Golden Boy

By Rachel Lawrence

“Ugh,” I whined into my cell phone. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into ditching class. Now I’m behind on work, and I have to have a conversation with my archenemy.”

My roommate’s laughter echoed in my ear. “Oh, get over it. It will take like ten minutes to ask for his notes. And you’re too young to have a nemesis, especially one as cute as Wilder Prescott.”

“Gross,” I shot back as I pushed the unfamiliar lobby door open and headed for the stairs. “I’ve never even had a chance to notice his looks; I’m always busy deflecting his know-it-all comments and reminding him he’s not the only one with a brain in our class. I swear, that boy thinks he’s God’s gift to academia. You definitely owe me pizza tonight.”

“Hey now, I already helped you out by getting Wilder’s room number from Connor.”

“What would have really been helpful was his phone number,” I complained. I did not want to have to see his smug grin today.

She giggled again. “You’re right. Make sure you don’t leave without it.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I hung up on her and climbed the steps to the second floor. Might as well get this over with.

Wilder’s door was in the middle of the hall. I thought I heard low voices echoing behind it, and I prayed he was alone so no one else would witness me asking him for help. Gulping down a deep breath along with my pride, I knocked.

Seconds later, I was looking into Wilder’s confused face. “Anna?” He blinked. “You weren’t in Calculus class yesterday.”

“Yes, I know.” More venom than I’d intended infused my words. “I came to see if I could borrow your notes.”

His gaze narrowed. “Were you sick?”

Irritation flared in my chest. I didn’t owe him an explanation. “No, I wasn’t sick.” This was a terrible idea. “Look, I can just get the notes from someone else. Sorry to bother you.”

“What?” He shook his head. “You’re not bothering me. Here.” He stepped to the side. “Come on in and I can talk you through them.”

I stalked forward. “Just a quick copy would be fine. I don’t need tutoring.” I was about to berate him on the arrogance of assuming I couldn’t figure out the concept for myself when I noticed the open laptop and heard the source of the voices I’d picked up before. Sophia’s laugh was unmistakable. “Are you watching ‘Golden Girls’?”

Wilder blushed. “Yes.”

It was so unexpected, it was all I could do not laugh out loud. “Sorry.” I wrestled my expression back into submission. “It’s a great show; I just never would have guessed you watched it.” I studied his wrinkled brow. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I used to watch it with my grandma, so it’s a comfort show for me. And you didn’t offend me,” he answered. “I’m just surprised too.” He smirked. “I don’t think you’ve ever smiled at me like that before.”

Was he making fun of me? My cheeks heated.

“So,” I changed the subject. “The notes?”

He turned and paused the show. “Right. Give me a sec.”

As he rummaged through his backpack, I took a moment to glance around the dorm room. I’d have wagered he would be a neat freak with trophies and medals and posters of scientists—or maybe even himself—plastered to the walls. Instead, I found an unmade bed, a stack of middle grade novels next to a beanbag chair, a giant container of cheese balls, and a slew of photos of him with kids I assumed must be his siblings. I only saw one picture where Wilder was holding a trophy, but his image’s attention was on the guy beside him who was offering him a high five. I lifted the frame from its spot on the desk beside the frozen laptop.

Wilder’s voice sounded over my shoulder, and I almost fumbled the picture. “That’s my best friend, Kent. We ran track together in high school, and the first year, we kind of hated each other.” Why was he telling me this? And yet, I wanted him to keep talking. He smelled like clean laundry, and the softness of his words made my heartbeat quicken. “Then, sophomore year, I think we both realized we didn’t have to be a threat to one another. We could both be good runners, and our strengths only helped push each of us to get better. Once we weren’t so caught up in competing, we found something even better than winning.” He took the photo from my hand, and my skin tingled as his fingers touched mine. “Now that we’re at separate schools, I’m kind of sad for all the time we missed being friends, you know.”

His meaningful words settled in my brain, and it sunk in for the first time that maybe Wilder had never been trying to make me feel dumb. He wasn’t anything like my insecurity and self-interest had painted him to be. Wilder was….nice? What was happening? But instead of sharing any of my thoughts out loud, I just gestured to the picture and asked, “Is there anything you aren’t good at?”

“Flirting, apparently,” he mumbled.

“What?”

His cheeks colored again. “I’ve been trying to get your attention all semester, but somehow all I’ve managed to do is keep ticking you off.” The unexpected just kept coming.

“But,” I sputtered, “why?”

He leaned against the desk. “Because, Anna, you’re brilliant. And funny. And pretty. And sometimes I catch you scrolling through photos of your cat during the lecture, and who wouldn’t find that adorable? I could keep going.” He cleared his throat and kept talking. “You’re creative and driven, and you’re nice to pretty much everyone.”

“Except for you,” I confessed, ashamed and remorseful. “Wilder, I’m sorry I’ve—”

“No worries,” he interrupted. “I know I can be kind of obnoxious sometimes. Here.” He offered me a stack of papers. “You can take them with you if you want.”

I thought for a moment. “I’d rather go over them together if you have time.”

“You definitely don’t need my help,” he said confidently.

“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But I wouldn’t mind your company.”

His lips quirked upward. “You want to watch some ‘Golden Girls’ with me instead? I think Sophia is about to tell a story about Sicily.”

I set aside the notes and sat on the beanbag, pulling the cheese ball container into my lap. “I would love to. Don’t tell anyone, but I once skipped a class to watch a movie with my roommate.”

“I can’t blame you for choosing that over doing math. I’m just glad to hear you weren’t sick.” He started the show and settled in on the floor beside me. “You were quite missed.”

Minutes later, as the next episode began and the theme song played, I almost made a joke thanking him for being a friend. But, as I’d just learned from this know-it-all boy, I probably shouldn’t make assumptions about the nature of our relationship. Hopefully, my archenemy was going to become much more than just a friend.

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Rachel Lawrence writes stories and poetry about the everyday joys and challenges of life, love, and choosing the perfect snack food for every occasion. She draws inspiration from her experience growing up in a huge family in the Carolinas and having her views expanded by new friends and family she’s met along the way, both at home and across the ocean. Her debut novel, Seashells and Other Souvenirs, is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Rachel is a wife, mom, and lover of inside jokes. She plays Christmas music year round.

Find her on Instagram @writehereallalong or https://rachellawrence.substack.com.