Mark My Words

32 | Jamie's Day

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Every morning started with a run—for Jamie-Lee Berry, that is.

At 5:30AM, the phone on his night stand went off and prompted a groan from the pillow, and a lazy flop of his hand to silence it. He turned to the side, bleary-eyed, and then rolled onto his back to gather the strength to emerge from his cozy cocoon. It was his designated energy-building session, which took him to 5:35AM—the exact point at which Jamie sprung into action for the day.

Blanket aside, feet on the ground, Jamie skittered across the freezing wood floors of his room for his clothes. He wiggled on his running sweats and a sweatshirt, fuzzy bedhead emerging from the top of it all. He'd take care of that later.

He squeezed his feet into his running shoes and tapped the toes on the tiles before heading out of his room and down the stairs. The kitchen—still in a disarray—hosted his key ring on the wall nearest the foyer. He took it and tucked it in the zipper pocket on the back of his running sweats.

By 6:00AM, Jamie's watch counted up to a mile, and he returned to the house with every intent of taking a long-ass shower. He passed by his brother's open bedroom door on his way to the bathroom, both hands to the back of his shirt collar. He pulled the shirt up and over his head, bunching it into a ball before tossing it at his hamper the moment he crossed his bedroom threshold.

As he waited for the shower to heat up, he posed in the mirror with one foot kicked up on the sink, clad in nothing but a pair of plaid boxers. Jamie-Lee had been in sports since he was in kindergarten playing organized T-ball with the kids in the neighborhood, so it was relatively understandable that he was as fit as he was at that moment. He bared his teeth at his reflection and flexed his biceps. Maybe if his metabolism would calm down he might be able to put on some real muscle. For now, he was lanky and lean and decided he didn't mind it one bit.

By now, his siblings were up for school, so he turned up his speakers knowing now he wouldn't be waking anyone with his music. Lennie would be stopping by soon, and sure enough, as Jamie exited the shower and stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, he found Lennie reclining on his half-made bed.

"Hey. Are you doing anything after practice today?" Lennie said, eyes on the ceiling. He tossed an apple up and caught it, one hand stretched back behind his head.

Jamie did his best to ignore Lennie as he opened his closet and let the floodgates loose. A pile of half-folded clothes tipped over and sprawled across the tiles, so he kicked around in there before settling on something suitable for school. He was feeling bright that day, and it had a little something to do with his plans after practice.

"Maybe," he said. He plucked up two shirts and tossed them at Lennie. "Light blue or dark blue? It's important," he asked.

"Light blue. Why?"

"I have a presentation today," he lied. He took the shirt along with a pair of slacks before heading back to the bathroom. It was only then that he let out a tense breath and really hoped that he lied well enough to keep Lennie out of the loop. He knew what Lennie would do if he even saw Blake Miles' car in the Bradshaw parking lot. For someone who claimed to hate Blake, Lennie sure knew far too much about the man. He took it upon himself to know Blake's car, where he lived, and who he hung out with the most.

It was really kind of obsessive, which meant that Lennie's reaction to Jamie's date would implode both of their sanities.

Date.

Before Jamie could start hyperventilating from excitement, he buttoned up his shirt and shimmied into his slacks. It took every ounce of his minimal self-control to keep from texting Blake. They only went far enough to confirm each others phone numbers—nothing more. There wasn't much to talk about aside from the games they both had the previous day. Blake had sent a text that kept Jamie up past midnight thinking about it: Congrats on the win! as if Blake had been there. It was a match against Taft.