Against the Grain

Chapter 2 - Business as Usual

Chapter 2 - Business as Usual

I wake up with a start. The dream I was having is fading fast, but I know it had something to do with the club. I check my phone to look at the time. 3:45. Definitely time for more sleep. Even though I went to bed early last night, I didn't fall asleep until some time around midnight, and I'm not ready to get up yet. But first, there's a message from Paris, sent two hours ago.What was she doing up so late? Must've been talking to that boy, Keontae.She wants to know how my shift went. Of course she does. I never checked in with her after I got home last night.

For a brief moment, I consider lying, not sure how much of the encounter with Jason I want to share, but I decide to tell her everything. The familiar woosh of a sent iMessage hits my ears as I lay my head back down on the pink satin. Of course I don't feel tired anymore, even just moments later.I could get up now to get in some extra studying. Nah. I'm sure I'll fall back asleep soon.I lay there for a long while, enjoying the deafening quiet. Silence has always been so calming to me, like a weighted blanket for my brain.

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"Girl, I'm so lost. I have no idea what he just taught us. Do you get this?" It's obvious Paris is just as confused as I am, but I hold out hope that she might've understood more than I did.

A year younger than me, Paris and I have been best friends since middle school, when I had to retake 8th grade after moving here. Now, we're both retaking Algebra II after failing it last year. It's a little embarrassing being in a class with a bunch of juniors.

"You're funny," she retorts. "This test is finna tank my grade. I'll be lucky if I make it to the end of the semester with a D." Her laugh has this way of setting people at ease.

I sigh. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Maybe Mr. Johnson has some time for tutoring today. I'll stay after class and ask him. Wanna join?"

Paris smirks at me as she listens, "Nah, girl. Do your thing. Get thatprivatetutoring time with him."

I punch her in the shoulder playfully. "Stoooop. Oh my god, don't be so loud!" The bell rings, and I linger behind. Mr. Johnson doesn't have a class second hour, so I wait for the room to empty before I go up to his desk.

"Mr. Johnson? I really didn't understand today's lesson. Can you help me?"

I stare into his hazel eyes. At 28, Mr. Johnson has taken on the look of an older man. He's got a bit of a dad bod, one that hides developed musculature underneath. His short, light brown hair has small streaks of grey scattered throughout. They disappear whenever he gets a haircut, though he usually lets his hair grow out for at least a few months before getting a trim. His glasses line his face in a pleasing way, and he does this thing when he gets stressed or embarrassed where he takes them off and sort of half throws them onto his desk.

Mr. Johnson looks up from his laptop quizzically. He scolds me a little. "Janiya, you know Mrs. Williamson isn't going to like it if you miss classagain. I know you think you aren't good at math, but I have faith in you. If you really feel like you need the extra help, maybe you can meet me at my house after school to work on it."

My face grows hot. "Umm... Y-yeah. I'd like that."

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My phone alarm blares in my ear. I turn over, feeling a string of drool break from my pillow as I do. "Shit!" It's 7:00.How did I sleep so long?My mom works the graveyard shift at a gas station, so she expects me to pick up the slack in the mornings. I jump out of bed and jog to my sister's room. Her light is already on; she must be awake. I run down to the kitchen to find Adrienne sitting at the table, eating cereal.Good, she's just about ready to go.She'll probably be a bit late to school today because of me, but not nearly as late as I will. No before care today.

I run back to my room to get dressed.So much for studying. The laundry pile on my chair screams for organization, but I push the thought away and sift through my clothes for something decent to wear. A magenta crop top and black yoga pants are what I land on. I look for a black track hoodie from 9th grade to complete the outfit. I don't need to get in trouble for dress code again.

My room is a bit cluttered, with knick-knacks taking up most of the available real estate on shelves and other surfaces. What can I say? I like cute animal figurines. A pile of random stuff I'll probably never sort lives on my desk, collecting dust on the corners of papers poking out of its middle. Posters of Sza, Ariana, and Cardi line the pale cornflower wall alongside photobooth reels of me and Paris. My bed is a mess; I hardly ever make it. Its hot pink sheets are a nice contrast to the blue walls. Ryleigh, our calico kitten, cleans herself on my pillow.

