Swipe Right

3| Savor the moment

I grab my bag from under the table and follow Jax out of the Science building. The world outside of school is a blue and yellow haze; sticky, humid air and carbon copy palm trees lining a backdrop of ocean. In the distance, a few avid surfers take to the water to catch some early evening waves.

Ugh. I've always imagined myself as a big city girl, the type to run through the streets of New York with a slash of red lipstick and a black leather briefcase. I am not the type to throw on a wetsuit and start riding some waves. Coincidently, neither is Jax.

He turns to me now, his dark eyes almost honey-colored under the glare of the sun. I try not to look at him other than when I absolutely have to, but up close I can see just how much his face has changed over the summer. He looks good.

"Need a ride?" he forces out.

Though we live right next door to each other, we have never traveled home together. My mom doesn't trust me with a license, which means I usually end up walking the thirty minutes back to our house while Jax drives the black pick-up truck he spent all summer fixing up. He offered to drive me home the first day of E.C, but I made it clear I'd rather get blisters than have to endure his company.

Jax notices my hesitation and rolls his eyes. "It's just a ride, Ny."

I bite my lip, torn between wanting to decline his offer and wanting to protect my curls from this heat. In the end, vanity wins out. "Fine. Thank you."

He smiles slightly. "So, she can be nice."

"I'm always nice, but only to people I like."

We climb into the truck. Jax turns on the stereo before pulling out onto the main road. Some rock song I've never heard of starts to blast through the speakers, and I automatically cover my ears.

Jax glances over like what I've done is blasphemous. "Did you really just do that?"

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, dropping my hands. "It's more the volume than the actual music."

Reluctantly, he reaches across to turn down the stereo. I turn and fix my eyes on the window, watching as rows of palm trees give way to local restaurants.

I've often dreamt about what it would be like to see nothing but skyscrapers lining the distance. The buildings in this town rarely reach more than two stories', and the only thing lining the horizon is a vast expanse of ocean.

My dad always dreamed of a neighborhood like this. He grew up in a two-bedroom house in what he called the wrong part of New Mexico, and he swore blind he'd never allow another generation of Satori to do the same. When he first met my mother, they'd both been high-flying Lawyers living in New York, but it still wasn't the life my father had envisioned. He wanted a backyard and a porch and a little white picket fence–he wanted the American dream.

Five minutes into the journey, my stomach starts to gurgle. I reach into my bag and grab the vegan brownie Mom had packed for me this morning. They taste disgusting, but right now I'm hungry enough that I'd probably eat three.

I hold it out, ready to devour it all in one bite when Jax's hand shoots out to stop me. "Don't even think about it," he warns.

I freeze beneath his solid grip. His fingers feel warm and slightly calloused–foreign, yet strangely familiar. "Are you serious?"

He drops his hand like he never meant to touch me. "Nobody eats in my car," he says. "Especially not you. There'll be chocolate stuck between the dashboard before I know it."

Briefly, I find myself wondering if he ever let his ex, Jennifer, eat in his car. "Are you saying I'm messy?"

His half-amused, half-disgusted expression is back. "Messy is leaving a few wrappers on the floor or a pile of clothes on your bed. You leave things until they start growing mold."

I put the brownie back in my bag and fold my arms. "Maybe I've changed."

"The sticky keyboard in Editorial Club says otherwise."

I narrow my eyes. "I didn't know you spent so much time monitoring me, Mr. Mechanic."

His fingers flex around the steering wheel. Jax hates when I call him a mechanic, which is supposedly different to an engineer–what he actually wants to be when he finally grows up.

"There's only six of us in the club," he reminds me. "Kind of hard to miss you."

He's right, I suppose. Having spent the last month or so confined to the editorial room, the six of us have learned a surprising amount about one another.

There's me, of course, and Jax and Mellissa. There's Izobel, the feisty, straight-talking art director with an obsession for music. RJ, the adorably goofy, extremely shy editor, and Tariq, the super chill, super cocky IT technician. Whenever my friend, Jenna, visits, she refers to us all as a patchwork quilt: a mismatch of kids that somehow, some way, fit perfectly together.

Before this year, I never noticed any of them. Now Izobel and I will walk to Math together and talk about all of the impossibly cool and insane things she does at the weekend, like attend underground raves and work on her motorcycle. Tariq and I sit together in homeroom, debating the existence of Aliens over an array of chocolate snacks, and RJ and I–well, RJ isn't really one for talking, so mostly we just smile at each other whenever we happen to pass in the hallway.

"Why are you so desperate to be Faculty Advisor, anyway?" Jax asks.

I shrug before looking out of the window. "Diana Ross once said that you can't just sit there and wait for people to give you that golden dream. You've got to get out there and make it happen for yourself. I figure if I make Faculty Advisor, I can finally make a difference on the paper. I can start including the kind of articles that actually matter."

I glance over to see Jax looks just as good from the side as he does from the front–a strong, defined jaw and a perfectly straight nose. "Why do you? You've never shown an interest in writing before this year, and it's hardly going to help you with an engineering career."

Jax raises his eyebrows like he's surprised I remember. "Why accept the bet, though?" he asks. "You don't think you'd get it, otherwise?"

I roll my eyes. "Please. We both know if it was left to Mellissa, she'd choose you over me. She's got a massive crush on you."

For a split second, his usual know-it-all expression drops and all that's left behind is confusion. "Mellissa has a crush on me?"

I think about berating him for being so clueless, but then he pulls into his driveway and the moment is lost. I turn to look at him, acutely aware of the fact we're completely alone. In his car. For the first time, ever.

"Thank you," I say, but the words feel like acid in my throat.

"Two thank you's in one day," he says. "Must be a record."

"Savor the moment. You're never getting another one."

The corners of his lips lengthen just a little. I'm nearly exposed to the dimples in his cheeks, but when I blink, they're gone.