Page 87 of Pieces Of You

Holden stands to full height as he watches me—watching all the million

reckless,

fleeting,

emotions.

They fly through me, one after the other, racing through my bloodline before expelling with each harsh breath.

Holden’s head tilts to one side as he steps closer, standing over me with his jaw tense. “Have you ever asked yourself why you’re so fucking pressed about Bethany?”

My eyes narrow. “What?”

“Youjustsaid it: it could’ve been any other girl, but not her! Why?” He takes another step forward, pushing me back. “Why!”

I sniff back my heartache and lock eyes with him. I refuse to back down, to lose this fight. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shakes his head, looks down his nose at me. “She was with Dean last night!” he spits, his chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. Each forced exhale. “Dean! Who youloved, right? And you said it yourself, it’s not likewewere in love! But I was, Jamie!” He points to himself, his arms moving, veins popping out of his flesh. “I was in love with you! I was so fucking in love with you that just the idea of hurting you ruined me!” He’s yelling so loud, I feel each of his words inside me, beating me down, one by one. “And if you’d given me a chance to explain that, then you’d know exactly how I feel about you! But you didn’t! And then you come here…accusingme… thinking that I would actually do something like that to you…” He laughs once, his eyes to the sky, and I don’t take a breath. Not a single one. “That just proves how fucking little you think of me!”

Tears blur my vision, but I don’t back down, don’t allow myself the privilege of oxygen. There’s a voice in my head, urging me, begging me to reach up, tap at the hand covering my mouth. But there is no hand, and there is no danger, and there is no Mom whispering in my ear, telling me it’ll be okay. ThatI am okay.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie! Breathe!” The voice is distant, echoing through a tunnel, and three Deans are standing in front of me. “You can’t talk to her like that, bro!” he says, and then he’s shaking me, his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe, Jamie!”

My eyes widen as I gasp for air, again and again, until my vision clears and reality dawns on me like a heavy blanket, wanting to suffocate me and pull me back under. Three sets of eyes focus on me, staring, and I cry, and I say…

I say, “I’m sorry.”

Because it was the only words spoken after each and every fight.

“I’m sorry.”

41

Holden

I have questions.Lots of them. Mainly why Dean knew to tell Jamie to do something so simple asbreathe,and I didn’t. It’s selfish to want the answer to this overwhyhe needed to tell her in the first place, but I figure I can get both answers with one question.

Unfortunately, Jamie doesn’t show up to school on Monday or Tuesday, and sure, I could go to her work or her house, but I don’t.

Now it’s Wednesday, and she’s finally here, standing at her locker right beside mine. I can smell her. Which is pathetic, really, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over her scent or the instant reaction I have to it.

I shut my locker and lean against it, waiting for her to do the same. It’s the beginning of The Patience Game, but I’m the only one playing.

Jamie’s locker slams shut, and she cringes at the sight of me, but before I can get a word out, someone’s calling her name from behind me. Jamie looks over my shoulder, and I turn to see Miss Lockhart, the art teacher, practically running toward us, weaving through the students while waving a piece of paper in the air. She stops in front of Jamie and me, her eyes as bright as her smile. “I’m so glad I caught you before class!” she huffs out, hand to her chest as she takes a few steadying breaths.

Jamie doesn’t smile back. Doesn’t brighten. She merely watches her with that same unnerving stare she used to bestow upon me.

“Your piece was accepted!” Miss Lockhart rejoices, waving the papers again.

Jamie remains silent.

And her reaction clearly isn’t what Miss Lockhart expected because her shoulders drop, and her smile falters just a tad. “That art contest I entered you in, remember?” She’s losing her steam. “They loved your work, and it’s going to be showcased…”

I’m glued to Jamie’s face, to any sign of a reaction. Nothing changes. Not until a single tear falls from her eye, trails down her cheek. It comes so fast and so unexpected that even Jamie seems surprised by its presence. She quickly swipes it away, and I don’t know why my chest tightens at the sight.

“Oh, Jamie,” Miss Lockhart coos. “I’m so proud of you.” She settles a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, her thumb stroking gently. “And I really hope that you are, too.” After handing Jamie the papers, Jamie’s gaze lowers, her eyes moving from side to side as she reads whatever’s on there. “They had over two-hundred-and-fifty entries, and only six students’ work gets showcased… and they chose you!”

I find myself smiling, even though it hurts.

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