I'll Be the One Page 2

  “Stand up and slide your desks back to make space in the middle of the room.” Mrs. Mason grabs a basket off her desk and passes a Ring Pop to each guy in the room. “Gentlemen, please unwrap your rings, stand before your brides and repeat after me:

  “I, state your name, take thee, state your bride’s name, in pretend matrimony. I promise to be true to our grade for better or worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall graduate.”

  I slide the Ring Pop on Rachel’s finger and make an effort to not jerk my hand back. Sparks didn’t actually fly, but I wasn’t expecting her skin to feel so soft. So good. I’ve never been pretend married before, but I already know I can never give another girl a ring again. I’m a senior in high school and I’m ruined for life. I want to get married for real and have her babies. I mean, make her have my babies. Shit, who am I kidding? I’d have her babies if she asked me to.

  “Okay, let’s get the desks back in order and I’ll hand out your packets with all of your information. We’ll review them together and you can start looking for houses.”

  I slide my desk back up, bringing it slightly closer to Rachel’s. She puts her hair in a ponytail but a few shorter tendrils fall around her face. Fuck, did I just say tendrils? This is not good. I’ve made it seventeen years without having a girlfriend, and now I have a pretend wife and I’m using sissy words. What’s next? I clear my throat and take a deep breath.

  “Let’s try this again. Hi, I’m James. It’s nice to meet you.” I smile at her.

  She smiles back, and it lights up her entire face. “Hi. Rachel. Where are you from?”

  “Nowhere, really, but I moved here from Topeka. Why were you in Cozumel?”

  “My dad wanted to celebrate me winning my cross country championship, so Christmas in Cozumel it was. He kept introducing me to the hotel staff as ‘Rachel the Roadrunner.’ It was really embarrassing,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “That beats Christmas on a farm, but you didn’t get any of my gran’s pie so I win the dessert round.”

  “Are you kidding? Mexican desserts are the best. Churros, flan, dulce de leche cake…I managed to put on about five pounds on vacation.”

  “You look perfect to me,” I murmur.

  Rachel just stares at me. Christ on a cracker. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  “Yup,” she giggles.

  I wince and facepalm. “So much for first impressions,” I groan.

  “That one was weird too.”

  “Third time’s the charm?” I ask with my most dazzling smile in place, praying it doesn’t look creepy. About the time I start silently pleading with the floor to open up and swallow me whole, Mrs. Mason starts talking again.

  “Look at the first two pages of your packets. This is where you’ll find your profession, your education level, and all the other info you’ll need to make it in life. Use this information to figure out where you want to live, what kind of car you want, the type of daycare you’ll need and the bills you’ll need to pay each month. You need to figure out if you want to rent or own your home; there will be no living with imaginary friends or family. I’ll walk around to answer any questions you may have. By the end of the week, you will submit your monthly budgets and give me an informal report on where you live.”

  Rachel looks at me and points to our packet.

  “So, Weird New Guy, what’ve we got?” she smiles innocently.

  “Come on, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Probably, but I couldn’t help myself. We almost never get any new students to tease.”

  “Teasing is the number one sign that you have a crush on someone. Just saying.” That’s it, James. Keep your cool. I can have a conversation with a beautiful girl without making an ass out of myself, right? I mean, I had no problems talking to Brittney… not that she’s in the same league as Rachel. Or even on the same planet. God, I wish I knew what any of this meant.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; we’ve only been fake married for five minutes.”

  “Oh, you didn’t know? It was love at first sight. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other and decided to elope. It says so right here.” I point to the packet and smile.

  “Nice try, Romeo.” Rachel laughs, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. She opens our packet and looks over the details. “We’re both college graduates and have one child. We live in Raleigh. You’re a firefighter and I’m a… news anchor? Seriously?”

  “I take it you don’t want a career in television?”

  “I have zero desire to be in front of a camera.”

  “So what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “That’s complicated.”

  “Let me guess. You want to be a professional bungee jumper, but you’re deathly afraid of heights and things made of elastic?”

