Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
THERE’S A NEW PRESSURE TO working on Cram Session now that I know what Jamie has riding on it, a weight that has me second-guessing myself and double-checking my work.
Jamie has me importing our own school’s academic catalog, which means hours of rerunning the program and checking the outputs to make sure it’s formatted correctly before I finish for the night.
The apartment is quiet, everyone having long since gone to bed.
In the days since the blackout, this is how I’ve spent most of my nights—holed up in my room, putting as much distance between Jamie and me as possible.
It’s not that I’ve been avoiding him. It’s just that I don’t need to fall into some weird attraction simply due to proximity. The greater the distance I can create, the safer I am.
Which is why, when I finish my work for the night, I don’t text him. I don’t need to be waiting in heart-thumping anticipation for a response. (To be so clear: he has never once responded to these texts. But what if this time he did? I can’t handle the stress of wondering.)
Instead I plan to tiptoe across the apartment to oh-so-quietly stick a simple Done note to his door. But when I slip out of my room, sticky note hanging from my fingers, I’m illuminated by the living room TV.
Jamie is on the couch, a bowl cradled in one hand, a spoon in the other. I must make a sound because his gaze flicks to me, the colors from the TV playing across his face and highlighting the patchy bruise around his eye. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I hide my hand behind my back. “I was hungry.”
“Kitchen’s that way,” he says, nodding behind me. His spoon scrapes the bowl as he takes another bite of what I can see now is cereal.
“I know that. I’m aware.”
We stare at each other, and then he leans forward, setting the bowl on the coffee table without breaking eye contact.
It’s deeply unsettling, and my heart punches in warning as Jamie unfolds himself from the couch, crossing over to me.
Is this how deer feel when they see a car hurtling toward them at eighty miles per hour?
I am utterly frozen, fingers curling tightly around my useless sticky note.
He stops in front of me, his head tilting as he peers behind my back.
I sidestep him. “What are you doing?”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Trash. See?” I hold out both hands, opening them to show one empty, the other with a crumpled piece of yellow paper.
Jamie snatches the sticky note before I can close my fist again, holding it above my head when I reach for it. “What’s this?”
“Nothing! I said nothing!” I whisper-yell, hopping from foot to foot as I try to make a grab for it. Jamie isn’t much taller than me, but his reflexes are faster.
I stop reaching, stepping back and putting my hands on my hips. I’d rather not embarrass myself. “It’s trash,” I say as Jamie turns away, unfurling the crumpled note.
He faces me again, holding it up between his fingers. I see the jagged lines of the word Done in the dim light of the TV. “Really? We’re still doing this?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” I turn my face toward the TV so he can’t see the lie. “What are you doing up? Wait, are you watching—”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I just put on whatever.”
“—Star Wars?” I step past him.
“It was on.”
“On what?” I laugh. “We don’t have cable.”
“I mean, it was just something to put—you know what? I don’t need to defend myself.”
“I was a little confused too. What do you care if I know you’re a super-secret Star Wars fan?”
He throws me a lazy glare, dropping onto the couch again. “It’s just something to watch.”
“On mute. With no subtitles.” I eye him. “Meaning you must know the plot pretty well, right? To be following along?”
“That would imply I’m paying attention.” But his gaze has strayed to the TV.
I gape at him. “Jamie Atwater, you’re a nerd.
” His gaze flicks to me, his expression cooling, but it’s not enough to cow me.
“You’re a Star Wars–loving nerd. How did I never know this about you?
Oh my god, do you have merch? T-shirts? Cosplay?
Oh, please tell me you have a lightsaber hidden in your room. ”
His jaw tightens. “People are sleeping.”
“Holy shit.” I toss my head back and laugh. “You do, don’t you?” I take two steps toward his room, but he’s on his feet in an instant, blocking me. “No, you don’t understand—I need to see this.”
“You need to turn around”—he puts his hands on my shoulders, twisting me in the other direction—“and go to bed.”
I dig my heels in. “You have to show it to me.”
“I don’t have a lightsaber,” he whispers.
A door swings open behind us, and we both turn, staggering apart.
Andres stands in his bedroom doorway, scratching his stomach under his shirt and yawning wide. “Yo,” he says, lifting his other hand. “I’ll tell you where he keeps it if you promise to be quiet.”
“Dude,” Jamie protests while I pretend to zip my lips.
“Closet, left side, top shelf, behind the shoeboxes.”
