 Isa Avellan’s Horoscope for Sept. 7
What’s happening here? Appreciate this as a transformative experience and remember that someday soon you’ll even be able to laugh about it.
Isa demanded a recount.
Rereading the poorly photocopied “Sex Savvy Senior Survey,” she felt something break off inside her and land with a thump.
The last thing she expected to learn that Tuesday afternoon at the emergency staff meeting was that the student body of Isa’s alma mater and current employer voted her the unsexiest teacher alive.
Actually the survey was a little more specific: the most un-fuckable teacher alive in big bold letters next to her admittedly unfuckable staff photo.
Intellectually she knew better than to care about a high school prank. And Isa damn well knew if she put her mind to it, she’d be a helluva good lay.
She conceded that four years was a long time between men, well maybe it was longer than that, but this was ridiculous. She was a modern twenty-nine-year-old woman whose ESL students had the highest GPA in the entire district.
No, this wasn’t just ridiculous. This was insulting. Especially considering the competition she had in the category: Myrtle the ancient librarian, Celeste the bearded lunch lady, and Bill Weisshaar, the twitchy biology teacher the kids called Bildo.
Damn right she deserved a recount. This was a matter of principle.
“I wanted everyone to know about this little survey our students circulated,” Principal Quilley said as the shock settled among the crowded lounge. “We confiscated it when Carrie Barcus and Addison Pinchly were smoking behind the bleachers.”
Isa turned when she heard a woman’s voice catch. Myrtle, who happened to be a delightful and intelligent woman, held a shivering hand to her candy-pink lips.
“I … I never thought…” Myrtle sobbed. “This is … oh this is just…”
“Nice to know some of us are so highly regarded,” Stan Fields boasted.
Outrage boiled up Isa’s throat, tasting nasty metallically sweet. She could barely breathe while the others–mainly the athletics department–chortled. With his one-size too small shorts and carefully styled white boy do, Stan had been voted the sexiest in the male category.
Of course that pinchereina enjoyed this. Isa’s hand itched to deliver an Alexis Carrington style slap across his smug face. Stan might be a former All-Star athlete and head of the PE department but that mama’s boy made Steven Kojokaru look straighter than Trent Lott.
“Quite.” Principal Quilley clipped off the laughter in his Shakespearean voice. “I spoke with their parents and they will be composing a letter of apology to the staff here at the school.”
“That’s it?” Isa’s question killed what was left of everyone’s amusement. “I’m sure Carrie and Addison didn’t have the only copy,” she added. Did she really have to say the obvious? “Do we want our students circulating this around about us?”
“They will also be suspended from school for one week,” he answered, his eyes dark with compassion. “Anyone who is caught with a copy will be given a week of detention.”
Isa glanced at Myrtle who now cried quietly into her hankie, and Bildo–Mr. Weisshaar–who stared wide-eyed at the table. The three of them would have to face the students every day for the rest of the year, knowing how they looked at them, judged them. At least Celeste had the power to spit in their food.
No punishment would be good enough. Isa’s inner Alexis Carrington insisted she speak the hell up. Like the episode when she wrested Denver Carrington from Blake and threatened the board of directors with dismissal if they crossed her. And girlfriend did it in a fabulously massive shoulder padded suit. If Isa had a little less Krystle Carrington and more Alexis in her, she’d get her recount.
Stacking her hands on top of the other and pulling her unpadded shoulders back, Isa did her best.
“I think this is indicative of the general lack of respect we have from the students,” she heard herself saying out loud. “I think we should use a class period to have an open discussion of respect not only for men, but women as well.”
A tide of outrage and complaints drowned Isa’s voice.
We don’t have time to discuss this on class time with the state exams next month.
We shouldn’t be perpetuating this behavior by addressing it in the classroom; let their punishment speak for itself.
