Love was Never in the Contract

Chapter Three: How We Got Here

Let me backtrack a bit.

Some context might help explain how I ended up marrying a man who barely remembers my existence. A man who, until a week ago, hadn't given me a second thought since high school.

⸻

Growing up, I was the definition of forgettable.

"Plain Jane June," they called me in middle school, though never to my face—people would have to notice me first for that to happen. I had glasses thick as bottle bottoms, braces that seemed to consume half my face, and the kind of acne that dermatologists photograph for medical journals.

My hair never quite knew what it wanted to be—not straight, not curly, just an unruly mass that frizzed in the slightest humidity. I was skinny in all the wrong places, with knobby knees and elbows that were constantly bruised from bumping into furniture.

But physical awkwardness wasn't the worst of it. I was painfully shy, the kind of quiet that teachers mistook for sullenness and peers interpreted as weird. When called on in class, my voice would emerge as a squeak, prompting inevitable titters from the back row.

The Torres family system didn't help. My father died when I was eight—a construction accident that left my mother, Marisol, a Filipina immigrant, to raise three children alone. She worked double shifts as a nurse, leaving my older brother Rhett to act as a surrogate parent.

Rhett was just a sixteen-year-old boy suddenly thrust into fatherhood. He quit the football team to pick up part-time work at a local garage, learning to fix cars while raising his siblings—us.

Then there was Leah—my older sister by two years and my polar opposite in every way.

Where I was invisible, Leah was impossible to ignore. She had our mother's high cheekbones and natural grace, skin that seemed to glow from within, and the kind of confidence that made even teachers slightly intimidated. By fifteen, she was varsity cheer captain, homecoming princess, and the girl whose name was whispered in boys' locker rooms.

I loved her fiercely, even as her shadow swallowed me whole.

Our house was small—a modest three-bedroom in a neighborhood that straddled the line between working-class and middle-class. Mom worked late, Rhett retreated into his garage, and Leah was rarely home between cheer practice and her expanding social life. I spent most evenings buried in books, escaping into worlds where plain girls could become princesses or warriors or witches with power crackling at their fingertips.

Then Caleb West moved in next door.

⸻

I remember the moving trucks on a sweltering August day. I was thirteen, sitting on our porch swing with a dog-eared copy of "The Outsiders," when a sleek black SUV pulled into the driveway of the recently sold Hendersons' house.

Out stepped a woman with tired eyes and expensive sunglasses. Then him—a lanky boy with sun-bleached hair and the kind of smile that made my stomach flip. He glanced in my direction, and I ducked behind my book, heart racing.

Later that evening, Mom sent me over with a casserole—a chicken adobo. "Welcome the new neighbors," she insisted. "It's what we do."

I stood on their porch for a full minute before finding the courage to ring the bell, shifting from foot to foot, rehearsing my greeting.

Caleb answered—taller up close, with eyes that shifted between blue and green depending on how the light hit them.

"Hi," I managed, my voice a whisper. "Um, my mom made this. For you. And your mom. We're next door." I thrust the casserole forward like I was disposing of a bomb.

"Cool, thanks." He took it, sniffed appreciatively. "Smells good. I'm Caleb."

"June," I replied, staring at my shoes.

"You go to Woodlands?"

I nodded.

"Cool. I'm starting there next week. Eighth grade."

"Me too," I said, finally looking up. "I mean, I'm in seventh. But same school."

He smiled—that devastatingly lopsided smile that would later grace magazine covers and racing billboards. "Maybe I'll see you around."

I nodded again, turned, and nearly tripped down their porch steps in my haste to escape.

That was our first conversation. It lasted approximately forty-five seconds. I replayed it for hours that night, analyzing every word, every inflection.

Little did I know that would be the longest conversation we'd have for years.

⸻

By the time school started, Caleb West had already been absorbed into the upper class of Woodlands Middle School society. His easy charm and natural athletic ability made him instantly popular, while his slight outsider status (he'd moved from California) gave him an air of mystery.

I watched him from afar—in the hallways, the cafeteria, across our adjoining backyards when he'd shoot baskets while I pretended to read on our porch.

We existed in parallel universes that occasionally intersected. He'd nod if we passed each other walking home. Sometimes he'd ask to borrow a pencil in the one class we shared—pre-algebra with Mrs. Jenkins.

Then came the day that cemented my crush and crushed my heart simultaneously.

It was spring semester of seventh grade. Mrs. Jenkins had paired us for a project, much to my terror and delight. We arranged to work at my house after school—the only time our kitchen table wasn't occupied by Rhett's car parts or Leah's social planning.

I spent the entire morning petrified with anxiety. I wore my least embarrassing outfit—jeans without holes and a purple sweater that Mom said brought out my eyes. I even tried to tame my hair with Leah's expensive smoothing cream, which left my scalp tingling unpleasantly.

Caleb arrived precisely at 4 p.m., backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. We spread our work across the kitchen table, and for an hour, I was in heaven—helping him understand linear equations, our elbows occasionally brushing, his cologne (which I later realized was just Axe body spray) making me slightly dizzy.

Then Leah came home from cheer practice.

She breezed into the kitchen in her uniform, all long legs and glossy ponytail, reaching for a water bottle from the fridge.

"Hey, squirt," she said to me, then noticed Caleb. Her eyebrows rose slightly. "And who's this?"

"Caleb West," he said before I could answer, suddenly sitting straighter. "I live next door."

"Leah Torres." She extended her hand with a smile I knew well—the one she reserved for cute boys and adults who could give her what she wanted. "Cheer captain. I haven't seen you at any games."

"Just moved here in August. But I'll definitely start coming."

I sat between them, suddenly invisible. The air crackled with something I was too young to fully understand but old enough to recognize—attraction.

"We're working on math," I said, my voice sounding childish even to my own ears.

"Well, don't let me interrupt," Leah laughed, but she lingered, asking Caleb questions about California, telling him about the upcoming spring dance.

By the time she left, Caleb was barely focusing on our equations. When we finished an hour later, he packed up quickly.

"Your sister's cool," he said as I walked him to the door.

"Yeah," I agreed, because what else could I say?

At the door, he paused. "Is she dating anyone?"

My heart sank. "Jake Matthews. Quarterback."

"Of course," he laughed. "Well, see you tomorrow, June. Thanks for the help."

I stood in the doorway long after he left, something hollow expanding in my chest.

The next day at school, I overheard him talking to his friend Tyler by the lockers.

"So Torres is helping you with math? Sucks, man."

"It's not so bad," Caleb said. "She's pretty smart."

"Yeah, but she's so plain. Like a human screensaver. At least her sister's hot."

There was a pause, and I held my breath, pressed against the wall around the corner.

"Yeah," Caleb finally agreed. "June's okay, but Leah's definitely the pretty one."

I skipped pre-algebra that day, hiding in the second-floor bathroom until the bell rang.

And just like that, I stopped being a girl with a crush and became the girl who never forgot it.