His eyes are so full of hurt when he drops to the pillow. You hate me so much, he says as he grabs my hand. His eyes fall shut again, and he releases a heavy sigh.
I stare at him silently, allowing him to keep hold of my hand until hes quiet and still and there arent any more tears. I pull my hand away from his, but I stay by his side for a few minutes longer.
Even though hes asleep, he somehow still looks as if hes in a world of pain. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern.
For the first time, I notice a faint, jagged scar, about four inches long, that runs smoothly across the entire right side of his jaw. It stops just two inches shy of his lips. I have the strange urge to touch it and run my finger down the length of it, but instead, my hand reaches up to his hair. Its short on the sides, a little longer on the top, and just the perfect blend of brown and blond. I stroke his hair, comforting him, even though he may not deserve it.
This guy may deserve every single bit of the remorse hes feeling for whatever he did to Rachel, but at least hes feeling it. I have to give him that much.
Whatever he did to Rachel, at least he loves her enough to regret it.
Chapter two
MILES
Six years earlier
I open the door to the administration office and walk the roll sheet to the secretarys desk. Before I turn and head back to class, she stops me with a question. Youre in Mr. Claytons senior English class, arent you, Miles?
Yep, I reply to Mrs. Borden. Need me to take something to him?
The phone on her desk rings, and she nods, picking up the receiver. She covers it with her hand. Wait around another minute or two, she says, nodding her head in the direction of the principals office. Weve got a new student who just enrolled, and she also has Mr. Clayton this period. I need you to show her to the classroom.
I agree and plop down into one of the chairs next to the door. I look around the administration office and realize this is the first time in the four years Ive been in high school that Ive ever sat in one of these seats. Which means Ive successfully made it four years without being sent to the office.
My mother would have been proud to know that, although it leaves me kind of disappointed in myself. Detention is something every male in high school should accomplish at least once. I have the rest of my senior year to achieve it, though, so theres that to look forward to.
I retrieve my phone from my pocket, secretly hoping Mrs. Borden sees me with it and decides to slap me with a detention slip. When I look up at her, shes still on the phone, but she makes eye contact with me. She simply smiles and goes about her secretarial duties.
I shake my head in disappointment and open up a text to Ian. It doesnt take much to excite people around here. Nothing new ever happens.
Me: New girl enrolled today. Senior.
Ian: Is she hot?
Me: Havent seen her yet. About to walk her to class.
Ian: Take a picture if shes hot.
Me: Will do. BTW, how many times have you had detention this year?
Ian: Twice. Why? Whatd you do?
Twice? Yeah, I need to rebel it up a little before graduation. I should definitely turn in some homework late this year.
Im pathetic.
The door to the principals office opens, so I close my phone. I slide it into my pocket and look up.
I never want to look down again.
Miles is going to show you the way to Mr. Claytons class, Rachel. Mrs. Borden points Rachel in my direction, and she begins to walk toward me.
I instantly become aware of my legs and their inability to stand.
My mouth forgets how to speak.
My arms forget how to reach out to introduce the person theyre attached to.
My heart forgets to wait and get to know a girl before it starts to claw its way out of my chest to get to her.
Rachel.
Rachel.
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.
Shes like poetry.
Like prose and love letters and lyrics, cascading down
the
center
of
a
page.
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.
I say her name over and over in my head, because Im positive
its the name of the next girl Ill fall in love with.
Im suddenly standing. Walking toward her. I might
be smiling, pretending Im not affected by those green
eyes that I hope will one day be smiling just for me. Or
that red-as-my-heart hair that doesnt look like its been
tampered with since God created it specifically with her
in mind.
Im talking to her.
I tell her my name is Miles.
I tell her she can follow me and Ill show her the way to Mr.
Claytons class.
Im staring at her because she hasnt spoken yet, but her nod is
the nicest thing a girl has ever said to me.
I ask her where shes from, and she tells me Arizona. Phoenix,
she specifies.
I dont ask her what brought her to California, but I do tell her
my father does business in Phoenix a lot because he owns a few
buildings there.
She smiles.
I tell her Ive never been there but Id like to go one day.
She smiles again.
I think she says its a nice town, but its hard to understand her
words when all I hear in my head is her name.
Rachel.
Im gonna fall in love with you, Rachel.
Her smile makes me want to keep talking, so I ask her another
question as we pass Mr. Claytons room.
We keep walking.
She keeps talking, because I keep asking her questions.
She nods some.
She answers some.
She sings some.
Or it sounds that way.
We get to the end of the hallway, right when she says
something about how she hopes she likes this school because
she wasnt ready to move away from Phoenix.
She doesnt look happy about the move.
She doesnt know how happy I am about the move.
Wheres Mr. Claytons classroom? she asks.
