by Hazel James
“Hey there, handsome. I’ve been meaning to catch you for a few days now. Why don’t you sit with me tomorrow at lunch? I’m having a party soon, and I want you to come.” She looks up at me through doe eyes and maneuvers her mouth into a perfect pout. I’m sure this works on every other guy at Edison, but she’s wasting her time. I extract my arm from her grip and make a mental note to rub some Purell on it later. No telling who or what she’s had her hands on today. Rachel’s walking a half step behind me. I grab her hand so I don’t lose her.
“No thanks, Vivien. My lunch seat is the best in school, and I have plans so I can’t come to your party.” We turn down the main hallway and Vivien stops.
“But I didn’t even tell you when it was!”
“Doesn’t matter. I have plans.”
Vivien’s raising her voice, which means people are starting to look at us. I drop Rachel’s hand so we don’t get caught, but take a step closer to her to make up for the lack of contact.
“With who?” She puts her hands on her hips and juts her boobs and chin out. Desperation really isn’t very becoming on her, or anyone. I don’t think she’s used to guys telling her no.
“My friend Rachel.” I point my thumb in her direction, then abruptly spin around and continue down the hallway before she can respond. “Sorry about that. Vivien sort of scares me,” I say, linking fingers with Rachel again. I don’t want her to think for one second that I’d entertain Vivien’s offer. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for the note and tell you that I’m really proud of you. Telling your mom took guts. I guess I was just too distracted earlier to remember to tell you that.”
She smiles, obviously remembering this morning like I am. “Thanks. Hopefully my dad doesn’t blow a gasket when we tell him tonight.” We stop outside her class. I stand a little closer to her than I should, but the power of her sunshine and vanilla is strong.
“I get off at seven tonight. Text me when you’re done talking to him?”
“If I’m still alive.”
Fletcher and I walk in the front door after our shift. Rachel texted me earlier saying her dad wasn’t going to get home until later tonight because of some business deal. She didn’t want me to worry about not hearing from her. Mandy and Devin gave us the official thumbs-up for our open mic night, so Fletch and I figured it’d be a good time to practice. We round the corner from the foyer and see Gran and Grandpa at the kitchen table with a bunch of papers scattered around them. Their expressions are a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Good evening, my favorite old fogies,” I say, kissing each of them on the cheek. “What’s all this?”
“Hello, son,” Gran pats my hand. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, this is Fletcher. I work with him at the Sweet Pea and he’s dating Rachel’s best friend, Avery.”
“And here I thought you were bringing home a handsome young fellow for me,” she teases. “Would you boys like some pie?”
“I’ve been hearing about this pie for a few weeks,” Fletcher says, rubbing his hands together. He’s practically drooling.
“Well, I can’t let growing boys like y’all starve, now can I?” We follow her into the kitchen and get our plates while she slices the pie.
“What kind do you have tonight?” I ask.
“Apple and pecan.”
Fletcher and I high five each other. “What’s all that paperwork, Gran?”
“Oh, your Grandpa got some documents delivered about the farm. He’s been thinking about retiring for a while, and I think he’s finally going to do it.”
“This is gonna be your last crop, Grandpa?”
“I think it might be,” he says from the table, engrossed in what looks like a contract.
“What’re you gonna do with all that spare time?”
“I have no idea, boy. I reckon I can find something to do though.”
Fletcher grabs his guitar case and I take our plates back to my room. We decide to work on our original song first. We finished most of the song the night we were at his house. He’s covering the vocals on this one since it’s his song to Avery.
“I’ve been thinking about the lead up to the chorus after the second verse. I think we should have more guitar there,” he says.
“Sure thing, bro. Did you figure out the lyrics to the third verse yet?”
“I think so. Let’s run through the whole song so we can see if they work.”
Thirty minutes later, he’s happy with the song. Most of what we’re playing is from the 80s and early 90s. It’s the music we both grew up listening to and it’s so much better than most of the shit on the radio these days. Even though my song for Rachel isn’t an original one, I hope she likes it just the same.
“Alright, we need to finalize the order. Do you want to start with She Talks to Angels or Don’t Stop Believin’?” he asks.
“Let’s do Don’t Stop Believin’ and then Faithfully. And maybe She Talks to Angels and Hotel California after that?”
“That works. Do you want to finish with your song or mine?”
“Let’s finish with yours. I don’t think Avery’s gonna be able to keep herself from molesting you after hearing it. That might get awkward if we still have to sing mine.”
“You’ve got a good point,” he laughs. “I should probably head out though. I told Sammy she could stay up late tonight so we could have story time together when I get back.” He stands up and puts his guitar in his case. I look at him for a minute, remembering what Avery said at the theater about Fletcher being the best big brother on the planet. She wasn’t quite right about that one, I just didn’t pick up on it then.
“Sam’s a lucky girl, you know.”
“Why’s that?”
“She has a great dad. I didn’t have one growing up and I always wish I did.” Fletcher freezes for a moment, but makes a quick recovery. He clears his throat and snaps the case shut.
