Two Birds, One Stone

2. Rain Run

I eventually turned away from Jamie to watch the violent storm through the gaps in the bleachers. For once, I wanted the rain to hurry up and pass -- the silence was eating at my nerves, urging my fingers into anxious tapping against my knees. Just being around Jamie made me tense all over; I could feel him pushing me away -- pushing everything away -- subconsciously, as if the air around him was constantly working to maintain a defensive layer between himself and the rest of the world. The discomfort was so constant that I couldn't focus on anything else, and I hated that -- hated that I was thinking about Jamie while he was relaxed, reading his book, thinking about everything but me.

As much as talking to him was a pain, I was quickly finding that the quiet was far worse. So I decided to speak, partly to fill the air, partly because this would be a wasted opportunity if I didn't mention what I needed to mention to him.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about Saturday."

Jamie was quiet for a moment, so that I thought I'd been blatantly ignored. But then he said, in a very Jamie-like fashion, "I've been avoiding talking to you about Saturday." His tone wasn't quite as cold as it had been before, but it wasn't welcoming, either.

"Yeah, well . . . " I thought over my next words, trying to pick them correctly.

"I get we're gonna be here for a while, but could you spit it out?"

I really, really couldn't stand him.

I ignored him, taking the time I needed to figure out what I would say and how I would say it. "I really need you to keep what happened on Saturday to yourself," I began finally, after an impatient huff from Jamie. "I . . . I know you don't owe it to me, and if you want to tell, I can't stop you. I'm guessing you don't, because you would've already, but . . . it could ruin my life, I think, having others find out now. I don't know how people who're important to me will react, and that's scary as hell, because it means it could go either way. And whenever they do find out --" in the distant, distant future, I thought to myself, "-- It's got to be on my terms. So please, just don't mention it to anyone."

Jamie didn't say anything. I knew he'd been listening, because his gaze was fixed on one part of his page rather than moving, but there came no response. I snapped, agitated -- this was really important, and I wasn't going to let him brush it off for the second time. "Can you at least look at me?"

To my surprise, Jamie actually glanced up, raising his gaze from his book for the first time that night. I almost regretted asking for it, because I found those different-colored eyes much more unnerving when I was looking directly into them.

"I won't tell anyone," Jamie said, and though the words were simple and dry, I had a feeling he meant them. "Anything else?"

"Uh . . . " I said lamely, struggling to comprehend that that had gone so well. "Thanks?"

Jamie turned back to his book, but I didn't look away so quickly. Then came the second surprise of the night. For a moment so brief it could have been imagined (though I knew it hadn't), Jamie's lips turned up at the edges in the tiniest of smiles -- the amused kind that always came out lopsided -- seemingly unaware of my eyes still on him.

I got home late that night, dripping from head to toe and grateful that my parents and the dogs were asleep -- my parents because my mom would absolutely kill me for getting water everywhere, the dogs because they would start barking and wake my mom up, and then she would kill me for getting water everywhere. I went straight to the desk in my room, not caring that I should probably take a hot shower or at least dry off. I felt like so much had happened within the last week, and keeping it all to myself was about to drive me crazy. I needed an outlet.