I stare at the mouth that just delivered that question. Her
lips arent symmetrical. Her top lip is slightly thinner than
her bottom lip, but you cant tell until she talks. When
words come out of her mouth, it makes me wonder why
words are so much better coming from her mouth than any
other mouth.
And her eyes. Theres no way her eyes arent seeing a prettier,
more peaceful world than all the other eyes.
I stare at her for a few more seconds; then I point behind me
and tell her we passed Mr. Claytons classroom.
Her cheeks grow a shade pinker, like my confession affected
her in the same way shes affecting me.
I smile again.
I nod my head toward Mr. Claytons class.
We walk in that direction.
Rachel.
Youre gonna fall in love with me, Rachel.
I open the door for her and let Mr. Clayton know that Rachel
is new here. I also want to add, for the sake of all the other
guys in the classroom, that Rachel is not theirs.
Shes mine.
But I dont say anything.
I dont have to, because the only one who needs to be aware
that I want Rachel is Rachel.
She looks at me and smiles again, taking the only empty seat,
all the way across the room.
Her eyes tell me she already knows shes mine.
Its just a matter of time.
I want to text Ian and tell her she isnt hot. I want to tell him
shes volcanic, but he would laugh at that.
Instead, I discreetly take a picture of her from where Im
seated.
I send the picture in a message to Ian that says, Shes gonna
have all my babies.
Mr. Clayton begins class.
Miles Archer becomes obsessed.
I met Rachel on Monday.
Its Friday.
Ive said nothing to her since the day we met. I dont know
why. We have three classes together. Every time I see her, she
smiles at me like she wants me to talk to her. Every time I work
up the courage, I talk myself down.
I used to be confident.
Then Rachel happened.
I gave myself until today. If I didnt work up the courage by
today, Id be giving up my only shot with her. Girls like Rachel
arent available for long.
If shes even available.
I dont know her story or if shes wrapped up in a guy back in
Phoenix, but theres only one way to find out.
Im standing next to her locker, waiting for her. She exits the
classroom and smiles at me. I say Hi when she walks up to
her locker. I notice that same subtle change in her skin color. I
like that.
I ask how her first week was. She tells me it was fine. I ask her
if shes made any friends, and she shrugs as she says, A few.
I smell her, subtly.
She notices anyway.
I tell her she smells good.
She says, Thank you.
I push through the sound of my heart pounding in my
ears. I push past the sheen of moisture developing on
my palms. I drown out her name, which I keep wanting
to repeat out loud, over and over. I push it all down
and hold her stare while I ask her if shed like to do
something later.
I keep it all pushed away and make room for her response,
because its the only thing I want.
I want that nod, actually. The one that doesnt require words?
Just a smile?
I dont get her nod.
She has plans tonight.
It all comes back tenfold, spilling over like a flood and Im the
dam. The pounding, the sweaty palms, her name, a newfound
insecurity I never knew existed, burying itself in my chest. All
of it takes over and feels like its building a wall around her.
Im not busy tomorrow, though, she says, obliterating the
wall with her words.
I make room for those words. Lots of room. I let them invade
me. I soak those words up like a sponge. I pluck them out of
the air and swallow them.
Tomorrow works for me, I say. I pull my phone out of my
pocket, not even bothering to hide my smile. Whats your
number? Ill call you.
She tells me her number.
Shes excited.
Shes excited.
I save her contact in my phone, knowing itll be there for a
long, long time.
And Im gonna use it.
A lot.
Chapter three
TATE
Normally, if I were to wake up, open my eyes, and see an angry man staring me down from a bedroom doorway, I might scream. I might throw things. I might run to the bathroom and lock myself inside.
I dont do any of these things, though.
I stare back, because Im confused about how this is the same guy who was passed out drunk in the hallway. How is this the same guy who cried himself to sleep last night?
This guy is intimidating. This guy is angry. This guy is watching me like I should be giving him an apology or explaining myself.
It is the same guy, though, because hes wearing the same pair of jeans and the same black T-shirt he fell asleep in last night. The only difference in his appearance between last night and this morning is that hes now able to stand up without assistance.
What happened to my hand, Tate?
He knows my name. Does he know it because Corbin told him I was moving in or because he actually remembers my telling him last night? Im hoping Corbin told him, because I dont really want him to remember last night. I suddenly feel embarrassed that he might recall my consoling him while he cried himself to sleep.
He apparently doesnt have a clue what happened to his hand, though, so I hope that means he has no recollection of anything beyond that.
Hes leaning against my bedroom door with his arms folded across his chest. He looks defensive, like Im the one responsible for his bad night. I roll over, still not quite finished with sleeping, even though he thinks I owe him some sort of explanation. I pull the covers over my head.
Lock the front door on your way out, I say, hoping hell take the hint that he is more than welcome to go back to his place now.