8
Bitch, I’m Madonna
“Cheers to the end of another school year!” Kami shouts happily, and I raise my glass to meet hers and Bev’s. Today was officially the last day of classes for the students, so we’re out celebrating another successful year over at The Cellar, in the small town of Elora, enjoying drinks and dinner with most of Westwood Elementary’s staff tonight.
“Cheers.” My smile mirrors Kami’s with the excitement of summer vacation being literally right around the corner, even though we still have to go in to work tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a professional development day for teachers. It’s a morning for meeting any new staff who will be joining us come September, receiving next year’s timetables and coverage schedules, as well as a chance later in the day for us to spend some time organizing for the next year, and to clear out our classrooms. “After tomorrow, nothing like sun, fun, and romance books for two whole months,” I add.
“Amen, sistah!” Kami says, and we laugh. “Although, I imagine you’ll be messing around learning how to use the latest education apps more than you’ll be reading and relaxing,” Kami says, looking my way.
“Ha! You’re probably right,” I admit, again clinking her glass. Admittedly, I am a bit obsessed about using new technologies in my classroom. It’s the way education is moving, and there are so many informative and fun apps to help enhance our students’ learning. One day, I hope to get a job helping other less tech-savvy teachers make the most of what’s out there.
“I can’t believe we made it through one more year,” Bev—our office administrator and friend—chimes in, taking a sip of her mojito, her blue eyes bright.
“I know! It flew by. Now to get through tomorrow,” I offer, a bit skeptical. Tomorrow, we not only meet our newest teachers, we’re also welcoming our new administrator. No one expected our current principal, Liza, to retire so suddenly, but I guess when the house of your dreams comes up at the right price and you can retire, you do. I guess she’d rather deal with the heat in Florida over the changing seasons and cold winters of Ontario.
“Right. I hope it’s someone good. Liza was the best to work for,” Bev confides, a line of worry furrowing her brow.
“All I know is that whoever it is better not come in and mess stuff up. Westwood is a well-oiled machine with the most incredible staff. To summer!” Kami shouts, loud enough that everyone sitting around the long table raises their glasses in salute.
“God, I hope not,” I say. “The last thing we need is some tyrant. It’s bad enough that I agreed to teach the Grade Eights next year. I might not get to any fun, or sun, or my long-as-hell ‘To Be Read’ list, or any new app discoveries.” I shoot Kam a little grin. “I’ll be too busy learning a whole new curriculum,” I say, as I realize how extra-prepared I’ll need to be this upcoming year. During my five years of teaching so far, I’ve never taught this grade before. “Remind me why I decided to leave fifth grade again?” I take a long sip of wine. “And,” I raise my finger, “there’s also the fact that I’ll have to deal with Mitchell Foley’s father getting all flirty with me, since Mitchell starts eighth grade with me in September. That man does not give up. Even though he’s a nice kid, I really wish Mitch wasn’t on my class roster. Maybe the new principal will let me switch him out?”
“Maybe, although you could do a lot worse than Neil Foley. He’s a pretty hot DILF,” Kami counters, and I cringe. This is the same man who has been pursuing me since his divorce, after we ran into each other at a Starbucks a few months ago. At first, I don’t think he knew who I was, but when I told him I knew Mitch, recognition seemed to click and his flirting became a little more blatant, which was odd to me, considering I’d just told him I was a teacher at his son’s school. Then I remembered that some guys are simply “hot for teacher” or that whole schoolgirl fantasy thing. The last thing I want is to fulfill that role for a man who seems to have a case of not only “Hot for Teacher”, but also “Hot for Barista”, if memory serves me correctly. And, according to the rumours, Mrs. Foley has been quite loose-tongued with everyone on our parent council—where she is an active member—about the transgressions of her ex. The last thing I need is another man with a case of Wandering Eye Syndrome—been there, done that. Besides, I’d never date one of my students’ parents, it’s just not professional.
“Why don’t you go for Foley, if you think so highly of him? I’ll even put in a good word for ya, Kami,” I offer. “But, fair warning, there’s something a bit off about him.”
“Never mind. I don’t want him either. He is kind of a creep. But let’s look at the bigger picture here, please, the most important aspect of your switching grades. You get to work with meeee!” she singsongs, and I laugh, because it’s true. Kami and I will get to work side by side everyday, as she also teaches the Eights.
“Very true. How did I forget that part?” I tease.
