Abby Girl: Last night was interesting.

Jo-Jo: You mean when the petting zoo broke and the goat raced around the fairgrounds, or what?

Abby Girl: The Ferris wheel, you idiot.

Jo-Jo: You’re always so mean. What about the Ferris wheel?

Abby Girl: You know. At the top.

Jo-Jo: When I yelled I’m at the top of the world?

Abby Girl: Joey!

Jo-Jo: What?

Abby Girl: You kissed me.

Jo-Jo: So I did.

Abby Girl: I liked it.

Jo-Jo: I know. Why do you think I did it?

Abby Girl: I’m not really sure. I’m not a cheerleader.

Jo-Jo: You’re my cheerleader.

I don’t know why those texts always stood out in my mind, especially as I trudged to school Monday morning. I’d been thinking a lot about Abby, especially the Abby I knew before now. I hadn’t heard a word from her over the weekend, but I hoped Zoey was feeling better—and that her mom wasn’t pissed as hell at me.

I plodded through a business class, jotting notes and doodling idly about corporation types as the professor lectured on. I snacked on granola—the only thing my poor ass could afford until that illustrious VA check kicked in in a few weeks—and hurried to my next class, Introduction to College Success. I tried hard to stay awake as the instructor passed out assessments, a pop quiz, and lectured us on the importance of setting goals and maintaining good motivation in college.

The clock crept closer to lunch, drawing me closer to Abby’s class. Despite how much she protested, I was in this for the long run.

Thinking about her methodical, often dry texts when we were in high school, I watched this new Abby stride into the room with that almost fake self-confidence she possessed. Eighteen-year-old Abby had been neither hot nor cold with me; always saying thank you, sorry, and okay, cool. Like the night of our first kiss, when she told me it was ‘great’. We never spoke about it again, and I didn’t try that stunt twice, because she had just shrugged and said it was ‘okay’. Back then, she didn’t have many great passions—including me—except history, which she could talk about at great length for hours.

I’ve only known this version for a week, but so far, twenty-six-year old Abby had transformed into a beautiful curvy woman who was twisted with all the anxious fears of adulthood; and parenthood, for that matter.

But God, was she as gorgeous as hell when she walked into my classroom. She wore a lacy, light orange dress today, ending at her knees, despite the freezing weather outside that still held hopes for a winter resurgence. Her legs shimmered lightly, evidence of pantyhose, which made me shift in my seat as I had to stretch my, uh…yeah. She even wore those flat shoes that nearly all the female teachers seemed to wear now—the kind you always see in billboards urging people to vote for some education bill or other. I slid into the farthest back seat next to Sam, who acknowledged me with a quick nod before turning back to his notebook.

“Jessica, George, Juan. Joey,” she took the roll, pausing when she got to my name and quickly rolling it out like it was a mistake. I didn’t miss the way her lip curled slightly, and it wasn’t downward.

She’s thinking about that kiss, I thought.

“Did I miss anyone?” She looked around the room expectantly.

A hand shot up in the corner. As a class, we all turned and looked. “Jason Kitchener,” he announced, crossing his arms over his chest.

He looked military. I could tell them from a mile away. That straight-backed lounge, the alert way he assessed the room, the confident stare he countered every single look with. He reminded me of Randy and practically oozed asshole right out of high school. They almost always did. Football career ended too soon, I decided. He looked like a jock; I would know.

“You know, they fucked up my registration,” he blurted, “I can’t believe this school.”

Abby frowned slightly as people in the class laughed but only nodded as she jotted something down and returned to her computer, ignoring his statement. I dismissed the way Jason humphed at her, his bad attitude clear when she wouldn’t argue with him. I didn’t care about some random student. I cared more about Abby.

You’re my cheerleader, I had told her all those years ago. She would never have the figure for one; for some reason, eighteen-year-old Joey had hated that. But after being around the world and being shot at, seeing her face in my mind and reading her words on paper and in emails for close to a decade, I realized she was my moral support. Better than being just a cheerleader.

She carried on the class, which started with the causes of the Civil War, her lively discussion of politics woven in with quips of her unique humor.

Dusting the dry-erase marks from her hands, she turned to us. “So, Buchanan, the fifteenth president, was kinda a tool, ya know? Why? Anyone?”

