Curvy Girls Can’t Date Soldiers by Kelsie Stelting

Twelve

Nadira

Friday morning,I packed my bag to stay at Desirae’s and carried it downstairs with me. Dad had French toast going on the griddle, and Mom sat at the counter, sipping coffee and reading on her tablet. She liked to get the news that way instead of by newspapers.

They both looked up and greeted me as I joined them.

“Good morning,” I returned. I felt like I'd hardly seen either of them this week. Although that may have been slightly on purpose.

Mom pressed the side of her tablet, making the screen go dark. “I heard you did great at the Mathlete competition.”

I bristled, not really wanting to talk about it with them. It was becoming clear that they didn't care.

“I can't make the next one,” Mom continued. “But I'm hoping I can get to the last one before state.”

“Sure.” I sat down at the counter and grabbed a plate from the stack. I topped it with a couple pieces of French toast and doused them in syrup.

I could feel my parents looking at each other as I cut into a slice, but I kept my eyes down and focused, not even looking at them until I'd taken a bite. Which turned out to be delicious.

Dad was a good cook. And outside of basketball season, he would make these elaborate meals for us. He always said any job around the house was a job for someone who lived in the house. Nothing was too big or small for him, whether it was dishes or cooking or dusting off family photos.

We basically grew up seeing him and Mom juggle our home in a way that I'd never seen my friends’ parents do. I didn't even realize it wasn't normal until we moved here and I saw Cori’s mom operate as a stay-at-home mom. She did so much around the home while her dad handled all of the business dealings.

I wondered if I would ever find a partner who would help share the load like my parents did.

“So,” Mom tried again, “you're going to Des’s tonight?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna stay over there, and I should be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Remember that Dad has a game Saturday night,” she said.

“Right.” How could I forget? It had been on the calendar just like my Mathlete competition.

Dad said, “Remember to wear your badge and they'll let you in.” As though I hadn’t been to hundreds of his games before.

“Okay,” I replied. Part of me wondered if I would see Apollo at the game. Of course, he wouldn't recognize me because he'd never seen a photo of the real me. But then a new problem crossed my mind. If I sat by Mom, he’d know I was her daughter. Maybe he’d say hi. Maybe she’d introduce me....

“Mom, are you going to the game?” I asked.

“I'm going to live-stream it from my office. See if I can’t get my work done fast enough to catch the last quarter or so.”

Okay, at least that gave me a little bit of time. And if she came and Apollo walked over, I could always run to the concession stand or something.

Dad began talking to Mom about something around the house that needed to be fixed while I ate my breakfast, thinking about my conversation with Apollo the day before. He’d talked about how being around the Brentwood campus reminded him of how his parents met, but now I couldn’t think of BU without thinking of him.

When I went to the game Saturday, I would surely see the places he ate or studied or the pond he walked past on the way to class. Maybe I had already seen him without knowing it. A small shiver went down my spine, but I quickly suppressed my excitement. I was not allowed to think these thoughts. Not when I'd been so dishonest from the outset, and definitely not when I knew it would go nowhere once he saw my face.

Instead of dwelling on it, I focused on school. On my day. On putting one foot in front of the other until it was time for my volunteer period. Each Friday, I spent the afternoon in the teachers’ lounge grading freshman math assignments for Mr. Aris. Although teaching wasn’t my ideal occupation, it was nice to be able to help him out.

Especially since I basically had the whole room—and coffee pot—to myself, aside from the teachers who meandered through for drink refills or to grab a snack in between classes. Mr. Aris even said I could use my phone to play music while I graded.

I was nodding along to a song by Jude Santiago when the music stalled for a moment. One new notification.

Since all my friends were also volunteering and my parents didn’t typically text me during school hours, there was only one person I thought it could be...

I picked it up, knowing I shouldn’t be slacking, but decided to check the messages anyway. The school was getting free work out of me on top of the tuition my parents paid. They could spare a few of my minutes.

The second I saw Apollo’s instant message, my face split into a grin.

Apollo: Working hard?

Nadira: More like hardly working.

Apollo: Haha. How are you?

Nadira: I’m supposed to be grading freshman math papers. Feels good up here on my high horse.

Apollo: Crushing dreams, are you?

Nadira: Wouldn’t have it any other way.

