Researching With the Jock {BWWM High School Romance}

All Mouths Drop

Vivian

It's September 6, 1989 and the whole family is gathered in the living room for what promises to be an epic night—the MTV Video Music Awards. This isn't just any awards show; it's practically a sacred event in the McKeaver household. We've got the popcorn ready, soda cans lined up on the coffee table, and the TV tuned in at exactly the right volume—not too loud, but just loud enough for my dad to grumble about how "the music today is just noise."

I'm sprawled out on the carpet, with my chin propped up on my hands, half-watching the pre-show interviews. Carolyn's perched on the arm of the couch with her notepad, furiously scribbling down anything she thinks might be noteworthy for the school newspaper club. Diane's flipping through the latest issue of Vogue magazine, clearly uninterested in the technical details Carolyn is obsessing over. Penny is bouncing around in her seat, excited about seeing Madonna. Meanwhile, Johnnie is casually pretending he's too cool for this, though he's been sneaking glances at the TV every few seconds.

Mom and Dad are sitting together on the couch, looking like the parental chaperones they are, even if Mom's trying hard to look like she's into the whole thing. I think she still has a soft spot for Rod Stewart, which she'll never admit. Dad, on the other hand, is already prepared to critique every performance, especially if there's any hint of "that rock nonsense."

"Why does Madonna always have to shock people?" Dad grumbles as a clip of her "Like a Prayer" video flashes on the screen.

"Because she can," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's called being a superstar."

"More like being scandalous," he mutters, and Mom gives him a look that says, "Pick your battles."

The show kicks off, and the living room is instantly filled with a mix of excitement and sarcasm, mostly from me. Paula Abdul is performing, and Carolyn's noting how she's managed to dominate the charts this year. Diane looks up from her magazine just long enough to say, "Her dancing is better than her singing," and goes back to flipping pages. I stifle a laugh because she's not wrong.

But the real fireworks start when Andrew Dice Clay takes the stage. I've heard of him before and what he said in his stand ups. The man's wearing a black and white striped leather jacket, looking like a walking zebra with sunglasses while he's smoking a cigarette indoors, which is already a red flag, but then he starts his routine and it's like the air's been sucked out of the room. "Here we go," I whisper, sharing a knowing look with Carolyn.

"Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet..." Andrew begins and my eyes widen. Oh no. This is bad. Extremely bad.

"Is he seriously—" Diane starts, but her words are drowned out by the vulgarity that follows.

Mom gasps and covers both Penny's and Johnny's ears, which is hilarious considering the damage is already done. Dad's jaw drops, and he fumbles with the remote like he's trying to decide whether to mute the TV or just turn it off altogether.

Carolyn's pen hovers over her notepad, frozen in mid-air, as if she can't believe what she's hearing. I lean over to her and whisper, "You should definitely write about this."

She nods, a horrified but amused expression on her face as she jots down something quickly. Diane's eyes are as wide as saucers, and Johnnie just shakes his head, muttering something about how Andrew Dice Clay is ruining nursery rhymes for everyone.

Dad's face turns crimson, and I can feel the tension in the room ratchet up about ten notches. Mom's eyes widen in horror as Clay launches into another lewd rhyme, and for a second, it's like everyone forgets to breathe.

"What in the world is he saying, Mom?" Penny asks, her innocent eyes blinking up at Mom, who looks like she might faint.

"Nothing you need to know about, sweetie," Mom says quickly.