I dodge Jamie and make a break for his room, bursting into laughter when we collide in the doorway.
“Quiet,” Andres says again, shutting his door.
Jamie and I tumble into his room, and I land on my knees, scrambling up at the same time he moves to block his closet. He holds up both hands.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Fine. I’ll show you, but you have to promise you’ll never use this against me. Like, if I bring a girl home, you can’t tell her she needs to ask to see my lightsaber or something stupid like that. Swear.”
The idea of him bringing a girl home sends a shot of ice through my veins, cooling my excitement. I try not to imagine it or wonder why my stomach dips violently at the thought.
“I swear. I just want to see it.”
He narrows his eyes, huffing out a sigh. Then he slides his closet open and reaches up into the top, moving some shoeboxes aside until he can pull loose a long, rectangular box. He turns to me and pops the lid off. Inside, a lightsaber handle and blade are nestled in protective foam.
“What color did you get?”
“It’s the Skywalker lightsaber,” he replies, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s—it’s blue.” He moves to cover the box, but I stop him.
“Show me.”
“I just did.” He drops the lid.
“That was hardly showing! You didn’t even take it out.”
He pauses, poised to shelve the box again, the innuendo hanging heavy between us.
I clear my throat. “You know what I mean.”
“Didn’t for a second think anything else,” he replies easily, sliding the box onto the shelf. Then he pauses, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You really want to see it? You don’t just want to take this rare opportunity to make fun of me?”
“It’s hardly rare.”
His expression flattens.
I laugh. “Yes, I want to see it. I’ve never seen one before.”
He eases the box back down and sets it on the bed, crouching as he removes the lid once more.
He fiddles with it for a second, his back to me.
Then he stands and holds it out between us.
He hits a button, and it makes the quintessential chhh sound as it blazes to life, bathing us both in blue light.
“Whoa!”
He puts a finger to his lips, shushing me.
“I don’t know why I expected it to be kind of cheap.”
He looks offended. “I paid a lot of money for this.”
“You did? Seriously?”
“It was my graduation gift to myself.”
I lift my gaze to his face. I wonder what his dad got him—or if he got him anything at all. Now that I think of it, Jamie came to lunch with our family after he and Sawyer graduated, and his dad didn’t join us.
I never asked why. I never even wondered about it until now.
Jamie must read something verging on pity from my face, because his expression hardens. “What?”
I recover immediately. “Can I try?”
“With your swing? Absolutely not.”
“Jamie, come on!”
He sighs, holding it out. “For one second.” I move to take it, but he doesn’t let go, his hands covering mine as he adjusts my grip. His palms are warm, and my pulse jumps, fluttering wildly.
“Okay,” I say, my voice shaky. “You can let go.”
He exhales softly. “Yeah, I know. Just—be careful.” His fingers leave mine in a slow drag, and my muscles go limp. The lightsaber dips, and Jamie lunges forward, catching the handle. “I said be careful!”
“I am! It’s heavier than I thought,” I lie.
He blows out a breath, letting go again. I move the lightsaber in a slow arc, and it buzzes in response, the sound quickening when I pretend to swing it at Jamie. He tenses, hand latching onto my forearm while the other plucks the handle from my grip.
“And you’re done,” he says shortly, shutting it off. “You clearly can’t be trusted.”
“It’s kind of cool.”
He shoots me a look. “It’s very cool, Blair.”
I press my lips together. “I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want girls to know about it.”
He sighs.
“No, really. This could be a fun date night. Like those I’ll teach you how to golf first dates, but instead it’s I’ll teach you how to maim your enemies. You get to stand behind her and show her how to hold the handle, and how to swing it in a circle or whatever. So romantic.”
“Sounds like you’re the one fantasizing now.” He sets the pieces of the lightsaber in the box without looking at me.
“Don’t be gross.”
He lids the box and turns. “You brought it up. I can’t help it that your first thought was date activity.”
“Because you said—you know what? Never mind. I’m not arguing with you about this.”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry, Blair. I’m just messing with you. I heard all your ews loud and clear.”
I swallow. “Yeah, well. Don’t forget it. I finished the integration, by the way. That’s what I was coming to tell you.”
He smirks. “Uh-huh. I got your note.”
“Right.” I purse my lips as I start for the door. I make it one step out of his room before I stop and poke my head back in. “Thank you. For letting me mess with your lightsaber—not a euphemism.”