Chapter 8

I fully expected high school to be as boring as junior high had been. It started out that way, certainly. Trish and I both had Geometry, Biology, Creative Writing, Literature, American History and French. The other amigas were in most of the same classes, though Jenny had Algebra and took an art class instead of Literature, she and Jodi were taking Spanish instead of French. Jodi also passed on Literature, taking Drama instead.

Classes were classes — I attended, read the books, did the homework and helped the girls when they needed it, which wasn’t all that often. The only exception was that Jenny had significant problems with Algebra. Still, with enough work I was sure she’d do fine.

Mrs. Nelson insisted that we study at her place again that year. When I mentioned that most mothers wouldn’t want a boy in their home with their daughter for two or three hours a day, unsupervised, she was blunt.

“Jeff, I trust you,” she said, putting a hand on each of my shoulders to make sure I looked right at her. “I’ve seen an awful lot of you during the last year and you’ve impressed me like no one I can remember. Even if it wasn’t blindingly obvious that you and Trish are head over heels in love, I’d trust you to be with Jodi any time. Hell, I’d trust you to sleep with her.”

“Mrs. Nelson,” I replied, somewhat hesitantly, “I’m not a saint.”

“I know that, but I’m also sure you wouldn’t sleep with her, or any girl, unless you were certain that either nothing would happen or that you were both ready for what would happen. I hope that your parents understand just how trustworthy you are and treat you accordingly.”

The curse of our fair skin struck again — Trish and I probably looked like two stoplights standing there.

“I see,” she said, looking at the two of us. “They do understand, and they trust you that much. Further, I’m not generally a betting person but I’d bet every cent I have that you two haven’t, and won’t, do anything to betray their trust.”

Mrs. Nelson was a sharp lady. I don’t think the girls had quite understood why we were blushing before she commented on it but they got it then. We hadn’t talked about our new living arrangements with our friends — both because it was a pretty private thing and because we didn’t have a clue how to bring it up. We knew we’d have to soon as there was sure to be a sleepover in the next month or two.

I couldn’t think of anything to say, but Trish bailed me out. Again.

“You’re right on all counts,” she said into the stunned silence. “During the summer my oldest sister and her husband ended up moving in with us. My other sister and her boyfriend already were living there. Our parents agreed that Jeff and I could share my bedroom. In fact, my mom suggested that if we had a bigger bed we could just share it.” She took a deep breath at that point before continuing, “We got the bigger bed just before school started.”

Mrs. Nelson just grinned at what Trish had said. The girls, on the other hand, were standing there with their mouths hanging open. After a few seconds, though, they finally became more animated and the questions flew fast and furious.

I just held up a hand to slow them down and said, “Please, we’re the same people you went to school with last year — we’ve just been given some new freedom, and the responsibilities that go with it. The only reason our parents allowed it was that we’ve been willing to take our responsibilities seriously, all along. We started with small ones, now they trust us with big ones.”

Everyone eventually settled down and we worked out a schedule for our studying. I thought the conversation would be forgotten but Mrs. Nelson apparently did some more thinking on it. We wouldn’t find out about that for a couple of months, though.

In the meantime we picked up where we left off the year before — each of us doing well our classes and supporting each of the others. I leaned more on Felicia for French. I figured her background in another of the romance languages along with her continual exposure to multiple languages at home made her more receptive, but for whatever reason she picked it up a lot faster than I did, and I’d had two years of it before. For Creative Writing we would try narrating our papers, with the listeners critiquing and asking questions to help us organize our thoughts.

Rather than deal with issues in the lunchroom our American History teacher, Mr. Jamison, allowed us to eat in his room since he would be there and it was our first class after lunch. I wouldn’t have thought to ask about it except that I’d gone through all of high school spending my lunch period in a classroom in my first timeline.

Jenny and Felicia were used to buying lunch, but were willing to brown bag it in order to stay together. Trish and I did our part to help out by bringing lunch for the crew some days. Cold fried chicken was everyone’s favorite but we varied what we brought based on what sounded good to us. Sometimes Felicia would bring something she’d made and each of the others would pitch in with milk or fruit to round it out. We all made sure the room was spotless when we finished, though some of the students remarked on the smell of food hanging around.

Eating in the classroom also had an additional advantage — more time to study. In deference to Mr. Jamison we started out mostly studying for his class. That we were quickly studying material at least two weeks ahead of what he was presenting wasn’t lost on him.

“Ladies, Jeff,” he said nearly a month into classes, “don’t you think you should be studying chapter three?”

“Mr. Jamison,” I replied, “we’ve already covered that chapter, and chapter four. We’re planning to use our lunch period to devote more time to understanding the subject in general rather than studying for class.”

“Do you five always study together?”

“Uh huh,” Jodi replied. “After school we all take the bus over to my place and study together until my mom comes home, then she takes Jenny, Trish and Jeff home. We all do our homework later.”

After that Mr. Jamison didn’t seem surprised when we all did so well in his class.

Along about the middle of October the dynamic of our little study klatch changed in a big way — thanks to Mrs. Nelson.

We were just getting ready to go when she asked me for a moment of my time. “Jeff,” she said, “do you know anything about a boy named Jeff Johnson?”

Jodi immediately cringed and said, “Mom! I already told you I don’t want to go out with him.”

