my hair’s a mess. I felt a moment of sheer panic, and that bothers me, because who cares what he thinks?
Apparently I do.
After eating four donuts and washing it down with a large glass of water, Jasmine announces she’s going out to the stable to see to the horses. Hopefully she won’t vomit the donuts onto Mono. Then she turns to Matt. “Want to meet my horse?”
“Sure, I’d love to,” he says with a big lopsided smile that forms a dimple in his right cheek. The smile does stupid and undignified things inside my chest. Things I don’t want, because the last thing I need right now is to get involved with my sister’s teacher.
No. Just no.
“I’ll go get a shower and catch up with you two in a few minutes.”
Jasmine runs for the door. Matt stands awkwardly and takes another swig of his coffee. “Off to see the horses, I guess.”
I smile. “Don’t be nervous when you see her on Mono. She’s an expert on that horse, even though he’s the size of an elephant. She’s safe.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”
I don’t wait for him to leave the kitchen. I get up and walk out. I cannot believe I said what I did about the Army and being on patrol on foot. Really, Zoe? It sounded like I was bragging. And maybe I was a little bit. I’m proud of the year I served in Iraq. I’m proud of my Combat Action Badge. Still, my face feels flushed and I’m off balance as I head upstairs. I’m halfway upstairs when I hear the kitchen door bang shut.
In the shower—I always take long, luxurious showers, because you never know when you’ll get another one like that—I stay for a long time, my mind turning over the conversation. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not some silly ditz. But it would be a lie to say I wasn’t attracted to Matt. A lot. He’s in shape, that’s clear enough, but not the over-muscular bulkiness of most of the guys I knew in the Army—guys who bench pressed at the gym every day and directly equated their muscle size to dick size. They didn’t care about brain size.
Matt’s built like a dancer or gymnast—muscular, with powerful shoulders, arms and calves. And he seems smart.
He’s Jasmine’s teacher. Come on, Zoe.
Does that matter?
It matters if we date, and it doesn’t work out. She needs some stability in her life. She needs someone she knows, an adult she knows. She doesn’t know me. I’m sad to say, but Matt’s spent far more time around Jasmine than I ever have.
She was born a few weeks before the beginning of my junior year in high school. I was busy in those days—cheerleading practice ran two hours every night, plus football games, plus planning for college (my Dad insisted) while I secretly thought of a way to go my own way. I was accepted at Boston College and Dartmouth (a real long shot), along with Mount Holyoke, but I dithered over making a decision until the very last minute. Which drove my parents insane, of course. Mom fussed and yelled, and Dad did too. In April of my senior year—three weeks before deposits were due at whatever school I chose—I skipped school and met with an Army recruiter at their office next to Friendly’s.
My parents were livid. Especially Mom. You’re throwing your life away. Dad is so disappointed.
Thinking of it now, I find myself scrubbing my hair too roughly.
We never repaired that rift. They came to some peace with it—especially after I came home from Iraq alive. Dad openly wept when I got off the plane and met my parents at Bradley Airport halfway through my Iraq tour.
Mom begged me not to go back. She didn’t get it. You can’t just walk away. Aside from the legal complications—which of course are serious for deserters—Nicole was still over there. You don’t leave your friends behind.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to think about Iraq.
I don’t want to think about my Dad being disappointed in me.
Wow. My mind is everywhere this morning. I take a long shuddering breath and turn off the
Apparently I do.
After eating four donuts and washing it down with a large glass of water, Jasmine announces she’s going out to the stable to see to the horses. Hopefully she won’t vomit the donuts onto Mono. Then she turns to Matt. “Want to meet my horse?”
“Sure, I’d love to,” he says with a big lopsided smile that forms a dimple in his right cheek. The smile does stupid and undignified things inside my chest. Things I don’t want, because the last thing I need right now is to get involved with my sister’s teacher.
No. Just no.
“I’ll go get a shower and catch up with you two in a few minutes.”
Jasmine runs for the door. Matt stands awkwardly and takes another swig of his coffee. “Off to see the horses, I guess.”
I smile. “Don’t be nervous when you see her on Mono. She’s an expert on that horse, even though he’s the size of an elephant. She’s safe.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”
I don’t wait for him to leave the kitchen. I get up and walk out. I cannot believe I said what I did about the Army and being on patrol on foot. Really, Zoe? It sounded like I was bragging. And maybe I was a little bit. I’m proud of the year I served in Iraq. I’m proud of my Combat Action Badge. Still, my face feels flushed and I’m off balance as I head upstairs. I’m halfway upstairs when I hear the kitchen door bang shut.
In the shower—I always take long, luxurious showers, because you never know when you’ll get another one like that—I stay for a long time, my mind turning over the conversation. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not some silly ditz. But it would be a lie to say I wasn’t attracted to Matt. A lot. He’s in shape, that’s clear enough, but not the over-muscular bulkiness of most of the guys I knew in the Army—guys who bench pressed at the gym every day and directly equated their muscle size to dick size. They didn’t care about brain size.
Matt’s built like a dancer or gymnast—muscular, with powerful shoulders, arms and calves. And he seems smart.
He’s Jasmine’s teacher. Come on, Zoe.
Does that matter?
It matters if we date, and it doesn’t work out. She needs some stability in her life. She needs someone she knows, an adult she knows. She doesn’t know me. I’m sad to say, but Matt’s spent far more time around Jasmine than I ever have.
She was born a few weeks before the beginning of my junior year in high school. I was busy in those days—cheerleading practice ran two hours every night, plus football games, plus planning for college (my Dad insisted) while I secretly thought of a way to go my own way. I was accepted at Boston College and Dartmouth (a real long shot), along with Mount Holyoke, but I dithered over making a decision until the very last minute. Which drove my parents insane, of course. Mom fussed and yelled, and Dad did too. In April of my senior year—three weeks before deposits were due at whatever school I chose—I skipped school and met with an Army recruiter at their office next to Friendly’s.
My parents were livid. Especially Mom. You’re throwing your life away. Dad is so disappointed.
Thinking of it now, I find myself scrubbing my hair too roughly.
We never repaired that rift. They came to some peace with it—especially after I came home from Iraq alive. Dad openly wept when I got off the plane and met my parents at Bradley Airport halfway through my Iraq tour.
Mom begged me not to go back. She didn’t get it. You can’t just walk away. Aside from the legal complications—which of course are serious for deserters—Nicole was still over there. You don’t leave your friends behind.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to think about Iraq.
I don’t want to think about my Dad being disappointed in me.
Wow. My mind is everywhere this morning. I take a long shuddering breath and turn off the
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