Front Lines (Front Lines #1)(22)

“Signing up, the two of us,” Jenou supplies. “Rio Richlin, Jenou Castain, ready to go off and wipe out the Japs and the Krauts too.”

Strand smiles. “All by yourselves?”

“Well, I guess you can help too, if you want,” Jenou says.

“So I thought for a minute you girls might be here to see me off.” He’s feeling his way forward in the conversation, casting glances at Rio, searching for clues, not sure what she’s told Jenou about their date. “Today’s the day. I came down here because my mother was threatening to show up and argue my case. Loudly. Figured it’d be best to take the bus down here and do it quiet. And why are you two here and not back up in Gedwell Falls?”

“Similar.” Rio stumbles over the word. “Similar problems. My folks don’t want me to enlist either.”

“I guess they wouldn’t,” Strand says cautiously. “I guess I was relieved to get my notice. Means I don’t have to go right up against my folks. I’m an only child, see, since the polio took my sister.”

“You two have so much in common,” Jenou says breezily. “You should probably ask Rio out, Strand.”

“Jen!” Rio cries. She is beginning to suspect that Jenou knows something.

Strand lowers his eyes to the ground, desperately confused but trying to play along with whatever game Rio is playing. “I think I might be punching above my weight, asking a girl like Rio out.”

Jenou does a comic double take and says, “You think she’s too good for you? I love her like a sister, Strand, but she’s not too good for you.”

At this Rio is left speechless, having no idea what she can possibly say.

“Rumor is we’re shipping out pretty quick,” Strand says. “Otherwise I sure would ask Rio out. She wouldn’t have to say yes. I would understand.”

“She would absolutely—”

“I suppose I might say yes,” Rio blurts. “If you weren’t shipping out.” She makes “thank you” eyes at him, hoping she’ll have a chance to explain her rather silly deception.

“Well, maybe after the war’s over,” Strand says.

“All right,” Rio says. “I hope we . . . I hope you . . .”

“We’re going in now,” Jenou says, rolling her eyes in disbelief at the awkwardness of the conversation. “Good-bye, Strand.”

Rio and Jenou plow through the door to the relative safety inside.

“Don’t say anything,” Rio warns her friend.

“You two will make such beautiful babies together.”

“Certainly not that.”

“Or you two could just take in a movie together,” Jenou says. “Maybe share some popcorn and chocolate almonds. Then, about halfway through the movie, he could hold your hand. Then afterward you could talk and talk and talk and not even a good night kiss.”

Rio stares daggers at Jenou, who laughs gaily and says, “My goodness, Rio, did you really think I wouldn’t hear about it? Me? I’ve heard three different accounts, all from reliable sources.”

“You mean gossips.”

“Only the most reliable gossips.” She play-slaps Rio’s arm. “I cannot believe you are holding out on me. On me! Me, your best friend! I demand details. Later, not now, but you owe me the complete skinny.”

“And you wonder why I didn’t tell you. We’re quite busy ruining our lives here; the gossip can wait.”

“For now I just have one question: have you written your name and his surrounded by a heart in your journal?”

Rio has done exactly this. And she has written Rio Braxton several times as well.

“No, I wrote Jenou Castain with snakes crawling all around.”

They’re in a crowded hallway where a harassed-looking woman with a clipboard directs traffic.

“Where do we go to sign up?” Jenou asks.

They are directed to a side room that still has a sign reading Postmaster above the open, glass-paneled door. The furnishings inside are minimal: three stiff-backed chairs, a metal filing cabinet, a hatstand, and a wooden desk, behind which sits a doleful-looking man in a crisp khaki uniform. There are four stripes on his shoulders, but for the life of her Rio cannot remember what they signify.

“I’m Sergeant Tell. Can I help you girls?”

“We’re here to enlist,” both say at once, though one voice sounds cocksure and the other tentative.

Rio stands at a sort of civilian’s version of attention and sidles close to Jenou, who slouches nonchalantly.

The sergeant shakes his head slowly, side to side. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Sir?” Rio asks.

“Girls in the army. Never thought I’d see . . .” He shrugs it off and in a stern tone says, “Look, ladies, it’s not sir. Sir is for officers. I work for a living. You call me sergeant.”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant,” Rio says.

The sergeant seems unsure of whether she’s being a smart-aleck, but it’s getting on toward lunchtime and there will be many other NCOs down the line to instruct these two in military etiquette. He sighs and produces two flimsy sheets and one pen. “You both eighteen or over as of this date? Fill in your names and addresses. Read it, sign it.”