She looks up now, her eyebrows knitted together, but in confusion, not anger.
“Savvy, there is a fire inside of you that burns so bright that people will either try to stay away from it because it can be intimidating as fuck, extinguish it because they don’t want you to burn brighter than them, or are drawn to it because they fucking know something great is about to happen.”
Her eyes widen, and I nod.
“I know passion. I see it in the people my parents represent. I have it in everything I do, because they fan the fuck out of my flame. I just want a front row for your show.”
“That’s putting a lot of expectations on someone who wanted to be an organic farmer. Spoiler alert: I’m out of here as soon as I graduate.”
“Then show me something great until then.”
“By great, do you mean getting humiliated by a so-called friend and Atilla the Hun?”
“By great, I mean, keep being you. Dig through the dirt, farm girl, find your passion, and direct all that energy into it. Those high school mean girls will either keep on being haters, or they’ll want to emulate you.”
I grab her mug and mine and head toward the stairs. “Let’s go watch some TV.”
“I don’t watch TV; it’s mindless.”
“Good, we both deserve a little bit of that once in a while.”
“I’d rather talk.”
I like that. I like that a lot.
“Perfect. So, tell me what you plan to do now that you aren’t going to be a farmer.” I head up the stairs and hear her following.
“Peace Corps.”
“To help people.”
“Yeah, and travel.”
“There are other ways to do that, too.”
“Whatever. You should be more worried that your boy band days are about numbered.”
I stop and look back, seeing her smiling.
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“What?”
“Thank you for not objectifying me.”
She gasps, “Oh my God, are you for real right now?”
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Savannah.”
“What is that even supposed to mean?” she says, now stomping up the stairs.
“I said musician, and you place me into a boy band grouping. You said farmer, and I didn’t mention a milk maiden because you’d look hot as hell in one of those little outfits.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says in mock exasperation.
I walk in and set her cup on my nightstand. “Bed’s yours, princess.” Then I walk over and sit in the recliner by the window.
“I’m not taking your bed tonight. I can call an Uber to take me back. Now that I know I have all this fire inside me, I can deal with—”
“Shut up, smart ass.” I laugh. “You’re taking it for two nights, minimum, unless I can talk you into staying for the whole break. My parents wouldn’t give a shit, seriously. They wanted more kids.”
“Oh, no.” She laughs. “I don’t do parents. Besides, you seriously think I don’t have plans for the holidays?”
Shit, I think and shake my head. “Offer stands if you have any time free. But the next two days, I’d love your company.”
She grabs the cocoa and takes a sip. “Mmm …”
Mmm … indeed, I think but don’t dare say.
“So, the Peace Corps, huh?”
She nods as she swallows. “So good.” She licks the cream from her lips, and I regret putting the cream on immediately.
So fucking hot.
“Why?” I ask, my voice coming out deeper. I clear my throat. “I mean, rumor has it you’re a genius. You could get in anywhere.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s … whatever.”
“It’s not whatever, Savvy; it’s kind of awesome.” And hot. Smart girls = hot.
“They want me in front of a computer.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “They want to program me so I can help them program everyone else. I see what it does to everyone. No, thank you.”
“So, be a doctor, a shrink, a teacher who doesn’t use computers.”
She smiles then immediately hides it with the cup. “Mind’s made up. As bad as women have it here, the Middle East is a shit show.”
“So, you’re joining the Peace Corps to fight?”
“It’s more than that. I can teach them how to plant and help provide for themselves, and empower them in the meantime.” She takes another sip then sets the mug down. “If the fact that they literally have to cover their faces so it doesn’t turn a man on, or show that she’s property of some barbaric, insolent, isn’t bad enough, the fact that FGM is still practiced is.”
“FGM?”
“Female genitalia mutilation. You know, the bean.”
“That’s straight-up horrible shit. I read an article that they do it here, too, and hide behind the religion.”
She looks a little shocked.
“You read current events, Savvy?”
“I read more than most, but I know what media can do to one’s brain.”
“Not for nothing, but I know damn well you’re too intelligent for that to happen.”
“Once my mind’s made up, it’s made up.”
Don’t I know it.
“Understood. And I can’t wait to hear what you learn when that lens widens.”
“This judgment coming from a wannabe lead singer for a boy band?” She shakes her head.
“Stop projecting. My fragile brain will subliminally absorb your message, and next thing you know, I’ll be doing synchronized dance moves with guys I pretend are my brothers for a tweens audience and cougar moms.”
Smiling, she lifts her mug. “Sex sells.”
“Again, I’m feeling objectified.”
She laughs. She laughs, and it’s a translucent sonnet wrapped in song. And now I’m a fucking poet … Get it together, Tricks. Stop wasting one-hundred-point SAT words. She likes girls, and she’s your friend.
“Okay, I give. What does Patrick Steel want to be when he grows up?”
“Gonna have to admit, hanging with you for the past hour or so pretty much narrowed down my list from twenty different things to two.”
She beckons me with her hand as she takes another sip of cocoa. Well, not me. My answer.
“Option one, a mercenary who travels the Middle East incognito, using either his social
