by Ellie Hall
It’s a proud moment. Sure, it took me six years to get a business degree that typically takes four, and I had to work two jobs while caring for my struggling mom and younger brother, but at least I did it without accepting personal handouts from neighbors, friends, or even my pastor and his wife who, bless them, offered to contribute a little something toward my schooling as well.
My mom says I have pride issues, but if everyone has issues, that’s one I’m willing to live with. It’s better than having self-respect issues which, sadly, dragged my poor mother through more misery than any woman should have to endure, all while her children looked on. So, in essence, my issues stem from witnessing the effects of her issues.
That aside, my self-started, self-operated business is blooming quite nicely. Okay, so maybe it’s more of a bud than a bloom.
I plop into place, pour Diet Coke into the ice-filled glass, and use a red and white straw to stir it into oblivion, an act that pricks at my heart each and every time.
I’ve been beating the fizz out of my drinks since I was ten—I like the flavor; not the fizz—but the habit only haunts me now. All I can see is my super-hot ex-boyfriend Kai Kingsley, grabbing my glass and doing the tedious deed for me. He’d lift the drink to those full lips of his, take a test taste, and shudder. “It’s ready. I don’t know how you like it that flat.” And then he’d hand it over to me and wink.
My stirring becomes frantic. Something I don’t realize until my knuckles are splattered with Diet Coke dots. I sigh. If Kai were still in my life, he’d be doing this type of grunt work for me.
I take a long sip. “Okay,” I say to myself. “Pity party’s over.” It’s time to secure my very first business partner. Once this deal is done, I’ll use Millie’s name to score more investors from other businesses selling items I need, such as mugs, chocolate, fuzzy socks, bath bombs…
A dart of excitement shoots through me. It’s finally happening!
A glance at my phone says we have four minutes to go.
I crack open my laptop and brighten the screen when my phone lets out a buzz from the desk. I assume it’s Millie sending the link to our Zoom call until I look closer:
Nikki, I hate to cancel our call, but I’ve only now gone over the numbers with my financial advisor, and he is not on board. Sadly, I won’t be able to invest in your company after all. What I can do, since I admire your gumption and want to help you succeed, is offer you a one-time 40% discount on a purchase size of your choosing and a lifetime 10% discount on paper supplies.
I stop reading there but scroll my way down to see how long the text goes on.
One scroll, two inches.
Another scroll, two more inches of the same text bubble.
I cringe. I could probably scroll down this text thread until tomorrow and still not be done reading Millie’s patronizing mush about how special and talented I am.
I groan, slap the phone down, and plunk my face onto the table. A toast crumb crunches beneath my cheek. Ugh. I ate toast here and didn’t even clean up? I’m an animal. An animal with a greasy crumb on her cheek, a big boil on her chin, and a canceled zoom-call meeting.
I was counting on Millie. I need paper—a lot of it—to make my boxes cheery and bright. But even more, I need investors to get this thing off the ground.
“Give me a discount,” I mumble through smooshed lips. “No thanks.” It’s better to eat no pie than choke down a serving of humble pie. If Millie’s backing out of our original deal, I’ll find a whole new supplier. I’d rather go out of business than buy paper from her now.
My phone lets out a second buzz. I assume it’s another mile-long text from Millie until the buzzing continues. Someone’s calling.
I try to wipe the pout off my face as I bring the phone to my ear. “This is Nikki.”
“Nikki, this is Marsha Langston from reality TV show Time Warp. How are you doing today?”
I peel my cheek off the kitchen table and gasp. “Huh? I mean, I’m sorry. Who is this?”
She offers a polite laugh. “TV producer, Marsha Langston. I’m sure it’s a bit of a surprise, but I’m calling because you and your old high school flame, Kai Kingsley, have been nominated for Time Warp’s new High School Reunion special. We’re letting the state of Arizona start things off.”
Time Warp. Time Warp. “Wait, is this where you try to get couples back together?” My body turns into a lit fuse—all fast-moving heat and sparks, threatening to end with a horrible bang.
“The one and only,” Marsha says. “If you accept this invitation, you’ll spend five days in an Arizona home while the cameras roll. During that time, you and Kai will engage in directed activities that we hope will reignite that old spark.”
The flicker on my internal fuse moves faster. Is this really happening? “How do I know this isn’t some sort of prank?”
“Good question,” the woman says. “Give me a minute…” I hear a commotion in the background. Another short pause, and my phone buzzes.
“Take a look.”
I pull the phone from my face to look at the text. It’s a photo—a woman seated at a desk with the LA cityscape visible through the window behind her. I recognize the famous producer with ease. Marsha Langston has appeared in a handful of her reality TV shows. Her shiny black hair hangs along her jawline, while that shrewd look in her green eyes holds hints of amusement. I read the note she holds: ‘This is not a prank, Nikki.’
I blink. “Huh.”
“What do you say, Ms. Jenkins?”
There’s no possible way Kai will say yes to this. I heard through a mutual friend that he’s prepping to take his bar exam. But even if that wasn’t the case…
My curiosity wins out. “Did you already ask him?”