A girl in the front raised her hand. “He didn’t do anything about slavery.”

“Yes!” Abby smiled and gave her a thumbs up. “He stuck his head in the sand and refused to admit that anything was happening. In a way, he ushered America hurtling toward civil war; in fact, it was only a couple of weeks after Lincoln’s election that seven states declared succession.” She turned back to the board. She wrote a large word in quotes: Doughface. “The Northerners called him this, a slur meaning he was from the North but supported slavery. In four years, he divided the country more than his last five predecessors.”

“There’s nothing wrong with slavery,” the new guy, Jason, piped up. “We had to have someone to pick all that cotton.”

The class dropped silent, followed by a few gasps that echoed around the room.

Abby turned so quickly I could hear the swish of her skirt in the quiet. “Mr. Kitchener, being a college student requires an open mind. I’ll not tolerate hateful language in my classroom.”

I stared, as did half the class, our communal dare for him to answer her. I almost thought he would. He cleared his throat, adjusted his pants by pulling down at the knee, and resumed his cross-armed position. “Whatever.”

Abby cleared her throat, her voice gentler this time. “Please, next time, raise your hand with a question that contributes to class.” She turned back to the board and drew out a table with dates and locations.

Blinking, I shared a look with Sam, who rolled his eyes at me. Army, he mouthed. I nodded curtly.

As Abby continued to talk about pre-Civil War America, a memory of one of our conversations was so crisp in my mind that as soon as she turned, I cleared my throat and shot my hand into the air. “Professor Years,” I started, not missing the way she slightly winced when I said it, “isn’t it true, however, that Lincoln himself was one of the main causes of the war, since he refused to negotiate with terrorists…oops, I mean the slave holding states?”

A few people in the class chuckled at that. It was a red herring, I knew, meant to fluster her.

Glaring at me briefly but flashing a smile, she turned back to the board and wrote Lincoln and Buchannan across the top, lines separating them both down the center of the board. She called out for comparisons and contrasts between the two leaders, and the classroom erupted into students fighting to provide the next answer. Even Sam’s hand lifted slowly, and Abby called on him first.

They’re loyal to her, I’ll give them that, I thought. Not even in high school had I seen a classroom so engaged like this.

It wasn’t hard to realize that Abby wasn’t just a good teacher; people liked her. She was friendly and supportive and always treated her students like they were the most awesome person in the room.

She wasn’t just my cheerleader, she was everyone’s. It made me smile to think since high school she’d turned that energy on her classroom. I wanted to take credit for it, but I knew I couldn’t. She’d had that in her all along.

When she was done with the chart on the board, she turned to us, glancing up the clock. “For the last fifteen minutes of class, free write your first journal entry for your final term portfolio. I’d like you to record in one or two paragraphs how impending war impacted the development of the United States from 1850-1859.”

A rustle of papers as people ripped lined sheets from notebooks and the clack of keys as some typed into their laptops or tablets filled the room. From the corner, Jason mumbled, “This is bullshit. It’s a history class, not a writing class.”

This time I could see Abby was mildly flustered, but she focused on the papers in front of her, homework form last week, which she preceded to hand around the classroom.

I stared at my own blank paper, rolling thoughts around in my head but mostly trying to not focus on following Abby around the room. I couldn’t help it; I noticed an attractive male student had approached the instructor stand and was quietly whispering to Abby. She was nodding, speaking softly, and turning to the computer. She pointed at a few things on the screen.

I doodled for a minute, not paying attention to our time limit. I felt my throat go dry with a bit of jealousy as I realized students could stand next to her, talk with her, and she wouldn’t treat them like strangers as she did with me.

Then again, what was last week? We certainly weren’t strangers. We fell into our old friendship effortlessly, but had I ruined it with that kiss? I wasn’t sure. Probably.

Furious at myself for thinking of her that way—we weren’t together, and we never had been, even in high school—I threw myself into discussing the economics and politics we’d talked about today into my short assignment.

Abby made a final announcement as the class began to finish: “Next week we begin our full discussion on Civil War America, including my favorite, President Abraham Lincoln himself.”

A few people groaned.

