by Hazel James
“My school wife is fanatical about Diet Coke, good to know,” he says, making a mental note.
“You don’t mess with the Nectar of the Gods and all of its bubbly deliciousness.” I clink my can against Avery’s. “At least I won’t have to worry about you stealing mine. Okay, Ave, your turn.”
“Question seven. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Never had one.”
Avery gasps. “Really? You’re too cute to have never had a girlfriend. Wait, does this mean you’re….”
“Question eight. No, I’m not gay either.”
“Well that’s good to know. Not that I’d have a problem with you being gay. I could kill for a shopping partner.” She pauses and nudges my shoulder. “You know, Ray has never had a boyfriend. Just sayin.”
The Queen of Subtlety sends a dazzling smile toward James. I know she means well, but God she has such a big mouth. Why did I have to tell her I thought he was cute? I let my hair fall over my face. I’m not usually shy, so I’m not sure where this idiotic schoolgirl behavior is coming from. Avery must be rubbing off on me.
“Never had a boyfriend, huh?” He laughs softly and takes a drink of chocolate milk.
“Moving right along,” I say emphatically. Those lips look like they have more skill than mine, and I’d rather not be written off as a senior with no experience. Even though I am. “Question nine. If you could get a tattoo, what would it be?
“Well, I already have a few. I’m not sure what I want next though. They’re sort of addicting.”
“Wait, how old are you?”
“Question ten. I’m seventeen.”
“So how do you have tattoos?”
“My mom’s a hippie. She went with me and signed the papers,” he says in complete nonchalance. “She has a few, so she didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
“Alright, question eleven,” Avery interjects. “Where are they? Back? Biceps? Buns?” She drums her fingers together and grins wickedly on the last word. As if I’d ever let her see my school husband’s buns. James lifts his right sleeve and I see the most gorgeous black and gray tree snaking its way up to his well-defined shoulder. His triceps makes the roots appear 3-D and before I know it, I’m reaching across the table and my finger traces the edge of one root up to the trunk and out to a branch before his shirt prevents me from further exploration. His muscles are as beautiful as his tattoo, and I force my hand away from his arm. Jesus, now I really want to know what his abs look like. And feel like. And taste like.
Taste like? Ugh, I’m turning into a teenage man-eater right before my own eyes. I can just picture it now. Hi Rachel, what’d you do at school today? Oh, not much. Took a quiz and turned into a cafeteria floozy at lunch.
“Down girl,” Avery warns. “I’ve seen you have that same look when you drag me to the running store for a new pair of shoes. Oh my God, are you blushing?”
“No!” I retort. Any remote hope I had of impressing James has just died a terrible, gruesome death. Maybe I’ll grow up to be the Crazy Cat Lady of running shoes. So much for being the news anchor with a hot firefighter husband. Or the normal, confident girl I was earlier today.
“Don’t worry, Ray, I didn’t mind,” James says as he lowers his sleeve. “But you’ll have to wait to see the others. Perhaps when you make your final determination on my occupation?” Those gorgeous lips of his turn upward, and I’ve never heard my nickname sound better. What the hell is happening to me?
“Occupation?” Avery asks. “You’ve known each other for a whopping hour and you already have an inside joke? Not cool, Beef.”
“It’s not an inside joke, Avery. Mrs. Mason’s project said he was a firefighter and I was a news anchor. James, uhh, said that I…” I already told Avery that James said I was hot, but that was before he was sitting right in front of me, rendering me as useful as a screen door on a submarine. And now I’m speaking in metaphors. God.
“I said I had a hot news anchor wife, but Ray doesn’t know if I’m a hot firefighter yet.” James grips his heart in feigned injury.
“Duh, she hasn’t seen your abs yet,” Avery says, matter-of-factly. “If you’re not calendar material, you’re just a guy who puts out fires.”
“I see y’all take this stuff seriously,” he says. “It’s a good thing I don’t mind being objectified in the name of public service.”