Next is a quick look in the mirror with brush in hand to get my edges in order.Thank god for braids.I can't go withnomakeup, so I opt for a onceover with some eyeliner and mascara. My sapphire blue eyes stare back at me, a sharp contrast to my black hair and the deep umber of my skin. I check myself out for a moment, appreciating again the floor-length mirror Tía Paloma got me for my birthday. My 32C bust looks good in the crop top, with just enough cleavage showing to draw attention down and away from my lightly adorned face. I turn to get a side-profile view. I've always loved the way yoga pants highlight my curves. My butt isn'texactlyflat, but having the extra help never hurts. I check my phone. 7:15.Okay, we're officially late now.I brush my teeth, grab my hoodie, crocs, and backpack, and head to the kitchen.

Adrienne is at the sink, rinsing her bowl. Even at six years old, she's used to these crazy mornings. A byproduct of crazy home life, I guess. Her beads bounce against each other as she moves around the kitchen. I watch her with pride. She's a damn good kid. I know I'm not her mother, but the way people talk about us, you'd be forgiven for forgetting. It's easy to draw comparisons between our slight gaptooth, uneven dimples, and identical eyes.

"Alright sis, we gotta go. I'm sorry I'm late today. You ready?"

She turns to look at me, her hands holding onto the straps of her Hello Kitty backpack. "It's okay Niy-Niy. I'm ready! Let's go."

Not a care in the world. Oh, to be so free of mind.I grab the keys and head out the door. The beige hoopdi sits in the driveway, rusting like always. It's a good incentive to go back to work tomorrow. I tear down the road, attempting to make up for lost time. Adrienne's school is only five minutes from home, but mine is another ten away from hers. We get to the entrance of the elementary and I let Adrienne out. All the other families have already left. I wait for Adrienne to get to the front door and ring the bell before peeling off and heading toward the rest of my own day.

Ms. Reynolds gives me a disapproving look as she buzzes me through the oak door of the front office. Her wrinkled eyes scowl at me over a crooked copper nose. This is the second time I've been late this week, and who knows how many times this year? I grab the tardy pass from her hastily, trying to avoid another one of her yap sessions. I swear, if I have to hear about one of her ex-husbands one more time.

Okay, 7:40. There's still twenty minutes left of class. Maybe I can get a little bit of today's lesson in my notes. God, the Paris in my dream was right. Tomorrow's test is gonna be awful.A quick stop at my locker, then to class.

Mr. Johnson answers the door, a coffee in hand. The usual drone of noise fills my ears as I walk in: groups of other kids chatting about anything other than math.Why does math have to be first hour?Mr. Johnson trades his coffee for my pass. I look down to see Janiya written on the side of the foam cup, with a heart dotting the i.

"For meee?" I gush at him. He nods blankly, and I wrap both arms around his neck to hug him. Mr. Johnson isn't very tall, but he's still got almost an entire head on my five foot one inch self, so I have to reach up to do so.

He looks at me with warm sternness. "Maybe that can be an incentive for you to get here on time tomorrow? I'm glad you're here, Janiya. Find your seat. I'll bring you a paper."

I see Paris in our usual spot. She's darker than me - the rich chocolate of her nearly-black skin reflecting the pale classroom lights. Her bleach-blonde wig frames her face in a lovely way, highlighting perfect teeth. Boxy, wire-rimmed glasses cover her greenish-brown eyes, which look at me with concern.

"Are you good?" Paris presses. "Sounds like you had a hell of a night."

I'm only half-listening. The name on my coffee was probably written by a barista, but the coffee itself is a wonderful gesture.Does it mean something?I mean, Mr. Johnson gives out food to students fairly regularly, but having a coffee ready for me feels like something more. Absent-mindedly, I get my notebook and pencil from my bag.

"Janiya, are you listening?"

Paris's voice brings me back to reality. "What? Yeah, no. I'm okay. I'm sure I'm gonna have a lot of clients like that. I'm just glad everyone else was cool, Shane and Brett especially. I think I wanna go back. It's good money."

My voice is quiet. I don't mind Paris knowing what I'm doing. We tell each other everything. And it's not like I'm doing anything wrong; I am an adult after all. But I don't want anyone else to know about my job. It's just not worth the attention.

