Matt & Zoe - Charles Sheehan-Miles Page 0,5

Dad wanted me to be into literature. Neither got what they wanted. “They’re doing okay?”

“Yeah. They’ve all been moody. They miss your mom.”

I swallow, unable to reply to his words. I do too.

My Fault (Matt)

When my phone rings, it’s two in the afternoon and I’m already late. I’ve spent the day driving from place to place, buying supplies for my classroom for the year. Dry-erase markers, paper, crayons, construction paper, glue—the staples of elementary education. Every year the school provides fewer materials and I buy more. I’m used to making do with even less, so it’s fine. At least the supplies are tax-deductible.

I take my right hand off the wheel and fumble to pick up the phone. It’s Tyler Norris, a fellow elementary school teacher. There are very few men teaching in the lower level grades, so the two of us form a sort of fraternity, even though we’re nothing alike. Tyler is … exuberant. He’s outgoing, muscular, a guy’s guy. He’s an assistant coach for the high school football team and drinks like a fish. Beer, mostly. I’m pretty sure he was the guy chugging Jägermeister from the bottle in college while his frat buddies shouted, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

He’s also my best friend, though it would be impossible for us to be more different from each other.

I lift the phone to my ear. “Hey.”

No fancy Bluetooth or electronics for me. My Toyota is twelve years old. My flip-phone and the eight-year-old Mac I bought my freshman year at Boston University still work just fine. I love technology, but I love being out of debt more. I’m trying to pay off my student loans before I turn sixty.

“Yo, Matty, what up? Where are ya?” Tyler’s voice is boisterous with an undercurrent of gravel.

“I’m on my way, I got held up in traffic in Hadley. It’s chaos from the students coming back at UMASS.”

“Right, right. They’re ready to start without you.”

I mutter a curse. “I’m ten minutes away. Stall them, please.” As I say the words, I pull out into the traffic circle. Everything goes black as a minivan comes out of nowhere and crushes the front of my Toyota. Force yanks me toward the steering wheel, but the seat belt locks me in place. With a loud bang, the airbag deploys right into my face.

It takes a few seconds before the shock lifts. I turn off the car and just breathe.

Steam pours out of the front of my car, and Tyler is shouting in my phone “Matty? Matty? You okay?”

I groan. Then I say, “Tyler, I just got into an accident. Tell them I can’t make it today.”

“You all right? Oh, man—”

“I’m fine,” I say. I need to get him off the phone. I flip it shut and gingerly reach for the door handle.

The door opens. I step out, still disoriented. The front of my car is crumpled in, but the minivan doesn’t appear to have sustained any damage. Sitting behind the wheel is a young mother with bleach blonde hair and wide blue eyes.

She opens the door and slips out of her seat. She’s wearing a UMASS t-shirt, and as I stand up next to my car, I revise her age downward. She’s not a mother, she’s a college kid driving her mother’s van. I don’t know if her almost white hair is bleached or naturally blonde, but it’s cut longer in the front than the back. Her t-shirt is a little too tight. Not that I’m complaining.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, are you?” Sir? Do I look like a sir? I look down at the steaming front end of my car. The white cloud is not encouraging.

“Looks like you ruptured the radiator. You shouldn’t talk on the phone while driving.”

“Pot, meet kettle. You hit me, kid.”

“First, I’m not a kid. And second, I had the right of way. I hit you because you raced out into the rotary without looking.”

Just what I need. A twenty-year-old college sophomore patronizing me about my driving. “Lady, I’ve never had an accident in my life. How fast were you going? There’s no way I pulled out too fast for you to stop.”

She shakes her head, a grim look on her face. I’d have thought she was completely emotionless—her facial expression is remote—but her hands are shaking. “We’ll let the police do their report. I’m just grateful neither of us was hurt. You got insurance information?”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah, let me get my insurance card. Unbelievable.” I