Page 29 of Please, Sir

“I’ll text you a pin to my location,” she says, the sound of a car rushing by in the background making me impatient. I don’t like her being out on the street with her bag at nine atnight. It’s not safe. No matter how small Bluebell is, that’s how every60 Minutesstarts, I swear.

My phone dings, and I lean over the steering wheel to check the location, and turn my car around immediately. “What happened, Jo Jo?”

Her nickname slips off my lips, despite the fact I did notice the other girls calling her Lene the last few days.

“The frosh squad invited me to a sleepover. They said next year we’ll all be on the same squad together, so we sh-should bond now. That the JV girls wouldn’t invite me to hang out, so I should hang with the freshman.” I stay on the line and listen. “We were talking about boys. I don’t know,” she says, her voice growing a little frantic, like just rehashing what happened stresses her out.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry right now. Just hang tight and I’ll be right there. We can talk in the car, okay?” I assure her, flicking my blinker on as I take the turn that brings me near Jo Jo.

Turning the corner, I spot Jo Jo down the road, her cheer bag at her feet, knees pulled to her chest, dark hair spilling down her back. She looks so young and so small, and as my headlights paint her in color, her eyes are so red and swollen that my chest aches for her. I pull up and pop the passenger door open, then jump out and help her up, taking her bag. I toss it over my seat into the back and idle at the curb while she buckles up.

“First, just tell me if you’re okay,” I say slowly, maintaining calm in my tone.

She sets her eyes on me, red rimmed and raw, then bursts into another round of tears. “I’m so sorry I was mean to you all week. You didn’t deserve it.”

I rest my hand on her shoulder after pushing her hair back. “It’s okay. I was your age, too. I understand.”

She nods her head, using the sleeve of her sweatshirt to wipe beneath her nose. Reaching over her lap, I pop open the glovebox, pulling out a wad of fast food napkins. “Here,” I shove them into her hand. “Don’t use your sleeve, use these.”

She lifts an old Taco Bell napkin to her nose, and blows. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “Can you like, drive away from her street in case they come outside for some reason? If they see me sitting in the car with you, I’m sure that’ll just give them more ammo.”

My chest hollows. “Sure.” I realize all she means is that hanging out with your coach—not to mention, one that everyone believes has shown favoritism—will paint her as a total ass kisser, and that it has nothing to do with rejecting me as a person.

But my inner trauma tries to rear her head, whispering,see. I knock her down and shift the car into drive, pulling away from Blue and Bell.

“So what happened tonight? Also, where am I going? I don’t know where you live.” I make a turn into the center of town, because from there, I can go anywhere.

She tugs her phone from her pocket, and a moment later, an Australian man directs me to turn left at the next intersection.

With the phone serving as GPS from her lap, Jo Jo pulls her hands over her head, down her hair, sighing. “Okay, so we were talking about boys, which lead to… you know, talking about what everyone’s done. Have you ever dirty skied, stuff like that.”

At the stop sign, I flick on my blinker, listening as the Australian guy tells me to keep going straight for one mile. “Dirty skied?" I question, feeling like ten trillion years old for not knowing what that means. I’m only twenty-four. Shouldn’t I be the one with the laundry list of sex moves?

“Miss Riley, please do not make me explain it. I will literally die,” she moans, cradling her forehead in her hands.

“Okay,” I sigh, making a mental note to Google that later because now I’m really curious. “What happened next?”

“I just told them that I’d never been with a guy in any way. Never even been kissed. And somehow, the talk turned to being lucky because I can’t get pregnant and then—and I still have no idea why I decided to tell them this but—I told them I don’t have to worry anyway because… I still haven’t gotten my period.”

I shrug, not even glancing at her across the cab as I reach the last leg of the drive back to her place. I’m waiting for the big thing, the terrible big thing that happened, waiting for her to tell me that she got her period right that moment and bled everywhere and she was humiliated or—I don’t know, something. But she stays quiet for a full minute, and worries eat up my mind.

“What happened, Jo Jo?”

“That’s it. That’s what happened. They all laughed at me until they cried, about how I was a baby.” She shakes her head as a beautiful little country home comes into view, with stained and painted timber beams, wooden shutters the color of brick that match the front door, meticulously landscaped grass along with beautiful flowers and shrubs. A truck sits next to the garage, and behind it, a beautiful long paved drive, lined in solar lights and flowers. Beneath the windows rest boxes full of florals, stained to match the shutters, giving the home a romantic, high-end glow.

“Shit, Jolene, your house is beautiful.” I peer at the home through the windshield as I shift the car into park. Jo Jo doesn’t respond, only digs through her bag, telling me she’s looking for her house key.

“Is your dad home?” I ask, doing my best to not let Leah’swords echo through my mind as I stare at this gorgeous custom home next to the hottest cowboy in Bluebell’s daughter. I draw my legs together beneath the wheel, guilt overwhelming me at an excited tingle that moves through me.

She nods. “He’s always home. Literally always.”

“Why didn’t you call him?” I ask, eyeing the truck and cataloguing it as his. “I mean, I’m happy you called me Jo Jo, I’m just curious as to why you didn’t call him.”

She pops open her car door. “Do you think I want to tell my dad that I got teased for not having my period?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, yeah, that makes sense.” The seat belt presses on my bladder as I lean toward the passenger door, checking to see if the porch lights are on. “Hey, I have to use the bathroom. Do you think I could run in with you before I drive home?”

She nods, tugging her hair over one shoulder. “Of course. Don’t worry, my dad lives in the garage. And when he’s not out there, he’s asleep. He’s seriously like a ninety-year old man.”

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