A Matter of Heart Read Online Free

clock and see it’s already 10:45. “Curfew in fifteen minutes,” I add. Mom and Dad put me on a tight leash when I started seeing Connor. I don’t think it’s him so much as the fact that he has a car. At first, I didn’t get why it mattered. But now I do.
    “One more kiss.”
    I plant a quick kiss on his lips and then smile at his disappointment. “I gotta get up early for work anyway.”
    “Call in sick.” His face is pressed to the curve of my neck, his lips planting kisses along my collarbone.
    “I can’t. If I don’t show, they’ll give my class to Alec.”
    He pulls back as if I’ve dumped a bucket of ice water on his lap. “Nice way to spoil the moment.”
    “Sorry.” I slide off him.
    He shrugs. “It’s okay. I just hate that you work with Mendoza.”
    “We don’t work together. We teach separate classes.”
    Connor pushes open his door and moves back to the front seat. I do the same.
    He starts the car while I strap on my seat belt. An old Katy Perry song starts pulsing through the speakers.
    “So what did he say to you after the race?” I ask.
    “Nothing.” Connor puts the car in gear. “He can’t handle losing, so he has to talk trash. Just ignore him, okay? Whatever he says to you.”
    “It’s not like we ever talk.”
    “Good.”
    He pulls off the gravel and onto the road, and it’s as if we left the conversation behind. Connor likes to live on a constant high and hates anything that threatens to bring him down. Which is okay by me—why look for trouble, right? I reach for his hand and he squeezes my fingers. Resting my head on the back of the seat, I close my eyes. I’m thinking about Darwin. About being one of the fittest. About being a perfect match with the perfect guy.
    I’m the luckiest girl alive.

5

    M om and Dad are both in the kitchen when I shuffle through Sunday morning at eight. No matter how early I’m up, they’re always here, sitting at the table in their spots—Dad with the sports page spread out and Mom working the crossword. It’s a Sunday ritual with them, and has been for as long as I can remember. The only difference is now Dad wears glasses and Mom has switched to green tea because coffee upsets her stomach.
    They both look up and smile. I yawn. The kitchen smells like cinnamon, and I wonder if Mom has rolls in the oven.
    “Good morning,” she says. “Seven letters, teen TV star from the land of big sky.”
    “Montana,” I say.
    She smiles and pencils it in. “Thank you for being home on time last night.”
    I nod. They were already in bed, but I tapped on their bedroom door to let them know I was home. Mom seems to have some inner clock that wakes her when I tap, and also wakes her if I don’t.
    Dad slides the glasses down his nose and rattles the paper in his hand. “Article in here about that girl who swims at the University of Arizona. She’s making some noise out there, getting a lot of attention.” His eyes widen meaningfully. “Your time yesterday was better than anything she did in high school.”
    Mom shoots Dad a look.
Already with the swimming?
That look is also part of the Sunday ritual.
    I pull open the fridge and reach for the milk.
    “Rolls are in the oven. They’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
    “Cool.” My voice is scratchy and another yawn pops out before I can stop it.
    “Dad told me about your dizziness,” Mom says. “You feeling okay?”
    “Yeah.” I reach for a mug. I still don’t have a taste for coffee, but I like my milk in a mug. “It was just a weird thing. I’m fine now.”
    “I told you,” Dad says to Mom a little impatiently. He smiles at me. “How are the shoulders? You sore this morning?”
    I roll them back, wincing at the slight ache. “The usual.”
    “Well,” Mom says, as if we haven’t moved past dizziness to soreness. “I’m taking you in tomorrow to get checked out. And don’t argue, it’s Coach’s idea, remember? I’ve got a call in to Laney, and I’m sure she’ll fit us in