  Her lips twitch upward. “I’ve already gone bungee jumping.”

  “Really? I’ve always wanted to do that. Okay, let’s see.” I rub my chin. “You want to be a world-famous fashion designer, but you don’t know how to sew.”

  She gestures toward her clothes. She’s wearing some type of workout pants—that make her legs look amazing, I might add—and some running shoes. “Now you’re describing my best friend. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really care what I wear.”

  “Wrong, I totally noticed. It’s all right, though. I sort of like homely looking girls,” I say, laughing.

  “Hey!” She playfully smacks me on the shoulder.

  “Kidding, kidding! Okay, final guess. You want to be a P.E. teacher, but your dad would never approve of such a lowly profession.”

  Rachel’s mouth falls open. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Just a lucky guess.”

  She eyes me warily. “Are you psychic or something?”

  I used to get nervous when people asked me stuff like this, but I’ve gotten pretty good at deflecting over the years. “Sorry, my crystal ball’s in the repair shop. Perhaps I should have said ‘educated guess.’ Your dad sprung for a trip to Cozumel over the holidays, which tells me he’s got money. You won a championship and your legs look pretty amazing, which tells me you’ve been running for quite some time. The rest of the guess was just lucky.”

  She shifts in her desk and a slight pout falls on her lips. “Unfortunately, you’re right. My dad wants me to focus on running. He’s got this dream of me becoming an Olympic gold medalist. I’d rather do something more worthwhile like work with kids. That’s the biggest difference between me and him. I can’t think of a better career to have. Running is everything to me. To get a chance to develop that same love in another athlete? That’s awesome. And why are you staring at me like that?”

  I can’t help myself. Passion pours out of her, and I want to go find her dad and punch him in the nuts. “Sorry, I’ve just never met anyone who was so sure of what she wanted to be in life. I wish I had my shit together like that.”

  “You don’t know what you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I do now. A firefighter married to the hottest news anchor in Raleigh who loves to coach our child’s track team.”

  “Well if you get to be married to a hot news anchor, then I get to be married to a hot firefighter. That’s only fair.”

  “Are you saying I’m hot?”

  She bites her bottom lip as she studies my face. Sweet Jesus, that shouldn’t be allowed. My heart instantly picks up its pace and I draw in a quick breath, suddenly realizing this could end very badly on my part. I know nothing about this girl. Hell, maybe she’s crushing on the teacher too. Why is she taking so damn long to respond? And when did I turn into such a little bitch? I watch her expression and sigh with relief when she smiles.

  “I don’t normally go for guys with dark hair, but green eyes are okay. You’ve got nice lips too. But my final decision can’t be made right now. Hot firefighter status can only be granted after a thorough examination of the abs.” She makes a circling moti
on with her fingertip in the general direction of my midsection. I suddenly wonder what the school dress code says about guys wearing no shirts.

  “Well, it’s good to know that you’re not shy and I’m not entirely repulsive.”

  She laughs as she tosses our packet in her backpack. I glance at her hands and wonder just what kind of examination she’s talking about. I want nothing more than to feel those fingers on my abs. I’m fairly certain she won’t be disappointed. I’m not exactly Magic Mike material, but I’ve never had any complaints.

  “No, I’m not, and no you’re not. So far.”

  “Well, we are married now. I’m pretty sure that means I’m allowed to show you my abs. And while we’re at it,” I say, raising my eyebrows, “you can show me—”

  The bell rings.

  “—where my next class is.”

  I walk into third period with a ridiculous grin on my face. Avery’s already sitting in her seat directly behind mine, and her expectant look and incessant pen tapping tells me she’s about ten seconds away from Full-On Avery Mode. It’s still about two hours early for that.

  “Well?” she gestures with her palms upward. “I’ve been waiting for three and a half minutes! Did you get Sean? Tell me you got Sean. Or Phil. Or Ben. Why am I just now realizing all the cute guys in school have one-syllable names? Come on, Ray. Spill it!”

