Page 7 of Home in Nevada

Damn, Jamie was pissed…

I can still picture it—prom night, the flash of anger in his eyes. We’d spent the whole night before scheming, coming up with this elaborate prank to mess with my ex’s new boyfriend. It was classic us... laughing, plotting, staying up way too late. But then I bailed. The next day, I asked Priscilla out after class and told Jamie the plan was off. I was over it, I said. No big deal.

Except Jamie didn’t see it that way. He was furious. I never understood why. It wasn’t like we’d been planning this for months. Why did it matter so much? I swipe back to the texts, rereading his messages, trying to make sense of it.

“I’m so tired of doing this.”

What the hell did he mean by that?

I turn off my phone, letting the screen go black. The air mattress under me feels like a torture device, every lump digging into my back. Why the hell did I let Lucy take the bed? To hell with chivalry.

I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It feels wrong somehow, like the room’s not mine anymore. Everything looks smaller, shabbier, like I’m seeing it through a different lens. Maybe I’m the one who’s changed.Have I grown up?I feel so damn small lying here on the floor, like a kid in a grown-up’s body.

I’m not the same stupid jock from high school. I’m trying to make something of myself now. But it’s like the past is still clinging to me, holding me back. This room, this ceiling—it feels like a time capsule. It’s hard to believe I used to lie in this exact spot, dreaming about getting out of this town.

But then there’s what Lucy said earlier. The whole bi thing. I can’t deny what happened with Jamie—I’m not pretending we weren’t secretly making out half the time. But calling it bi feels like oversimplifying it, like slapping a label on something that was so much more confusing. Was it just a phase? Did it mean something deeper? The making out was good. Hell, it was better than good. But I still feel ashamed of it. I don’t know if I’m ready to accept what it all meant.

I listen for Lucy’s snoring—she sounds like she’s out cold. I roll over and turn my phone back on, pulling up my photos. I sort them oldest to newest. It’s a pretty sad collection. I got this phone right before I moved to California, and I never bothered to back up my old pictures. Now I wish I had.

There’s a shot of Jamie’s family cat, Rex, sprawled out on the kitchen counter like he owned the place. Another of Jamie with his tongue out, grinning like an idiot, pointing proudly at a wobbly Jenga tower. Blurry photos of the football field where it’s impossible to tell what’s even happening. It’s like looking through someone else’s memories.

And then I find it, a photo that stops me cold.

Jamie, sitting in his car, smiling that goofy smile of his. His blonde hair is catching the sunlight, making him look almost golden. The next photo is a close-up of him flipping me off, his middle finger front and center. The one after that? An even closer shot of his eyeball, all wide-eyed and ridiculous.

These pictures were from right after that awkward talk about me moving away. We’d agreed to end things, to cut off our friendship completely and just move on. It was supposed to be a clean break. Three days later, I was gone.

I turn off the phone again, the screen going dark as the heaviness settles in my chest.

What was the point of scrolling through all that? It doesn’t feel like I’ve changed at all. Four years have passed, and I still feel like the same confused, scared kid lying on this floor, trying to figure out who the hell he is. It’s like the past few years have been nothing but a weird, blurry dream.

I swipe back to the first photo—the one where he’s smiling, looking so happy, so carefree. My chest tightens, and I realize I’m barely breathing. I feel this ache deep inside, the kind of longing I’ve been trying to ignore for years. God, why does looking at him like this make me feel so… raw? I can’t just write it off as nostalgia. It’s more than that.

It’s this wave of warmth that crashes over me, mixed with this bitter edge of loss. Jamie’s smile always did that to me—made me feel like I was the only person in the world who could make him look like that. It’s a smile that’s so full of joy, like he’s seeing something that makes him genuinely happy. And I know, deep down, I want to be the reason for that smile. I want more than friendship from him, even if I can’t admit it to anyone, not even to myself.

The thought alone makes my hands shake. It’s like a live wire buzzing under my skin, this realization that maybe I’ve wanted him all along. More than just a friend. More than just a secret, stolen kiss in the dark. My heart races faster, and I can feel the heat rising to my face, embarrassment and something else I can’t name twisting together in my chest.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the feeling down, bury it where it can’t hurt me. But when I open them again, there’s Jamie, still smiling up at me from the screen. Like he knows. Like he’s waiting for me to figure it out.

I turn off the phone, tossing it aside as if it’s burned me. My chest feels tight, like I’m being crushed from the inside out. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the rush of emotions. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

I was supposed to leave all this behind.

Chapter 3

The one where Jeff’s heart gets spilled in aisle five.

ThenextdayisThanksgiving, and the house is buzzing with that warm, chaotic holiday energy. The smell of turkey and pie fills the air, and I can hear Lucy humming in the kitchen, flipping through old cookbooks like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. It should be comforting, but I can’t relax. Every time I try to settle into the couch or lean against the kitchen counter, something stirs inside me. Like there’s a stone lodged in my chest that won’t sit still. I feel boxed in, like I’m trapped between wanting to be here and this gnawing restlessness I can’t explain.

Lucy announces we’re out of snacks, which, according to her, is a complete catastrophe. I try to argue that we don’t need more chips, but before I know it, she’s dragging me out to the grocery store.

It’s a madhouse inside—frantic shoppers darting around, their carts overflowing with last-minute holiday ingredients. The aisles are packed, kids screaming and crying as their parents try to wrangle them. The overhead lights buzz, sharp and too bright, like they’re boring into my skull. The noise, the chaos, the heat of too many bodies pressed into one space. It’s the last place I want to be right now.

I grit my teeth, following Lucy, but every muscle in my body is tense. My eyes dart around, scanning for an escape route like I’m trapped in a cage. When did it start bothering me so much? I used to love this kind of energy. Back in high school, I thrived on it: the noise, the attention, the thrill of being on the field with everyone watching.

I think back to those Friday night high school football games, the roar of the crowd filling my ears, the adrenaline pumping through me. Jamie and I were two of the most popular guys on the team. Me, the easygoing flirt who always had a joke ready, and Jamie, the golden boy who could do no wrong. We were unstoppable back then, the perfect duo. I loved the chaos of it all. The fans cheering, the pressure, the buzz of being in the spotlight... It made me feel alive.

But Jamie? He was different. I remember how he’d get quiet before games, tuning out the noise, like he had to build a wall between himself and the chaos to stay focused. He’s always been like that—hating crowded, noisy places. Even at parties, he could be the life of the party if he wanted, but he’d drift to the edges instead, content to watch and listen rather than dive into the chaos. I used to tease him about it, but looking back now, I wonder if he was just better at knowing what he needed, at protecting himself from getting overwhelmed.

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