Chapter Eleven
Eleven
“THE LIbrARY IS CLOSING IN ten minutes,” a voice says over the loudspeaker, prompting the few people at the tables around mine to begin shutting books and laptops, packing up for the night. Rain patters against the windows, remnants of an earlier thunderstorm.
I stretch over the back of my chair, feeling my spine crack satisfyingly in several places. My body is stiff from hours spent hunched over my laptop, and goosebumps erupt down my arms and legs as the AC kicks on, the overhead vent blasting me.
It’s Friday night, and I’ve been holed up in the near-deserted library after another day of fabulous fun being the worst student in the APM.
I took a quick call with Mom and Victor earlier while hiding out by the bathrooms, but I begged off before we got into any real details about my day.
I just knew I couldn’t convincingly fake it for them—not when Professor Douse projected my in-class work at the front of the room to point out its errors and weak spots.
“I hope you all take note of this for your assignment,” he said, “so you don’t make the same mistakes this student did.”
He never named me explicitly, but I felt the attention of my classmates. It’s no secret I’m struggling, and even though statistically I know I can’t be the only one, it’s still a lonely feeling to be singled out like this.
I spent the rest of the day in the library running through APM practice modules and working on my assignments to get ahead of the game. I have some blessed free time this weekend with Jamie away for a land navigation course, and I plan to use it to my advantage.
The break could not come at a better moment, as we’ve ventured into previously uncharted waters of passive aggression. We’re two people pointing our weapons in a standoff, except his is a missile launcher, and mine is one of those cartoon guns that sprouts a flower when you pull the trigger.
I shut my laptop and slide it into my backpack, swinging it onto my shoulder as I head for the exit. I check my phone for the first time all evening and find a text from Victor: Your mom and I found some guest lectures for the fall. You should sign up early to guarantee a spot.
Something in my chest clenches, and I send a thumbs-up in response—all I can manage at the moment.
I haven’t heard thunder in hours, but the storm has left behind a steady rain that beats at my umbrella as I make the trek back to the shuttle stop, where I duck under the shelter to wait.
And wait.
And wait…
My first clue that something is wrong should be that I’m the only one waiting for a shuttle when plenty of other campus-affiliated apartments use the same stop, but I chalk this up to it being a Friday night.
Then a security car rolls up to the curb, and the driver calls through the cracked window, “You waiting for a shuttle?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I think it’s running late.”
“They stop running at eight during the summer.” He at least looks apologetic as he delivers this bit of devastating news, but he doesn’t bother to offer me a ride to the edge of campus or something equally helpful before he pulls away.
I stare after the retreating brake lights, feeling like an idiot. Of course the shuttles don’t run regularly during summer session. Of course I should’ve checked the schedule.
I pick up my umbrella and pull out my phone as I start walking.
I consider calling an Uber, but when I map it on my phone, it’s less than a mile’s walk from here to my apartment.
It feels like a waste, especially when I’d risk having to explain the Uber charge to Mom and Victor.
I’m sure they’re monitoring my credit card extra closely after the towing incident, especially since they’re under the impression that I’m living with Leni and Starr and more likely to spend on things I shouldn’t.
As I walk, I stick to the well-lit paths.
Summer session may be in full swing, but today’s storm has driven everyone inside.
There are no groups climbing into cars to head off campus or students on their way back to the dorms. Every once in a while a car whooshes by, tires spinning mist into the air, but they’re few and far between.
I’ve only made it a short way before the rain picks up again, and I shout in surprise when a gust of wind tears up the street, blasting me in the back.
As I stumble, it rips my umbrella inside out and almost pulls it straight out of my hand.
Rain drenches me as I flap the umbrella, trying to right it again.
Another gust of wind whips my hair into my face, plastering it to my skin and obscuring my vision.
I should turn back and wait this out in the Student Union, or suck it up and call an Uber before the rain soaks through my backpack and ruins my laptop.
I’m ready to abandon my attempts to fix the umbrella and make a run for it when a hand swoops down, catching the handle. I spin with a shriek, wrenching the umbrella away and swinging it like a bat, whacking my assailant across the face.
“Ow! Jesus Christ, Blair!”
I drop my umbrella, gaping at him. “J-Jamie?”
He holds the side of his face, letting out a string of curses.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” I finally get the umbrella turned right side out again, only now it’s misshapen and half bent. I lift it over Jamie. “Did I get you in the eye?”
He looks up, a hand cupped over one eye. “No, I think we can hold off on sending you up to the majors. You’ve got a lot of power in that swing, but your accuracy is garbage.” He pushes the umbrella over me, so the broken side barely covers him, spilling water down his back.
“Let me see.” I tug at his elbow, and he moves his hand, revealing one squinting, watery red eye. There’s a small lash on his cheekbone where the sharp tip from the umbrella caught him, a drop of blood welling along the cut, and the skin around his eye is pink. I suck in a breath through my teeth.
Lightning splits the sky, followed by a violent crack of thunder that makes me grab on to Jamie’s sleeve. He’s in his camouflage ROTC uniform, jacket and all, and the fabric feels soaked through.
“We should go,” he says, jerking his chin behind him where a familiar Jeep idles at the curb, headlights cutting through the rain. At least, I think it’s familiar…
“Wow, am I hallucinating?”
Jamie puts a hand on my back, steering me toward the car. “What?”
“Are there doors on your Jeep?”
He shoots me a flat look as he pops the passenger door open, holding it wide for me. “It was supposed to rain all weekend. Obviously I put the doors back on.”