“Right? The nerve,” she chortles. “Seriously, this is our dream. I’m so excited to finally be teaching partners. And as for Neil Foley, don’t sweat him. I’ll get Mr. Whittaker to go on watch; he loves you. Hank will protect you, I’m sure,” Kami says, laughing at the thought of our he-should-have-retired-years-ago caretaker—who is definitely a little flirt himself—being my personal bodyguard.
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He just likes it when my mom and I make a cake and bring in a piece for him. Still, I really hope the new boss isn’t an asshole, that’s my only wish. I’m nervous enough having a new grade assignment without getting a whole new boss, too.” I take another drink, letting an underscore of blackcurrant dance along my tongue.
“Don’t worry, East, you’re one of the best teachers I know. You’ll do great. Besides, you’ve got me. I’m all you need,” Kami says, thanking our server.
Refusing to let myself wallow in the unknown, I shake off the negatives and decide: the hell with it, whatever will be, will be. “Damn straight,” I say, handing out the shots of Lizard King I’d ordered for the table. “A toast!” I raise my shot glass. “In the infamous words of Jim Morrison: the future’s uncertain and the end is always near. It’s been an awesome year with you all, but—thank God—summer is here!” I down the mix of Jägermeister, root beer schnapps and Coca-Cola goodness that make up the deliciously sweet shot.
“So,” Kami says, leaning over the table and starting to whisper to our little group of Bev, Marcy, Kathleen, and I, “I get it’s our staff social, but we don’t have to sit with everyone else the whole time, do we? You think we can ditch them in a bit? It has to be bedtime for more than half of them soon, right?” Kami asks, and I shake my head, laughing, knowing she wants to get up to no good tonight. Kami has always been a bit of a party girl. Despite being athletic, she isn’t all crazy health-conscious. She loves a good night out, more so if there the three D’s are present: Drinks, Dancing and Dudes. She’s been that way since we were teens.
“Don’t be so rude, Kam, it’s barely eight-thirty,” I chide jokingly, looking down at my cell.
“Sorry. It’s just that I’m leaving in two days for almost a month. I need some quality time with my girls. And, anyway, doesn’t the geriatric ward start doing bed checks at nine?” she deadpans, then bursts out laughing along with Bev, Marcy, and Kathleen, our other close friends from the school.
“You are so offside, Kami.” I shake my head, unable to hide my smile.
“I’m joking, you know that.”
“Either way, I’m so in,” says Marcy. “I could stand to meet a man tonight. I could use a little dusting,” she whispers, before breaking out in a fit of drunken giggles. Marcy’s newly divorced, and has only recently decided that she’s ready to put herself back out there.
“Yes! Let’s find you a man!” Bev smacks the table and already I can see how messy this night is going to get.
“Oh boy. It’s going to be that kind of evening, I see,” Kathleen says, having stolen my thoughts.
“What do you say, East? Can we stay out and party a bit? Please, please, please? It’s not like we have to face the kids tomorrow, right? And we never do this anymore. I’d do it for you,” she whines, raising her empty shot glass towards Anne our server and signalling that we need another round, not bothering to wait for my answer. She knows she’s got me.
“You’re the worst, you know that, right? And it’s still officially a school night,” I say.
“Easy, Mother Teresa, I’m not asking you to commit a felony. I just want to let loose, have some fun. We’re here to celebrate, aren’t we? And, trust me, I take the end of the year as a big, big occasion. Bigger than my own birthday, even.”
I laugh, because it’s true, she does. No one likes summer vacation more than Kami. She flies back home to Prince Edward Island for the month of July to visit her aunt and uncle on their farm, where they run Dog Tales Rescue Sanctuary. Despite her current party girl persona and her often less-than-serious attitude, Kami is a huge animal lover and advocate like her mom, Tracy, and every summer they fly out East to help at the sanctuary.
“Besides,” Kami continues, “I’m in the mood to drink, dance, and maybe—just maybe—kiss a good-looking boy. Have you seen the men up in here tonight?” She claps her hands before linking them together on top of the table, to show me she’s resting her case. I roll my eyes.
“You know, for a virgin, you’re a horny bitch, eh? Maybe I should let Keaton at you,” I tease, and her face pales.
As if I don’t know they want each other. They’ve always wanted each other, no matter how many times Kami tries to deny it. I have no doubt that if I were to give Keaton my blessing, she’d be all his. But when it comes to my brother and Kami, I am in complete cockblocker mode, which is a result of my brother being such a manslut, because Kami really is still a virgin. And until he proves to me otherwise, I will not let him make a notch out of my best friend. No matter how much I might love him, I’m not ready to trust my friend’s heart in his hands. As for Kami preserving her virginity, I would bet money that it has something to do with Keaton. She’ll forever deny it, but I know she feels for Keaton what I myself feel for McCoy. Unlike me, though, she’s decided to save herself. According to her, when asked about it, she just really likes playing the bases and hasn’t found anyone worth letting slide into home yet.
