Somewhere in the Middle

Something Else

Jamie looked sideways, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell she was doing here. Why she kept coming to his room at night. Not that he was complaining. God, never that. But it didn't make sense. It didn't add up.

It was nearly two in the morning, they'd just finished playing a show in Germany, and she had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was his best friend. A boyfriend who loved her so much, Jamie knew he'd do anything for her. She should be out there, somewhere in the city, roaming around and getting drunk with the guy she loved and enjoying everything this country had to offer.

But she was here, sitting on his bed with her legs extended in front of her, talking about how much she hated flying. How she and her mother used to fly across the country to see her uncle when she was young, and how even then, she couldn't wrap her mind around a flying metal tube with metal wings and how it could possibly stay in the air.

"It's just not logical," she said, looking to him for confirmation. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted as she breathed, and he couldn't help his smile.

"You're right," he said.

She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows drawing down. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she insisted, smiling now herself.

Jamie stared at her for a beat. "Okay, maybe I am."

Evie giggled.

"But you're not completely wrong! You just don't understand all the physics of it."

"And you do?" she asked, quirking a brow and crossing her arms.

"No," he said with a shrug, and she giggled again. He smiled. "I just... don't really let myself think about it all that much."

"That was always my mother's advice," Evie said, "'Don't think about it.' Funny how it always seemed to have the opposite effect."

Jamie chuckled. "Don't think about penguins."

Evie paused, her eyes lifting to the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Penguins," she said with a smile.

He chuckled again. "Why do people think that works?"

"I don't know," she said, giggling herself. "Maybe to make themselves feel better?"

"Maybe," he said, thinking longer on it. "My mom used to do it constantly. 'Don't do this, don't say that.'" He shook his head. "Most of the time, I only did the stuff I did because I knew she didn't want me to."

Evie was staring at him already when he looked over, and she'd gone abruptly serious. "What kind of stuff?"

Jamie hadn't necessarily intended to go there. To reveal any more about his past than he wanted to—but the way she was looking at him, the fact that she was there in his room at all—it made him want to.

"Stupid stuff," he said, looking down at his hands as he tangled his fingers together on his lap. "Ignoring my stepfather at dinner because I knew she wanted me to talk to him. Cursing all the time. Staying out later than curfew every chance I could. Pissing Dave off until he went red in the face, until he was close to foaming at the mouth." Jamie tried to smile, but none of them were happy memories. "He hated me. And I hated him. And she didn't want me to be a dick to him, so that's exactly what I did."

Evie was still looking at him when he returned his attention to her, when the memories rippled out of focus, but stayed right where they were anyway. Hazy, the feelings still all too vivid.