Curvy Girls Can’t Date Soldiers by Kelsie Stelting

Thirteen

Nadira

I gotout of volunteer period and hurried to Des’s house, needing her feedback on the message. When I got there, she was standing in front of her closet, looking at rows of dresses with a contemplative expression.

“Des, step away from the clothes,” I said, holding out my phone. “I need you.”

Looking confused, she came to me and took my phone, reading the message from Apollo out loud.

“’I told him I’m talking to a beautiful girl. And that I’m liking her more every day.’” Her lips spread into a grin. “He said that about you!”

I nodded quickly. “But I’m freaking out!”

“You haven’t responded.” She looked from my phone to me. “Why haven’t you responded?”

“I don’t know how to flirt!” I cried, pacing her room. “Anything I say would sound stupid!”

“Oh nonsense.” She put her hands on my shoulders and sat me on her bed. “Here’s what you do.” She pushed my phone into my hands. “You text him back and say ‘back at you.’ Throw in a wink, and he’ll go gaga.”

“That’s it? Three words? I’ve been stressing about this for hours.”

She sat beside me on her bed. “Boys are easy. It’s overthinking that makes things complicated.”

I tilted my chin down, looking up at her. “Do you know who you’re talking to? Overthinking is my middle name. They wanted to make it my first name, but the doctor said no.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’ll see, tonight. College boys aren’t like high school guys who just want to play games. If they like a girl, they’ll go for it. Like Apollo just went for it with you.” She gave me a pointed look. “Or Tatiana.”

I stood from her bed, feeling a guilty swirl in my stomach. “But he said he’s liking me more every day. If it was just about my looks, he would have liked me the most from the beginning, right?”

“Which is exactly why you should cut the act and tell him you were too chicken for the truth on day one.”

I gave her a look. “Can you just help me get ready for this party so I can prove to you no one’s going to ask for my number?”

“Uh-huh.” She shook her head. “Hope you like the taste of crow.”

She sat me at the mirror in front of her dresser and began painting this ridiculous makeup on my face.

“This wasn't the deal,” I said before she could apply too much. “I thought you were going to give me an outfit, maybe a pair of shoes. But if you can’t even recognize me, it doesn’t count. The guy’s supposed to be interested in me just as I am.”

“Fine, you're right.” She set the eyeliner down and left it so that the only makeup she managed to do was thick black lines over my eyelids. I had to admit I liked the way it drew out my dark brown eyes, but the look didn't feel like me.

The door cracked open, and Mama De poked her head in. “Hola, chicas.” She grinned at me and held out a platter of chips and different dips. “Thought you two might want some snacks.”

Des grinned at her mom, and I nodded. “Muchas gracias,” I said, putting the two years of Spanish I’d taken in high school to use. Unfortunately, that was about all I could do other than ask where the bathroom was.

“Claro. Of course,” she said. “Eres bonita.”

The words brought a smile to my lips. “Eres amable.”

Mama De set the platter down on Des’s dresser and then left the room.

“Your mom is the best,” I said.

Des nodded. “She’s one of my best friends.” She winked. “Aside from the CGC of course.”

I took a chip and dipped it in the guac. “She’d be my best friend too if I ate like this every day,” I joked. But really, I wondered what it would feel like to have a mom I could really confide in. The last time my mom and I had talked about anything other than school or work was... never. We just didn’t relate like Des and her mom did.

I went to the mirror again and finished my look by sweeping mascara over my lashes. “So who are we meeting anyway? Please tell me it’s a different guy than the one from New Year’s.”

“It is. His name’s Devon,” she said. “I’ve been talking to him for a couple weeks.”

“That was fast,” I said. “How do you find so many guys?”

“There are billions of them on the planet.” She chuckled. “I don’t know. I feel like all of our friends think that dating in high school is supposed to lead to happily ever after, but I just want to have fun. Besides, any relationship is doomed to fail once I get a record deal. We won’t be on the same level.”

I sat back in the chair in front of her vanity, slightly jealous of the way Des viewed the whole relationship thing. For whatever reason, she had this magnetic field around her with guys of all types, even really attractive ones who I never could have gotten to notice me. And it wasn't that she wasn't beautiful... but she had full hips and cellulite and a double chin just like me.

I was curious to see what Devon looked like, but also a little nervous. “Please don't leave me at the party just to hang out with that guy.”

