Page 9 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Andthatis Mr. Weston,” Ruby announced.
“Mr.Weston? As inJakeWeston?” My voice creaked into screeching territory.
“Yep,” Nice Lesbian Morgan chimed in. “Why? Do you know him? He’s like seriously the best teacher in the school.”
“I…” What was I supposed to say? I’d kissed him under the bleachers at a boys soccer game, and then he’d ruined my senior year.
“I think I graduated with him,” I said lamely.
5
Marley
Exhausted already, sweatier than I should be willing to be in public, I dragged my ass into Smitty’s, Culpepper’s version of a pub. My t-shirt clung to me in wet, uncomfortable ways. I hadn’t even done anything. I’d watched thirty-two girls run a mile and some sprints.
I was beyond relieved when I noted the very small lunchtime crowd in the bar. I wasn’t prepared to pretend to ignore the whispers. “Showing her face around here…” “Ruined Homecoming…” “A disgrace to the entire town…”
No, that could wait. Besides, it was only a matter of time before I did something even more outrageous than ruining Homecoming my senior year.
“You must be Marley.” A grizzly bear of a man rose from a high top in the center of the bar. He had a lumberjack beard and a man bun. “I’m Floyd.”
He offered me one of his meaty paws, and I accepted. “Thanks for meeting me, Floyd,” I said, collapsing onto the stool across from him.
Floyd signaled to the bartender.
“My pleasure. I was hoping to scope you out before you started so I could figure out if I was going to spend the semester working with a weirdo.”
The bartender dropped a menu in front of me. “Drink?” he asked.
I steeled myself and looked up. Balding, some extra-long nose hair, knuckle tattoos. Whew. Complete stranger. Awesome. “Uh, yeah. A water and…what’s that?” I asked, pointing at the beer in front of Floyd.
“Lager,” Floyd answered.
“One of those, too.”
“You got it. Good to see you back, Marley,” the bartender said.
“Uh. Thanks. It’s good to be back,” I trailed off, not having a name to put with the stranger.
“His name’s Roger,” Floyd whispered conspiratorially.
“Roger? Do I know Roger?” I asked. High school was so far back in my rear-view mirror, most of those years were a blur of early mornings and unfortunate acne.
“Rumor has it you graduated a year behind him and hung out with his sister, Faith. He claims he could have dated you if he wanted to.”
“Roger and Faith Malpezzi? Holy shit!” Faith and I had been friends from elementary school on up through our senior year. Her brother had been a blurry, vague presence farting and scratching himself on the outskirts of our sleepovers.
“Time is not kind to all of us,” he remarked.
“Wait, I’m not supposed to know you, am I?” I asked.Holy hell.
“Nah. I’m from the Gettysburg area. Landed this gig out of college.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Whole town’s buzzing about you being back.”
I bet they were.