“What?” Abby smiled brazenly, looking at everyone but me. “He was an outdoors man, self-made, and highly intelligent. He’s a great role model. Now, get back to your writing!” One by one, students excused themselves and handed their papers in, silently exiting the classroom. I marveled at how quiet the room was. This was nothing like high school.

I almost chuckled. I knew above everyone else how much she never shut up about Lincoln in high school. Outdoors man, huh? That gave me an idea. I turned back to my paper.

After a few minutes, it was just down to Sam and I. Writing had been a strongpoint for me in school, and I quickly approached the end of my page with my mechanical pencil. It was silly to impress her, I knew, but after that kiss last week, I felt I had something I needed to make up for. Maybe an entire page with three paragraphs would change her mind.

I wasn’t really sure how, nor did I get the response I even half expected.

Sam turned his in first, nodding to her and waving goodbye. Then it was just me, and I slid my paper to her, one side full and the other side with scribbles of anchors and globes and those weird Bubble Guppy things Zoey liked down half the page. She looked at it and frowned, then tucked it into a yellow folder.

“Have a good day, Joseph,” she said without looking at me, as she tried to push past.

I let her go. I wasn’t going to obstruct her and make her mad, after all. But I knew how to stop her in her tracks right then and there.

“Hey, Abby,” I called after her. “Ferris wheel.”

She froze in the doorway, her back to me, her bag over one shoulder and her left arm out to support herself on the door frame. I rushed up and tucked a folded slip of paper into her hand, pushed passed her, and fled to my truck with my head held high.

I knew she’d read it, but I didn’t have to look back to double check.

If you remember the Ferris wheel, meet me at the corner of our last hang out at four this afternoon. Bring Zoey. Wear better shoes.

I’d seen the look in her eyes last week when our lips touched.

I hoped I wasn’t wrong.

“Why are we meeting in the middle of the wilderness?” Abby asked me from behind her rolled-down window as I approached the door of her car. I could see Zoey babbling in the back seat and playing with a toy.

“The road is literally right there,” I said, leaning on the window frame. “Did you wear better shoes?” I was disappointed to see she was dressed in a tight pullover zipped to her neck, but from here I could see her legs were bare. It had warmed up, but not that much. Was she wearing shorts?

She pushed the door open, making me stumble back. I frowned at her, then laughed. “What are we doing here?” She glared at me, motioning to the wild wilderness in front of us that arched over the hill and into a sparsely forested area.

“I have a plan. Just get Zoey out, and hang on a second.” I trotted to my truck, parked a few feet in front of her. I pulled my latest purchase out of the truck bed and held up the contraption.

Abby was busy fetching Zoey from the back, and as she bent over I saw she was indeed wearing sneakers, black shorts, and a purple zip-up. Her legs were…I licked my lips and tried to swallow. Thick, rounded, and well. Nice.

She turned around, saving me from my awkward stare, with Zoey hoisted on her hip. She kicked the door shut behind her and threw her keys into her other hand, locking it with a flip of her keychain. “What the hell is that?” She pointed to the harness in my hand.

“Oh, this? Just something I thought would help.” I threw it over my shoulder and buckled it over my chest. It wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be, surprisingly.

She blinked at me. “It’s a baby carrier?”

“Come on, I’ll kneel down. Zoey will fit fine.” I got to one knee to demonstrate.

“Daddy!” Zoey suddenly blurted, holding her hands out toward me.

Abby turned fifty shades of red and bit down hard on her lip.

“No, Zoey,” I said firmly, because I knew Abby was two seconds from getting back in the car and heading back down the hill. I pointed to myself. “Uncle Jo-Jo.”

“Don’t start that,” Abby started to say, but I held up my hand.

“Jo-Jo,” I repeated.

“Jo!” Zoey squealed, still holding her hands out.

I was still kneeling, so I silently pleaded with Abby to go along with it.

She sighed, but still looked annoyed. Damn it, I wasn’t trying hard enough.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But if she doesn’t fit, I’m going home. It’s cold out here, anyway.”

“It won’t be once we start the hike.”

“Hike? Good Lord, look at me. I don’t hike.”

Believe me, I was looking at her. I hadn’t stopped. “You do today. I’ll go slow. Haha, no pun intended.”

