Chapter 80: Jessica

Friday, April 9, 1982

For whatever reason, we didn’t have Good Friday off this year. They explained it as a change in state standards requiring more hours in the classroom, but I suspected it was a ploy by the School Board to see how many parents would squawk. I was pretty sure there was a lot of squawking going on.

Until just over a month ago, I would never have imagined this day would ever happen. Jessica Lively moved in different circles. She was the school goddess. I was a quiet (Okay, not so quiet) ex-nerd. She dated sports stars, not Debate stars.

Yet she’d asked me out, then politely — even positively — accepted a ‘no’, then looked to reschedule. And we’d become at least acquaintances.

I wouldn’t rank this as the most surreal event of my second go-round. Finding out Angie was like me had to rank number one on that list. There were others. Darla Winton? Very high on the list. Dave Mayrink. The enigma that was Laura Waters.

But it was perhaps the most surreal event for anyone else. According to the grapevine, which was always right, Jessica hadn’t dated anyone not involved with sports at a high level since her first day of freshman year. Her relationships lasted perhaps a month or two. Breakups were amicable. No one ever said anything bad about anyone else. Most of her former boyfriends dated other cheerleaders, and often those relationships lasted. It all seemed to work very well. Perhaps — perhaps — a bit choreographed. Angie thought so; so did Sheila. I trusted Sheila quite a bit, and, of course, trusted Angie with my life.

Jessica met me at the parking lot just after seventh period. I’d changed into a maroon button-down. She wore a knee-length green dress that showed a lot of leg and a fair bit of cleavage. Not that she had a lot, but she accentuated what she had to the fullest.

“Hi, Steve!”

“Hi, Jessica!”

She bounced up on her tiptoes and gave me a hug. Jessica is short. Not as short as Nancy, and Connie is even shorter, but quite short. I also knew she wasn’t going to get much taller, if any at all. Of course, she’s a flyer in cheerleading, so short is a requirement.

Jessica is just about exactly as tall as Jasmine, in fact, and I had to remind some parts of my brain that the cute, slight, short girl in my arms was not the girlfriend with whom I was intimately familiar.

Several girls stopped to watch. I knew the grapevine was already well aware of this date, and it would now report this hug and everything about it.

I offered my arm, she took it, and I walked her to my car. “You won’t believe me,” she said with a giggle, “but I like your car. You know I drive a tiny little car. Of course, I’m a tiny little person and I don’t haul around people and sample cases and all of that. Sometimes I feel tiny in my tiny car, though. Anything hits this and you’d barely even notice!”

Her tiny little car was a Datsun B210. Lovingly maintained, but old and, yes, tiny.

I helped her into my car, netting a smile for my efforts, then got in. “Any last-minute dinner requests?”

“Nah. Surprise me!” I got going; in 1982, the closest Dim Sum restaurant was not very close to the school. I was certain she’d figure out that the destination was authentic Asian food well before I got anywhere near it, but would she guess Dim Sum? I might never know.

“By the way, I failed to congratulate you on being named cheer captain. Not that I doubted it, but still, congratulations!”

She smiled. “You never doubted it? Most people figured it’d go to Cheryl.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know Cheryl at all. What I know is that you’re a leader and the most talented one on the team. Not just at cheer — I wouldn’t want to slight your gymnastics skills. Nothing against anyone else, but you deserved it.”

“Thank you. The funny part is that I feel like you actually know what you’re talking about!”

I smiled and chuckled, then let the conversation lag. I was certain she had plans. Sure enough, she picked it up after a few moments. “You have a reputation — a well-deserved reputation — for not talking about things that shouldn’t be talked about. I’d like...”

“Yes, I won’t share anything we talk about, except how you likely already know I share.”

She giggled and grinned. “Your sister. As long as she’s a black hole, too, we’re good. And the same for Jasmine. I can’t ask you not to talk to your girlfriend — that would be a huge red flag in any open relationship, I imagine — but, carefully.”

“Angie will be a black hole, and I’ll make sure Jasmine is, too.”

“Good. Makes it much easier to just talk.”

I was pretty sure Jessica never ‘just talked.’ Never. And ... that was fine. This was going to be interesting no matter what.

She skillfully guided the conversation to shared classes along with friendly questions about Debate and ‘Brigadoon’. I was pretty sure she had studied up and knew all the Debate terms I was explaining, knew who Tommy was in ‘Brigadoon’, knew ... most everything. It’s what she did. Spider in the web, right? And that was still fine. Nothing I knew about her said she was malicious, and she could’ve been terribly malicious if she wanted to be.

We traded stories, mine from debate tournaments, hers from cheer camp. Or, our differing winter vacations (Disneyland, skiing — shades of Candice, yet nothing at all similar). After perhaps twenty minutes of driving, she appeared to look around. “Hey! We’re driving a long ways. Downtown? Are you driving me to Galveston for lobster?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told.”

“True enough! And I did say to surprise me!”

Another 10 minutes and I was nearing Houston’s Chinatown, circa 1982. In only a year or two, this area would start into full-scale decline, and then economic renewal, as the Asian businesses relocated to southwest Houston. Jessica casually looked around, as if she hadn’t been paying attention. “Chinatown! Interesting choice! But what in Chinatown?”

“Still wouldn’t be a surprise if I told.”

“I’ll see if I can guess!”

I pulled up to the restaurant that I’d verified had Dim Sum on Friday nights (sadly, still no steam carts! Such a shame!). Jessica’s eyes widened. “This is a bold choice. I like it!” She giggled. “And I’m being honest, I promise. I really do like it.”

