Page 16 of The Long Way Home
She takes another sip, setting the bottle down. “Biochem. Pre-med, I think.”
“Wow.” I lean in slightly. “So you’re the overachieving younger sibling.”
She smirks, tossing a glance at me. “Someone has to balance out Josh’s five-year plan to become a beer-pong legend.”
“He has been practicing a lot recently.”
“Yeah, and from the form I’ve seen, he needs all the practice he can get.” She chuckles, shaking her head.
“So what made you pick biochem? Masochism? Hatred of sleep? Couldn’t think of a better way to torture yourself?”
Her laugh comes low and scratchy. It’s different from the others. I don’t think there is one ounce of polish or performance to it. I catch myself wanting to hear it again.
“I like solving puzzles,” she says, rolling the bottle between her palms. “And proving people wrong. That’s why I chose it.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those.”
She narrows her eyes. “One of what?”
“The chip-on-the-shoulder type. Quietly competitive. Not satisfied unless you’re ten steps ahead. Probably has a color-coded planner and a stack of notecards prepped and ready.”
“Okay, Mr. Public Health, you got all that from fifteen minutes of talking to me? You sure you’re not a psych major?”
“I tried to warn you about the bluntness.”
She narrows her eyes again, more impressed than annoyed. I think? I guess we will see. She doesn’t seem like the type of girl to hide her emotions.
Her lips twitch, and she lifts the bottle slowly to her mouth. “Alright, Sherlock. What else?”
“What else, what?” I lean back, pretending to be casual, but my eyes stay on her.
“What else did our little chat reveal about me? Go ahead. Five things. Impress me, Hayes. I want to be woo’ed.”
I’ve always been decent at reading people. It’s a skill that has been forged into me. In order to avoid getting hurt again, I’ve had to pay attention to the little details. Most people take time. Layers, masks, tells. But Rachel? I’ve just met her, and it’s weird how easy it is. It’s like she’s not even trying to hide anything from me.
I start ticking them off.
“You showed up late today,” I say, tapping a finger against my bottle. “Not fashionably late. More like ‘I don’t want to be here, but someone guilted me’ late. My guess? You weren’t dying to come, and Margo made it happen.”
She doesn’t confirm or deny. She sips her bottle, eyes flicking over the rim at me with a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“You also hesitate before you answer sometimes,” I continue. “I don’t think it’s because you don’t know what to say, but because you’re checking the room, seeing how people expect you to react.”
She blinks, just a twitch at the corner of her mouth. It’s enough of a sign to know I’ve caught something.
“You’re sharp,” I add. “Quick with a joke, quick with a comeback. Makes it easy to watch you hold a room, even if you’re standing in the background. But, I can’t tell if it’s because you enjoy it, or because it’s easier than letting anyone see you really.” I trail off, letting the pause hang.
Her head tilts, and I think she’s intrigued now. I lean closer.
“You’re the younger sibling.” The words roll off my tongue. “The one who’s quieter sometimes, watches a little more, works a little harder, and somehow ends up feeling overlooked. I might be wrong, but I get that vibe.”
Rachel smiles slowly this time, a little amused. “That’s four things?”
“And five—” I lift my beer, but making sure I keep my eyes on hers. “You’re craving a surprise. Someone to catch you off guard. I think you just want someone to actually notice you, not just the version you show to the room.”
There’s a beat of quiet. All I can here is the low thump of music from a nearby speaker. Her smile fades into something more thoughtful, but she tries to shake it off by giving me a dry laugh.
“Okay, that’s mildly creepy,” she says. “Maybe you should switch your major to psych.”
