him about texting to ask me if he can call. Though as his dots appear and disappear, I start to think maybe he didn’t get my joke.

I was just teasing you Jake. You don’t have to ask ahead if you can call me. Just… call me.

A moment later, my phone vibrates violently in my hand. Jake calling….

“Hello?” I answer, whispering, my hand cupped over the receiver like that’s gonna do anything but make me sound worse. I get up, and slip into the hall for privacy.

“You said call,” he deadpans.

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