“Let’s find out what we can expect to see in our calendar,” Avery asks. “Question twelve. Boxers or briefs?”
“Boxer briefs. Best of both worlds.”
Great, now I’m picturing him in just his underwear and a firefighter helmet. How am I supposed to work on this project with him when he’s mostly naked in my head? I clear my throat, hoping to clear my mind. “Alright, let’s get our minds out of the gutter. Question thirteen. If you had a free vacation to anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
He brushes his lips with his thumb and studies me for several moments before answering. “Fiji.”
And now he’s mostly naked wearing a firefighter helmet in Fiji. I groan internally. “That’s my dream vacation. I’d give anything to go there.”
“The man of your dreams is gonna take you there one day,” he says with a smile before dropping his eyes. He has lashes for days. How did I not notice that earlier? Oh, that’s right. His lips. I silently plead with Avery for some help but I think she’s enjoying my spectacular shit show. Things were much better when James was the flustered one. Somehow, I manage to find my voice.
“Question fourteen. Have you applied to any colleges?”
“Nope, at least not yet. I never saw a point with us moving around so much. Have you?”
“I applied for two: NC State and UNC. Though you can never mention State to my dad. He might disown me if he finds out.” I shudder thinking about it.
“Why’d you apply there if your dad might disown you? That seems a bit counterproductive to me.”
“That was her fault,” I say, pointing to my Beef. “She was in Full-On Avery Mode about how I should take a chance and do something bold and daring, and I got excited. My dad went to UNC and has dreams of me attending his alma mater and run in their track program. But I sort of want my own dream. So I applied to both.”
“Have you heard back yet?”
“Not until the end of the month. I’m stalking the mailbox though.”
“Avery, what about you? Where do you want to go to college?” James asks.
“I’ve applied to FIT and Parsons. My stuff’s gonna be on a runway one day.”
“Yup, all the baggage handlers at the Raleigh-Durham airport are gonna wear your stuff,” I tease. James doubles over in laughter, and I feel like a million bucks knowing I’m the cause of that beautiful sound.
“Har har har.” She finishes her Diet Coke and stands to clear her tray. James jumps up and removes it from her hands.
“You done, Ray?” I nod, and he stacks our trays on top of his and heads toward the conveyor belt. Avery and I look at each other in amazement.
“Wow, Ray. Cute and chivalrous? You should try to keep this one around.” I sigh in agreement. Several sets of female eyes follow him back to our table and a surge of jealousy courses through me. Those girls better back off my school husband. I wonder if Avery will let me borrow her shank.
“Only ten more minutes for lunch, ladies. Y’all think we’ll have enough time to finish this interrogation?” James asks.
“You say that like you haven’t enjoyed the company of two beautiful girls in a one-star dining establishment,” Avery says, batting her eyes.
“Oh, I’ve enjoyed the company. This is definitely the best first day I’ve ever had.”
“Of course it is, silly. I told you, you lucked out with Ray and me. Now, where’d we leave off? Question fifteen?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, what’s the top item on your bucket list?”
“To save someone’s life.”
“Wow, you didn’t even need to think about
that,” I say. “How many things do you have on your bucket list?”
“I have several, but that’s always been the top one. I can’t think of anything greater than that.”
“So do you want to be a doctor?” Avery asks.
“Question sixteen. Nope. Definitely not a doctor. I’m going to be a hot firefighter, remember?” he says, laughing. I consider this a sign and make a split-second decision to sacrifice all remaining dignity.
“Question seventeen,” I say, before losing courage. “What does your ideal girl look like?”
James lets out a breath. “That’s tough. There are so many beautiful girls in the world.” He runs his hands through his hair and I cross my fingers under the table because apparently I’m five now. “I could spout off a bunch of crap about a perfect body and gorgeous eyes, but that doesn’t mean much. My ideal girl makes me laugh. She makes me want to be a better person and she challenges me. That being said,” James rubs the back of his neck, “I’ve always thought blondes were pretty.”
