Chapter Six
Six
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG we’ve been stopped before I lift my head, but it has to have been a while, because we’re still in Starr and Leni’s neighborhood—tucked safely around a corner and parked beneath a winged elm whose branches brush the top of the Jeep.
Jamie doesn’t look at me as he reaches across my lap and pops open the glove box.
When his arm brushes my bare knee, I shift away.
His skin is warm and slightly damp from sitting in the stifling humidity for fifteen uninterrupted minutes, which should be gross, but of course, he’s Jamie Atwater, so even sweaty looks kind of good on him.
I do not understand people who can be attractive in this way.
He shoves a handful of napkins into my face and slams the glove box shut again.
“Thanks,” I say, annoyed with myself for letting him see me like this.
I turn away from him as I dab at my eyes and nose.
“I want you to know this isn’t me being sad.
I think they have a cat, and my allergies make me teary.
” Badly made beads of half-truths, strung together on a weak necklace that will break if he even looks at me wrong.
But the other half of that truth is that I’m not just sad—I’m very mad right now, and this is what happens when I’m mad. Sawyer sucked all the screaming, smashing rage out of the gene pool so that by the time I came through, angry crying was the only thing left for me. It’s deeply embarrassing.
“So you got kicked out.”
My hands seize up, napkins dropping into my lap as I whip to face Jamie. “What?”
His head lolls toward me in a lazy glance. “Just a guess. You said your housing fell through, but Sawyer told me you were living with Starr and Leni. I couldn’t figure out what the deal was. I’d assumed one of them dropped out or something, but I think I’m getting it now. It was you.”
“Shut up,” I growl, heat creeping into my face as I fight back tears again.
“What was it? A fight? You don’t know how to have a good time? You’re a control freak—?”
“Shut up, Jamie!” At the sound of my voice echoing through the quiet street, Jamie actually stops speaking. I can feel the angry tears starting up again, and I mash the napkins into my eyes, quieting as I say, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He clearly does, though. In the same way he knows my tells when I lie and that I’m allergic to walnuts—even if he chooses to use that power for evil—Jamie has clocked all my personality defects too.
All the little things that make me unbearable to be around, that made my best friends drop me for something shiny and cool.
Izzy probably doesn’t organize her underwear drawer by color.
She’s definitely never watched YouTube videos on the optimal way to load a dishwasher.
She does not have the air of a mom friend: the one who’ll hold their hair back when they’re drunk or cook them soup when they’re sick or make sure they leave the house on time for class or run their flash cards with them before an exam.
Were all those things, which I’d thought made me a good friend, actually a burden on them? When did they start to feel the weight of me?
I’m lost in the spiral, the world outside blurring past, and I don’t tune back in until Jamie turns off a main road and into a crowded parking lot.
He navigates into a parking space, and when I unbuckle, he does too.
“You don’t have to come in,” I say sharply.
Jamie ignores me, hopping out of the Jeep.
I follow, catching up to him as he strolls toward the squat concrete building at the end of the lot. “I can do this myself.”
When he doesn’t answer, I grab the back of his shirt and stop.
“I’d prefer you didn’t ruin my shirt,” he says, wrenching the fabric from my fingers as he turns to face me.
“And I’d prefer you listened to me once in a while, so I guess we all have our little fantasies.”
“I’m in your little fantasies? That’s weird.”
I square my shoulders, forcing an evenness into my voice as I blow straight past that comment. “Jamie, it was very nice of you to drive me here today. And even though you lied to me about the banana bread—”
He snorts, looking away and wiping a hand over his mouth, like he can hide his smile.
I resist the urge to commit a violent crime. “—you’ve put up with a lot,” I bite out, “and I’m grateful. But I can do the rest of this myself.”
“Look, I’m either waiting in the parking lot or I’m waiting inside with you, and it’s hot out here, so I’d really prefer to wait inside.” He pulls open the tinted glass door to the building and waves a hand at me. “After you.”
I know what he’s thinking. I’ve let myself act too hapless in front of him.
I’ve tripped over my moving containers, gotten my car towed, made a fool of myself.
Jamie has never paid much attention to me, but I’ve also never given him much reason to.
Now, at Mikey’s request and maybe due to his own misguided sense of responsibility, he thinks he needs to take care of me.
Which means I need to prove that he doesn’t.