“Oh, Jesus,” she breathed, shaking her head at my innuendo as she hoisted Zoey into the harness strapped to my back. I’d guessed her weight perfectly and she fit snugly.

As if to let me know, Zoey promptly hit me on the top of my head. “Go!” she squealed.

“It’s not too heavy?” Abby eyed me as I stood and adjusted the straps.

“No way, haven’t you ever marched in the blazing sun with a fifty-pound pack on your back?”

“Um, no.”

“Well, she’s way lighter, trust me.”

Abby smiled. Slightly.

Boom! First success. Now, if I could get her to smile all the way, my job today would be done. I hooked my thumbs under the straps and tossed her a bottle of water from the truck bed. “Let’s go!”

“Go!” Zoey yelled again, her sweet baby-laugh filling the quiet afternoon air.

Abby sighed again but followed me as we set off.

I wasn’t sure what to talk about at first. After Friday, things seemed so awkward, and I didn’t know what she liked anymore. I wasn’t very good at this talking shit, I never had been. I decided to stick with something that annoyed both of us; class today.

“That guy in class was a jackass,” I blurted, “Jake or whatever.”

“Hmm,” Abby said, picking her way around some brush that had grown over the trail. “I’ve had students like him before. It isn’t anything new. Their first day they are always difficult.”

“Well, he’s an adult, you’d think he’d be more respectful,” I observed. Zoey was busy tugging on my ears now, and I gently swatted her away.

Abby actually laughed. “No, that doesn’t always matter.”

I thought about the plethora of immature idiots I served in the Army with. “I guess you’re right. So why are you teaching college? I thought you wanted to be a preschool teacher or something.”

She jogged to keep up with me now, so I slowed my pace. She was breathing hard already, and we were only fifty feet from our cars. I slowed way, way down to match her steps. She took a swig of water before answering. “Something changed in college, I guess. I’m not really sure when.” She took a heaving breath. “I realized I didn’t want to be stuck with colors and alphabets all day. Preschoolers don’t really know who Lincoln is,” she chuckled, breathless.

“No, I guess not,” I laughed.

“Can we stop?” she huffed.

“We’ve barely made it, but okay,” I said, and motioned to a large rock by the trail. We stopped, and she took a seat, leaning forward and blew out a huge breath.

She looked up at me. “I told you I don’t hike.”

“Well, it’s not easy when you’re…”

Her eyes flashed at me, and she jumped to her feet. “Fat? Was that what you were going to say, Joey?” Her hand balled around the water bottle, crunching the plastic nearly flat.

I backed up a step. “I’m not used to it,” I finished. “I would never use the F word. I’m not an idiot. Besides, you aren’t, you know, that.”

“Bullshit,” she expelled and continued up the path. “I’ll show you who’s not fat, asshole.”

“Wow, you speak to those students with that mouth?” I jogged to keep up with her suddenly quick pace.

Ahead of me, she kicked a pile of gravel and rocks to the side of the path, startling a group of starlings out of a thistle patch. We were entering the forest path now that wound to the top of the hill and back down before it connected to the original path that led to the parking lot.

“Birdy!” Zoey yelled and clapped her hands. “Birdy, birdy, birdy!”

Abby turned and walked backward, nearly jogging, and waved at us. Even about twenty feet away, I could see her face was bright red, and she was breathing hard. She was fully in the woods now, and the shadow from the trees obscured her face as she shouted at us.

“See? I can hike. I can—”

“Abby!” I called, but too late she didn’t see the huge root poking through the middle of the path.

She tumbled hard, falling on her ass, landing with an oomph! Hitting the ground hard, she flung onto her back.

“Mama!” Zoey called. “Mama okay?”

I rushed forward and bent over as much as I dared with Zoey strapped to my back. “Are you okay?” I was worried she had injured herself.

Abby was laughing. Between her brief jog and her laughter, she wheezed and mildly struggled for breath, holding her stomach and interrupting her chuckles with a moan.

I gave her my hand and helped her up.

“Are you hurt?” I asked again.

“Mommy?” Even I could hear the worry in Zoey’s voice.

Abby reached up and grabbed Zoey’s hand. “Mommy’s fine,” she said, a laugh still rumbling through her. “I guess I shouldn’t show off, huh?”

