Why is it always Monday?

I made it to school on Monday, still using Jake’s truck, after picking him and Megan up. She sat between us on the wide bench seat, but snuggled up close to me. For some reason, this seemed to disturb Jake and he wouldn't look at us. There had been an uncomfortable silence in the cab from Megan’s place to the senior parking lot where I backed the monster pickup in between two pastel mom-mobiles.

As Megan climbed down with my help on the driver’s side, she whispered to me, “I think Jake is a bit freaked that we’re still acting all lovey-dovey.” She added a grin when I looked down at her.

“Might be right,” I muttered. I was amused, but didn't grin back.

It took Jake a bit longer than usual to get out of the truck. Since he couldn’t just open the door with his injured right hand, he had to reach across with his left to work the lever. But he still had to push the door with his right shoulder and I heard him make a noise like a painful grunt.

I didn’t comment on it, though. If he had wanted attention called to his situation, he would have made more noise. I put an arm around Megan and headed for homeroom, which we all shared, Jake trailing behind.

* * *

Classes went all right; lots of congratulations on our victory Friday, and hopes expressed that we would continue our winning ways. I replied, “Rah! Lions!” to almost anything anyone said.

Jake got a lot of attention he obviously did not want. The girls all seemed empathetic to his pain, but lots of the guys chided him for putting the team at risk by injuring himself off the playing field. He grumped his way through it without actually snapping at anyone.

Seniors all had a free fourth period, so we could take early or late lunch, whichever we wanted – or sign up for study hall or some elective. Megan took Dance in early fourth, and I had taken Art, but I ditched class today to go watch Megan and nineteen other girls plus five boys work on dance routines while I swotted the math homework I hadn’t done over the weekend.

The big room's theater-type seating was pushed back to the walls, and the empty middle was taken up with tables and chairs for people to do what I was doing, eating lunch and pretending to do schoolwork. If the dance class needed privacy, they would pull the stage curtain, but today they were working in the open.

It was usually hard to keep my mind on cosines with Megan and other trim athletic girls bouncing around the wooden floor of the auditorium stage. But this time, I had other mental problems to distract me. One of them was that Gilbert Goff, a male dancer (and the strong safety on the football team), had amazing muscles. I’d never really noticed before and it was creeping me out.

The other problem occurred when Jake arrived with a tray full of nachos in his left hand. I’d already eaten a ‘shamburger’ (the cafeteria believed no one could taste the soy protein they added to their hamburger meat), but the tortilla chips covered with green jalapeños, red pimentos and melted cheese were irresistible. The big lunk had even remembered to snag extra napkins, tucked into the sling on his wounded right arm.

“I could kiss you,” I told him facetiously, as he set the bounty down between us.

“You damn well better not!” he snapped, visibly recoiling.

‘A hit, a palpable hit,’ I mentally misquoted from somewhere, grinning at him.

We crunched nachos and watched the dancers practice for a bit. I tried to keep my eyes on Megan, but GoGo (Goff’s nickname on the team) had some flashy moves that kept attracting my attention. ‘You damn well better not be thinking about what you seem to be thinking about,’ I told myself silently.

Jake took my mind off my own traitorous mental imagery by leaning across the plate of greasy treats between us, and demanding. “Have you done any planning on how you’re going to handle getting in and out of the locker room?”

I shrugged, like it hadn’t occurred to me to worry about it. “I’m going to use the bathroom and showers of the coaches’.”

He scowled at me. “How you going to justify that? Wilson is going to ask why, you know.”

I shrugged again like it wasn’t even important. Mostly I was doing this to annoy Jake, because I really had gotten up early to spend some time working out plans. “I’ll just tell him I need to use his shower so the guys don’t see something I don’t want them to see.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open with a cheese-and-peppers-laden chip on the way.

“It’s true, too,” I said, nodding firmly.

Jake closed his mouth with an audible clop and put the nacho back on the plate. He glared at me, but before he could summon up something to say to me in such a public place, I pointed at my middle. “I’ve got a line of hickeys across my body from here to here,” I gestured, showing the hypothetical track.

We both glanced toward the stage, where it just so happened that GoGo Goff and Megan were stomping across the stage in a ballroom clinch. The sight was so arresting that Jake and I both gawped for a three count. When the music announced a change of action, we turned back toward each other.

Curiously, I felt my face turning red, and wondered if my embarrassment extended down to the one real hickey I did have on my torso. Megan had planted a juicy one just above and outboard of my left nipple. She’d also complained that my tummy was too hard and gnarly to be any fun chewing on.

Jake and I stared at each other for a bit longer. Then, with a shared sigh, we went back to munching on Mexican morsels.

“That’ll probably work for this week,” he observed, retrieving the nacho he had previously selected.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Mrs. Delahoussie, the dance director, had evidently called a conference downstage, and all the dancers had gathered around her, coincidentally facing those of us in the audience.

Megan winked at me, so I winked back. Then GoGo Goff winked at me, too!

Worse, I smiled at him and almost winked back. ‘I’m losing my mind,’ I thought.