Curvy Girls Can’t Date Soldiers by Kelsie Stelting

One

Nadira

Nothing like going backto school after winter break. I couldn’t wait for all the body shaming in the hallways, school dances I wouldn’t get invited to, and—you guessed it—subpar school lunches I would be embarrassed to eat in front of anyone because of my size.

By ten, I usually had my homework finished and was sliding under the covers. Tonight, at eleven, I was still wide awake. If I stayed up, that meant tomorrow wouldn’t come, right? Maybe I could somehow magically fast forward to graduation a few months from now and be done with the horrible social experiment people referred to as “high school.”

And since everyone knows anxiety-induced insomnia calls for extra food, I walked down the stairs in search of a midnight snack. Luckily, the light was already on—Mom must have forgotten it. Then I saw her at the table, hunched over her computer.

I stopped in the hallway, half-surprised, half-worried to get scolded for being up too late. “You’re still working?” I asked.

She looked at me from the screen, took off her reading glasses, and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

I glanced at the clock over the stove. “Eleven. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I thought I’d get a snack.” Lies.

But she bought it. Nodding, she closed her laptop. “Could you get me one too?”

“Of what?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen and opening the pantry door.

She waved her hand before going back to rubbing her temples. “Whatever you’re getting.”

Scanning the scant shelves, my eyes landed on a box of chocolate cereal. I reached for it, but the box was empty. Silently, I cursed my brothers. Were guys seriously incapable of throwing away empty boxes?

I reached for another box of less chocolatey cereal. It felt full, so I took it out. Dad usually did the grocery shopping, but during Brentwood University’s basketball season, he wasn’t the greatest at keeping everything stocked. Coaching the team kept him plenty busy.

I left the pantry and got a couple of clean bowls and spoons from the dishwasher, then set them on the counter.

“Can you make mine with almond milk?” Mom asked.

I was pretty sure that was the only carton that was left, but I said sure anyway. “What are you working on?” I asked as I filled our bowls.

“A research project about ROTC students.” The instant Mom talked about her work, she seemed to brighten. Both she and Dad loved their jobs at the local college—her as the dean of engineering and Dad as the men’s basketball coach. “They’re some of the brightest at the university, but for some reason, the out-of-staters struggle more than their peers who came from California.”

“Why?” I asked, passing her a bowl. I leaned against the counter, taking a bite of my cereal.

The second she opened her mouth, I knew I’d hit pay dirt. Mom could talk about work for hours, which would be an excellent excuse to stay up even later. “I think it’s a lack of connection caused by moving away from home,” she said. “They get here, and they don’t know a lot of people, and they can’t get home easily to be around their support systems. Plenty of my advisees have told me how difficult it can be. I don’t even need a research project to know it’s hard on them.”

“That makes sense.”

She nodded. “But proving causation could have huge implications for program funding, and I have everything in place to get my study started, but one of my students just backed out!” She let out a heavy sigh and set her spoon down. “Which means I have to delay the project—yet again to look for another volunteer.”

“Can’t you leave one of the soldiers without a partner? Use them as a control?” I asked. Growing up with a professor for a mother, I’d learned to speak research right along with English. Now, as the dean, she still took on research projects she believed would help her students succeed.

“The review board said because if we think connection is going to help them succeed, it’s not ethical to let one go without.” She rubbed her temples again. “This sets us way back and totally blows my schedule. Classes don’t start back until next Monday, and the odds of finding another volunteer to start tomorrow are iffy.”

“Why?” I asked. “Can’t you just email your advisees?”

“I could. But open rates are low, and even if they opened, no one wants to sign up for daily emails. Even though it would take less than ten minutes to send. It took us forever to find the volunteers we do have.” She shook her head and took another bite of cereal. “What a mess. Unless...” Her eyes landed on me, and I instinctively backed away from the counter, taking my bowl of cereal with me.

“Oh no,” I said. “No, no, no. Do you remember the time you had me volunteer as a taste tester for the Food Science Department?” I shuddered. “I smelled like garlic for weeks!”

“That was just one time!” she said.

I pursed my lips. “Uh-huh. What about the time I volunteered for the Athletic Training Department? Huh? I thought I’d never walk without a limp again!”

“You got extra money for that! And you walk just fine now,” she said. “Plus, no chance of bodily injury on this one.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’m telling the truth!” she said. “Besides, having some humanitarian-type research on your résumé would look really good to MIT.”

“I already got in!”

“But what about the internships you could get once you’re there? You’ll be competing with the best of the best from all over the world. It won’t be like Emerson Academy.”

I bit my lip. She had a point. Emerson Academy was one of the top-ranking high schools in the country, but I was still a big fish in a small pond here. College would dump me right into the ocean.

“Plus, it would be a huge help to me,” Mom said softly. “Please?”