Oh, God. I have blonde hair. And I make him laugh. I don’t know about the rest, but it’s a step in the right direction. My inner schoolgirl is high-fiving herself.
“Aw, you’re a romantic. It’s a shame we don’t know anyone with blonde hair,” Avery teases. “Question eighteen. What kind of car do you drive?”
“Don’t laugh, but I just got my license last week. My grandpa gave me his old Ford. That thing is so ancient, I swear it was built by Henry himself. It definitely won’t help me pick up any ladies, but it serves its purpose. And more importantly, it was free.”
“That’s cool. My cheating gay dad promised me a car for my birthday. That fucker better follow through.” James tilts his head to the side, trying to connect the dots of Avery’s statement. “Don’t worry, it sounds worse than it is,” she says, with a pass of her hand. “The bottom line is he said he’d get me a car for my eighteenth birthday and that’s next month. All I know is that it better have leather and a big ass pink bow.”
“Speaking of birthdays, question nineteen,” I ask. “When’s your eighteenth birthday?”
“April third.”
“No it’s not,” I say, as Avery lets out a shriek.
“Yes, it is. I may have moved around a lot, but as far as I know my birthday never changed.” He furrows his eyebrows as he looks between Avery and me.
“It can’t be April third,” I say.
“Why not? Is that day reserved or something?”
“Yeah, for my birthday.”
“Shut up!” Avery shouts, slapping her hand on the table with each word. “Are you guys serious? I can’t stand the cuteness. This is totally a sign or something.”
James and I stare at each other briefly, and for a moment, I wonder if Avery is right. Then again, last week she was positive that Tyler McKinney was going to profess his undying love to her, which made for a really awkward standoff when he came to the Sweet Pea on Friday. Damn Avery and her romantic tangents getting my hopes up. I snap out of my thoughts when the bell rings.
“I didn’t get to ask the last question,” I say.
“Why don’t you give me your number, and I can call you after school. You can ask then, and we can talk about our project.”
I reach for a pen in my backpack while attempting to hide my grin. I can’t wait for it to be tonight. Who cares if he said it was for the project. “Give me your hand.” James rests the back of his hand in mine while I write my number on his palm. Why are phone numbers only ten digits? I print slowly to maximize my time. His fingertips brush the inside of my wrist, sending a stream of electricity up my arm, and I concentrate on keeping my whimper to myself.
“There you go.” He stares at his hand and then looks back at me and smiles.
“Thanks. See you on the six o’clock news, Mrs. Tennyson.”
“Excuse me?
“Tennyson. My last name, and now yours, according to high school Economics.”
James heads to his next class, and I find myself appreciating the view as he leaves. I should bake Mrs. Mason some cookies.
“Earth to Rachel,” Avery says, waving her hands in front of my face. She links arms with me and spins me around to walk in the opposite direction. “This has been quite the lunch. I must say, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching Rachel I-Don’t-Care-About-Guys Wheaton fall apart over one.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” she says, patting my arm. “And denial is just a river in Egypt.”
The truck door requires more than a tug to open it, and the hinges protest against the cold. I toss my backpack on the passenger seat and crank the engine. I don’t know how much life is left in this beast, but looking for a job might not be a bad idea. As the truck warms up, I search the parking lot for Rachel. We don’t have any other classes together, which I suppose is a good thing. It’s hard to concentrate with her nearby. Hell, I’m still buzzing from sitting across from her during lunch. As far as first days go, I stand by my earlier statement to Avery—this has been the best one I’ve ever had.
In typical high school fashion, the cliques aren’t hard to spot. The jocks park along the football field and the country guys hang out by the agriculture building. The rich kids are in a luxury car oasis at the far end of the lot. But there’s still no Rachel, which means I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to see her. And that’s a damn shame.
