Spelling Bee

By Miranda Rei

“I won the spelling bee in sixth grade.”

The metal chair gives a long-suffering creak as he lowers into the seat across from me, his pale blue eyes flickering from pleasant to perturbed. “I…don’t think that’s how we’re supposed to start these things.”

My focus pings toward the digital clock on the edge of the table. The bright red numbers tick tauntingly by. “Right, of course. I’m Sarah, you’re Drew. I can see your name tag. We’ve only got two minutes to fall in love, though, right? So let’s cut to the chase.”

Drew’s brows stitch into his hairline. “The chase being…our elementary school achievements?”

The sigh that leaks out of me is rude, but I can’t find it in me to care. The only thing more powerful than the last three weeks of speed dating flops is the fifty bucks I refuse to fork over to my roommate for giving up. “Not really a yes, and kind of guy, are you, Drew?”

His eyebrows still haven’t lowered. If he raises them any further, I fear his coifed blond locks might swallow them completely. “Excuse m—”

“Let’s just call this one a pass, okay?” I give him a sugary smile and reach for the stopwatch.

“Gladly.” He’s out of the chair by the time the clock resets to zero.

Exactly ninety-two seconds later, a new victim settles at my table.

One more, then I quit. I take a breath and hit start, the words out of my mouth before I even look up. “I won the—”

“Spelling bee, I heard. What word gave you your victory?”

My head snaps up and the air stalls in my lungs. He looks different in every way.

I’d recognize him anywhere.

“It was caucus,” I half-whisper as my gaze roves over his features. The scrawl on his nametag is practically illegible, but I can make out the familiar slope of the M, the dip of the U.

“And your opponent?” He laces his fingers over the table. “How did he spell it?”

I feel a smirk tug the corner of my mouth. “Imagine what a pre-pubescent boy might say."

His expression slowly mirrors my own. “As a former pre-pubescent boy, I don’t have to imagine.”

He looks at me for a moment, silently asking, Do you remember me? I ask it right back, the air between us filling with question marks.

Finally, he says, “That’s a pretty impressive word for an eleven-year-old to know.”

“I was a pretty impressive eleven-year-old.”

“I remember,” he says, so soft I can barely hear it.

I don’t know when I started to lean forward, but he copies me now, our postures like sunflowers turning toward each other in lieu of the sun.

The stopwatch begins to blare, and I reach out to silence it, never breaking his gaze. “It’s good to see you again, Marcus.”

He smiles, and my body lights up with hope. “Just promise me I don’t have to spell any words this time.”

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Miranda Rei is a romance author and developmental editor for the romance novel app Galatea. She has also acquired and edited original short fiction for the bibliophile subscription box PageHabit. A proud orange cat mom, she currently lives in Oakland, California with her husband.