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2| About me

Like with any game, there have to be rules, but first, we finish our articles. At the start of the school year, Jax and I both went for the school paper's lead reporter role. Instead of pitting us against one another The Hunger Games style, Miss Appleton created an extra role, forcing us to work together like a sadistic version of Batman and Robin.

We go to press once a week with a deadline of Friday, which means we're used to staying later than everyone else.  Once Jax submits his article, he spins in his chair to face me. "So, what are the rules?" he asks.

I ignore him for a second and get out my phone. "You tell me."

Jax sighs loudly. He's leaning back in his chair with his long legs outstretched, his fingers clasped at his abdomen. "Rule one," he says. "You have to screenshot all conversations as proof. I know what a little cheat you can be."

I force myself to meet his gaze. Whenever he looks at me, it's like he can see any secret or thought I've ever had written across my skin. "A girl cheats once at Monopoly and she's forever labeled a liar. Fine. We'll take screenshots."

"Rule two," he continues, his voice business-like. "You can't go out with someone you don't like just to get your numbers up. You have to choose people you're into."

I nod to show him I'm listening, but really, I'm studying the faint hint of stubble currently gracing his jaw. He has the look of a handsome guy from one of my sister's rom-com movies. He could be your typical jock, handsome enough that all the girls pine for him. Or he could be a brooding musician who stays up late writing music.

Usually, I can tell a lot about someone based on their appearance, but Jax doesn't fit into any one category; he's like a puzzle with half of the pieces missing, leaving me to fill in the blanks.

"Rule three," I say before he can beat me to it. "Going on more than one date with the same person counts toward your total."

Jax stops tapping his pen against his leg. "No way. That makes it too easy."

The tapping continues. I stare at the way the pen bounces off his knee, resisting the urge to snatch it away. "I'd like to actually find a boyfriend in the process," I remind him.

He sighs. "Fine."

"Rule four," I say. "We regularly count up the number of dates so that we both know how we're doing."

Jax nods in agreement before raising an eyebrow. "Done making rules?"

"Yes."

We spend the next few minutes waiting for my app to download, neither of us knowing where to look. Jax and I have been left alone on plenty of occasions, but only when there's work to be done. Now that we don't have our computers to hide behind, the silence is deafening.

Once it's downloaded, I let out the smallest breath. Despite having as much of a right to exist as Jax does, being near him always feels like I'm taking up too much oxygen.

It takes roughly ten minutes to fill out my online profile. When Jax asks to see it, I reluctantly roll my chair closer and turn my phone toward him. It's pretty easy to tell when he isn't impressed: his thick eyebrows furrow, and his mouth twists in this half-amused, half-disgusted way that makes his lips look even poutier.

"I want this to be a fair fight," he says after a moment or two, "and I can tell you now, you're not going to get anywhere with those pictures."

I fold my arms as embarrassment washes over me. Learning that Jax doesn't find me attractive feels a lot like learning that Santa isn't real; a part of you always expected as much, but for some reason, hearing it out loud feels a million times worse.

"What's wrong with them?" I force myself to ask.

Jax shakes his head like he's searching for the right words. "One of them is about three years old, and the other you can't even see your face, it's so dark. The third one looks like you took it with your foot. Don't you have any proper ones?"

I shrug slightly, feeling uncomfortable. "I hate taking pictures of myself." I'm not exactly ugly, but the camera loves to convince me otherwise. I either end up looking bloated, cross-eyed or some variation of both. And in a town where girls look effortlessly amazing, I find it's best to avoid pictures altogether.

"Go and sit by the window," Jax orders, taking my phone. "In front of the cactus."

I give him a suspicious look. "Why?"

"Do you always have to question everything? Just do it."

Reluctantly, I wheel my chair over to the window and take a seat. What's left of the sunlight still trickles through the glass, casting a warm orange glow across my face.

Jax points the phone at me. I manage to cover my face with my hands just as the flash goes off. "Jax, no," I say, peeking at him through my fingers. "I hardly have any makeup on."

"Just look casual," he says, tilting his head. "Smile."

I remove my hands and attempt to smile as he takes another picture. "Done?"

He looks at the screen, his mouth twisted into a not-so-pleasant smile. "You look like a cracked-out version of the Cheshire Cat."

This time, I break into a real smile, unable to help myself. Jax's fingers move faster than humanly possible to snap it in action. When he's finished, he doesn't move–he is too busy staring at the picture of me. I begin to wonder if maybe I look hideous, but then he sets it as my profile picture and turns to meet my gaze. "Don't say I never do you any favors."

I peer over his shoulder to get a better look, unable to recognize myself. My dark eyes aren't looking in two different directions for once, and my smile is so big you can tell it's not forced.

The next part is what I consider the hardest part about online dating: the dreaded description. As much as I love writing, I detest having to write about myself. The big, white box stares ominously back until Jax finally says, "Could you hurry up? You're not writing an article for Vogue."

I shoot him a desperate look. "If I were, this would be easy."

Without warning, Jax takes my phone again and starts filling in my description. I peer helplessly over his shoulder, intrigued to see what he remembers about me.

Diana Ross fan(atic). Can inhale an inhuman amount of white chocolate at once. In bed by nine o'clock. Obsessed with Space and the color red.

I pull back slightly to look at him. "How do you know my favorite color's red?" My favorite color was blue in middle school.

Jax doesn't stop typing. "Your nails are always red."

I study my freshly painted nails, surprised he's even noticed them. "You're not making me sound very appealing."

"Just telling the truth."

I snatch my phone back and delete everything he just wrote. Then I hold out my hands like I'm typing on an imaginary keyboard and say, "Jax Henderson, makes incessant banging noises until the early hours of the morning, obsessed with cars, detests smiling, doesn't believe in romance, thinks personal hygiene is optional." That last part isn't entirely true. In fact, as much as I hate to admit it, Jax always smells delightful, like a mix of mint and pinewood.

It takes another ten minutes before my profile is considered date-worthy. Jax and I look at each other one last time before I click save.

Let the matching games commence.

A/N

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