“Hello,” I say crisply as we step into the office. It’s small, barely the size of my bedroom, and consists of one desk with two men sitting behind it. “I’m here to pick up my car.” I rattle off the details and finish with, “I’d also like a detailed bill.”
Pre-Victor, back when our family had no money, Mom was a meticulous couponer, and she read every receipt twice. Now she uses that power for real estate negotiations, and Mom always wins. I’ve learned a lot watching her.
As the man slides the bill across the counter, I select a pen from the cup beside the credit card machine.
As I mark several lines and pull up county guidelines on towing fees, I feel Jamie creep closer, radiating warmth as he watches over my shoulder.
By the time I finish, I’ve gotten the bill down by seventy dollars.
“I told you I could handle it,” I say, my chin held high as we leave the office. “I’m not the type to get scammed.”
“You seem pretty happy for someone who’s still out two hundred bucks.”
I slow, drooping slightly. “Thanks for the reminder. Would it kill you to be impressed with something once in a while, or do you only reserve that for things like Stuxnet and LeBron James?”
I’m a little proud of myself for pulling the Stuxnet thing out on the fly. It was a cyberweapon used against Iran to delay their nuclear weapon development back in 2010. I heard Jamie talking about it with Sawyer the night he told my brother he was going into ROTC.
“What the hell are you going to do in the military?” Sawyer had asked, sounding dumbfounded.
They were in his room with the door shut, but I’d learned long ago that you can hear them perfectly through the bathroom vent and was camped out in the tub, eavesdropping.
(Not my finest moment. I can admit it.) “You can’t take orders for shit. ”
I was thinking the same thing. Jamie cannot be bossed around, and he hates when anyone questions his decisions. He’s stubborn to a fault.
“I don’t know,” Jamie said. “What am I supposed to do? My dad is pushing me to do it, and they’ll pay for school.”
“You’re still paying, dude. You’re paying with years of your life.”
“Better than being in debt until I die. And hey, my whole job could be sitting behind a desk. Maybe they’ll recruit me to build the next Stuxnet or something.”
I immediately started googling “Stuxnet” on my phone, but I lost interest after the barest details. I couldn’t picture Jamie building a cyberweapon. It was like imagining him pushing the big red button. Who would give him that kind of power?
“LeBron James,” Jamie says now, followed by a quiet laugh. “When’s the last time you even glanced at a basketball game?”
“Literally never. Did something about me give the impression that I had?”
He keeps walking, shaking his head. We begin to split, with Jamie headed for the Jeep and me headed for my car on the other side of the lot.
Then Jamie calls out, “Hey.”
I turn. He’s stopped at the back of the Jeep.
“You can stay.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“In the apartment—”
“I know. I mean—” I narrow my eyes. “Don’t tell me this is a pity yes.”
“What’s there to pity?” he asks, holding my gaze.
His expression is bland, but I remember that while Jamie may have guessed that they kicked me out, I never actually told him he was right.
I refuse to confirm his suspicions. “So what’s the reason, then?”
“I looked at your code when I got home last night. It’s passable.”
“Passable?” I may as well quit school now.
“You’ll probably get better.”
Probably?!
While I grapple with this, Jamie’s gaze goes a little distant.
He takes in a breath, stops, and then looks toward the sky.
When he meets my eyes again, he looks resolved.
“Other than Cram Session, we do not interact. No small talk, none of this.” He motions between us.
“We’re just two people who don’t know each other, living in the same apartment. Until August. And then you’re gone.”
I get what he’s doing. If we never interact, then there’s no chance of a slip-up in front of Sawyer. We won’t have any stories, definitely no inside jokes—nothing tying us together.
I get it. But that doesn’t make it sting less. It’s not like I was imagining Jamie and me bonding over midnight snacks and chatting about our days, but his willingness to treat me like furniture? I should be used to it by now, but it still opens a pit in my stomach.
“Fine. Okay. Anything else?”
“And you can never tell him.”
I scoff. “God, I know. Obviously.”
“I’m serious. Not even in the worst moment of your worst fight.”
“I won’t, Jamie.”
“Swear.”
“I swear.” I eye him, crossing my arms. “I don’t know why you’re so worried. I’ve never told Sawyer anything. Why would I start now?”
“Just make sure it stays that way.” He rounds the back of the Jeep and hops in.
Three months. That’s nothing. I can survive three months. I don’t need to nest in this apartment. It’s a bed. A layover spot.
It doesn’t need to be a home.