Free Sex Kittens and Horn Dawgs Fall in Love by Maryrose Wood Page A

nearly as tall as he is.
    “Such a serious little face,” she says. “And he won! Imagine his face if he’d lost! But Matthew always won.”
    “We just have a few simple questions,” Matthew mumbles to the table.
    “So how do you like the MFCS?” Mrs. Dwyer asks me. “We think it’s such a lovely, progressive school. I wish Matty would tell us more about what goes on there!”
    “Can we get this over with?” says Matthew.
    The phone rings. Matthew pops up like a piece of toast and scurries out of the room to grab it. Mrs. Dwyer is still smiling at me. “So how long have you and Matthew been . . . friends?”
    “Oh, six months, I guess,” I say. “Since school started, more or less.”
    “REALLY?” she says, as if this were important news. “Would you like some strudel?” she offers.
    In a flash, I realize: she thinks I’m Matthew’s girlfriend.
    But how bizarro is that? I mean, if I were Matthew’s girlfriend, for six months, wouldn’t she have met me before? And didn’t Matthew tell her about our science project?
    Matthew comes back into the room. “It was Jacob. Our meeting with Miss Greenstream is confirmed for tomorrow. He gave me the address. One o’clock, right after his lesson.”
    “Great,” I say.
    “Miss Greenstream? Is she a teacher at school?” asks Mrs. Dwyer. She’s still smiling, but it’s starting to look a little strained.
    “She’s Jacob’s sitar teacher,” I say.
    “Who’s Jacob?” she asks.
    “A kid at school,” says Matthew blandly. “We have to ask a few questions about you and Dad.”
    “How come you never bring your friends over?” says Mrs. Dwyer to Matthew.
    “We would love to know how you and Mr. Dwyer met!” I chime in.
    “Oh, such a long time ago! I can barely remember,” giggles Mrs. Dwyer, though it’s not clear what’s funny. “It was at work. Matthew’s father and I used to work together.”
    Data! At last! I decide to press ahead. “Would you say it was love at first sight?”
    “More like forbidden fruit!” She giggles again, nervously. “The grass is always greener, something like that.”
    I’m not following this. “Why was it forbidden? Because you worked together?”
    “My dad was married before,” says Matthew to me. He turns to his mom. “So you mean he was still married, when you—”
    “Such a long time ago,” Mrs. Dwyer says. “Really, it’s hard to remember.”
    Matthew’s face has an expression I’ve never seen before. Totally calm in a way that’s the opposite of calm.
    “I think we’re done,” says Matthew. “I’ll walk Felicia to the train.”
    “Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for the juice.”
    “You’re welcome!” chirps Mrs. Dwyer. She pats my hand. “I hope you’ll come by again!”
    Matthew and I don’t say anything at all till we’re crossing Seventh Avenue, approaching the corner where I have to catch the subway back to Manhattan.
    “Sorry ’bout that,” he blurts suddenly. “Too much information, right?”
    Too much? I don’t think I’ve ever been part of a conversation where so LITTLE information was shared! But it seems like Matthew and his mom are both pretty good at keeping secrets.
    “Maybe the data will be useful,” I say, kind of embarrassed for him but wanting to put a positive spin on things. “Maybe we can form a hypothesis out of that ‘forbidden fruit’ idea—”
    “Nope,” Matthew says. “See ya tomorrow. Quarter to one, I’ll meet you by the subway, at the southwest corner of Eighty-sixth and Lex.”
    “See ya,” I say. And Matthew lopes off.
    As I watch him go, I have a brand-new and unprecedented thought about Matthew, which is kind of amazing, when you consider the amount of Matthew-thinking I’ve done in my young life.
    My thought is this: Matthew’s not—you know. Perfect.
    Even on a Saturday, crossing Lexington Avenue is a task that requires a person’s full attention. With the grim determination of paratroopers leaping out of an Air Force jet into