“Sounds easy enough. Do you want me to work certain hours?” Dr. R. has a busy schedule—some days he has appointments, some days he’s on call at the hospital, and it’s rarely the same week to week.
He shakes his head. “Whenever’s convenient.” We figure out a few details, and he promises that when this project is over, he’ll find something else for me to do. Then his phone goes off. “Damn,” he says, looking at the screen. “I’m sorry, I have to go in. But I really appreciate your help, Raychel.”
“It’s no problem. I … Thanks, Dr. R.”
He smiles and heads for the hospital. I get to my own work. He wasn’t kidding—some of these files are ancient. The first box is printed on that paper with hole-punched perforated edges. I get through about an hour before the dust is more than I can handle, then head for the kitchen to get a drink.
Andrew has his head in the fridge. “You want a Dr Pepper?” he asks.
“Yup.” I boost myself onto the counter and take the can from his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Just went for a run. Thought I’d see how your first day on the new job was going.” He wedges himself between my knees.
Okay then. Round two. “It’s going pretty well.” I open my can and take a sip.
He steps closer, playing with the hem of my shirt. “Look, about last night—” I start to respond and he pretends to pinch my lips shut. “I was thinking. I know you have your ‘rule’ and all…”
I look down. I’m weirdly bummed out by this rejection, even though I wasn’t expecting anything more.
“Hey,” he says, and I meet his eyes. “I’m just saying—I’m up for whatever. But maybe if we keep it quiet, you could…”
His hands on my thighs are very distracting. “What?” I ask.
“Reconsider your rule. Plus then my parents won’t be breathing down our necks.”
Relief bubbles up as laughter. “Maybe I could.”
“It’s something to think about.” But before I can think, he leans in and kisses me. I wrap my legs around his calves to pull him closer.
The garage door slams and we break apart, laughing nervously under our breath. I assume it’s Matt coming home, but instead Mrs. R. calls, “You kids want pizza?”
“Does the pope shit in the woods?” Andrew calls back.
“Andrew. Richardson.”
“Sorry.” He winks at me.
I wink back. The perks of my new job are awesome.
MATT
When I get home Monday evening, Andrew’s already taken Raychel home. He’s also eaten all the veggie pizza, which I know he doesn’t even like, he’s left my favorite vinyl album out of its cover, and he’s dropped a wet towel on top of my laundry. We don’t talk until bedtime, when I need something from the bathroom while he’s brushing his teeth. I can’t keep myself from asking, “So what’d you guys really do last night?”
He exhales loudly and spittle sprays the glass. It reminds me of Raychel stealth-popping a zit: something pretty high on the list of things that should gross me out, and yet it’s okay when she does it, probably because I know she’d never do it in front of anyone else. “We just enjoyed each other’s company,” Andrew says, widening his eyes innocently.
“Just … tell me you’re not screwing her, okay?” Even using that phrase feels wrong, but I can’t admit that I care who Raychel might or might not be sleeping with, especially if that person might be him.
“No,” he says, and laughs at my visible relief. “I am not going to screw her.” And he walks out of the room, leaving me wondering if we’re using the same definition of the word.
*
In the morning, his alarm wakes me up. Sometimes I bang on the wall, but today I let him sleep through it. He stumbles into the kitchen thirty minutes later, yawning as usual, and accidentally puts salt in his coffee.
I don’t even laugh. I just jangle my keys in his direction and say, “See you at school.” He knows I’m driving Raychel, and if he doesn’t, he’ll figure it out soon enough.
And that’s all it takes to reestablish our morning routine. But the afternoons change, for obvious reasons: since she’s going to work at our house, it makes sense for her to catch a ride with him when I have after-school stuff. I can’t complain, but it makes me look forward to basketball season, when he’ll be staying after school as much as me.
I still have Raychel all to myself at lunch, though, and it’s amazing how much her mood improves with a few days of work. I don’t find my own responsibilities nearly as fulfilling, and I wonder if it’s because I don’t get paid. Homework feels like a full-time job, plus there’s Outdoor Club, Key Club, extra time in the darkroom for photography, staying in shape for soccer season coming up …
By the time Friday rolls around, I’m exhausted, and I still have to meet up with Mindy for StuCo responsibilities. We’re already behind, and it’s my fault: I’m busy, but also I’m trying not to give Mindy the wrong idea. She’s pretty and smart and friendly and ambitious, and if I were smart, I would probably ask her out on a date.
But I’m not smart. I’m stupidly hung up on my best friend, whose indecipherable love life and mood swings are slowly driving me insane.
I meet Mindy in the parking lot, and she insists on driving this time because she has to be back at school by six to cheer at the game. “Where are we headed?” I ask. StuCo wants to give the teachers gift baskets with little … somethings in them.
“I thought we could go to Pharm-Co?” She makes the slowest left-hand turn I’ve ever seen. “They have those bulk bins of nail polish and stuff—” She laughs at my confused expression. “They do. I promise.”
“If you say so.” It’s not like I have any better ideas. Mindy chatters about how Rosa doesn’t want StuCo to sponsor a talent show this year because she wants to have a winter dance instead. It’s not a subtle segue. “Do you have a date for Homecoming?” she asks.
“Nah. I’m not going.” I was actually going to ask Raychel, but last night she and Andrew were talking a lot of trash about the dance, so I don’t think she wants to go. “But you’re going with Trenton, right?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light.
Mindy laughs. “No. I might ask Alan Li.”
“You guys will have fun,” I say.
“Yeah.” Then she’s quiet, and I realize that was my cue to ask her out. But I don’t want to, and now I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I can’t seem to avoid it, so I stay quiet too.
RAYCHEL
So far, Andrew’s been good about letting me get actual work done in the afternoons, but Friday he cannot be deterred. “So Raych,” he says, kicking back in his dad’s office chair. “You really don’t want to go to Homecoming?”
It’s all I can do not to flop onto the floor in mental exhaustion. The truth is that I’d like to go with Andrew, but that would kind of ruin the whole secrecy thing. And anyway, Carson already asked me. Sort of. Thursday, he walked into calculus and handed me a cup from Coffee Depot with a big smile. “What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s for you.”