I throw the transmission into drive and head out of the parking lot, passing the couple from Economics. Tomorrow I should introduce myself to her. I have a feeling she needs a friend and I definitely know what it’s like to be different. When I was eight, I made the mistake of telling someone that I knew things before they happened. After that, I was always the last pick during P.E., and Halloween that year was brutal. Four different kids dressed up as me, complete with muumuus, gypsy scarves, and fake crystal balls. When Mom told me we were moving, I kissed her on the lips and I didn’t even wipe it off afterward.
I steer the truck to the line of vehicles leaving the parking lot, but turn toward the stadium at the last minute. The truck groans over a few speed bumps, and I slow near the concession stand. The field is empty, but I park and grab a seat anyway. I’ve been intuitive long enough to know I’m here for a reason. The cold aluminum doesn’t leave much room for comfort, but at least it’s warmer than Topeka.
To pass the time, I bring up my Lake Street Dive playlist on my phone and stare at the album cover as the first song comes on. I’m sorry, Rachael Price. You’ve officially been demoted to the second most gorgeous woman on the planet.
Three songs into my playlist, a group of girls walks onto the track—including a leggy blonde with a long ponytail. I do a mental happy dance and lean forward to watch the group warm up. (Okay, I lied. I’m only watching her warm up.) She stretches with ease and chats with the other girls. I can’t make out what they’re saying but everything is punctuated by laughter. For several minutes, they torture me with displays of teenage flexibility and then stand to take their positions in each lane. I hear Rachel count down and all eight spring forward. She’s definitely got a hot body—I saw that when she walked into class—but seeing her in action gives me a whole new appreciation for it. She starts out in the middle, but takes third by the end of the first lap. She passes another runner on lap three. When she reaches the final turn on lap four, she’s in first. Her dad was wrong—she’s not a roadrunner, she’s a gazelle. The only thing more amazing than her body is the smile that takes up half of her face.
Rachel hits the finish line a full six seconds before the rest of the group joins her. She laces her fingers on top of her head and sends quick bursts of breath into the cold air. I have no idea what she ran her mile in, but I know I wasn’t watching for very long. The girls settle on the track for a few minutes of stretching, and I figure this is the perfect time to leave before I’m spotted.
I picture her legs at full speed on the way back to the truck and have to adjust myself s
lightly before climbing into the cab. I remember being so bored during our move to Topeka that I actually read one of my mom’s romance novels. Now I have an idea of what “aching loins” means.
I take two pieces of apple pie back to my bedroom and stare at my phone. Is 6:53 too early to call? Or too late? I feel a little like Goldilocks. My finger hovers over her name. I saved her number as soon as I walked away in case it rubbed off. I touch the screen, and she answers on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Rachel? This is James. I hope it’s a good time to call.”
“Yup, perfect timing. I just got out of the shower.”
Oh God. Rachel. Shower. Naked. Wet. Soap. My brain short circuits and my mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning on land.
“Oh, that’s good.” It comes out an octave higher than normal, so I clear my throat. “I mean, not that you needed a shower. Or maybe you did. So it’s good that you showered. So you’re clean and stuff. And I’m going to shut up now.” She laughs as I work to remove the foot from my mouth. These mental images aren’t going anywhere for a while.
“Yeah, I like being clean and stuff.”
I groan. “One of these days, I won’t make an ass out of myself. Though, from the looks of it, that may not be anytime soon.”
“Cut yourself some slack, New Guy. We’ll chalk it up to first-day jitters.”
“I’ve moved too many times to have first-day jitters.”
“Hmm… jet lag?”
“Nope, we drove here from Topeka a few weeks ago.”
“Well that leaves one thing.”
“What?”
“You were abducted by evil aliens who use you for their amusement and force you to say embarrassing things.”
I bust out laughing and fall onto my bed. This girl is absolutely perfect. “Yes, that’s exactly it. How did you know?”
“Oh, just a lucky guess. But watch out for those probes. I hear they can be a real pain in the ass.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “So how was the rest of your day?”
“Not bad. Classes seem easy enough and I didn’t get lost. How about you?”
