Curvy Girls Can’t Date Soldiers by Kelsie Stelting

Nine

Nadira

Soon,the van pulled into Clearwater High School’s parking lot, and I looked around, quickly recognizing vehicles from surrounding schools. Some we had competed against before, and some I’d only heard of. A small jolt of energy coursed through me as I donned my corduroy jacket and got out of the van.

Mathlete meets were one of the few places I felt at home. Everyone else here understood me in a way not many people did. They saw the fun side of math, the competitive side. I wondered if I would feel the same sense of acceptance at MIT. I hoped so.

We walked through the west entrance, the door banging open in the wind. I cringed, and Donovan covered his ears.

“Sorry,” a woman at a table said. “We’re getting that fixed on Friday.”

Mr. Aris said, “We do like to make an entrance.”

Regina cackled.

The woman gave a polite chuckle and looked over our jackets. “Emerson?” Mr. Aris nodded, and she gave us a welcome packet similar to the ones we got at all the other meets. “Cafeteria is that way.” She pointed down the hall.

Not that she needed to tell us. I’d been in so many different schools thanks to the Mathletes, and I’d memorized them all by heart. Sometimes I wished I could try attending a different, bigger school, just so there would be more variety in the people surrounding me. But then I wondered if there would be just another version of Isabella and Tatiana waiting for me. Or if I would have as good of friends.

The problem with my imaginary scenarios was that it was always me moving schools. As if I was the problem and not the people around me who liked to make others feel small.

We reached the cafeteria, buzzing with students from all over the state, and Regina hunted down an open table like a hawk. She dropped her bag down and immediately asked Mr. Aris about the schedule.

He read off the schools we’d be competing against. A few of them were easy, but I blanched when he listed Brentwood Academy.

“They’re here?” I asked, looking around for them. I hadn’t seen their bus, but it only took two seconds to find the smug group. They were always surrounded by a doting group of parents, and they came with an exorbitant array of snacks, massive coolers, slow cookers, and trays upon trays of food that they never shared with anyone else. “Ugh,” I said, turning back toward my own team.

Not only did they show off in the cafeteria, they showed off in the matches with flamboyant pushes of the button and bogus challenges against obviously correct answers. (And if that sounds ridiculous to you, you’ve obviously never been a Mathlete. They were the worst.)

We’d beaten them a handful of times over the last couple years, and they’d handed it to us just as often. Our rivalry in sports like football and basketball was alive and well in the academic realm too.

Mr. Aris quirked one side of his lips and said, “If you want to be the best, you have to beat the best.”

I shook my head. “Did you read that on a poster?”

“Ha ha,” he said. “Our first match is against Credence, so let’s head down to classroom...” He peered at the schedule. “Twenty-seven.”

We left a few things at the table so we could mark it as our own and then left the cafeteria, heading toward our first match of the day. The classroom had been rearranged to have a table up front for each team and a few chairs set up for spectators.

There were a few parents there, but none were my father. My heart sank as I realized how much I’d been hoping to see my dad in one of those chairs. I shook the thought, taking a seat and hoping he could be on his way, just late. There were still a few matches left. Besides, I couldn’t focus on Dad right now. I had to keep my attention on doing the best I could.

For the next forty-five minutes, we went head-to-head with the opposing school. They actually weren’t bad, but between the five of us and our different strengths, my team came out on top, sealing our first win of the day.

With that match behind us, we went to the next room, and again, I found the seats vacant of my father. Match after match, it went that way, winning but feeling like a loser inside. Dad hadn’t made a single one of my meets. Did I need to make it to the state competition for him to see how important it was? Or would that even matter?

I sighed as I took my seat for the final match of the day against Brentwood. We had to go to a larger room than scheduled because so many of their families had come to watch. One person even had a sign with glittery letters that said KICK THEIR MATH.

The sign was lame, but their enthusiasm made my heart ache that much more.

I replaced that painful feeling in my chest with focus, staring down the people at the opposite table and swearing to crush them with everything I had. If they lost, they had their families to lean on. Who did I have but an empty seat?

For the next hour, we faced off in one of the most intense matches of my Mathlete career. For every answer I had, they had one too. For every time we guessed wrong, they were buzzing right on in with the correct answer, and we did the same to them.

Finally, it came down to the last question. The one that would decide the winner and the loser. My pencil scribbled furiously over the provided scratch paper, and when I buzzed in, I spoke my answer clearly, confidently.

But the judge looked at me and said, “That is incorrect.”

My heart sank, and I heard Regina sigh beside me. Instantly, the opposing captain’s buzzer rang. I closed my eyes, listening to him say the answer I’d gotten wrong. And I knew he was right before the judge confirmed his accuracy.

The judge cleared his throat. “Brentwood Academy wins an incredible match. One hundred twenty to one hundred ten. Great job to both teams.”

Tears stung my eyes as I realized maybe I hadn’t deserved to have my dad there after all.

* * *

We drove home in relative silence. Two of the underclassmen shared a Nintendo Switch, battling against each other in the back seat. Regina helped Donovan with his history homework. And I sat with my forehead against the cool window, wondering how on earth I’d gotten the answer wrong.

Sensing my mood, Mr. Aris said quietly, “It happens to everyone.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “I’m the captain. I’m supposed to be better than that.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You’re the captain. Not a calculator. You can’t always be right. Winning is a team effort, no matter how much you contribute.”

Tears stung my eyes yet again, and I closed them to dam the flow. “You should make Regina captain.”

From the back seat, Regina instantly said, “I’m up for it, Mr. Aris.”

He cleared his throat, readjusting his seat. “No such thing will happen.” He spoke to me now, but louder, as if he wanted Regina to hear this too. “I made you captain because you understand what math is all about, Nadira. It’s logical. Straightforward. But also a challenge. If you respect math, it will respect you.”

I nodded to show I understood, but sometimes Mr. Aris spoke about the subject like it was the love of his life instead of his wife. And if I continued being so pathetic, it might end up being mine as well.

Okay, I was crossing the line into wallowing, and I knew it. I needed to get out of this funk.

I got out my headphones and listened to music the rest of the way, getting lost in the beat until I made my way home. Mom’s car was gone, which I expected, but Dad’s car was there in the driveway. When I walked in, he was sitting on the couch with the boys, playing video games, having the time of his life.

When he heard me walk in, he turned, his smile falling. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, baby girl. One of our players had an emergency come up I needed to help with.”

I nodded. Of course, his team, his job came first.

“How did it go?”

“We got second,” I said flatly.

“Pretty close to first,” he said. “Sounds like you did a good job.”

Terrell yelled, “Dad! They’re about to get you!”

Dad turned back to the game, playing with my brothers.

I, on the other hand, went to my room and cried myself to sleep.