  I glance down at my Ring Pop. “Actually, none of the above.”

  “Oh, God. Did you get Smelly Warren?” She gently pats my shoulder in a show of sympathy. Avery can be loud, but damn she’s sweet.

  “Nope, not Smelly Warren. We got a new student, and Mrs. Mason assigned us together.”

  “You mean I’m not New Girl Avery anymore? Praise the sweet, tiny baby Jesus!” she says, raising her arms in the air. Technically, she hasn’t been the new girl since sophomore year, but since we never get new students here, the name just sort of stuck. She moved here from New York City after her mom caught her dad banging his intern on his mahogany boardroom conference table. According to Avery, her mom took a cell phone video of it and filed for divorce. Her dad didn’t have any problems agreeing to child support, alimony and a yearly paid vacation for her mom. I guess he wasn’t too keen on the idea of the video getting out. Especially since his intern’s name was Steven. Now Avery’s mom drives an Audi with a license plate that says MAHOGANY.

  “Nope, you’ve been dethroned. And Ave? He’s cute. Like, really, really cute.”

  She squeals, which only makes my grin bigger. “Fresh meat! What’s he like?”

  “Well, it was sort of awkward at first. It was like he forgot how to talk, and he kept staring at me like I was his source of daylight or something. He did say I was hot though, but he was probably joking.”

  The last time anyone said I was hot was at a pool party in ninth grade. He was right—I had a fever and spent five days in bed after that. Leave it to me to get the flu in the middle of summer.

  “Ray, you are hot! This is awesome! Maybe there’s hope for prom after all!”

  “And, here we go.” Avery is the yin to my yang—literally. I’m tall and blond and she’s short and bi-racial—her mom’s white and her dad’s black. She’s been planning for senior prom since the first day of the school year, but I couldn’t care less about the whole ordeal. There are far more exciting things to do than spend hundreds of dollars on a dress for one night with a guy who will spend forty-nine percent of his time stepping on my feet and the other fifty-one percent staring at my nonexistent cleavage. No. Thank. You.

  “Knock it off Rachel Lynn. I will drag your toned ass to the prom if it kills you!”

  “Sure, if you can catch me,” I tease. Avery considers running shoes to be a crime against fashion. Case in point: Her dark curls are swept back with some sort of grandma-esque brooch, and she’s wearing an off-the-shoulder top, skinny jeans and black Louboutins. The only reason I know the name of her shoes is because she drilled it into my head in an effort to give me an appreciation for designers. (It didn’t work.) Regardless, if I tried to wear that shit, I’d fall over. The bell rings to start class, so she starts a note to finish our conversation. Thank God, the teacher is ancient and can’t even see the back of the class.

  Avery: So what’s his name?

  Me: James

  Avery: Of course it is.

  Me: ??

  Avery: One syllable.

  Me: Yeah, but his syllable is so much better than the others.

  Avery: So what does One-Syllable James look like?

  Me: Wavy, dark hair. Sort of shaggy. I don’t know if he’s due for a haircut or just doesn’t care. It works for him though. Green eyes and lips that practically demand some attention. Oh, we had to stand up for the ceremony and get this – he’s taller than me.

  Avery: Shut up.

  Me: I know, right? It’s nice not feeling like the Jolly Green Giant.

  Avery: Yeah, you’re sort of a freak. I meant to tell you that the other day.

  Me: I’m not a freak, you’re just a midget.

  Avery: You better mean that with love. I’m not above shanking you.

  Me: I love it when you get all tough NYC girl on me.

  Avery: Damn straight. You should have seen the guy at the diner last week who tried to cop a feel. I literally put my boot up his ass.

  Me: Good thing your aunt’s the owner and your mom’s the manager.

  Avery: Yes, but enough about my badassery. Do you think you’ll actually give James a chance?

  Me: Probably not. It’s not worth the argument with my dad about how a boyfriend won’t distract me from track.