If we stuck with the nautical references, it was like I was a fish and she’d just jerked the line. (Which was one of the reasons I didn’t go fishing with my dad anymore. Cruel and unusual.) “Fine.” I set my cereal down with a sigh. “Fine. What do I need to do?”

Her lips spread into a relieved and slightly manic smile, and she got up to hug me. “Thank you, thank you!” She stepped back and rubbed my shoulders. “All you have to do is maintain contact with one of the soldiers for thirty days. One email a day is all that’s required. I just have to get a screenshot of the timestamps when you’re done!”

My cringing face relaxed slightly. “That’s it? Emails? No word-count requirement or anything?”

She nodded.

“No smell testing? No taste testing? No workout routines?”

She shook her head. “Easy as pie, right?”

I gave her a relieved smile. “Yes. Now I’m taking my cereal to my room so I don’t get roped into any other projects.”

She laughed quietly. “I’ll send you the email tonight. Would you mind emailing your soldier before you go to bed?

“Sure,” I said, my foot already on the first stair. “Night, Mom.”

When I got to my room, I sat in bed with my cereal and got my phone from my nightstand. There was already an email waiting from my mom with the ROTC student’s email address.

[email protected]

Be sure to send before midnight. Love you!

Mom

I glanced at the time on my phone and realized I only had twenty minutes left. Without much time to think, I began typing.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hi there,

I just learned about this research project a few minutes ago, so I haven’t had a lot of time to think about what I would tell a complete stranger about myself. Here goes nothing.

I should probably get this out of the way first. I’m captain of the Mathletes at my school. Mostly because no one else wanted to be captain, but also because I’m good at it. I got a 35 on the math portion of my ACT and a 23 on the English part. My mom made me retake it, and I got the same score all over again. Writing bad, numbers good.

Despite my terrible writing skills, I still got into MIT, so that’s good. I’m excited to get out of California. (Not sure why you came here from out of state. Maybe you could answer that question?)

My mom’s really smart, and everyone says I look like her, but it’s hard to tell with all the pant suits she wears. My dad’s a basketball coach, and my brothers are really good. I think God gave me an extra scoop of brains and forgot the brawn when She made me.

I’m sorry you have to spend the rest of the month writing a high school student, but my mom sometimes talks about students getting paid to participate in research. I hope this is one of those times.

What are you majoring in? I’m planning to study aerospace engineering. Everyone tells me that major is hard work, but they’ve never seen me try to make small talk.

Best wishes,

Nadira

I read the email over for typos, then added A.Banks’s email address and hit send.

My cereal was somewhat soggy, but I finished it up and still couldn’t get myself to go to sleep—or stop thinking about my impending last semester at Emerson Academy. The last three and a half years had been...three and a half years.

There hadn’t been anything too special to mark the passing time. Sure, there was the girl who’d gotten covered in cupcakes at a homecoming game. Or the time the school bully changed his ways to be the kind of boyfriend my best friend deserved. Or watching my brothers win the state championship in basketball two years ago. But all of that had happened to other people. I was only a spectator.

There were only four months—give or take—left of high school, and what did I have to show for it? I was a never-been-kissed Mathlete with a skin condition and a one-way ticket to life as a perpetual nerd. This research project might be the closest I ever got to regular conversation with a male who wasn’t in my family. If A.banks was a male...

Out of curiosity, I went to see if I could find whoever he or she was on social media. Mom insisted my brothers and I kept our accounts ultra-private, so all anyone would find if they searched my name was a faded blue avatar. But most people didn’t have the privilege (liability?) of a parent so involved in career placement.

That was evidenced by my search for “A Banks.” Several people populated the search results, but there were only five in California. One who said they attended Brentwood University. Apollo Banks. The small profile photo showed a guy in front of an American flag. Below it, his location information displayed Austin, Texas and Brentwood, California.

I clicked through to enlarge his profile picture, and my mouth fell open.

Apollo was in a uniform, looking into the camera, with tan skin and mossy-green eyes and a breathtaking smile with straight white teeth. A small shiver of excitement raced through me, but I quickly tamped it down. My tired mind was messing with me. Guys like that did not date girls like me. Even if their profile did say they were single.

The fact that he was a million miles out of my league and I had barely started emailing him did nothing to deter me, though. In the next half hour, I learned he had a younger sister, an older brother, and looked incredible in hiking shorts. He had several photos with him and his brother atop peaks along the Pacific Crest Trail.

I drank in the information, poring over every word until I noticed the clock telling me it was nearly two in the morning. I might have hated school, but I’d already done plenty to make sure tomorrow would be miserable and require multiple iced coffees. At least I’d be able to see my friends again in the morning.

I clicked off my phone, thinking of handsome smiles and everything I couldn’t wait to tell my friends about my pen pal for the month.