She pursed her lips. “What kind of wing woman do you think I am?”

“One with a very high predatory instinct.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “He has some cute friends too. You wouldn’t be alone.”

“Hey!” I said. “That's not part of the deal. If you put someone up to asking for my number, it doesn't count.”

“I know,” she replied, “but you're gonna have options is what I’m saying.”

I shook my head. “Getting one guy to ask for my number was a bit of a stretch, Des. We’re not living in a fairy tale here.”

She let out a heavy sigh and then walked to me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Dir, this has got to stop. I know you don't feel beautiful and middle school was really hard on you. I get it—I do—but you are absolutely beautiful in your own way.”

I gave her a look, but she fired right back.

“Hear me out. If you ever have a daughter—or a niece—she's going to look like you. Do you really want her to think the same things that you're thinking to yourself?”

Just the thought of a sweet, innocent girl, feeling a fraction of the insecurities I did made my heart hurt. I closed my stinging eyes and shook my head. But how could I turn off the way I’d felt about myself for years? It seemed impossible.

Des dropped her hands from my shoulders and turned back to her mirror, taking a napkin and blotting her lips on it while I gathered myself. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure,” I said, reaching for my purse. It didn’t have much in it—just my phone, some money, and some hand sanitizer. (If this party was at some guy's frat house, I didn't want to get whatever bodily fluids were sure to be everywhere on my hands.)

“Let's go,” she said. She hooked her arm through mine, and we left the house, waving to her parents on the way out.

Des’s parents had always been less strict than mine, letting her go to parties and stay out late. They trusted her in a way my parents never would because my parents had never even been tempted to place trust in me. I didn’t do much of anything except spend time with my friends. My brothers, on the other hand, were a different story.

When we got into her car, she said, “Do you want the top down?”

It was finally starting to warm up like it always did this time of year, but it was still a bit cold for me. Besides, I always felt like I was in a fishbowl when we drove around in her car with the top down.

“Not right now,” I said.

She nodded and turned on the music just a little bit too loud, singing along as we drove toward Brentwood. She took us to the streets lined with housing that students typically rented for the affordability and proximity to the college. There were at least a few parties going with people walking in and out of houses and crowding the sidewalks, but she pulled in front of one of the biggest crowds.

Just looking through the open windows showed me there had to be at least a hundred people there, and the house didn't look like it had more than four or five bedrooms. She parked along the street and got out, walking over the uneven sidewalk in her spiky heels with confidence. It made me wish that I had worn more than my Vans. But then again, if someone was going to hit on me, I wanted it to be on me, not some made-up version.

Not that it was going to happen, I reminded myself. I couldn’t get my hopes up that today was going to be different than literally every other day of my life, no matter how confident Des seemed to be.

We walked into the house, and the music was even louder than it had been in the car. It practically vibrated my bones, and I immediately wanted to leave. To lie on the couch and watch movies and message Apollo instead of being here, in this place where I so clearly didn't belong.

The girls here seemed happy, free in their revealing clothes as they giggled and fell all over each other. And the guys looked to be having just as much fun. There was a ping-pong table out with cups lined into pyramids and another table where people were flipping quarters around, and another group of people sat on the couch, laughing and talking. There were even people dancing in the middle of the open-concept living area.

Was this what it would be like at MIT, or would I still feel like an outsider? Would I ever feel like I fit in outside of a math classroom or the Curvy Girl Club 2.0?

A guy approached us, taking Des into a hug. She hadn't been lying—he was very attractive. Tall and lean with a shadow of a beard that accented his strong jaw line. He kissed her cheek and turned to me. “Is this your friend?”

She nodded. “Isn't she cute?”

My cheeks immediately heated as he gave me an assessing look. I cared more about his response than I wanted to.

He nodded, then said, “I'll go get us some drinks. What do you want?”

Des asked for a beer, and I told him I just wanted a soda. I never quite understood the allure of making your brain work under its full potential. If anything, I wanted mine to work faster so I could understand more.

As he walked away, Des shimmied her shoulders to the music. “Didn't I tell you he was cute?”

“Yeah,” I said, “he's cute, but how old is he?”

“Twenty-one. Not that much older than us.”

She made a good point, but I bet most people would have judged her for dating an older guy. It was so weird to me that as a high schooler, you couldn’t date a twenty-one-year-old, but the first day of college, it somehow became okay.

