Letters to Nowhere(87)

“I need to write two thousand words interpreting that Catcher in the Rye quote,” I said, pointing to the paragraph on my laptop. “It’s not really much to work with, is it? Not for two thousand words.”

“You just need to find an angle,” he said as Bentley walked through the front door, dropping a stack of mail on the coffee table.

I glanced over at the document on his laptop. “What are you working on?”

“Also essay writing,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “AP senior composition. We have daily poetry responses we have to write. Basically, my teacher seems to give an A–plus if you’re opinionated, fearless, and mature. Even if you’re totally wrong.”

I grinned at him and pulled his laptop closer. “Let’s see if you’re all of those things.”


Response to the Poem “Sex Without Love” by Sharon Olds

Essay by Jordan Matthew Bentley




Sharon Olds’s poem focuses on the actual act of making love both with words and with form. She discusses the subject of how an individual can participate in intercourse without loving their partner. Olds seems to simulate an actual orgasm at the point of climax—




I stopped reading there and shoved the computer back toward Jordan, my face flaming hot. “I’d say you did just fine.”

He snorted back a laugh, glancing at Coach Bentley, who seemed to be watching this exchange from his seat in the recliner. “Ten bucks says I get extra credit for discussing mature themes in a mature way. But I think she’s nuts for expecting high school kids to discuss that poem maturely. I think you need to be at least thirty to give a valid interpretation.”

“I am so not looking forward to poetry.”

“It’s not all bad. I like the Robert Frost stuff we were reading before we moved on to the girl poets. I could interpret Frost just fine. Now I’m digging for feminist opinions and trying to think like a girl, but that’s really hard to do.”

I started to laugh but stopped when I saw the way Bentley was staring at Jordan, as though he had something really important to say. Jordan, on the other hand, had pulled a large envelope from the stack of mail and opened it quickly. I didn’t take much notice of this until he froze and fell completely silent.

“What?” I asked.

He continued to stare at the paper in his lap. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. Still nothing.

“Jordy?” Bentley said, getting up from his chair.

Jordan finally looked up, his eyes full of confusion or surprise. “I got into Stanford.”

“You applied to Stanford?” I knew he was smart and always doing homework, but I didn’t think he was the Ivy League type. Especially after he had rattled off the other schools he’d heard from, and they were pretty average and close by.

“I didn’t think I’d get in, my college counselor wanted me to…” He sat back against the couch, smiling a little and running his fingers through his hair.

Bentley took the papers from Jordan and looked them over. “Wow, this is amazing. I’m so proud of you,” he said, sounding completely genuine and excited.

I almost cried when I saw the look on Jordan’s face. It was like that was all he needed to hear from his dad. Or maybe all this talk of him being a screwup had stuck with him, and he needed Stanford to tell him he wasn’t one.

Bentley clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll go out to dinner and celebrate after I get back from Chicago, all right? Looks like you’ll have some decisions to make.”

Jordan turned his attention back to his laptop. “Yeah, I guess. But either way, it’s just cool to get accepted.”

I gave his shoulder a shove. “Oh come on, like you’re gonna pick Missouri State over Stanford?”

“College is not something that earns an impulsive decision. I have to think about it, consider all the pros and cons.” Jordan shrugged and flashed me his mischievous grin. “Plus, Stanford will expect me to actually work. I might want to take blow–off courses and gain fifteen pounds like every other normal kid in America. Maybe join a fraternity.”

Jordan the frat boy. I could see that being possible with his history of wild, drunken, backyard X Games performances.

Bentley handed Jordan the papers, looking right at him. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

Those words seemed to have more weight for Jordan than they did for me, but I stayed out of it because maybe Jordan was telling the truth. I wasn’t sure I’d want to take on the workload of Stanford courses, and I’d be totally intimidated that I wouldn’t be smart enough and I’d get Bs or Cs. Maybe it was the same for Jordan.





CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE





Jordan got to the gym early on Monday afternoon before the time he needed to coach. My teammates, Stacey, and Bentley had the gym van loaded, leotards arranged on hangers (at Stacey’s insistence), and we were dressed in matching warm–ups (also Stacey’s insistence). We were ready to take off for Chicago.

Jordan cornered me before I got in the van and stuffed something in my backpack. “Is it pointless to ask you not to show this to your friends?” he whispered.

I turned around to look at him and was caught off guard by the amount of feelings that came just from seeing him. It had been six and a half days since the last time we kissed, and I knew it would be several more because it wasn’t going to happen right here, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant we weren’t Jaren anymore. And could we find our way back with all this stuff pulling us in a million directions?