  Avery: He doesn’t have to know about him…

  Me: True.

  Avery: So when do I get to meet him?

  Me: I’ll look for him at lunch. I forgot to check his schedule to see if we have any other classes together.

  Avery: OMG. Do you think the teacher knows she’s repeated herself four times?

  Me: Her hearing aid’s probably off.

  We both bust out laughing.

  We pick up our cafeteria food and scan the crowd. Avery grabs my arm when she sees James. “Holy shit, Ray. He is cute.”

  His backpack is slung over one shoulder, and he’s looking for a place to sit. Surprisingly, he looks more confident than nervous, but I still feel the need to rescue him before he makes a huge mistake and sits somewhere bad, like Smelly Warren’s table. I walk toward him and can’t help but smile. This is the first chance I’ve had to look him over without him seeing. His jeans hug him in all the right places. God bless you, Levi Strauss.

  “Hey New Guy. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Why hello there, School Wife. Thanks for sparing me a game of eeny-meeny-miney-moe.”

  “I’m glad to be of service,” I say, heading to our regular table. James sits across from me and Avery instantly pounces on him.

  “Hi, I’m Avery, your best friend-in-law. I’ve heard a lot about you already.” I kick her under the table.

  “Hi Avery, I’m James.” He raises an eyebrow toward me and shakes her hand. I wonder if she felt the same jolt I did during the Ring Pop ceremony. If she did, her expression doesn’t give it away.

  “Nothing exciting ever happens here, so you get to be the feature of our lunchtime conversation,” she says before drenching her French fries in ketchup. “Are you up for a game of twenty questions?”

  “Sure, this should be fun.”

  “Question one. Are you a serial killer?”

  James busts out laughing. “Well, I see you get right to the important stuff. No, definitely not a serial killer.”

  “You’re pretend-married to my Beef. Her safety is important to me. For all I know, you’re on the run from some mass murder you committed out there in… wherever it is you came from,” she says, waving her hand in the air.

  He pauses, mid-mustard squirt. “Your Beef? Dare I ask?”

  “Beef. BFF. Best Friend Forever.”

  He looks at me with a reassuring glance
and continues to drench his corn dog in mustard. “Rachel, I promise you’re safe with me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  For some reason, I actually believe him. My dad’s pretty much guaranteed I don’t have a wealth of experience in the guy department, but I don’t feel the least bit worried about finding myself locked in a trunk on the way to the woods.

  “Question two,” Avery asks. “What is your stance on chick flicks?”

  “I could get on board with chick flicks. Steel Magnolias gets me in the feels every time.”

  “Shut. Up. That’s my all-time favorite movie,” I say, pointing my chicken strip in his direction. “Do you have sisters or something?”

  “Is that question three?”

  “Sure.”

  “Nope, no siblings. Just me and my mom.”

  “That explains it.” I manage to open a container of barbecue sauce without getting it on my shirt. “Question four. Do you play any instruments?”

  “Guitar. Her name is Lucy, and I’ve been in love with her for about five years.” A shy smile spreads across his face and his cute factor definitely goes up a few notches. “She was a gift from my grandpa and has gotten me through some pretty lonely nights.”

  “Question five,” Avery continues. “Why are you lonely?”

  He passes a hand through his hair, but I catch a glimpse of the slight calluses on his fingertips before they sink into his waves. “I’ve moved about a dozen times, so I’m always the new kid.”

  “I only moved once, but I remember what it felt like trying to make new friends. High school is a hellish place, especially when some people,” Avery says, glancing at me, “don’t appreciate a good fashion sense. You won the lottery with me and Rachey-poo here, though. We’ll take care of you.” She passes him her can of Diet Coke. “Will you open this? I just got a mani yesterday.”

  He obliges and asks me for question six. “Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi?” I ask, suspiciously.

  “That’s easy. Dr. Pepper.”

  “I think I can live with that. If you said Diet Pepsi, I might have divorced you. There will be no Diet Pepsi in my house.”