Page 3 of Corrupt Obsession

“Yes,” Mom murmured. “I alternate between kindergarten and second grade.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like to teach the same thing every year, so I bounce back and forth. Do you like school?”

“Yes, I love English and History the most.”

“What do you love about those subjects?”

Walking behind them, he could see their profiles. The raptness with which they stared at one another told him more was happening beneath their surface level conversation. Mom and Violet were engrossed in one another, while he and Isaac hadn’t exchanged a word. Violet was clearly of his mother’s ilk, a free spirit, while he was more like his father— disciplined, rigid, and preferred routines.

He glanced at Isaac, who strolled beside him. He was watching his mom and Violet’s exchange with great interest. He expected Isaac to butter him up like the others had, but Isaac didn’t ask him what he wanted to be when he grew up or who his favorite sports team was. Isaac didn’t attempt to make any small talk, which simultaneously annoyed and eased his nerves over this uncomfortable meet up.

They ordered tacos and settled on a picnic table. Violet was more interested in watching their parents than eating. She propped her chin on her hand and gazed at them with rapt attention. It was clear that as far as she was concerned, Isaac and his mother were meant for each other, but he wasn’t so sure. He should be assessing Isaac, but his eyes kept returning to Violet’s animated face. The way she looked at his mom with such longing made his stomach tighten.

“Jesse’s a great soccer player,” Mom shared.

Violet turned to him and sized him up. “You are?”

He shrugged, unsure why having her full attention made him feel funny. He talked to girls all the time. What made her different from all the rest?

“Let’s play,” Violet said, swinging her legs over the bench seat and leaping to her feet.

He glanced at Mom, who gave him an encouraging smile. By the time he started after her, Violet had crossed the field to retrieve the soccer ball and was making her way back to him. Asshe neared, he stopped and then braced when he realized she wasn’t going to slow down. He grunted as she collided into him. He got a whiff of her hair, which smelled like strawberries.

“What do you think?” she whispered breathlessly, even though there was no one around.

“About what?”

She gave him an impatient look and jerked her chin in the direction of their parents. Was it his imagination, or had they moved closer to one another?

“Your mom’s so nice.”

Violet sounded awed.

“So ladylike and pretty.” Violet cocked her head to the side as she watched them. “Dad’s so happy. I’ve never seen him like this.”

When he didn’t comment, she looked up. Again, he felt that odd stirring in his stomach. Had he eaten something bad from the taco truck? No, it was the way she was looking at him. Something about her made him nervous, which didn’t make sense. Girls flocked to him. They passed him notes in class, asked him to be their boyfriend, and did a lot of annoying things to get his attention. That didn’t make him uneasy, but the way Violet looked at him, dead on, without the coy, flirtatious shyness he’d come to expect made him sweat. She treated him like they’d grown up together, instead of being introduced half an hour ago.

“How are your eyes green?” he muttered. “They were brown a minute ago.”

“They do that,” she said dismissively and dropped the ball at their feet as she said, “What do you think about my dad?”

“I don’t know anything about him,” he said truthfully.

“He’s a good guy.” She pursed her lips before she admitted, “Though he can be strict.”

“My dad was in the military. I doubt your dad is as strict as mine was.”

“Oh.” Her expression softened before she reached out and rubbed his arm. “I heard your dad died. That must have been hard.”

It was the worst that ever happened to him, but Violet’s presence made the pain ebb for the first time since it happened. “I’m okay.”

She nodded, taking him at his word, and stepped away. He let out the breath he’d been holding and watched her impressive dribble. When she tried to kick the ball past him, he instinctively stopped it and saw her eyes narrow.

“That was a practice shot,” she said quietly.

“Sorry,” he said, and stepped back to give her a clear shot. “You want to try again?”

---