“Not yet. We’re starting with you since the classmates who nominated you two agree that you’ll be the more challenging one to get on board. No sense in bothering Kai with this if you say no.”
“But what if I say yes and then Kai says no?”
“Then we move onto the next couple, and that will be that.”
Sure, that would be that. And I’d get my heart broken all over again. I fling my head back dramatically, wanting to dunk myself in a water bucket and douse out the burning fuse before my insides explode.
“No,” I blurt, bobbing my head back into place. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can take being rejected by him a second time.”
“There’s money involved.”
My brows jump. “Money?”
“Good money, too. As long as you fulfill your end of the deal.”
I think back on Millie’s mile-long message. “What’s the catch? We don’t get the money if we don’t get back together?”
“There’s no catch like that. Stay the full five days, fulfill the challenges we give you, and get your money.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
My eyes double in size.
“Per day.”
They’re about to triple in size when a question comes to mind. “Each?”
“Each.”
“You’re kidding!” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice.
“What do you say?”
It’s the second time she’s asked that question in our three-minute conversation. This woman is good at closing deals.
“Why?” I can’t help but ask. “Why us?”
“Like I said,” Marsha replies. “Your classmates believe their old prom king and queen belong together. You two received the highest number of nominations in your area. One of your classmates even sent a video clip where Kai ran through the homecoming game banner with you in his arms while the whole school cheered. Very romantic.”
“Someone sent that?” For a moment, I’m back in Kai’s big strong arms, smelling his heavenly smell and basking in his warmth. That moment was very romantic. And so thrilling. Kai had scooped me into his arms, burst through the banner and onto the field. He ran straight to the mic and asked, in front of everyone,
if I would go to the dance with him. It was a big deal considering that every girl in school wanted to go with him.
I consider agreeing to do the show, and a vision of my younger brother Nate comes to mind. He’ll kill me if I say yes; he witnessed firsthand how much that breakup hurt me. It feels like a million more wicks are flaring in my chest. Each one is sparking and spurting and ready to blow.
“I don’t know,” I breathe.
“How about I sweeten the deal and make it thirty thousand a day? I’ll send over the contract now, you sign it, and if Kai says yes, you head out to the location one week from today.”
I stare at my phone for a blink, then flinch when the text pops in.
“Did you just send me the contract?”
“Yes.”
“Already? With the thirty thousand per-day deal?”
“Yes,” she says again.
A vision of that dreamy time of my life floats through my mind. Early morning rides to school. Late-night kisses at the front door. What I wouldn’t give to kiss those lips again. I have to know if Kai will agree to it. Handsome, hunky Kai, who’s probably been breaking hearts since the day he left me.
So maybe I was asking for a second dose of heartbreak, but who was I kidding? Money aside, it’d be worth it.
“All right,” I blurt. “I’ll do it on one condition. You can’t tell Kai that I already said yes unless he says yes. And if he says no, then act like you didn’t ask me yet and leave it at that.”
The line goes graveyard silent.
Marsha might not know it, but this stipulation is everything. I absolutely, one-hundred percent will not agree to this if Kai—
“Deal.”
My brows try jumping into my hairline. “Deal?”
“Yes, deal. Sign that and send it back. I’ll call Kai and let you know once I have an answer.”
She hangs up, and I dive into the Millie-long—err mile-long contract. I should have a lawyer. If I were smart, I’d contact a lawyer, have them look it over, and tell me whether I’m signing my soul away or not.
But no. I picture the word sucker stamped to my head as I scroll all the way down to the bottom, type in my name, and do a finger signing on the designated line.
“There.” I stare at it, asking myself if I dare hit send.
But then something takes over. I’m not sure if it’s the emotions stirring within me or the buttery crumb on my cheek, but suddenly I’m hovering a thumb over the send prompt and then lowering it until I tap solidly against the green, glowing box.
I gasp, then stare at the device as it makes that swishy sound.
The bombs are going off now. Massive explosions in my chest that make it impossible to sit still. At once, I’m pacing along the kitchen and scrubbing the buttery spot on my cheek. I can’t afford a breakout if I’m actually going to be on television.
But wait—I don’t want to be on television. Did I forget that that’s part of the deal? What the crap am I thinking?
But I already know the answer. I have to see if Kai will say yes to it or not.
He won’t. He’ll say no. My barely healing heart will shrivel to the size of a raisin. I’ll be alone for the rest of my business-floundering, pimple-mounding life.
My phone buzzes on the table. I rush to it, catch my foot on the corner of the rug, and nearly fall on my face as I snatch the device like it’s a magic bar of infinite gold.
It’s another text from Marsha. It has Kai’s name on it.
I swipe right so hard I nearly break my thumb.
My heart skips three whole beats.
And the answer from Kai is…yes.
My mind registers this as happy news and sends a full-on parade through my body in celebration.
My heart, however, wants no part of the action. I can already see it, frantically building walls to protect itself from a second onslaught. Already, the stitches that hold it together are splitting loose. I can feel the sting as it pulls the slightest bit. Small for now, but dangerously close to tearing wide open.
I sigh and slump to the floor, wanting desperately to rewind time and say no to the whole thing. Just what am I getting myself into?
