“Why are you doing this, again?”

  I sighed and looked up at Carl, rotating my head where it rested on my hand to do it. My ergonomic chair wasn’t working with the wall table and both boxing my stuff and shopping for furniture had taken a backseat to this so I was back at the dining room table, notepads spread around my laptop, digging into polynomials.

  He pulled out a chair and sat down beside me. “I’m just asking because from experience you look like you’re at the hair-tearing and throwing things stage.”

  “I don’t think May does that.”

  “I was talking about me.”

  I pushed stray locks out of my eyes. Following Nichole’s haircare and grooming directions was adding wave and volume which, okay, looked good, but made it less easy to keep out of my face. “I’m not— Okay, I’m a little frustrated. But just because I’m going so slow.”

  He nodded. “And again it matters, why? Why Hadley Upper School? Because May picked it?”

  He wasn’t teasing, he really wanted to know. Inhaling, I took a moment to give the question the thought it deserved.

  “. . . A little because of May. But—” I sighed again. “A lot because of me. I’ve always envied you, did you know that?”

  He laughed disbelievingly. “Why? Besides the obvious. My looks, my charm, my beautiful wife, my amazing genius daughter I can already tell—”

  “Your success.”

  His brow furrowed. “Why that? Aren’t you the same?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I nodded. “I succeeded because I was a third-generation Ross of Ross Enterprises. My grandfather started the family business, my father expanded it, I inherited it. My butt was in the boss’s chair before I turned thirty because he wanted to retire before he died. You came from the ass-end of nowhere, got your bachelor’s at a state college, started your own business before you were twenty-four, and you just hired how many new coders? Your annual business income doesn’t match Ross Enterprises yet, but it’s going to. All I did was maintain the business—with a lot of advisors and managers. It’s actually smaller, compared to industry growth, than when I took over. It’s grown since I sold it last year, which tells you everything you need to know. Really my heart wasn’t in it, but you, you’re thrilled to go forth and conquer every day. So I envied you.”

  I’d envied him for May, too. And Steph. Not that I’d wanted his family, or his success—just . . . watching his happiness I could see where I’d missed out, where I’d closed my life off to too many things.

  He looked like he still didn’t believe me, but he rallied. “Alright . . . and this has to do with Hadley Upper School how?”

  “The students just call it Hadley Upper, I checked out the school paper site. And it’s essentially a prep-school. May’s right, it’s the best chance for Ivy League acceptance if I want to do that. And I can do it. I did a public school last time—my father wanted me to have the ‘common touch’—but my grades were fine. He insisted on it.”

  And he’d frowned upon non-scholastic achievements as lowbrow. Because of my size—I’d been heavy but fast on my feet for my weight—I’d been approached by the football coach about joining the team. It might have lessened the bullying (not that I was small enough to shove into a locker or anything), but I’d mentioned it to Father and he’d made one phone call and the coach had never talked to me again. I’d stuck with chess club. “So if I’m going to do this, Hadley Upper.”

  “Okay,” Carl said. “I just wanted to make sure that your mother wasn’t railroading you. She means well and of course is always right and as her husband I’m legally obligated to say that, but she doesn’t always check with others for what they want—which can be other things just as good as what she wants for them.” He folded his hands in front of him on the table, leaning in. “So. What can I do to help?”

  And I realized he smelled nice.

  He’d come home and changed into khakis and a V-neck sweater, and his dark curly hair was tousled and his eyebrows were bushy and his brown eyes were warm and his voice was deep with sympathy and he was sitting way closer to me than he did across the chessboard and— Suddenly warm I felt the flush explode over my face. Oh, God.

  A smile quirked his shockingly cute dimple. “David? April? Care to share?”

  “Not in a million years,” I forced a laugh. “I remembered something May said, is all. I’ll be right back.” Jumping up, I fled upstairs.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I made it up both flights of stairs and down the hall to my room safely, not knowing what I’d have done if I’d run into May. Slamming my door and leaning against it, I put my head back against the wood, tucked my lips between my teeth, bit down, slapped my hands over my mouth, and screamed behind lips and fingers. I could feel a pulse deep between my legs—and seriously, what was that—but my body wasn’t about to distract me from what I’d just felt.

  No! No! Not happening! I was not attracted to Carl.

  It was just—he’d been close, and smelled nice, and he’d just shown me more concern than my own fucking father ever had!

  I sucked in air.

