Page 10 of Barbed Wire Fences
God, you’re pathetic, Jael!
His yearbook photo stares back at me now, blue eyes sparkling, blond hair neatly combed, and that same cocky smirk he was wearing today in the hardware store firmly rooted on his face.
I turn the page, searching for my own photo and instead, find another familiar one—Rhett Miller, my old neighbor and my first friend when I moved here. Chestnut brown hair, hazel eyes that look green in the summer light, and a jawline much too mature for a kid.
My chest tightens at the sight of him. Memories of those sweltering trailer park summers flash in my mind—long afternoons spent with him, dreaming about what life could be outside of this place while we hung out by the lake that bumps up to the back of our trailer park.
Seeing his photo stirs something deep inside of me that I haven’t felt in years. Remembering him does something else entirely. Nostalgia, sure, but also a sadness for the way we lost touch and how easily time moved on without us. He’d been my protector for years, a distraction from the chaos that bloomed within my family’s home and a friend to lean on like I’d never had and have never had since.
I stare at his picture a little longer than I probably should, remembering the way his lips felt on mine and the way his big hands palmed my body so tenderly, before finally closing the yearbook and setting it aside.
Many things have changed in Whitewood Creek, but some things, like these memories of the people that I’ve left behind, feel as permanent as the heat that’s permeating this trailer.
My mind slows and I take a deep breath, trying to control my emotions and failing as my hands go right back to that yearbook and the page with Rhett. And seeing him there has me reminiscing on one of my last memories of the summer that we spent together before I left.
???
“Please help me, Rhett,” I beg, dragging out my words for emphasis. My voice echoes loudly enough to startle a few birds that were enjoying their peace from a nearby tree that surrounds the lake.
It’s a warm spring afternoon, the kind that begs for adventure or at least something interesting to happen, but Rhett and I are stuck in our usual after-school routine. Me, pestering him for attention, usually bringing up something absurd I read online, and him, trying his hardest to ignore me while tinkering with the beat-up truck he’s been fixing for months now.
His brow is furrowed, his hands are smeared with grease, and he looks as if he’s actively willing me out of existence.
Today, however, I’m not letting him ignore me because I need his help.
“I’m serious, Rhett,” I say, stepping closer to where he’s hunched under the hood, pretending to not hear me even though I’m shouting now. “I need you to teach me about the birds and the bees!”
His head jerks up so fast he nearly hits it on the hood. “Can you keep your voice down please? You know the people in this neighborhood have nothing better to do but gossip.”
“Ugh, I was making sure you heard me,” I say, folding my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes at him. “The publicschool system has failed me, my parents have conveniently avoided the subject my entire life, and I need someone to fill in the gaps.”
His face is priceless—somewhere between horrified and convinced this is some kind of elaborate prank. But it’s not. I need his help. I know I could Google it or crack open one of those dusty biology books at school. Hell, I could have asked my friend Molly who lived next door, but she’s gone now. Skipped town on a bus to who knows where and hasn’t been in touch with anyone from here since.
But I want the real scoop. Straight from the source. A guy who knows what feels good, how things work, and what I should avoid so I don’t embarrass myself.
Plus, I’m on a deadline.
Now that I’ve told Owen I want him to take my virginity after our graduation, the thought of fumbling through it like some clueless amateur makes me want to dig a hole and never come out.
What if I suck?
What if he tosses me to the side after the first time because I don’t know what I’m doing? Not to be dramatic, but I don’t think I could live with myself and there are plenty of other girls in town just waiting for their chance with him.
“So, what do you say?” I press, hands on my hips hoping I look intimidating. “Can you help a girl out?”
Rhett sighs like I’m his annoying little sister. Over the top, totally dramatic, punctuated by an eye roll and a loud huff. “Fine. What do you want to know, Jael?”
“Kissing. I want to be better at kissing,” I say, figuring it’s a safe place to start before I launch into asking him the burningquestions that have been lingering in my mind. Like what to do during oral and penetrative sex. And what’s up with anal? How does that even work?
Rhett’s eyes narrow as he watches me closely. “And you’re saying that Owen and you broke up?”
I nod my head, my fingers crossed behind my back like a child knowing that we have not broken up. For whatever reason, Rhett seems to hate Owen, and I know for a fact that he would never agree to help me if he knew what this research was really for. He and Owen have never been friends and on more than one occasion he’s referred to him as 'the biggest douche bag and most overrated cornerback in the history of our high school’s existence.'
Rhett steps back, slamming the hood of his truck before tentatively tugging me to him with one of his oil covered hands. Our faces are just inches apart now, his tall frame towering over mine, reminding me just how tall he’s grown since I first moved here from Charlotte four years ago.
“You’re not going to make this weird, are you?” he asks gently. Gone is his teasing tone. His light brown brows bunch as he studies my face closely.
I shake my head no. “This is for learning purposes only,” I say in a voice that feels convincing.