“Ms. Avellan, remember you have students who also rely on you,” Principal Quilley said gravely when the clamor ebbed away. He had been her favorite teacher when she was in this high school, he encouraged her to take a full AP load, and then helped her find scholarships for college. He knew her better than her own father did and in spite of all her personal failures, Dr. Quilley’s respect never faltered.
“Frankly, I feel any further discussion will only make it worse,” he continued. Why, she asked silently, why would he not take her side? “Better to let this little incident die down and focus on education.”
“Don’t you think?” he asked, looking up at Isa like a patient father ministering to his complaining teenager.
“No,” she spat, shoving her chair back. “I really don’t.”
“Girl I thought you were going to castrate him with your eyes, I swear you were,” June declared. The school secretary’s stiletto boots clattered to keep up with Isa’s red Keds.
Isa could almost hear the creaking hinges as she forced her lips into a grin. She was almost angry enough to say something against Dr. Quilley. But not quite. “You made at out well.”
The approving glow in June’s eyes dimmed. “I’m a married gal,” she countered. “Ted will really appreciate that high school guys jerk off to thoughts of me.”
Maybe they wouldn’t if June started dressing like an adult. Then again, part of Isa envied June for just letting it all hang out there in clothes that inspired cattiness.
The whisperings that went on behind June’s back speculated that she got her secretary job because of her bra size rather than her typing speed. It didn’t help that June wasn’t shy about sharing her opinions, which further alienated every other woman in the school. Which left Isa and now she likened the friendship to being adopted by a cat.
June planted a hand on a sassily cocked hip when they stopped at Isa’s mobile classroom, on what the kids called Trailer Trash Row. “Now will you go out with my brother in law?” June pleaded.
“No.”
June’s sly grin collapsed. “Why not? He’s a good guy, he has a great job and trust me, what happened back in that room is already makin’ the rounds. You need damage control, girl.”
Why her, Isa pleaded. Why? June had only been living in Sweetwater, a town wedged between Montebello and Norwalk for a few months and she knew full well how fast word got around. And around here no one needed the Internet, the cell phone, or the TV, all you needed was to tell Susan Contreras. Isa loved her best friend’s mother who had taken her and her son in when they had no where to go. But no secret was sacred when it landed in Susan’s ear.
“I’m not dating Alex so people will think I’m-” she looked over her shoulder. “Fuckable.”
“Oh but honey I’ve lived in his house long enough to know that he is,” June remarked and then saw Isa’s look of eww. “I’m just being honest.”
June’s brother-in-law was the first guy in a long time who made Isa nearly forget her hard won lessons about men. Guys like Alex were too charismatic, too … too much for a girl like Isa. In some ways, he reminded her of her ex husband when she had first fallen senselessly in love at fifteen. She was almost thirty and she’d learned a lot to never make that mistake again.
“Alex is Andrew’s soccer coach,” Isa informed June.
“More reason for you to get in there and snatch him up before them other soccer moms do.” Inspired, her drawl sharpened. “This is what we’ll do: new hair, a little make-up to bring out your eyes and shorter, tighter outfits… we’ll make you a MILF!”
“A what?”
“MILF. Mother I’d Like to-” June looked over her shoulder. “Fuck.”
Just because they were in a high school didn’t mean they had to talk like they were students. “I promised Andrew I wouldn’t be late for his practice,” Isa said with as much dignity as she could muster on a day like this. “See you at lunch tomorrow?”
“Soccer practice? You’ll be there tonight?”
“Well I thought so since my son is on the team an-” Isa realized the direction where June’s thoughts were headed. “Oh no. If you try to set me up with Alex I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Just an introduction?”
“No. I already met him.”
“And?”
“He shook my hand and gave me the schedule.”
“That’s it?”
“I have work to do.”
“You’re telling me,” June said before wiggling back to the main building. June reminded Isa eerily of her mother, Dara. The same Dara from whom Isa hadn’t heard from in four months and same from whom she’d inherited her blue eyes and boobs.
But where Dara had been the MILF of all MILFs, her daughter drew her sweater closed and resigned herself to being the dependable mom she’d always been.
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