Apollo: You’re cruel.

Nadira: Some might say I’m helping them.

Apollo: By breaking their hearts?

Nadira: Setting realistic expectations for their grades?

Apollo: Haha. I can feel the ice all the way from here.

Nadira: And where is here? What are you up to?

Apollo: Just got back from a run, and now I’m procrastinating my human geography homework. I’m supposed to be doing a three-minute video on an aspect of California for the class to watch. I can’t believe I have homework before classes even officially start.

Nadira: And you don’t want to be on camera?

Apollo: I’d rather run another six miles.

My eyes boggled at the phone. A six-mile run? That was almost as shocking as the fact that he wouldn’t want his beautiful face on screen.

Nadira: I’d rather pluck my toenails out than go on a run of any length.

Apollo: Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.

Nadira: I could say the same thing about talking to a camera.

Apollo: Touché.

Nadira: Do you ever pronounce that word likes it’s spelled? Try it.

Apollo: LOL I just said toosh in front of my roommate.

Nadira: hahahaha

Apollo: Don’t laugh.

Nadira: I didn’t tell you to say it out loud!

Apollo: It’s a little late now.

Nadira: What did he say?

Apollo: Well, now he’s grilling me about the girl I’m talking to.

Nadira: What are you telling him?

I bit my lip, waiting for his reply, when the bell rang. My first hour of grading was over, which meant teachers would soon be in the lounge. I shoved my phone underneath me on the couch, wishing I could just watch the screen and the three little dots until he answered.

But I needed to get back to grading. I’d spent too long messaging, and Mr. Aris would know if I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to.

I kept my head down while teachers came in and out. My phone vibrated under my hip, and I itched to get it. To read what he’d said. But I couldn’t without getting caught.

The door opened again, and our guidance counselor, Birdie Bardot, swept into the room, her pleated skirt flowing around her legs. It was bright pink and clashed horribly with her bright orange top.

“Hi, Nadira,” she said to me, chipper as usual.

“Hey.” I turned back to my stack of paper and continued grading papers.

She went to the coffee pot, carrying her mug that looked like a cow, udders and all. The teacher that had been in there left the room, leaving just the two of us, and Mrs. Bardot said, “How are you doing? And the real answer, not the typical, ‘good, how are you, good’ nonsense.”

My eyebrows lifted, torn between giving her a real answer and giving her a quick answer so I could attend to the phone under my hip. “I...” I let out a sigh. “I have amazing friends.”

“But?”

“But, I’m stressed about a guy. Why is it always a guy who throws a wrench in things?” I said, frustrated with myself more than Apollo. He’d never been anything other than himself.

Replacing the coffee pot, she leaned against the counter and held her mug with two hands. “Growing up stinks. I know everyone here wants to be an adult and move on, and I’m supposed to be helping you realize your full potential. Well, no one ever tells you that when you grow up, you’re going to have bills and nieces’ events that you can’t attend because you have to work, and that you might even get your heart broken a time or two.”

“What would you know about heartbreak?” I muttered. “I’ve seen all the happy pictures in your office of you and your man.”

She shook her head. “In fact, I have not always been this ‘together.’ Do you remember the protest? It’s been about six years ago now.”

“Vaguely?” I said. When I was in sixth grade, there had been a massive protest that had gotten the elementary and middle schools shut down. At the time, I was so preoccupied with adjusting to a new town that I hadn’t realized what the protest was for.

Birdie frowned. “I fell in love with a students father, which at the time was strictly prohibited. I was already on rocky footing before I started dating my Cohen. No one prepares you for getting dumped by your fiancé.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Mr. Bardot dumped you?”

“I was engaged before him.” She laughed manically. “Of course, no one would have known that back then because instead of an engagement ring, the guy gave me a new bird cage for Ralphie. To keep him here since I couldn’t bring him home. I should have known he was the wrong guy for me then.”

My head was spinning in so many ways.

“Luckily I have my Cohen now... But it wasn’t always like that. You’ll get through this, dear. I know you will.” She shook her head and walked toward the exit, musing to herself. “Why do they make condoms when the real thing that needs protecting is your heart?” She shut the door behind her, and I burst out laughing. She had a good point.

I picked up my phone to text my friends about what Birdie had said, only to see Apollo’s message staring back at me.