Curvy Girls Can’t Date Soldiers by Kelsie Stelting

Twenty-Eight

Apollo

I kept hopingNadira would agree to meet me before the month was up, but the entire weekend passed without her saying yes. Then Monday through Wednesday did too. I could tell my nerves and pacing were driving Josh nuts, but I didn’t know what else to do.

When I’d asked Nadira to meet me in person and heard the hesitation in her voice, I freaked. I practically begged her not to answer me yet, because I couldn’t take a no. Couldn’t face a day where there wasn’t a possibility for more between us.

“That’s it,” Josh said, getting up and dropping his controller on the couch. “Let’s go.”

I folded my arms across my chest, leaning against the wall. “Where? Why?”

“We’re crashing an art museum. Come on.”

He reached into his desk, took out his wallet, along with a baggie of plastic hooks, and shoved them in his pocket.

“We’re doing what?” I asked.

“It’ll be fun. Come on.”

Shaking my head, I grabbed a jacket and my wallet and followed him out the door. We got in his car, which had fuzzy pink dice hanging from the rearview mirror, and then he took off down the road.

“We’re not going to get in trouble, are we?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably in the duct-taped seat. Not only was I afraid of getting in trouble with the law, but the reprimand from my sergeant could be harsh.

“It’s innocent,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” I muttered.

“Hey, I have straight Cs. That spells passing.”

“Uh-huh.” I sighed, settling back in the cracked leather seat.

“It is. When I graduate college, no one’s going to ask to see my transcripts. They’ll just want the diploma. If that.”

Civilian life was different; I knew that. To the officer in charge of ROTC at Brentwood U, grades mattered. It could make the difference in rankings later on, opportunities for graduate studies, and more.

But if Josh said whatever we were doing was safe, I trusted him. Even if he played video games too much, he was a good friend, and he knew how important the military was to me.

I got out my phone as he drove and sent Nadira a text.

Apollo: Good luck at the meet today!

She texted me back almost instantly, which told me she was on the way there. She usually couldn’t text during school.

Nadira: Thanks! :) I hope we make it to state.

Apollo: You’re going to do great.

I couldn’t help but hope she made it to state and that I could go watch her. My little sister had done scholars’ bowl in high school, which I think was kind of the same thing. It was always fun to listen to the trivia and see if I had guessed it right before one of the competitors rang in.

My phone came out of my hand, and I said, “Hey!”

Josh had it and dropped it in the door pocket. “No obsessing about her.”

“Who?” I asked.

“You know who.” He glared at me. “Your pen pal can wait a few hours.”

I pressed my lips together and looked out the window, knowing Josh wasn’t going to budge. A thrift store came into view, and he turned into the parking lot.

“What are we doing here?” I asked. “I don’t need any clothes or anything.”

He reached into his pocket and handed me five bucks. “Get yourself the most ridiculous piece of art you can find. Meet me back here.”

I shook my head. Artists could be so unpredictable. Not like engineers or military members. All the aspects of my life were carefully planned, laid out—except when it came to love. Maybe that’s why waiting on Nadira’s answer was driving me crazy.

Regardless, the sooner I followed Josh’s instructions, the sooner this would be over with. We went inside, but Josh walked the opposite way as me, going toward the bigger pieces while I checked out a shelf of trinkets.

There was some ridiculous stuff nestled in between all the out-of-date live, laugh, love signs.

I found a glass figurine of a pig licking out of a trough and picked it up. It reminded me of my friend Tristan from high school who was in FFA. Sometimes I’d stay the night at his house and he’d let me feed his pigs leftovers.

I flipped it over and found on the sticker it was only two dollars. I kept it in my hand, comforted by its cool weight, then found another sign. It had five stars on it and said would poop here again.

I laughed out loud. If this didn’t come in handy for what Josh had in mind, I’d definitely save it for my bathroom later on down the road.

I went to the register and checked out, then leaned on the hood of Josh’s car. I’d grabbed my jacket out of habit, but I didn’t really need it. This late in January, it was already regularly in the mid-sixties. I could probably go swimming at the beach and be just fine if I wanted to. Maybe the waves would do me some good.

Josh pushed through the front door, holding up a small bag. “What did you score?”

I held up my two items, and he snorted. “Those’ll do just fine.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re signing me up for.”

“You’ll see.”

We got in his car, and he drove down the highway for what felt like forever, playing indie music on his radio and telling me all about bands I’d never heard of. That was one thing Josh had done this year—he’d upped my music game in a big way.

Eventually, he slowed in front of The Emerson Museum of Modern Art.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Put your stuff in your pockets. And grab your student ID.” Without waiting to even hear my protests, he got out and began walking toward the entrance.

“Josh,” I muttered, “if we’re doing what I think we’re doing—”

“Shh,” he said, pushing through the front door. A middle-aged woman greeted us with an overly sunny smile. It was obvious not too many people came here.

“Hi, darlings,” she said. “Welcome to the Emerson Museum of Modern Art! A little background, we opened this year and we’re trying to get word out.” She handed us a flyer. “In case you’re interested in volunteering.”

I pocketed the brochure, and Josh held his out in front of his eyes, scanning it over. “We actually came to look around. Students get in free, right?”

“Absolutely.” Her voice practically echoed off the walls. “I’ll just need a student ID, and then you can go to the right and see the exhibit room.”

I pulled mine out of my wallet, and once she had looked it over, she gave us the go-ahead. All the walls in the hallway were white and way too bright, but we entered into a big room with walls covered in various sizes of frames.

The only time I’d been to an art museum had been on a high school field trip, but this was nicer. “Is this like your mothership?” I asked Josh.

“Pretty much,” he muttered, still looking at the flyer.

“You should try to get something in here,” I said.

“I might.”

“Or an internship.”

“Maybe.”

He seemed so aloof, so I let it drop. That was until he told me we needed to find a place to hang the art we’d purchased at the thrift store.

“Seriously?” I said. “The poop art does not belong here.”

“That’s the point. And that’s what art is all about. Shocking your senses. Giving you something unexpected to look at. If you think about it, we’re doing them a favor.”

I rolled my eyes. “If that lady sees us doing this, I’m pretty sure she’ll lay the curse of a WASPy white woman on us.”

He snorted. “We’ll be forced to wear khakis and dress shirts for the rest of our lives... oh wait.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because oversized ripped shirts and skinny jeans are so much better.”

“Let’s do this,” he said, ignoring me. He glanced over his shoulder, and noticing the woman was nowhere in sight, he took a Command hook from his pocket, secured it on a wall. Then he pulled a painting from the waistband of his jeans and hung it up. Now, on the blank space next to a beautiful painting of a running stream, there was a small portrait of kittens in a bathroom with toilet paper spread everywhere.

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was so ridiculous.

“Your turn,” Josh said.

I looked around, my eyes getting drawn to a painting of a cupcake in front of plump pink lips. It was bright with swirling colors. I walked toward it, reading the sign underneath. Memories by Rory Hutton.

There was some space below her name, so I took the poop sign and hung it up with Josh’s help. My heart raced, and my palms were sweaty, and I felt like I was going to puke.

I backed away from the scene of the crime, saying, “I definitely didn’t get into enough trouble in high school to be doing this.”

Josh snorted. “You haven’t committed any crime. They can peel the Command strips off and we bought the art. It’ll just make someone’s trip to the museum a little more fun.”

We left the museum, and I had a weird smile on my face. As we drove back to the dorm, I said, “Thanks, Josh.”

He nodded. “Anytime, man. And for what it’s worth, I hope it works out.”

“Me too,” I sighed. “Me too.”