Chapter 4: Second Choice

How did I start dating Rachel?

It all started with Derek. Funny how fate works—Derek and I went to the same middle school, same high school, even the same university. But by college, we barely talked. Different majors, different lives.

He was the campus heartthrob—good grades, good looks, great family. The kind of guy who never had to worry about stains. He was Rachel’s unreachable dream. Me? Just her backup plan, her full-time doormat.

We really had nothing to do with each other, except that Rachel liked him.

One night, really late, Rachel called me up: "Do you have a car?"

"Yeah."

"I’ve been drinking. Can’t drive."

She Venmoed me, casual as always, to pick her up.

So I rolled up to the club on my battered old scooter. When Rachel saw me, she couldn’t help but laugh.

"It’s my first time on a scooter."

I looked at my ride and tried to joke it off. "Want me to call you an Uber instead?"

But she shook her head. "Nah. Ubers are stuffy. The scooter’s fine. Nice to get some fresh air."

Neon signs flickered over the cracked sidewalk. Somewhere, a car alarm blared, but Rachel just laughed and wrapped her arms around me.

I picked her up, and before we even got back to campus, she started crying, her voice muffled by the wind:

"He rejected me... It’s the first time I’ve confessed to a guy... and he actually turned me down... Does he think no one wants me but him?"

Rachel got more upset, then hugged my waist and fell asleep on my back. Her tears soaked through my shirt. I froze, not sure if I was supposed to hug her back or just keep driving.

The streetlights blurred by. Her perfume was sharp, expensive, unfamiliar. For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this moment actually meant something.

When I parked, Rachel confessed. She looked at me, sent a transfer of two grand, and turned toward the dorm: "Congrats, Noah. You’re my boyfriend now. Don’t screw it up."

I stared at the transfer notification, half-expecting it to vanish. Two grand. For being the backup. When I looked up, she was already gone.

I tucked my phone under my pillow, letting myself believe—just for a night—that I could be something more than a backup plan. The glow from the screen lingered in the dark like a tiny, warm secret.