2
Day 1
I’m about to see Kai. I’m seriously about to see Kai.
The obnoxious chant repeats in my head as I hoist my shiny pink suitcase up the steps of the staged studio house. The Arizona home, tucked into its gated property, is big, beautiful, and chock-full of cameras that will stay aimed at Kai and me for the full five days.
I’m about to see Kai for the first time in years!
Goosebumps ripple over my skin nearly every time I think it. Which explains why my leg hairs keep growing despite my valiant efforts to arrive with a clean shave.
The Arizona heat is stifling even though the sun dipped thirty minutes ago. It’s nearing twilight, and I can’t help but picture the nights I spent watching Kai play football. Not that I can avoid memories like that; Marsha Langston, AKA the Queen of Reality Love Shows, is one clever cupid.
It’s been exactly one week since I accepted the offer to come on the show. Math isn’t my strong suit, but after a brief calculation, I surmise that those seven days have taken roughly one-hundred and thirteen days off of my life. Between obsessing over what I’m going to wear and how I’m going to act, I spent that week filling out a seriously lengthy, highly invasive questionnaire about everything from our first kiss to our final words.
Talk about wrenching. And revealing too. I might be stepping onto the scene in a fabulous dress I picked out with excruciating precision, but inwardly, I feel naked and exposed.
Marsha knew that reliving those tender moments would have me aching to see Kai again.
This is why my younger brother Nate, along with his also-invested friends, have been lecturing me through video chats from Washington State University. They have all sorts of things to say about me coming on the show, but the consensus is that I should not take Kai back after he broke my heart.
Honestly, I have no idea where Kai’s head is at. He might not want to get back together. Maybe he’s just doing this to save face—the whole school knows he left me behind to endure the chaos of my life alone. Perhaps he knows how charming and attractive he is and figures that after a TV appearance such as this, he’s likely to become one of America’s most eligible bachelors.
That idea is a madman’s machete to my heart. It makes me want to claim Kai Kingston as my very own and dare any woman to even try to take him from me. I feel desperate to show everyone that he loved me first. And maybe, just maybe, he loves me the most too.
It’s this exact type of torment that urged me to come up with a few rules. Well, just two rules. Grandma always says to never set more than two rules—one for each fist. It’s the only way to hold tight to the ones that matter.
So, Rule Number One: Guard my heart. The poor vessel has been working overtime to guard itself while screaming in desperation to my traitorous mind while it daydreams of being reunited with Kai. “Hey, Earth to Nikki! Can I get a little help here?”
I can’t very well let Kai weasel his way back in with those gorgeous brown eyes and that broad, boastful smile. I’ll serve my five days with him like some sort of prison sentence and end it.
Rule Number Two: Guard my lips.
This one may or may not have been inspired by a dream I had the night Marsha called. A dream I replay in my mind with great precision. I need to guard my lips since they’re connected to my heart, and that leads right back to Rule Number One.
I envision myself clenching tight to my rules, one in each fist. They’re important. Crucial is more like it. Whenever I think about seeing Kai again, I want to invent a time machine and type ‘every time I ever kissed Kai’ into the destination box.
Of course, that’s the real purpose of the reality TV show—it’s called Time Warp, after all. And this High School Reunion series is designed to give high school sweethearts a second chance.
But I’m not here
for a second chance like viewers at home might think. I’m here to get my money and go. Yet there’s a bit of Vegas attached to this deal—a gamble if you will, because I haven’t shaken the traitor inside of me. Traitor Me is alive and kicking, and she wants something other than the hundred-fifty Ks that come with the deal. Traitor Me wants two specific Ks—she wants Kai Kingsley.
My heart winces.
Good thing I have my rules in place. And really, it’s just five days. What kind of out-of-control maniac can’t follow two simple rules for five short days?
I’m at the top step now. My suitcase wobbles to a halt as I slip my sweaty hand off the handle and scrutinize the keypad. I busted a wheel while tugging it out of the town car Marsha sent for me since the driver didn’t volunteer to help. Probably because I begged him to keep the AC at arctic levels to keep from sweating to death on the drive here.
Already, the hot, dry air is creating sweat puddles in my bra.
The code is the year we graduated, so I tap out the keys.
The lock slides open. Upon further communication from the show’s crew, I learned there would be no one else inside the home. Just me, Kai, and an array of cameras operated remotely by a crew who lowkey stalks people for a living. There’s one exception: the show's host will have access to the studio portion of the home—where most of our challenges will be held.
I creak open the solid door, wondering who they’d arranged to arrive first. The poor, heartbroken girl from the wrong side of the tracks who’s struggling to get her tiny business going? Or the rich, cocky law student who, according to mutual friends, will be sweeping the bar exam very soon?
“Nikki?”
The sound of that deep, pleasing voice answers my question while simultaneously causing a volcano-sized thrill to erupt in my chest.
In walks Kai Kingsley in all his sculpted jaw, dark-haired, broad-shouldered glory.
Goosebumps ripple all the way up to my face; hopefully, they won’t have the same hair-growing effect that they have on my legs.