Page 4 of You Started It

“I can’t do this right now.” He gets up and walks to the other side of my room.

“Can’t do what? Kiss me? I’m your girlfriend.” A sudden rush of nausea swirls through me. Usually, when we’re alone, Ben can’t keep his hands off me. We’ve been counting down to our senior winter formal for two years. We decided it would be the perfectnight and setting for our first time. It’s just over a hundred days away (not that I’m counting). I wasn’t always so obsessed with making goals and lists and checking things off. It’s Ben’s influence. He said it would help with my nerves and he was right. Ben makes me better.

“Jamie, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” I say, perched on the edge of my bed. Maybe Ben requires more time to ease himself in. He’s kind of thoughtful like that. He needs to feel a connection before getting physical. Unlike me, who is basically raring to go 24/7.

Ben tosses the dirty clothes piled on my desk chair to the floor and sits across from me. “I’ve been thinking a lot about senior year.”

“Me too.” I reach for the notebook on my nightstand atop a stack of overdue library books and open it up to the purple tab, labeledSenior Year. “I’ve got it all planned out. Check this out,” I say, as the nausea is replaced with excitement. “We’ve spent three years talking about how we live in this great city and never go to any of the tourist traps, so I made a list of all the dates we can go on, leading up to winter formal. Sort of like an extracurricular branch to our Kill-It List.”

I place the notebook in Ben’s lap, and his eyes move through the list I’ve curated with accompanying photos. “Ripley’s Aquarium…Royal Ontario Museum…CN Tower?” he asks, looking up at me. “I thought you were afraid of heights.”

“I’m not afraid of heights. I’m afraid of elevators. I’m claustrophobic. How don’t you know that?” It’s been eight weeks. Not eight months.

Ben puts the notebook back on my nightstand and tips his head down. “Here’s the thing…”

Oh no. Not the thing. That’s how my dad started his sentence before he told me he was leaving.

“Here’s the thing, James,” Dad said, using his nickname for me. “I’m feeling a bit stifled here. I’m getting older and my life is slipping away from me. This isn’t what I saw for myself. I just need some distance to figure things out. But I promise I’ll be back.”

I was such a fool for believing him.

“This is our last year of high school,” Ben goes on, “and I don’t know, I kind of want to loosen the reins.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “We’ve been in our own bubble for three years, just you and me, checking things off our lists. Like, don’t you think it’s a little pathetic that we have to plan our dates in advance?” he asks, nodding to my notebook. “Why didn’t we ever just hop on the subway and go to the ROM or the aquarium?”

“I thought you liked lists. And plans. And setting goals.” My cheeks flush as my voice grows higher and squeakier with each word. It’s like I’m fourteen again.

“I thought I did too, but then, this summer was…” He laughs and there’s a far-off look in his eyes. Ben Cameron doesn’t do far-off looks. “Everything went off the rails. The kids were monsters and it rained almost every day. The itinerary had to change from second to second, and you know what happened?”

Words don’t come to me as a piercing cramp stabs through my lower abdomen. I bring my hand to my stomach and exhale, trying to hide the pain while squeezing my eyes shut.

“We had so much fun. Being forced to switch things up. Trying and failing and trying again. I got to know people on a really deep level.” My eyes blink open to find that the color has come back to Ben’s cheeks. He’s speaking so fast, I don’t recognize the person in front of me. “People I never would have spoken to before. Something that wouldn’t have happened if I’d stuck to the plan.”

People? In the three years Ben and I have been together, we’ve never needed other people. It’s always just been us.

“Okay, so fine.” I nod, trying to keep my cool, playing along with this new version of Ben. “We won’t do lists this year. We’ll just fly by the seat of our pants. I can do that.” I grab a pen and the notebook, flipping to a new page. I write in all capsBE SPONTANEOUS.

“No.” Ben shakes his head. “Not we. Me. I’m sorry, Jamie, but I think we should break up.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?” I straighten in my seat, the notebook sliding off my lap and onto the floor. All those dancing butterflies fall to the pit of my stomach and I’m seconds away from throwing them up. “I’ll play along. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” My voice cracks. I can’t let him walk out that door. If he does, it’ll be just like my father. And I regret not trying harder to convince him to stay. I won’t make that mistake again.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

No. All I hear is the sound of my heart breaking.

“Jamie, you’re just clinging to me because it’s comfortable, because I’m all you know, but this would be good for you too,” he says, like he’s trying to convince me to try a new vegetable.

“What’s wrong with being comfortable?”

“Do you really want to go through life making safe choices? It doesn’t leave room for us to make mistakes and grow.”

“So, let’s grow together,” I say, grabbing his hands.

“You’re not getting it,” Ben says, ripping his hands away from mine and standing. “I need to strike out on my own. See what else is out there. Being with you is holding me back. It’s holding both of us back.”

“No.” I shake my head and bolt up, my hands balled into fists. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie. It’s over.”

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