"As long as you're sure it's a good idea,andyou're being safe. It ain't worth the money if you get hurt." She's right of course. But now that I've had the morning to think about it, short though that morning's been, I feel pretty good about my decision.

Mr. Johnson always keeps the room a little too warm, but he doesn't ever say anything about the things students wear. My hoodie catches on my belly ring as I take it off. I've been wearing a small moissanite piece since I got the piercing two months ago, Paris's birthday gift to me. My dad hates it.Fuck his opinion. It'll still be a long time before I can change the ring out for something else, but the one I picked goes with just about everything. I take a sip of my coffee and look at Paris's notes.Yeah, not a chance.It looks sorta familiar? Definitely the kind of graphs we've been talking about this week. But I have no idea what all these parentheses and brackets mean, let alone the infinity symbols all over the place. I copy it anyway. Maybe it'll help, maybe it won't.

Mr. Johnson comes by with a worksheet and offers to catch me up. "Do you want me to go through a few problems with you, Janiya? Since you missed yesterday and most of today, I'm guessing you're a little lost on this."

"Yes, please. I don't understand this at all."

The title of the worksheet is Domain and Range of Quadratic Functions. It's covered in graphs, but only ten questions in total. Seems manageable. Mr. Johnson gets down onto his knees on the other side of the table. Whenever he works with students, he likes to get down to their level, but he also always complains about being too old to be on the floor.

"Okay. We're looking at domain and range today, which is just another way of telling someone how far a graph goes in each direction. At least for today, domain, or the x-values, will go forever in both directions every time. Show me your x-axis."

This is something he asks often. It's a good way to get us to remind ourselves where things are on a graph. I put my arms together to make a horizontal line in front of me, pushing out my chest a bit while I do. I watch Mr. Johnson's eyes to see if he notices, but I don't think he does. Paris sure seems to though, at least I assume so from the smirk she's trying to hide in my peripheral.

Mr. Johnson goes on to explain what arrows on a graph mean for domain and asks me questions to help figure out the range. He writes out half of the answer for question one without turning the paper. I never understood how he could write upside down so easily.

"Do you remember when we talked about vertices?" he asks. I nod my head and he continues. "Okay, that's good. Point to the vertex of this function with your pencil. What's its y-coordinate? In other words, how far up or down is it?"

I point and take a stab at an answer. "Two?"

Mr. Johnson has this way of making you feel at ease. He takes his time to make sure you really understand something before moving on, and doesn't ever make you feel bad about yourself when you get something wrong. He makes it easy to answer confidently, even when you don't know if you're right or wrong.

"Yes! Good. Now it's your turn to try. I'll stay here while you work through question two."

I watch Mr. Johnson's hands as he writes out the rest of the answer to the first problem. My eyes wander to the tattoo on his right forearm. It's a piece that wraps around his arm, detailing what looks like the inner workings of an ornate clock. The merlot undertones of the dark grey gears are a stark contrast to the sandy beige of his skin. Half of the tattoo is covered up by the rolled sleeves of a forest green button-up. I resist the temptation to trace my fingers along his ink.

I think I understand the concept he just went through, so I try the next problem on my own. He has me switch the places of a few numbers. The graph points down this time instead of up, so that means switch the order, I guess.

"Okay, thanks, Mr. Johnson. I really appreciate your help."

He gets up off the floor. "Of course, Janiya. Call me back over if you get stuck." He checks his watch and goes to another table.

"Thanks, Mr. Johnson. Ireallyappreciate your help. I'd love it if you helped me in other ways too." Paris's mocking voice sings lightly in my ear.

I stare daggers at her and change the subject. "Sooo... Keontea. You were up late last night."

She looks at me sheepishly. "Yeah. We were together. Oh my gosh, Janiya." Her hand moves emphatically to my shoulder. "This thing he did with his tongue? He said he learned it online. It was. Amazing." Paris presses her legs together, obviously feeling some arousal at the thought of her evening.

"Oh? I'm surprised. Most boys are useless with their mouths. That was your first time with him, right?"

She nods her head. "Yeah, but it sure won't be the last. I'm gonna invite him over again tonight."

"Oooooh. Get it, girl. You be safe too, yeah?" The bell rings.

Mr. Johnson raises his voice over the commotion of an entire class getting ready to leave. It carries with it an enticing quality of authority. "Leave your papers at the ends of your tables, please. Have a good day, everyone!"