I parked, got out, went around, and helped her out, walking her in on my arm. She was pleased that I had a reservation, not that we needed it. Shortly thereafter we were seated and flipping through the menu, discussing what to get. She seemed to know her way around a Dim Sum menu, for which I was giving her points.

We ordered a nice sampling of dishes, both of us lamenting that we shouldn’t eat as much as we’d want to, though she stressed again that she’d just burn it off.

“So, what do you think about Council? Really? I know the party line. What should we focus on and what are our chances?”

I shrugged. “I think there’s a plan. But ... we’d do well being focused on things like including people who are normally excluded. Those who look different, worship differently, love differently. We should push for a dress code that includes more freedom. Loosen the dance rules. Angie’s committee should be good, too, directing funding to better teachers. Maybe look for problems that we can actually solve — sometimes students see problems that the grownups are going to miss.”

She nodded. “Which is funny, because you and I are, externally, the image of conformity. Me more than you, but you’re a straight white guy. Well, that, or my sources are really wrong.”

“Guilty as charged.” She giggled. “But sometimes it takes people like that stepping up to be allies. I’m just thrilled that Lizzie won, but it’s better if she’s not the face of improving things for other gay people.”

“And Calvin, or Amit, or Theresa can’t be the face of changing things for people who look different.”

“Or Amit for Hindus, or ... whatever. We all have to be in it together.”

“That’s what I think. We can’t fix everything. We can’t even fix everything at Memorial. But we can make a difference.”

“So, white guy...” She grinned and winked. “ ... where does your enthusiasm for this come from? It’s going to be work and you’ll get even more threats.”

“Lizzie’s a friend of mine. I don’t like that she was treated poorly. I don’t like that she can’t take her girlfriend to prom the way things stand now. Amit is a friend. Asians are generally treated fine, but it could be better. I know some girls at Austin High. They can color their hair there. Why can’t we? Memorial won’t explode, or lose its academic credentials, if we allow more freedom of expression. If this all changes, I’ll still pretty much just be a boring gringo, but my friends who aren’t boring gringos will be more free to be themselves.”

She smiled. “I like that a lot. It explains why you took on Randy so emphatically. I mean, beyond the obvious political angle.”

“He really, really pissed me off. That takes work.”

She giggled. “I can see that!”

Our food arrived, and we shifted to discussing what we liked and didn’t. She didn’t get lobster, but several different types of shrimp and some crab. We had similar tastes, pretty much. She was skilled with chopsticks; that didn’t surprise me.

As dinner wound down, conversation resumed. “So, I’ll flip it around. So, white girl, where does your enthusiasm come from?”

She giggled. “Touché! My personal circles are cheerleaders, obviously, plus gymnasts, obviously, and socialites, also ... obviously.” She winked. “Not all cheerleaders are white girls, or straight, or Christian. Same with gymnasts, same with socialites.”

“So all those guys who think every cheerleader is at least a potential conquest...”

“Are deluding themselves! Yes!” She grinned. “Now, realistically, it’s difficult. At least now, probably for a long time to come, they’re not coming out of the closet. But it’s still good for people to see others like them.”

“Definitely. Very, very few people can be Lizzie. And even if Lizzie was the right build, and bouncy...”

“It wouldn’t go over right. Yes. I hate to say that, but it’s going to take a lot more time.”

“Like we said, we can’t fix everything. We certainly can’t fix society. But we can make a difference.”

Our bill came, and I paid, getting a smile. By Jessica’s standards, this was undoubtedly a cheap date. I was still pretty certain she’d genuinely enjoyed the dining portion of the date.

I walked her back out to the car, helped her in, and then got in. “So ... any thoughts? Enough date for tonight? Want to do something else?”

“Let’s talk on the way back and see what happens. It’s a fairly long drive, after all.”

I got the car moving. She stretched a bit, smiling. I was pretty sure she was debating what to say next. And that she had things to say. Finally, she decided.

“I’m going to confess something. You might be angry. Or ... well, hopefully not.”

“I’ll do my best not to be. I don’t like being angry.” That got a pretty good giggle.

“Okay. So ... I really did want to go to the dance with you, outside of anything else. That said, the timing was totally intentional. And the gossip was ... well. It wasn’t supposed to be that you turned me down. That was a serious surprise! But, from the same part of me where it was intentional, that was a big plus.”

I nodded. “I figured that out. I’m not upset. You could kill a bunch of birds with one stone. It’d raise my profile, which was good for the election. It’d keep people guessing about you. and I think that’s a plus. It’d let us get to know each other a bit, which is nice if we’re going to be working together. I think you were actually curious, beyond just that sort of professional working-together curiosity. And the other piece, that I got later, was that you likely knew the announcement was coming and that’d change how you fit in.”

She blinked. “Damn! Remind me not to underestimate you! And you’re not mad?”

I shook my head. “I could have been, but I see good intentions, not anything malicious. And, of course, you couldn’t ask me first. I might have been really offended.”

“Got it. I’m grateful that you feel that way. Also, many thanks for how you phrased the turn-down. You led with having already been asked. A rejection without that ... I could’ve fixed it, but the manipulating bitch part of me...”

“Saw that as a way to boost both of us even more.”

“Hell, yes,” she giggled. “Noble guy, understanding girl. Better because it’s true. I would have felt terrible if I’d stomped on Megan’s Sadie Hawkins. No one but me would probably have ever known I felt that way, or believed it, but I would have.”

“I would have believed it.” I hesitated a bit. “There’s a reason you offered me a second chance, and it’s fairly unique.”