Page 1 of Disobedient
PROLOGUE
SUMMER
Ilove a man in black.
My daddy would tell you that it’s because he made me listen to Johnny Cash when I was in the womb, but I think it’s because it makes a man look sleek.
Not just men, but women, too. When I was seven years old, my mama told me, “Black is slimming, honey. Maybe wear a nice little black skirt for your school pictures. Your hips could use some slimming, baby.”
With that kind of encouragement, it’s no wonder I grew up with body image issues. I was drinking coffee by the time I was eleven, substituting a healthy breakfast for a cup of Folgers with a heavy splash of skim milk. When that didn’t help me cut enough calories to get the kind of skinny my mom wanted, I switched to smoking cigarettes.
I told myself that everybody smoked cigarettes in the nineties. Restaurants had smoking and no-smoking sections as if putting someone on the opposite side of the room for a smoker would somehow dissipate the smell. Regardless, I used those folks as my models. If they could smoke and stay thin, surely I could, too.
But after a month of paying my older brother to buy me cigarettes, my allowance was constantly cut in half and my chest had started to hurt. Not to mention I wasn’t an ounce skinnier than when I began the whole mess. So I kicked nicotine before I had a perpetual smoker’s cough and scratchy voice.
My mama wanted me to participate in after-school activities. “If you’re gonna be a cheerleader in high school, baby, join the track team in junior high. That’ll burn a lot of calories!”
But instead of finding my place on the track and field team, I hated every second of practice and made excuses to skip. I preferred the arts, much to my mama’s chagrin. “Honey, a painting ain’t ever gonna make you rich, but marrying a good man with a good job will. And you know the kind of women they marry? Girls who were cheerleaders in high school. Now try this multivitamin I got offline. It says it’ll help suppress your appetite.”
Needless to say, my wardrobe consisted of navy, maroon, dark forest green, and black by the time I made it to high school. I hid behind dark colors in hopes of camouflaging the curves my mama said were too voluptuous for a girl my age.
But funny things happen when you’ve spent your entire life being put down by your mama. I made it to high school with the sole intent of getting by without getting noticed, but then fate put me in a chokehold.
You can’t deny who you are forever. I joined the theater program to expand my extracurriculars. I stepped onstage as Tracy Turnblad, the lead in Hairspray, and sang my little heart out. I knew that I was cast in that role because I was a big girl like Tracy, but I killed the performance. Even the Naughty Pine Gazette covered opening night and wrote rave reviews about me and the cast.
It felt like I had finally found my place. Throughout the rest of high school, I shed a few pounds, but more importantly, I shed the words my mother had been speaking to me since the first day someone told her that I looked a little big for my age. I came into my own.
It’s hard to say when I started chasing older men, because that change came, too.
The boys in high school weren’t like the theater crowd. While I could impress my friends with my vocal range or my ability to cry on cue, I couldn’t catch a man if my life depended on it. The guys in the theater program were more open-minded than most, but nobody wanted to date the fat chick even if she could sing.
My first boyfriend was the son of the librarian. I worked at the library on the weekends for some extra cash. I met Nick in the stacks perusing foreign literature. We took one look at each other and that became our spot. When his mom was busy in the back or left one of the other floor managers in charge, Nick and I met in secret. We made out with the smell of paper and dust surrounding us, the silence punctuated by our giggles and whispers. To this day I can’t walk through a bookstore without remembering those heady three months we spent together at the library.
The men just got older from there. I learned firsthand that the older a man was, the more accepting he was of my curves. He didn’t look at me as if every curve on my body was an insult, he looked at me as if I was a goddess blessing him with my attention.
Neither my mama nor my daddy met any of these men. I was too afraid that they’d call the cops or pull out a shotgun or something. I was already losing men left and right for other reasons; I didn’t need to add them to the mix.
But eventually, graduation came. I sang our class song as people walked onstage and received academic honors later in the ceremony. In the crowd, mama and daddy watched me with tears streaming down their face. They called it one of the proudest moments in their life. I called it a night to remember for half a dozen other reasons.
BRIGGS
I’m living proof that you don’t have to have all A’s in school to get ahead. When I was going through my high school years, I was more interested in the girls than the classes. Every high school boy will tell you that, but I was serious about it.
I played football and barely squeaked by with C’s. All I wanted was to wear that jersey so I could get the girls. Nothing makes a high school girl wetter than a popular boy with a pair of numbers on his back. I’d be lying if I said I saved my virginity for someone special. I made the varsity team in my sophomore year and one of the cheerleaders asked me out almost immediately. She showed me what was what in the back of her dad’s 1970 El Camino.
I didn’t get better as I got older, either. Do you know what college girls are like? That’s where I got my real training. I learned that you can’t just give a girl a few pumps and call it a day. It isn’t just about your orgasm, it’s about both of you. And would you believe it, it took my English 101 professor to teach me that.
Eventually, I sobered up and stopped partying. My best friend, Greg, told me I would never make a good life for myself if I kept having sex and ignoring my classes. “That shit might have worked in high school, but we’re adults now, Briggs. For Christ’s sake, do something with your life.”
Somehow, I went into teaching. It wasn’t a conscious thought, it was more along the lines ofwhat do I have to lose?In reality, I had so much to gain. In my first couple of years teaching U.S. History, I spent my nights getting my Master’s degree in administration. I don’t know when it dawned on me that I could use my powers for good, but I was intent on becoming the school Principal before moving up to District Administrator and finally settling on Superintendent.
A decade later, I’d finally settled into a position as Principal at the Naughty Pine High School. God, these kids reminded me of myself some days.
The football players still dated the cheerleaders. I still caught kids making out under the bleachers in the gym. I kept an eye on the kids smoking cigarettes behind the cafeteria. I knew about all the gossip from my fellow teachers: who was dating who, who was fighting with their best friend, who cheated on their math test because their parents were too hard on them. Being the Principal was a lot like walking through the halls again, except with more paperwork.
My best friend, Greg, settled down in Naughty Pine with his wife. He ran a ranch and his wife ran her mouth, but eventually, they had a couple of kids. I didn’t see their firstborn, November, much. He kept his head down because his mom gave him an unfortunate name. She settled down when Summer was born, but not much. She said she loved the way the time of year sounded, but she said that about November, too.
Greg asked me to keep an eye on Summer when she started at the high school. I was still teaching U.S. History at the time and I had her in my class for a year. I did my best to make sure she did alright, but she was different than her brother.