“Ha, twenty-six years of foreplay will do that to you,” Kam snickers, taking a sip of her wine while she waits for the new shots to arrive.
“Don’t you mean twenty? You were six-years old when you met Keaton and I,” I taunt, raising my brow, referring to the length of time my bestie has been not-so-secretly in love with my brother. “So maybe it’s not been exactly foreplay with Keat, but it’s definitely been puppy love,” I suggest, and like always, she doesn’t say shit to confirm or deny it.
“I don’t like you very much. You know that, right?” She gives me her best cut-eye.
“Please, Kam. You might be generally boy crazy, but I know Keat’s the only one you really want.” I pass around the next tray of drinks that Anne has delivered.
“It doesn’t matter. Even if he is—which I will neither confirm or deny—he’s not interested in me that way. The guy gives me mixed signals,” she huffs. “Just this morning on our run, he wouldn’t go until I went and changed into jogging pants and a sweater, muttering on about my ass or my chest or something,” she says, exasperated, and I can totally relate, seeing he’s my brother. “I couldn’t quite make out what he was pissy about, and he refused to repeat it after I snapped at him for being a jerk. He’s such an ass, sometimes. Ugh, I don’t want to go there tonight, so let’s move on before I start analyzing his and my relationship…or the lack of it.”
“You’re clueless.” I huff out my own annoyed breath. “Hell, if it weren’t for me, Keaton would be all over you. I keep telling him he’s not good enough for you and that you’re not interested, ’cause that’s what you keep telling me and I know you’d never lie to me…” I laugh as her jaw goes slack. “What? It’s true, right? You aren’t interested in him that way? If you change your mind and decide to come out of the closet, I could probably make it happen a lot faster. I would at least stop making up bullshit about all the dates you go on—and how hot and attentive some of those guys are—when I talk to Keaton.”
“You little shit. You do that?” She sounds surprised.
“Of course I do. I know he likes you. I just need to make sure he’s serious before I let him at you,” I laugh. “Honestly, Kam, I’ve known you’ve liked each other for years. I’m almost supportive of it. He just needs a little more time to prove to me that he’s the man I know he can be. I know for a fact, though, that he’d love to be the one to pop that cherry—if I gave him my blessing.”
“Oh my God, East!” Kami hisses, and shakes her head furiously. “Enough! We need to stop talking about this.” She gestures to the table, but—lucky for her—most of the staff have gone home now and it’s just our small group, who are ignoring us and having a passionate conversation about the nerve of them remaking Dirty Dancing.
“What? I love you, and I’m not willing to risk our friendship if my brother isn’t in it to make you my sister. You can’t fault me for that,” I tell her truthfully.
“Wow. I don’t even know what to say to you right now…other than I love you. Even though you think you can stop us from being together, if that’s what we decide we want. Which we don’t,” she says. She stands up and grabs her clutch, signalling that the conversation is over. “Let’s go dance, ladies. And you…” she says, extending her chin out at me, a mischievous smile pulling at her wine-stained lips, “you better get us more drinks—stat.” She knocks the last of her wine back, causing us all to laugh. “And be prepared, East. There will be dancing, and lots of drinking. You’ll be the Goose to my Maverick tonight,” she teases, her long blonde hair swaying as we move to the dance floor, “especially after all that, you shithead.” The sound of Madonna singing my favourite track starts, and I give her a big hug.
“Sure, Kam, we can get freaky if you want. You know why?” I start dancing moves I know I probably shouldn’t be making to the techno-infused beats as we charge onto the dance floor, but I couldn’t care less how silly I look if it makes Kami happy right now.
“Nope. Don’t care. You just owe me,” she says, standing in the middle of the dancers, staring at me and laughing, surely regretting this decision as I jerk clumsily around her in all my asshole glory. Then, with perfect timing, I move in rhythm with Madonna’s voice right up into Kami’s face, and quote the best line I’ve ever heard in a song—“It’s ’cause…‘bitch, I’m Madonna’!”
Soon all is forgiven and forgotten as we drink and dance the night away, on a school night, nonetheless.
If I had known what would be waiting for me the next morning, I might have made a better choice.