“Yeah, well my dad’s the lucky one. He always wanted a daughter.”
“Sure,” I say, giving him a knowing glance. My phone chimes with a text from Rachel.
Rachel: I told him.
“Go ahead,” Fletcher says, pointing to my phone. “I’ll let myself out. Tell Ray I said hi.”
“Will do. See ya, bro.”
Me: Can I FaceTime you?
Rachel: Sure. Be warned. I look like shit.
Her eyes are red and swollen when she answers. “Didn’t go well?” I ask.
“Not exactly. He acted like the way a three-year-old does when he finds out there’s no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny.”
“What do you mean there’s no Santa or Easter Bunny?” I ask, trying to inject some humor into the conversation. I hate that she’s so upset.
“Very funny.” She attempts a pathetic smile.
“What’d he say?”
“That he couldn’t believe I was throwing my life away to be a P.E. teacher. I asked him what he thought I was supposed to do after going to the Olympics, but he just started talking about sponsors and contracts and money. I don’t care about that stuff.”
“Give him a few days and I’m sure he’ll come around.”
“I doubt that. He may not have said he was disappointed in me, but I know he is. Our relationship was already strained because of how hard he pushes me, but he’s still my dad. He just got up off the couch and walked away. That really hurt.” She blows her nose and flops on her bed. She doesn’t know her dad is sitting in his room crying too.
“Rachel, trust me on this one.” Her eyes snap up and search mine.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s not upset with you. He’s upset with himself.” I’ll let him tell her the rest of the story. It’d mean more coming from him anyway.
“Are you sure?” Her lip quivers and a new round of tears spill down her cheeks.
“I promise you’re not a disappointment to him. If anything, you just opened his eyes. Give him a while to get used to his new view.”
“Thank
you. I feel like you’re always coming to my rescue.”
“There’s nothing in the world I love doing more than rescuing you. Besides, you make a pretty hot damsel in distress.” She laughs finally. I give myself a mental pat on the back.
“I should go. Tomorrow’s our last practice before the invitational and I’m pretty beat.”
“Sleep well, Mrs. Tennyson.”
She pauses, then quietly says, “I love you, James.”
My heart, brain and ears do one of those elaborate handshake-high-five-fist-bump maneuvers while my stomach does the equivalent of an epic touchdown dance. When the first “I love you” happened in Mom’s romance book, it was when the dude drove to the chick’s house after an argument. It was raining and he swung himself off his motorcycle and pounded on her front door. She opened it and gawked at the way his wet shirt clung to his muscles and watched the water drip off his perfectly wet hair. Then there was lots of kissing. (I can’t believe chicks buy into this shit.)
But this moment is nothing like that one. This moment is real. The truth is, I’ve loved Rachel before I saw even saw her. When she walked in second period on my first day at Edison High, my heart stopped beating for me and started beating for her.
“I love you too, Ray. More than you’ll ever know.” I don’t bother fighting the grin on my face. She just made my day. Year. Life.
I toss my bag in a locker and re-tighten my shoelaces. My race is in two hours and I really wish we didn’t have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to get here so early. I could have killed for some extra sleep. Mom and I stayed up last night talking, which was nice. Odd, but nice. She assured me Dad doesn’t hate my guts and that he’ll come around (which I already knew, but I was glad to hear it again). She even confessed that she’s been distant with me these last few years because she didn’t have a great relationship with her mom and therefore didn’t know how to have one with me.
Talk about shocking.
The ride to the invitational was really awkward. Mom kept trying to make small talk to fill in for the fact that Dad and I weren’t really speaking. He’s been busy all week with some business deal with a farm, though I suspect my career change had something to do with him coming home late these last two nights. Normally, he’d go over the strategy the night before my race and give me pointers about my competitors on the drive to the track. This time, he didn’t even tell me to buckle up.
I walk outside and pull out my phone to text James. Mom and Dad went to find their seats so I have an hour to myself before I have to warm up.
Me: I’m here.
James: Good morning, beautiful.
Me: What time does your shift at the Pea start?
James: Not for a while. Did you talk to your mom about the movie tonight?
Me: She said yes. ☺
James: Hell yeah. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll be the one next to the hot running champion.
Me: She said I could stay at Avery’s house tonight too.
James: YESSSSSSSSSS.
Me: Hahahaha. Good to know you’re excited.
James: BRB A hot girl caught my attention.
Me: Ummm…that better be a joke.
James: Nope. She’s seriously hot.
Me: NOT FUNNY.
A pair of strong arms come up from behind and wrap around me, making me drop my phone in the grass. Two seconds before I unleash a blood-curdling scream, I smell a familiar woodsy scent.
“See, I told you a hot girl caught my attention.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I turn and give him a quick kiss before backing out of his grip. The last thing I need is my dad catching us together.
“You seriously think I’d miss your last invitational?”
“You drove an hour away to watch me run one stupid race?”
“Wrong. I drove an hour away to watch the love of my life kick some serious ass in the 1600 meter.”
Well. When you put it that way.
“Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
“I lied. I don’t work today,” he says, grinning mischievously. “How much free time do you have before your race?”
“It doesn’t start until nine but my warm up’s at eight.”
James checks his phone. “Looks like we have about forty-five minutes. Wanna come with me to The Beast?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I can’t afford to get all hot and bothered right now. There’s a one hundred percent chance I’d miss the race altogether.”
“Thanks for the ego boost, but that’s not quite what I had in mind.” He smiles and kisses me on the cheek. “Come on, I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” As usual, he helps me into my side of the cab when we reach his truck.
“I see you didn’t travel alone.” I run my hand over his guitar case.
“Lucy always helps me relax, and I thought she could help you too.”
I’ve heard him sing, but this is the first time I’ve seen him do it. The phone doesn’t do him justice at all. His voice is slightly raspy in all the right ways. I want to close my eyes and lose myself in his music, but then I’d be missing out on the spectacular show that his mouth and hands are putting on. After several songs, he sets his guitar to the side and pulls me to him.
“You’re really talented. I can’t believe you haven’t started your own YouTube channel or something. How’d you learn to play?” I lace my fingers with his. I love the way our hands fit together.
“Mom dated a bunch of musicians over the years, so I just picked it up from watching them play.”
“Well thanks for the private concert.” I turn toward him. My face is close to his neck and I can see his heartbeat right below one of my favorite nibbling spots. I squeeze his hand and watch it flutter a bit faster. “Do you have any predictions right now?” I know that I said I couldn’t afford to get hot and bothered, but I’m okay with warm and slightly unsettled. Waste not, want not.
“Hmmm. Yes, I can see it now. You are about to be kissed by an extremely good-looking man.”
I lean up and kiss him first. “Wrong! God, you suck at this game.” We both laugh before he makes his prediction come true.
“So tell me more about your predictions. Do you know most of what’s going to happen? Or only some things?” I lean against him and take his hand again.
“Definitely not most things. I rarely knew we were moving ahead of time, but once Mom told me I usually got memories of my new school or where we’d live.” He rubs his forehead. “On the other hand, I had no problem with stupid shit like knowing what the cafeteria was serving. Without looking at the menu,” he adds with a sidelong glance. “I also had an advantage when it came to girls.”
He smiles but I’m not sure I really want to know the story. “Please, please tell me you didn’t use your psychic abilities to have sex.”
“That’s impossible. I’ve never had sex.”
Oh, yeah.
“But when we lived in Birmingham, there was a girl named Stacey who really wanted to change that. She tried to get me to go out with her for months, but I knew she was off her rocker. She had huge daddy issues and was just looking to get pregnant.”
“Did she? Get pregnant?”
“Yeah, she got her way with some drunk football player. The rumor was the condom failed. The truth was she poked holes in it.”
“Wow, that’s really sad.”
“Tell me about it. Just another reason I was glad to never have had a girlfriend.”
I sit up and look at him. “What about now? Do you still wish you didn’t have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose. “But I hope to change that soon. I don’t like sneaking around your parents. I want to be able to pick you up and take you home and enjoy goodnight kisses on the front porch.”
“Yeah, I need to figure out a way to tell my dad. I feel bad for all the bombshells I’m dropping on him.” I look down and twist my hands together. “Anyway, sorry for the moment of
insecurity. Sometimes I’m afraid that you’ll get tired of being tied to one person since you never were before.”
“That’s because I didn’t want to be. I hadn’t met you yet.” He frames my face in his hands and kisses me with a sweet intensity that sends my heart to my toes and back again. We both sigh when he pulls away.
“Come on, Flo Jo. It’s time to get you back to the track.” He puts his guitar back in the case and we get out of the truck.
“I can’t believe this is my last race.”
“You nervous?”
“No, surprisingly. I’m sort of just at peace with it. I’m more nervous about my acceptance letters from UNC and State. They should be coming in soon.”
“What if you get accepted to both?”
“I might have to go to a sudden-death eeny, meeny, miney moe.” I still want to intercept the envelopes. Dad doesn’t know I applied to State and at this point, I’d rather tell him about James than I would about his rival college. “Have you thought more about applying to colleges?”
“I applied to some a couple of weeks ago.”
“Really? Which ones?”
“State and UNC.” He laughs when I look at him. “What? You can’t fault me. It was peer pressure.”
“And just who was pressuring you?” I tease.
“This hot blond girl in my second period class. Man, she’s brutal. She threatened to give me a wedgie if I didn’t apply to the same colleges she did. I’m sort of scared of her.”
“She sounds nuts.” We stop outside the locker room.
“I like nuts. Wait. Not those nuts. I mean—shit.” He facepalms and groans while I collapse against the building in a fit of laughter. He joins in, and it takes us a few minutes to compose ourselves.
“Now that I’m done making an ass of myself, I’m heading to the stands to cheer you on.”
“Just don’t get caught by my dad.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, pulling Groucho Marx glasses out of his back pocket. “I’ll be the one in disguise.” He puts them on and my laughter returns in full force.