His eyes catch mine for a moment.Did he just peek at my chest?I don't mind, but I throw my hoodie back on anyway and shove my notebook into my backpack, something made difficult by the clutch sitting at the bottom of the bag.Oh right, percentages. Better stay behind.

"Hey, Mr. Johnson. Can you help me with something?"

He looks at me a bit stiffly and says, "Sure, Janiya. But let's make it quick so you're not late to English again, okay?"

He sits at his desk and gestures for me to pull up a chair. He's got this writing tablet at his desk that he uses to make quick points when teaching. I bring a chair to him and sit down, intentionally pushing a bit closer than would typically be appropriate. He doesn't seem to mind, but it's hard to tell when his face doesn't show any hint of what he's thinking or feeling. My foot brushes against his. I can feel the denim of his jeans scrape against me through my leggings. I don't know if Mr. Johnson knows my leg is there or if he's just ignoring it, but I press on with my question anyway.

"Okay, so I can't remember how to figure out percentages. Like, if I wanted to know how much a tip should be, how could I do that?"

His eyebrow raises. "Oh? Did you get a new job, or have you just been enjoying a life of fine dining lately?"

My brain stalls. I wasn't ready for the question, but I manage to clumsily eke out an answer. "Uhhh. Yeah. I got- I got a new job as a waitress." Of course I'm gonna lie.

"Oh yeah? Maybe I can visit sometime, see you in action."

I feel butterflies in my stomach at the thought of him in the strip club.Would he ask me for a dance?

"Anyways," he continues, "percentages really aren't that hard. Make sure your percent is at least two digits, adding a zero in front if you have to, then put a decimal before the second-to-last digit. Next, you just have to multiply the new decimal number by whatever your total amount is." He shows me an example problem on his writing tablet.

I use last night's numbers to check if I understand. "Sooo. If I wanted to figure out 15% of 492, I'd just multiply 492 by.15?"

"Yes, ma'am. You got it. Now go on to class. The bell's about to ring." He pushes me playfully as he gets up from his office chair. He's always messing around and playing with students. Sometimes it's over the top, but always seems genuine. I think Mr. Johnson's really just a big kid at heart.

The rest of the school day crawls by agonizingly slowly. These last few weeks before winter break have a way of making me feel like a bee trapped in a jar. Finally, the bell rings at the end of seventh hour and freedom rolls around again. Paris and I hang out at the mall with a few of our other friends until she has to go to work at the pizza place. Figuring out what to do with the rest of the day is a challenge.

Is it weird that I just want to fast-forward to tomorrow night? Despite the uncomfortable encounter yesterday, I'm excited to get back to work. I had fun on stage, with strangers' eyes locked onto my body. Friendlier men might even be enjoyable to dance for.I could try to *actually* go to sleep early tonight. Maybe I'd wake up on time tomorrow. Probably should study though.That doesn't sound great either.Maybe I'll clean instead.

Mom picked up Adrienne from school and took her to Dad's before she went to work. He's got Adrienne this weekend, and her school is closed tomorrow for a teacher training day, so Ryleigh and I are the only ones home. I crank up Erykah on my Soundcore speaker and get to work on the laundry. About halfway through the pile, I find the rest of my new underwear.

I bought six sets of lingerie in total. Maybe that was overdoing it, but I felt like going all out. My favorite set is a one piece black body suit with straps for legs. Kinda makes me feel like a spy or something, like I could have a weapon tucked into my leg holster and use it to kill a man just for looking at me the wrong way. The flower lacework along the chest and sides is really cute, and my belly ring shows nicely through the polka dot pattern covering the stomach. I put it on and admire myself in the mirror, modeling various poses.I look sexy in this.

I decide to take a few selfies. There's nothing I plan to use them for, but I look and feel good, so why not save the moment? I keep the pictures neck down out of habit. After a few "fully-clothed" pics, I undo my bra and fold it down. The bodysuit is designed with this in mind, as it has an elastic band around the waist to prevent the entire thing from slipping. The bra straps even clip onto the legs to keep everything nicely in place. It's a good design. Several photos later, I decide it's time to get on with being a responsible adult and finish my laundry. I do a few other things around the house before making good on my thought of going to sleep early.

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