“I know that,” Mrs. Nelson calmly replied, “but I’d like to get Jeff’s take on him anyway.”

“Well, I’m not likely to know too much about him that these four don’t, since they’re pretty much with me all the time,” I said. “If, as I’m assuming, you’re asking about him as it relates to dating your lovely daughter, my feeling is that he’s a pretty typical high school boy: he’s trying to get laid. If he does he’ll probably tell his buddies. Even if he doesn’t he might tell them he did. Does that cover what you wanted to know?”

“Perfectly,” she said. “I think that Jodi may be thinking that there are more boys like you than is actually the case. The rest of you, too — Jeff isn’t the normal high school boy so don’t start thinking that just any old boy is going to treat you as well has he would.”

“Okay, Mom,” Jodi replied, “since Trish has Jeff hogtied that means that the rest of us are destined to be either old maids or notches in someone’s belt, right?”

Mrs. Nelson didn’t look happy with that question — at a guess she figured that unless she got very, very lucky Jodi was right. I liked Jodi — heck I liked all of these ladies, if none quite so much as Trish — and I didn’t want her or any of the others to be just notches in a bedpost, or a belt. That’s why I decided to follow-up on the question intended for Jodi’s mother.

“Jodi,” I said, “I’m not your mom but I do know at least a little bit about guys. It’s true that most high school boys are out to get laid. It’s also true that a lot of them will talk about what should be private. Some, though probably not as many, will lie about what happened on a date. A big part of it is about peer pressure.

“One of the reasons I’m different is that you’re looking at my peer group, right here.” That got the laugh that I’d intended so I continued, “While you’re probably out of luck looking for a straight high school boy who isn’t already going steady and isn’t trying to get laid, there are a couple of things to look for if you’re seriously trying to find a guy who won’t blab to his friends, or who at least will take no for an answer and not lie about it afterward.

“Take a look at their peers — the people they hang around with. Jeff Johnson is on the football team. That means that not only does he have the normal high school male peer group, he also has the rest of the football team that he’s trying to impress. It takes a very strong person to not be tempted to try to improve his standing with a close knit group like the football team. Since the team consists of high school boys one sure way of improving his standing is to tell them that he got laid — in detail. Now, I’m sure that some of the guys on the team aren’t worried about impressing the others, but you’ll have to be careful trying to find them.

“If, on the other hand, you’re talking about Hector Sanchez, he’s in the band and music is a big deal to him, so you can think of the band as his most likely special peer group. The band is composed of boys and girls, so bragging about his luck with the girls isn’t likely to increase his standing — in fact it might get him shunned.”

“Actually,” Felicia added, “Linda Carston’s in the band so it just might get him castrated.”

Everyone but Mrs. Nelson got a chuckle out of that. I don’t know what happened to Linda in her past but she seemed to hate guys passionately. She was also tall and she looked like she was very fit. I wouldn’t have wanted her mad at me, that’s for certain.

“Also take a look at his background,” I continued, when everyone had settled down. “There are plenty of nice guys who come from money, but you’ll find that a lot of people whose families have money, are used to getting what they want. If a girl doesn’t want what he wants he might well try to force the issue. Even if he doesn’t he might be more likely to lie about it, or try to smear her to make it look like he really didn’t want her anyway.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” Mrs. Nelson said, “I’ve almost given up being surprised by you. I don’t think I could have explained it that well. Jeff, girls, can you stay for dinner? If Jeff is willing I’d like to ask him to talk more about this.”

I was willing so, after a flurry of phone calls, the amigas plus one were sitting down to pork chops with creamed corn and salad.

Toward the end of dinner Mrs. Nelson asked me, “Other than looking for the right boy to go out with, could you give the girls any other advice on being safe and happy while dating?”

“Like I have oodles of experience?” I asked. Well, okay, I had some — but Mrs. Nelson didn’t know about it.

Trish surprised me by answering in my stead. “It’s not like I have a lot of experience, either,” she said, “but in the past couple of months I’ve learned one thing: once you get going, stopping is the last thing on your mind. We’ve actually been taking things kind of slow but it can be hard to remember that in the heat of the moment.”

“Oh, yeah!” I said, grinning like a fool. “Actually one of the things that I’ve read is that it’s a good idea to figure out how far you’re willing to go and consciously set a limit there. The really important part — and the really, really hard part — is making sure you don’t move your limit based on what happens on the date. Don’t worry about losing the guy if you don’t do everything he wants. If he’s worth dating he won’t leave just because you didn’t go as far as he wanted on a date.”

What are these limits you’re talking about?” Jenny asked.

Mrs. Nelson smirked so I figured she thought I wouldn’t be comfortable talking about this with the girls — and particularly not with her present. If I’d actually been 13 she’d have been right. As it was I tried to show a little distress so I swallowed and answered.

“The limit,” I said, “is how far you’ll let him go — or maybe encourage him to go if he’s shy. It’ll be different for different people. Some girls will be quite happy to get to some heavy duty kissing on a first date while others will want to stick with holding hands. By a third date some girls might be ready to go all the way while someone who’s not as comfortable is still not sure she wants the guy to kiss her.” The last was said to general amusement by the people at the table, including Mrs. Nelson.