Read Everything’s Coming Up Josey for Free Online Page A
Authors: Susan May Warren
And the lawn art, I hope.
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Iâm not laughing at that. If you donât go, youâll regret it for the rest of your life.
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Just tell me how you feel, will you? This isnât the only opportunity to travel Iâll have.
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Yeah, youâre right. When you sign up for AARP, theyâll send you an entire catalogue of cruises.
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Now that wasnât funny. Mine was.
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Or you could stay in Gull Lake and marry Fuzzy. I hear heâs single again.
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Fuzzy Zoman was the quarterback for our high school team until he knocked up Patty Lowe, had to quit and took a job running maintenance down at the local municipal pool. Heâs blond, big and brazen and Patty kicked him out like a mangy dog when she walked in on him and Kerry Fitger doing water aerobics after closing. Heâs moved on, a couple times I think, since Kerry.
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Donât get nasty now. Iâm not looking to get married.
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I want to add âeverâ but I think thatâs a little drastic. Iâd probably say âI doâ to the right guy, someone with blue eyes, a kind smile, enough muscles to prop me up when Iâm feeling down and the wisdom to know when to keep his mouth shut unless I get in over my head. Notice those qualities do not define Chase. Well, mostly not.
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I know. But Iâm making a point. Leap now or forever hold your peace.
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What if I flop? What if I get over there, find I canât speak a lick of Russian, my students hate me, I alienate everyone, andâ
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If you donât try, youâll never know. Besides, youâll alienate me if you donât do it.
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Thank you for that unconditional love.
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My pleasure. You need a change. Itâs either this or a nose ring. Take your pick.
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Two days before high school graduation, Chase and I sat on the beach, tossing in stones and talking about our futures. The moon parted the waves as they lapped the shore, and the smell of freedom taunted, still just out of our reach. Shania Twain played on the stereo of his Kawasaki 350, which weâd just driven from graduation rehearsal.
âI canât believe youâre not going with me. I thought we had a deal,â he said as he skimmed another rock across the waves. I hated how he could always out throw me. I snaked one across the water and only got three skips.
Those were the days when his curly hair took possession of his entire body. Cut short on top, it snaked down his back, where the wind brushed it against his leather bomber jacket. I was looking pretty hot myself in a pair of stonewashed jeans and a cotton cami. The nights were losing their chilly edge, but sometimes, when it was cold, he offered me his jacket. I liked it because it smelled like Chase.
I dodged his question (as you know, Iâm very good at dodging). No, I wasnât trekking out to North Dakota State, thank you very much. They may have had an excellent journalism program, but I just couldnâtâI mean, what is in North Dakota anyway?
And I just knew that if Chase hadnât nailed that scholarship, he wouldnât have gone there, either. But I didnât say that.
âYouâll write to me, right?â I suddenly felt a gash across my chest. Chase wouldnât be there for me to track down after my dates and lament on the shortage of decent non-groping boys in Gull Lake. Or be the hero-friend to rescue me on those lonely Saturday nights when groping boys just might be appreciated. Who would follow me around school, hang out by my locker, run me down to Jerryâs for a pizza lunch?
Who would haul me home when H talked me into trying some locally made hooch? Who would lecture me on the perils of hanging out with the one girl who might just make it all the way to the state penitentiary in Stillwater?
My throat was thick as he stared at me. His
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Fuzzy Zoman was the quarterback for our high school team until he knocked up Patty Lowe, had to quit and took a job running maintenance down at the local municipal pool. Heâs blond, big and brazen and Patty kicked him out like a mangy dog when she walked in on him and Kerry Fitger doing water aerobics after closing. Heâs moved on, a couple times I think, since Kerry.
Â
Â
I want to add âeverâ but I think thatâs a little drastic. Iâd probably say âI doâ to the right guy, someone with blue eyes, a kind smile, enough muscles to prop me up when Iâm feeling down and the wisdom to know when to keep his mouth shut unless I get in over my head. Notice those qualities do not define Chase. Well, mostly not.
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Two days before high school graduation, Chase and I sat on the beach, tossing in stones and talking about our futures. The moon parted the waves as they lapped the shore, and the smell of freedom taunted, still just out of our reach. Shania Twain played on the stereo of his Kawasaki 350, which weâd just driven from graduation rehearsal.
âI canât believe youâre not going with me. I thought we had a deal,â he said as he skimmed another rock across the waves. I hated how he could always out throw me. I snaked one across the water and only got three skips.
Those were the days when his curly hair took possession of his entire body. Cut short on top, it snaked down his back, where the wind brushed it against his leather bomber jacket. I was looking pretty hot myself in a pair of stonewashed jeans and a cotton cami. The nights were losing their chilly edge, but sometimes, when it was cold, he offered me his jacket. I liked it because it smelled like Chase.
I dodged his question (as you know, Iâm very good at dodging). No, I wasnât trekking out to North Dakota State, thank you very much. They may have had an excellent journalism program, but I just couldnâtâI mean, what is in North Dakota anyway?
And I just knew that if Chase hadnât nailed that scholarship, he wouldnât have gone there, either. But I didnât say that.
âYouâll write to me, right?â I suddenly felt a gash across my chest. Chase wouldnât be there for me to track down after my dates and lament on the shortage of decent non-groping boys in Gull Lake. Or be the hero-friend to rescue me on those lonely Saturday nights when groping boys just might be appreciated. Who would follow me around school, hang out by my locker, run me down to Jerryâs for a pizza lunch?
Who would haul me home when H talked me into trying some locally made hooch? Who would lecture me on the perils of hanging out with the one girl who might just make it all the way to the state penitentiary in Stillwater?
My throat was thick as he stared at me. His
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