“Where do you even store these?” I ask.
“A guy at work lets me use his shed. Now can you get in, please?”
“I’m driving.” I nudge him toward the passenger seat. “You get in.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’re not driving my car.”
“You can’t even see out of one eye.”
He drops his hand from his eye and forces it open, squinting only a little as another gust of wind lashes rain across his face. “I can see just fine.”
“I’m not getting in this car unless you let me drive. So either you get in the passenger seat or I’m walking home.”
Another flash of lightning bursts across the sky, highlighting Jamie’s furious expression.
I give him a patient smile. Jamie is an only child—he is not well-versed in the kind of holdout fighting Sawyer and I have been doing our whole lives.
Jamie lifts his chin like he might wait me out, but then I flap a hand toward his face, and he flinches, his eyes flicking shut on instinct. I make it halfway around the front of the Jeep before he catches me, his arms around my waist, my back flush against his front.
The world goes momentarily silent as he swings me in a circle. I shriek, but it’s muted in my own ears, drowned out by my thumping heartbeat. Heat unfurls from my nape down my back, pulsing in every point our bodies touch.
Reality comes screaming back as the umbrella tumbles from my hand, landing in a broken heap of useless metal limbs while cold rain batters my face.
“Jamie!” I elbow him hard, whipping around to face him as he finally releases me. “This is for our safety!”
He’s half turned to round the Jeep to the driver’s side, but he stops, facing me again. Rain clings to his hair and spikes his eyelashes. He’s still got one eye screwed half shut, but the other pins me with its intensity, dark enough that it makes me swallow in surprise.
Then I give myself a little mental slap, because this is Jamie. What am I even thinking? Felled by a little human contact and pretty eyes?
I turn from him, grabbing my fallen umbrella. Stupid.
“You’d feel safer?” he asks. “If you drove?”
“Very much.”
He sighs and motions to the driver’s side with one hand, taking the mangled carcass of my umbrella with the other. He moves to the passenger side and climbs in.
I stand there for a second, stunned, before remembering my laptop is in my bag and possibly fried now. I jump behind the wheel, flinging my backpack at Jamie at the same time. He lets out a strangled sound as it lands in his lap and glares at me.
“Easy,” he growls, and I shoot him an apologetic grimace.
“You know, Victor made me promise to never get in this thing,” I say as I adjust the seat and mirrors, then ease onto the deserted road. Nothing like bringing my stepdad into it to cool my simmering blood.
Jamie huffs out a laugh. “Should I send him a picture?” He grabs his phone from the cupholder and lifts it like he’s taking a photo.
“You don’t even have his number,” I reply, but I make a one-handed swipe for it anyway.
“Both hands on the wheel.”
I salute him. “Yes, sir. Nice jacket, by the way. Aren’t you boiling in that thing?”
“Yes.” From the corner of my eye, I see him tug at the high collar.
“Why don’t you take it off?”
“I’m a little concerned with you telling me to take my clothes off, Blair.”
“Oh, ew.”
“You know, the more often you say that, the faster it loses its meaning.”
I roll up to a stop sign and turn to look at him. “Ew,” I say again, slowly this time, dragging it out into three syllables: ew-wuh-ugh.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Watch the road.”
I make the turn, shaking my head. “So what happened to your navigation thing?”
“Rained out.”
“I thought they liked that stuff. Sticking you all out there in the elements, making you camp in the mud, letting you get pneumonia or whatever.”
“Yeah, that’s all fine, but they draw the line at lightning.”
“Is that why you picked me up? Walking home alone at night in the rain is fine, but you too draw the line at lightning?” I angle my head toward him without taking my eyes off the road. “Let the record show that I am deeply surprised. Since when do you care about me being safe?”
I shoot him a quick glance to gauge his reaction. His head is tilted, mouth flattening into a straight line. A drop of water slips from his hair and rolls down his cheek, dripping off his tense jaw.
“Is this more of your revisionist history?” he asks as I pull up to a last red light.
I turn in my seat to snap at him, but Jamie leans across the center console, catching me with his unwavering, no-bullshit gaze. Even with his one squinting eye, it is arresting.
I close my mouth, sitting back in my seat.
Fine. Maybe once or twice—at the very least, no more than a handful of times—Jamie has acted like he cared if I made it home in one piece.
Let’s not start handing out awards for it or anything.
Like when we shared an Uber after my junior prom—Leni had gotten a hotel with her girlfriend at the time and Starr had found someone to leave with, while Jamie’s date had ditched him.
I can’t prove Jamie made the driver wait at the curb until I got inside. That could be an Uber policy!
“Everyone has moments of exception.” The light changes, and I ease through the intersection. “That doesn’t mean it’s the rule.”
Jamie doesn’t answer, and when I glance his way again, his face is turned toward the window.
We don’t speak for the rest of the ride, the silence between us as tense as a balloon blown to its bursting point. It isn’t until we’re out of the Jeep and making a run for the apartment that I hear the noise and remember why I stayed away all day.
“What the hell is going on?” Jamie says absently as we duck into the breezeway, shaking off the rain. A cacophonous sound booms from inside our apartment: a squealing guitar and thumping bass, the crash of a drum set. The high whistle of an instrument we’ve all been hearing for days.
I wince. “Ah. I forgot to tell you. Mikey’s practice space lost power today, so she asked…”
He swings open the front door, letting out all the chatter of a crowd and the clashing sound of badly played instruments, Denny’s off-key vocals shouted over the rest of the noise.
I clear my throat. “It’s band practice.”