“Age is just a number,” she said. “It's what's in your heart that matters.”

Apollo was only a year older than me, I thought. Then I shook my head. I shouldn’t have been thinking about him or his age, but now that I was, I had a hard time stopping. What was he doing tonight? Was there a chance he was here, at this very party?

I was looking around, wondering if I would recognize him from his profile picture. His strong jawline and full lips would be hard to miss.

In my scan of the room, I didn't see anyone who looked remotely familiar, aside from Des. Maybe that was a good thing.

Her guy brought back a can of soda for me and a red cup for Des. “Wanna dance?” he asked her.

She looked at me first. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I said, nodding. I could always go and hold up a wall for a couple of hours until it was time to leave.

They weaved through the crowd and began dancing with the group of people off the living room. I went and leaned against a wall near the entrance door so people wouldn’t notice me as they walked in. As I watched all these people around me, having fun and living their lives, an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loneliness washed over me.

Why did I feel so out of place here?

I got out my phone, if only to distract myself, and saw a new email from Apollo waiting.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Dear Nadira,

--

I started reading, but next to me, someone said, “Not a party person either?”

I looked up from my phone into the face of a guy I could only describe as artsy. He had shaggy, wavy hair and wore dark jeans with a paint-splattered white T-shirt that hung a little too loosely on his shoulders.

“Not really,” I said.

“Me either. But I’m really bad at meeting people in class, so I thought I’d try this.”

I chuckled. “I’m the same way. My friend dragged me along as a third wheel.”

“Nice. My roommate wouldn’t come along. Said he had assigned reading to do before Monday.”

I nodded. “And is there any reason you’re not studying?”

“I’m an art history major.” He chuckled. “All my work’s going to be crammed into the last two weeks of the semester.” Though his words were lighthearted, he seemed guarded as he said it, as if worried about my reaction, and I guessed that made sense.

Multiple people had probably already told him that it wasn't a very viable major. But if my mom had taught me anything, it was that keeping all fields of education alive mattered and that there would always be positions open for people with knowledge.

“That's cool,” I said, meaning it. “What made you choose that?”

Seeming surprised by my reaction, he relaxed a little and said, “I went to a class during a campus visit and fell in love. I’m hoping to work in a museum someday or a gallery.”

“That sounds fun. Would you do it in California?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere that would take me.”

I laughed. “I love a man with standards.”

“What about you? What’s your major?”

“Aerospace engineering. Or at least it will be in the fall.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “A high schooler and a masochist? Way to slip that info in early.”

I laughed again. “Some of us actually like math,” I retorted. I couldn't believe I was actually having a decent conversation with a guy. Maybe Des had been on to something; maybe college would be my time to shine.

“I don't believe that,” he said. “Who's paying you to say that?”

He acted as if he was looking all over my body, and I said, “What are you doing?”

Giving up the search, he said, “Checking for wires.”

I snorted.

“You have a cute laugh,” he said.

I blushed.

“Do you think you might want to go get coffee sometime?” he asked.

Butterflies swirled in my stomach. Had I just been asked on a date? A real date? That was even better than a phone number. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the massive smile that threatened to split my lips apart. “Maybe. Are you sure you want to go with a high schooler?”

“I was a high schooler last year.” He got out his phone and had me type in my number. Once I entered my name and handed it back, he tapped on the screen. “There. I sent you a text.”

The vibration in my pocket confirmed.

He put his phone away. “This music’s giving me a headache. I’m gonna head out. Unless, you want to join me?”

I shook my head, nodding toward Des. “She’s my ride.”

“Okay.” He smiled. “I’ll text you sometime. Nice to meet you, Nadira.”

I pressed my lips together, nodding, and watched as he left through the front door.

My lips parted in shock as I took in everything that had just happened.

Within seconds, Des walked up to me, squealing. “Was that what I thought it was?”

I glared at her, not wanting to admit that she'd been right, but I couldn’t hold the expression for long without smiling.

“He got your number,” she sang, grinning like the winning fool she knew she was.

“Yes, yes, okay?”

I hadn’t thought it possible, but her smile grew even wider. “Okay, time to start Project Love Yourself. But until then...” She glanced over her shoulder at Devon, who was still waiting on her. “I've got someone to dance with. Do you want to come with me?”

I bit my lip and nodded, thinking for the first time that maybe, maybe I belonged.