I was still looking her over, checking for scratches, cuts, or God forbid, a rolled ankle or something. I’d carry her to the car if I had to, but I wasn’t sure I could manage it.

“I’m fine!” she insisted.

“You’ve got a little cut above your ankle,” I pointed out.

She looked and then shrugged. “I have band-aids in Zoey’s bag back in the car.”

“You carry band aids?”

“And Tylenol. I’m super mom.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Silence dropped between us, until Zoey dug her little heels into my side. “Go!” she yelped again. “Birdy!”

I looked at Abby. “Do you wanna go back to the car?”

She thought about it but shook her head. “I kinda like being out here, communing with nature. It beats sitting home and drinking wine.”

“You drink wine?”

“Jesus, Harrison, stop asking questions.” She turned and walked down the trail, looking down this time in front of her.

I laughed behind her. “Lead on, Professor.”

She turned sharply and glared. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“Someone might hear us, one, you don’t know who is out here. Two, just don’t. And no more ‘Abster’ or ‘Abbikins,’ okay? I’m not seventeen.” She threw back her shoulders and continued up the trail.

No, you most definitely aren’t, I thought as I watched her walk away. I wasn’t objecting, not in the least. From here, it was a good view.

As the sun began to set over the trees, basking us in deeper shadows, I realized that Zoey, lulled by my steps, must have fallen asleep. We rounded the corner of the trail, and Abby pointed out footprints of some wild animal that wound off the trail. I stopped to show her the poison ivy, literally the only plant I could recognize, growing some feet away.

“Are those blackberries?” she quipped suddenly and pulled my hand to yank me behind her.

We stopped beside the trail and stared at the small, green berries. “Not yet, they aren’t,” I told her.

“Oh,” she groaned. “That’s sad. I really love blackberries.”

“I know you do,” I said. “You had that God-awful air freshener in your car forever in high school.”

“You remember that?” she asked, throwing me a quizzical look. “Junior year, right?”

“Right.” I smiled at her.

Abby reached up and rubbed Zoey’s little head, which had dropped onto my shoulder. “Thank God she’s asleep. She needed a nap,” she murmured. She looked toward the fading sun, spraying brilliant orange and red light all around us. “I have grading to do. We should get back.”

As we approached the cars, I realized Abby still hadn’t let go of my hand. I squeezed, and she squeezed back.

When Zoey was slowly lowered into her car seat and buckled, still snoring softly, Abby turned to me, then glanced at her phone. “Well, that was a fun two hours of near death,” she said quietly.

She’d let go of my hand, leaving it cold, when she had to put Zoey in the car. I was sorry she had to. “Yeah, we should do this again.”

Her frequent smile disappeared then. “I don’t know, Joey. Dinner, one thing, hiking, another, but public? We need to be careful.”

“We can go somewhere students don’t go. The arcade, maybe?”

A shadow passed over her face. “Joey, we can’t.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She bit her lip, and I knew what she wanted to say now. But how could she resist me? She’d never had been able to. Today was no exception.

“Okay. Saturday, maybe. But early, so it’s not busy.”

“It’s a date,” I smiled.

“No, it’s not,” she said, but smiled as she slid into her front seat and shut the door, rolling down the window.

“Hey, Abby?” I yelled above the roar of her engine. “I meant what I said, you’re absolutely not, ya know, the F word.”

“Yes, I am,” she grinned up at me, “but if you don’t care, then neither do I.”

I’d be a fool to admit it used to bother me, but after seeing her legs in those shorts; it was the last thing on my mind. Why had I let it bother me back in high school? I thought about it as I followed her in my truck, until our destinations made us split ways at the next stop light. I’d been a complete idiot back then. Abby wasn’t thin by any stretch, but to me, she was absolutely gorgeous.

I patted the window frame and backed up so she could pull out.

“And Joey?” she called.

“Yeah?”

“I named Zoey after you.”

She backed the car expertly and turned onto the highway.

After me? What did she mean?

There was no way Zoey was mine, of course. We had never even come close to, well, that. But I hadn’t missed the way Zoey sounded like Joey. After all this time, did this mean she never forgot about me? That she kept her promise?

The entire way home, the way she laughed rang in my head.

That, and some very inappropriate thoughts. I didn’t bother to dismiss them.