Page 70 of Home in Nevada

I chuckle, realizing I haven’t called him "James" since we were kids. It’s enough to make him laugh, but he’s still giving me that look, like he’s about to drop something heavy.

"Also, don’t ever fucking say that again," he says, his tone suddenly serious as he looks me dead in the eyes. "About cheating, I’d never do that to you."

My heart races at his words, and I try to calm myself, but my face feels hot.

"Well, what did you do then? Spill it."

Jamie hesitates, then sighs. "I didn’t just read your diary when I was at your place. I... ripped out one of the pages."

I freeze, stunned. "Dude, it’s ajournal."

Jamie bursts into laughter, throwing his head back. "No way! It was totally adiary,Jeff. I read the whole thing."

My face turns bright red. I shove him by the shoulder, playfully but hard enough to make him flop up and down into the mattress, still laughing like a maniac. I lie back beside him, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my embarrassment.

He doesn’t let me off the hook, of course. Jamie rolls over and starts rummaging through his bedside table.

Oh God.Pleasedon’t let him pull out that page. Please, no.

And then he does. Fuck.

"When I got to sixth period," Jamie starts dramatically, holding the paper up in the air like it’s some ancient relic, "I saw that Alice Belland didn’t wear a bra today, and it was so hot. Her boobs were like—"

He waves the page between us for effect, a torn-out sheet from my journal, lined and smudged with my own hurried handwriting.

"Jamie,fuck,please stop..."

"Okay, okay," he says, laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. "I’ll skip to the good part."

I groan, running a hand through my hair as he settles back down beside me. He skims the page, his grin widening.

"‘Today Jamie scored our last touchdown, and we won. It was awesome. Coach gave us these sweet T-shirts with our names on them.’"

That’s not so bad. I let out a relieved sigh.

Jamie keeps reading, his tone dramatic. "‘I got to hang out with Jamie after school, and Mom let us order pizza because she was going out on a date with Dad. Also, I told Dad we both made the high school football team for next year, and he was so happy.’"

The calmness I feel is short-lived. My stomach knots up again. "Wait... what year was this?"

Jamie ignores me and keeps reading. "‘I was playing our new game in my room with Jamie. I tried to order pizza, but he didn’t want olives on it, which is so stupid because pepperoni and olives is basically the best pizza—’"

"Jamie,what year was this?"

"Dude, olives are gross," he says dismissively.

I know what year it is. It’s our last year of middle school. Shit. I lunge for the paper, but Jamie’s faster.

He holds it up to his face, scanning quickly. "‘Jamie kept making fun of me, and it was pissing me off—’"

Oh no. Fuck. I stare at the ceiling and cover my face with a hand.

"He’s lucky he’s my best friend, because I would’ve probably punched him, but I tickled him instead. And he looked at me weird. So then I kissed him by accident.’"

I peek through my fingers, bracing myself for Jamie’s reaction.

"He kissed me back. He put his hand on my stomach and slid it down. No one has ever touched me there like that, ever. It was really fucking hot. Like really,reallyfucking hot. His lips were soft and tasted like Sprite, ‘cause he drank practicallyallthe Sprite we ordered. He was being an asshole about it, actually."

I just lay there, letting Jamie keep reading. The page goes on about how I accidentally slipped my tongue into his mouth and how much I liked it. Apparently, I was also incredibly pissed about only getting one cup of Sprite, because the topic comes upthree more times.

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