Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone by Mariah Dietz (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

“Nothing. I just… What happened earlier … it doesn’t have to be anything,” I say quietly, my attention darting to Rae to ensure she’s not hearing this. His eyes narrow like he’s trying to understand my vague half-statement. “I mean, if you just got caught up in the excitement and the weekend and … I’m cool with that. I know the rules.”

“Fuck the rules,” he says too loudly, drawing the curious gazes of both Rae and Lincoln.

Heat blazes across my cheeks, reaching all the way to my ears as Pax stares at me with unabashed confidence. I’m positive I’m reading too much into his words and the way his fingers are pressed against me like he’s trying to still my thoughts and time and force me to listen. He can’t possibly mean what I think he does—that these feelings are worth the gamble and risk, that we’ve had these emotions for years and have allowed them to lie dormant—but a part of me wants to believe these stories I tell myself so badly my throat goes tight.

Someone knocks on the door, interrupting the moment before either of us is able to fully convince the other, breaking our stare.

At the door is our dinner, carrying scents of alfredo, sautéed garlic and onions, and marinara. We gather around the living room area with our takeout containers of pasta with Raegan beside me on the couch and Lincoln and Pax in the two desk chairs.

“I meant to tell you, Tuesday, I have to work late,” Rae tells me. “We’re doing an open house at the aquarium.”

We always have dinner together on Tuesdays. I go grocery shopping in the afternoon, then I pretend to help her make dinner, and we talk about our days and catch up on what’s happening in each other’s lives. “I suppose I can allow it,” I tease. “It actually works out. I’m supposed to meet with my advisor. I think she’s getting restless since I haven’t declared a major yet.”

Lincoln pulls his chin back. “I thought you declared in September?”

I shake my head. “I changed my mind. I like political science, but I’m just not sure that I want to major in it.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Rae asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve been considering teaching.”

Paxton looks at me, the hint of a smile hitting all of his features at once, blinding and distracting me from Rae’s initial reaction.

“...I think you’d make an amazing teacher,” she says.

“But what if I get stuck with our sixth-grade class?” I ask her.

“Your sixth-grade class?” Pax asks.

Raegan crows with laughter. “It was so bad. Literally, the worst class ever.”

I nod. “It was a train-wreck. We went through three teachers that year.”

“The two of you or your entire class?” Lincoln asks.

Rae rolls her eyes, but humor twists her lips. “Poppy and I were the only good kids in the class. There were fights, a walk-out, one kid bit the teacher...”

“What?” Pax laughs, but it’s more out of disbelief and surprise.

“Don’t you remember, Mom was furious because some kids were caught cheating? They’d stolen test results from the teacher, and they learned she’d been having a relationship with one of the kids’ dads.”

“Vaguely,” he recalls.

“It was a bad year. I learned nothing and paid for it dearly the next year,” I say. Our private school went through an entire revamp because of that year and our single class.

Raegan nods. “It was brutal. But, we learned a lot about jerks and cheats and mean girls.”

“It kind of scarred me,” I admit.

Rae grins. “It scarred us all. In fact, I’m pretty sure I still have a scar from where I got hit by a book someone threw across the room.” She spears a piece of shrimp. “But, you have to think about this from a statistical standpoint.” She glances at Lincoln, who helped her with her statistics class last year. “Since you’ve already experienced a nightmare of a class, your chances of experiencing it again have already dropped exponentially. Regardless, you should probably just avoid the sixth grade. I’m pretty sure that grade level is just the year all kids test being assholes.”

“I told her she should talk to Mom about it,” Pax says.

Raegan nods. “You totally should. She’d be able to give you a lot of insight. And teaching would allow you other growth opportunities if you decide you’re interested in things like administration or a principal.” She points her fork at me. “Or, you can come study cetology with me.” She makes her eyebrows dance.

“Make sure Rae doesn’t jump off any more boats,” Lincoln says between bites.

Rae rolls her eyes. “She’d jump with me.”

“God, you’re totally right,” Lincoln groans, covering his face with one hand. “Sorry, Poppy, you’re becoming a teacher. Also, you should probably just avoid middle school as a whole, and probably high school as well because they’re kind of assholes, too, and you’re too hot to be a high school teacher.”

“That would work to your advantage, though,” Rae says. “The boys would all be paying attention to everything you were saying,” she says.

Pax laughs, his eyes bright with amusement.

“I don’t want to teach high school or middle school. I don’t know what age I’d want to teach. Part of me wants to just have young, adorable, innocent kids, and I can finger paint and read them stories and teach them about dinosaurs. And then I also think it could be fun to teach kids who are a little older and help expose them to every side of a story and help them realize that there’s rarely a clear or definitive answer to any question and help them open their eyes to things.”

“You’d be good at that,” Rae tells me. “Help break down some of the assumptions we’re all exposed to.”

“Exactly. Plus, I can influence the girls while they’re young and teach them to avoid all athletes and date those drummers that their moms are going to warn them about in a few years.”

Raegan cackles. “It will never work.