And then it’s time to meet Jamie at the bus stop.
Jamie gets off the bus, and despite my nervousness I feel a rush of joy. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen her, somehow. I step forward to hug her, then stop, in case maybe she’s mad and doesn’t want to hug me back. I feel like a gorilla, with my arms just hanging at my sides, and I wish I had something to hold, some excuse for not reaching out for her. Jamie seems nervous, too, and we walk in silence back to the house.
By the time we’re in my room, we haven’t spoken a word except hey when she got off the bus, and the silence has been coiling itself around us like a snake. When I sit down on the bed and she chooses to lean on my dresser, I think I might choke.
“So, I told you we need to talk,” she says finally.
“Yeah,” is all I say. Inside my head, though, it’s I didn’t mean to kiss him, it was a mistake, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me.
“Okay.”
Jamie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly with her eyes closed, and then rolls her head and shrugs her shoulders a couple of times, like she does when she’s getting ready for a race. I half expect her to shake her legs out and start pacing.
She opens her eyes and says, “You didn’t want to talk yesterday, and you didn’t answer any of my texts. I really don’t think you were telling the truth about your phone glitching. I bet your phone was just fine. I think you just didn’t want to talk to me.” Here it comes. My chest starts to contract. “I owe you an apology.” My mouth almost drops open. What?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Kelsey was going to show up alone like that, and it kinda took me by surprise. I should’ve just told her to go home right then, probably. I don’t know, I just got . . . I wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess.” Jamie looks down and chews her lip. I don’t say anything. I’m still trying to catch up from “I owe you an apology.” She continues, “And I should’ve answered your texts, but I didn’t know what to say and she, like, wouldn’t let me out of her sight, anyway. She kept telling me that we’d go talk to her dad later, you know?” Okay. This time I manage a nod. “It’s just. She just seemed so sincere. And I—I really, really wanted to meet her dad and get him to write me that letter, so that kinda got in the way of me figuring it out. Like after a while I kinda knew she was lying, but I just couldn’t stop hoping she wasn’t.” I nod again. Where’s the part where she grills me about the Instagram with me and Caleb in it? Or where she says someone saw us together at Mercado? “When you didn’t want to talk, I realized how upset you must be, and I don’t blame you. My mom always says that I think so much about the future that I don’t appreciate what I have now. I hate it when she says that, but this time she’s right. It was wrong to make you go through all that just because I got carried away about Stanford—like one dinner with Kelsey’s dad would make a difference. So, yeah . . . I’m sorry.”
She looks at me. “Please don’t be mad. I think we have something good, you know? Like really good. And I don’t want to screw it up. All I could think about all day yesterday was you. I just want to be with you.”
I stare back at her, dumbfounded. A wave of relief flows through me, followed by a wave of gratitude to the powers that be for getting me off the hook, and another wave of pure adoration and admiration for beautiful, honest Jamie. Who thinks we have something really good, who doesn’t suspect me of cheating, and who really, truly wants to be with me—with me. I can hardly believe my luck.
I take Jamie’s hand and smile, and she smiles back. As I pull her to me and we melt into each other, a needle of guilt pricks at me, but there’s so much to celebrate right now that I ignore it. It can wait.
After Jamie leaves, it’s time to call Caleb and break the news. But I hate to kill the high I’m on right now, and then Dad calls and kills it anyway. He says he can’t make it home tonight—surprise, surprise—and now I’m sad about Mom being played. So I text Caleb to tell him that I can’t talk after all, and I spend the evening on the couch watching a funny movie with Mom. And by the time the movie’s over, it’s time for bed. I feel terrible when Caleb and Jamie text me goodnight practically at the same time, but it’s too late at night to talk to Caleb about something as big as breaking up, and besides, it’s only been two days, so it’s not like we’re actually, officially together, and—
Oh, all right. Let’s face it: I’m afraid to tell him the truth. I can’t escape the fact that he deserves to know, and soon. But when I picture telling him, I want to crawl into a cave. Because no matter what happens, I’ll feel like a total jerk for lying to him and leading him on, and he’ll probably hate me, and I’ll lose one of my best friends. How will I ever face him again?
I need time. Just a little bit—just a day or two to come up with something good, some way of getting out of this gracefully. There has to be a way. There has to be.
POETRY JOURNAL, HONORS AMERICAN LITERATURE
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 24
“Tell all the Truth but tell it slant—”
by Emily Dickinson I’m not sure exactly what kind of truth Emily Dickinson is talking about here, but it’s clear to me that she thinks that people aren’t always ready to hear the pure, straight-out truth. She talks about Truth as if it’s something light—it’s something “bright” that will “dazzle” and “blind” people, like lightning. So it’s probably something good, but dangerous. Like sometimes it’s best to let people know things slowly, a little at a time, so as not to hurt them too much. I definitely agree.
33
WHEN ELAINE, REGGIE, HANH, AND I GET TO trig the next morning, Jamie’s waiting for me in front of the classroom door. Her eyes light up when she sees me. My own excitement at seeing her is only a little bit overshadowed by my anxiety about what will happen if Caleb shows up.
“What’s she doing here?” Elaine asks me. “And why does she look so happy to see you? I thought you guys broke up.”
“We’ll give you guys some privacy,” whispers Hanh, showing some discretion for once. I slow down while my friends slink behind me into the classroom. I can’t see them, but I’m sure they’re eavesdropping as hard as they can.
“Hey,” says Jamie. “I brought you something.” And the excitement stages a comeback. She hands me a little box wrapped in blue paper. “It came in the mail on Saturday, but I was afraid to bring it over yesterday, in case you hated me.”
I unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a piece of blue sea glass, wrapped in silver wire and strung on a thin silver chain.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”