Jamie’s hand catches my arm. “Hang on. You’re angry—why are you angry?”
I bite my lip because I’m worried I’m going to start crying like a weirdo. I’m not used to having to vocalize how social anxiety makes me feel. Emery was used to it—she didn’t make me explain myself.
I think of what she’d say if she were here.
I think of her note. The words she left behind to remind me to be brave.
“I feel like you’re pressuring me. I told you I didn’t want to go inside, and now you’re making me feel bad about it,” I say. The words surprise me when they come out. For a brief second I feel strong—brave—but then I’m overcome by an intense wave of guilt.
He shifts his jaw and lifts his shoulders. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just don’t understand.”
I feel my knee lock and unlock like a nervous tick. I wish it wasn’t so hard to tell people what I’m feeling. A long time ago, it wasn’t hard for me to tell Jamie anything. I wonder if it will ever be like that again. “I’m not asking you to understand.”
Jamie pulls his neck back and shakes his head. “Why are you making it so difficult for me to hang out with you?”
My stomach somersaults and I feel something swell inside my chest. It isn’t long before my throat tightens and my head starts to spin. I don’t know how to answer Jamie’s question.
His blue eyes soften. “Look, I’ll be right back. Don’t leave, okay? Please?”
When he disappears back into the house, I really, really want to drive away. It’s uncomfortable between us now. It’s not like it was when we were kids—now it’s complicated.
But I don’t leave because he has eyes like gems that make me want to stay, even when he says the wrong thing.
Jamie comes back with his iPod and some headphones. He’s still holding the kiwi water and cookies I brought.
“Will you sit with me?” He lowers himself onto the sidewalk, twists the bottle of water open, and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie from the package. A crooked smile appears in the corner of his mouth.
Suddenly I don’t want to leave as much as I did before.
I sink down onto the concrete next to him, mostly because being closer to the ground makes me feel steadier.
He holds out the cookies. As soon as I take one, my eyes start to water. I blink as hard as I can.
We both crunch and chew into the humid night air. When I’m finished, I dust the crumbs from my fingers and blink again to make sure the tears are gone.
His hand falls to his lap. “Sarah isn’t my girlfriend, by the way. Our parents are still friends, so we hang out whenever we’re in the same place.”
She’s not his girlfriend. That’s . . . “Oh. Okay.”
He fountains the bottle into his mouth and swallows like he’s in pain. “This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I can’t help it—I laugh so loud that the sound bounces off the street and fills my own ears. For a second I’m stunned by the noise, and I can hear it in my head long after it’s quiet again.
I clear my throat and hope he doesn’t see all the redness burning through my face.
“If this is what you drink at your house, you should definitely come inside.” Jamie scratches the side of his head. “We’ve got water. And soda. And pink lemonade. All three of which are better options than this twisted form of torture you brought to my cousin’s house.”
Part of me wants to say yes. Why is it so hard? It’s just as difficult as saying no, when it should be so much easier.
But the more I think about going inside, the more my heart feels like it’s going to burst.
“I can’t,” I say to the street.
“You can’t or you don’t want to?”
This time I look straight into Jamie’s eyes. “I can’t.”
A sad kind of acceptance washes over his face, but it disappears quickly. “Here.” He holds out an earbud.
I put it in my left ear, and he puts the other in his right.
Drums. Violins. A keyboard.
“What is this?” I ask.
Jamie doesn’t look at me. His head is tilted back and his arms are crossed over his knees. “Wilco. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. It’s relaxing.”
“I listen to a lot of Wilco when I’m taking photographs. And The Smiths.”
“I don’t know them.”
“You will. We might be here for a while.”
I rub my fingers along my shins. “You can go back to your party.”
“Of course I can,” he says. “But I want to hang out with you. That’s why I invited you over.”
We listen to two more Wilco songs, and when Jamie puts on The Smiths, I start to forget where I am. The almost-black sky is painted with stardust, my left ear is full of guitar strums, and every time Jamie taps his thumb against his knee to the beat of the music, I fall more in love with him.
The earbud drops to the concrete and I am on my feet. I’m not in a position to be falling in love with anyone. And especially not Jamie Merrick, who I’ve loved practically all my life, who could probably crush my heart with two fingers and a half smirk.
I’m supposed to be coming up with a plan. I’m supposed to be figuring out what I’m doing with my life. I’m supposed to be finding a way to get out of this town for good.
“I should go home,” I insist before any words tumble out of his partially opened mouth. “But thank you. For sitting with me, and for Wilco.” And for trying, I want to say.
Jamie gets up and wraps the earbuds into a tight coil. “Okay. No problem, Kiko.” His face looks strained because he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know how to fix me.
He doesn’t know I don’t want him to fix me.
Prism was going to make everything better, but now that it’s out of the picture, I know I have to work through the clouds in my head all on my own. Otherwise the next time I lose what’s important to me, I might not have the strength to come up with another plan.
Hearts aren’t meant to be broken an infinite amount of times.
I drive home without looking at him again, even though I really, really want to.
? ? ?
I paint Jamie sitting on the sidewalk, watching the stars, listening to Wilco, with a ghost sitting beside him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
You can’t get so disheartened when someone doesn’t act the way you want them to. Even Mr. Darcy wasn’t perfect. And just because someone makes you feel uncomfortable doesn’t make them your mom.”
Emery always has the best advice, even when it’s compacted into five minutes because that’s all the spare time she has between classes.
I text Jamie a GIF of a Pikachu making a weird face.
He texts back a GIF of James Franco smiling and mouthing the words “It’s okay.”
And just like that, we’re back to normal again.