“Hi,” I said when I reached him.
“Hi.” He pushed his sunglasses onto his head. There were pink grooves under his eyes. “You’re here.”
He was smiling. And it was such a warm smile, such a relieved smile, that it made me want to kiss him. To kiss the shy nervousness right out of him. To kiss him under his eyes, in the cool, delicate place that should have been hidden by his sunglasses.
“You seem tired,” he said.
“The opposite,” I said, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt like it was a kite string. “I’m the opposite of tired.”
Oh. CRAP.
We’d passed through the torii and were snaking our way down a long, curving path toward the central building of the shrine. And I had no idea what to do. Was I supposed to hold his hand again? Was I supposed to touch him? He wasn’t touching me, which did not compute at all.
I knew he liked me. Or, at least, I thought he did. He’d said all that stuff about belonging with me, but maybe he’d meant, like, belonging in our friendship. The way I’d belonged with Mika.
That wasn’t how I felt, though. I felt about him the way I used to—only times ten thousand. To the nth degree. We weren’t touching, but the energy between us fizzed and popped. And I was such an idiot for ever thinking he was cute. Puppies were cute; the tiny cakes they sold at Kinokuniya were cute. Jamie was—electric.
When I looked at him—all lawless hair and anxious hands—I felt a lightning storm in my skin. When I looked at him, I wanted to kiss him. It was an automatic response. Like smelling a cookie and wanting a cookie. I tried to remind myself of all the things that were awkward and goofy and not-in-any-way-attractive about him. He’s a nerd. He’s read The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter at least twenty times each. He makes jokes about history and literature.
Every single one of those things just made me want to kiss him more.
But maybe kissing Jamie was a terrible idea. For one thing, it would make leaving Tokyo completely impossible. (Like, physically impossible. I would just hug Jamie around the waist and refuse to let go.) For another, it would take my soul and leave nothing but a warm, liquid center.
Kissing Jamie…
It would be Harry finding his wand. Frodo taking the ring. It would turn this week into something I couldn’t even fathom.
“Why’d you want to come here?” I asked, my voice a lot louder than I’d meant it to be. The path was cool and quiet, with cicadas cooing and trees eclipsing our shadows. This was a place to be peaceful.
And I was blabbering like a nervous weirdo.
“Because it’s historical,” he said, “and also it’s not my apartment.”
“I thought maybe you’d want to go to a cat café,” I said.
“A cat café?” He laughed. Loud, infectious laughter.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a café. Full of cats. We could—hang out with some cats.”
He was finding all this very funny. But I wasn’t joking. I was talking about cats because I needed to talk about something. Cats, dogs, parakeets, the unpredictability of the weather. I needed to distract my twisted brain from noticing that we were surrounded by trees. Dark and shadowy places…
Christ. I was so inappropriate. Who imagines making out with someone at a shrine?
“Did you get home okay?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I guess. Mom was waiting for me when I got there.”
“Yeah?” He sounded surprised. “Was she pissed off?”
“I don’t think so. She was just worried because Alison and I had a fight yesterday.”
“You had a fight with your sister?” He seemed concerned, which was so unfair. A genuine display of emotion was the last thing I needed from him. Don’t look at his lips… or his neck… or both! You idiot! You idiot! Don’t do both!
We walked over a wooden bridge.
“My sister and I fight all the time,” I said. “We’re like pairs figure skaters. But instead of skating together, we fight. At an Olympic level.”
“Uh-huh.” He gave me a sidelong smirk. “My sister and I don’t really fight. But that’s because we’re the delinquents of the family. We have to band together.”
“Right. So I guess your parents weren’t thrilled when you came home this morning?”
His grin faded a little. “You could say that. But they’re both gone all day, and Hannah said she’d cover for me if they came back early, so…” He lifted his hands, palms tipped up. “Here I am.”
There he was.
And I could not stop STARING at him. I wondered if he’d noticed. I wondered if he was picking up on my swoony vibes. No way was I the first person to crush so hard on him. Maybe he’d even had a girlfriend. That thought made my stomach start to eat itself. Mika had never mentioned a girlfriend, but she’d never really mentioned him in general. Not around me, anyway. She’d once joked to David that he usually went for “older women.”
Older women.
I tried to imagine that. Older women with driver’s licenses and dark lipstick. Older women who gave him cigarettes and rolled around on his bunk bed with him.
I was eight months older than Jamie, so technically I was an “older woman,” too. But my hair was twisted into two braids, and I’d never had a boyfriend, and the thought of kissing someone made me want to breathe into a paper bag.
So. I probably didn’t count.
“Anyway,” he said, “what happened with your mom?”
“Huh?” I blinked. Like I was trying to clear my vision of him. (Because that was possible.)
“You said she was worried?”
“She was,” I said. “She talked to my dad this morning. Apparently I can move to Paris if I want to.”
“Like for college or something?”
“Like, next week.”
“Shit.” He rubbed the back of his head. “That’s—short notice.”
“You could say that.”
“Do you think you’ll go?”