  Okay, yeah. That was it. I’d been surprised. I had feelings. Affectionate feelings for May were easy; I’d had them before as David, almost entirely platonic. She exuded affection, you felt it right back. With Carl I’d just had a strong buddy-connection before—a novel experience by itself. I’d never had a close friend, even back in school. Downstairs, that had been . . . warm. Familial. I wasn’t used to that from him and my head was confused. He’d be appalled if he’d known where my mind had gone, but now that I was aware, I could put it in perspective and handle it.

  There will be no Electra complex!

  But he’d smelled so nice.

  I groaned and thumped the door with my head, then went and washed my face. The cold water helped.

  **********************************************

  There was one more surprise that day.

  I went back to my back yard to check the watering timer just before dinner; if I was going to rent my house out now, that was one more reason to make sure everything stayed nice. Coming back through the gate, over the high white fence separating the Seevers’ yard from the Thompson Place I heard the crash of something breaking.

  The Thompsons had always maintained a solid wood fence between the yards, tall enough that a grown man couldn’t see over it (the Seevers had cheerfully painted their side of it a bright white). It had its own tall wood gate but trying it I found it bolted from the Thompson side. Looking around, I decided the low half-shed—really a box that opened on the side to keep gardening pots and tools in—would work. Pulling myself up on top of the low shed, I stood and looked over the fence.

  Mrs. Thompson, who I hadn’t seen except through her street windows in close to ten years, lay sprawled on her garden walk with a box of plants beside her, some of them spilled. “Mrs. Thompson, are you alright?”

  She blinked up at me and I blanched; I was a total stranger staring down at her, standing head and shoulders above her privacy-securing fence. But— “Do you need any help?”

  Giving me a long look she shook her gray head. “I only tripped, my bones are still strong.” Climbing to her feet, she looked me over. “And who are you?”

  “I— April. April Seever.”

  “I thought they only had the one? No matter. Since you’re up there, wait a moment.” Limping only slightly, she went back inside and brought out a stack of plates, holding them up to me. “Here.”

  I took them. “Thank you?” She chuckled at my look.

  “Your mother’s been leaving plates of cookies on my doorstep every few months since they moved in. I’ve been feeding them to my visitors—you can tell her I do get some—to keep them from going to waste, but the plates have been stacking up. Now you can return them to her for me.”

  “Um.” I looked at the stack in my hands. They weren’t fancy plates, just solid molded plastic with cheerful designs, the kind you wouldn’t worry about getting back. “I think she’d rather you returned them yourself?”

  “Cheeky. Yes, I’m sure she would. Now get down from there before you hurt yourself.” Turning away, she started picking up her spilled plant box.

  “Okay,” I said, at a loss. “Thank you.” Climbing back down, I went inside to hand them off to May.

  She looked stunned when I told her what had happened. “She talked to you? Huh. I see her out in her yard on occasion from my office window, but two floors up it would be terribly rude to throw open the window and lean out and yell at her. You’re sure she’s alright?”

  “She was limping a little. Mayyybe you can go over and check on her?”

  “Now that’s sly. No, I’m going to send you over to check on her. Tomorrow. With more cookies.”

  **************************************

  That night, post bedtime ritual, I stared at the ceiling and thought about everything, especially about Mrs. Thompson. She and her husband had been friends with the Grants. Sometime after Mr. Thompson had died Mrs. Thompson had disappeared from the street and from neighborhood events, not that I’d ever done more than say hello to her in passing, and after that we’d all just seen her in her windows. Except she had visitors? I wondered who they were. And I felt bad about not making more of an effort to make sure she was alright since I’d moved back.

  Well, I guess I can now. I smiled in the dark. I could get as pushy as May.

  That settled, my mind drifted to my nightly question and I shifted under the sheets. Should I . . .

  I sighed. It was the maxi-pad or my finger, but I could skip the big production. Getting up, I got a box of wipes (gentle on my lady-parts, May had said), and a hand towel. Climbing back into bed and pulling off my night shorts, putting the towel under me just in case, I let my fingers do what they were learning to do so well. Plucking was feeling even nicer, even through my nightshirt. When my hand went lower, I had a sudden flash of Carl leaning close to say something—I’d survived dinner by ruthlessly teasing him—and squashed it. Oh no you don’t. Instead, I remembered my dream as I played with myself, the warm, gently lapping waves, the peace and then the lifting tide and growing pressure and . . . I came with my finger inside me, trembling and shuddering. God, that’s so good. My grin stretched my lips.

  Pulling the towel from beneath me and checking it, I found it dry; the wetness of my “arousal” not amounting to too much. Cleaning myself with a wipe, shivering at the coldness of it (I was definitely ordering a wipe warmer), I tugged my night shorts back on, put the box and towel on my nightstand, and went to sleep.