too young for this

chapter 5 | bangs

I close my locker door, glancing to my left to see Jamie pass me. My eyes widen, I hurriedly grab his book from my bag, sprinting to catch up to him.

"Jamie," I say. The name tastes foreign on my tongue.

He peers down at me, his eyebrows raising in a startled look. We stand frozen for a moment longer than we ought to, I take him in as he takes me in. I blink, I really need to stop acting so shocked every time I lay eyes on him.

I push my shoulders back, "Hi."

He carries on, turning the code on his lock's knob.

"I have your sketchbook," I say. He gives me a questioning look, opening his mouth to speak. "You left it on your desk, so I just thought I'd give it to you."

His eyes narrowed, "You looked inside?"

I nod, slowly, careful to admit I had ignored his privacy. I see his jaw clench, as he stares down at me, an all-too-familiar look in his eyes. He's angry at me.

"But I, um, thought your drawings were really pretty." I add, attempting to lighten the situation.

A blush creeps over his skin, and his brows are knitted together. "You shouldn't have looked in my book without my permission. What if it had something more private?"

Of course. He's scolding me.
I've had to take enough of that in the past, I'm not taking anymore now.

The smile drops from my face and I give him the hardest gaze I can manage. "Then don't bring it to school." I snap.

He remains silent, his eyes dropping and moving up my body again. I open my clenched fist, flexing my fingers behind my back.
He finally turns back to his locker, shaking his head.

Why is he shaking his head? I should be the one shaking my head.

My chest heaves a shaky breath, my top feels constricting, as if it were a snake, strangling me. I resist the urge to get away from him and his whole frustrating presence.

He closes his locker, finally, "I'll see you in class." he says, looking at me expectantly. After I stay still, he walks away, glancing at me over my shoulder, "bye, Camilla,"

"Bye." I mutter, watching his long strides.

・❥・

In English class, the teacher writes a phrase on the board, which we must use in the short story we write: Don't let go.

I bite my bottom lip, planning what I'm going to write. Placing my red pen to the paper, I scramble to get ideas.
I take a peak at Jamie, who scribbles words on his page.
An idea comes into my head and I start to write.

"I crumble to the ground with him in my arms. My love. My world. He gazes up at me blankly, eyes full of regret. His face begins to blur, mixing with the tears welling up in my eyes. My mouth feels dry. A sob claws at my throat from within my heart, on the verge of escape. But when I part my parched lips, the only noise that comes out is a ragged breath.
I can feel his blood soaking into my clothes, before seeping into the mossy earth. He's clay, begging to return to clay.
My grip on his weak fingers only increases as I beg, 'Don't let go. Please don't.' I feel his fingers get slowly more limp. I shout at him, 'Don't!' The words come out horse and pathetic.
I let go of his hand, raking my fingers in his hair. The action feels so familiar yet unusual. I bend down, planting a shaky kiss on his forehead. 'Come on.' I pray.
I feel him slipping from me, out of my reach. 'I can't live without you. I won't. I won't.'"

I smile, admiring my work. When I look at Jamie, I see him watching me. He doesn't look away when I spot him, even when I frown at him.

I feel someone tap my shoulder. It's Darla, who says, "Can you give this to him?" Her short brown hair bobs when she inclines her head towards Jamie. In her hands is a slip of paper, folded a few times.