“He’s a teacher; you’re a student. He’s an adult; you’re a minor. It’s illegal, Jamie. He could get fired and sent to jail.”
“He won’t. That never happens.”
That never happens? Do we live in a world where this is so common that Jamie has grounds to say “that never happens”?
I ignore her and go on.
“He’s old.”
“He’s only twenty-four,” Jamie answers. “And have you not seen him? He’s totally hot.”
I think of passing Mr. Rice in the hallway next week: she’s right, he is hot. But that doesn’t make this okay.
I mentally consult my notes and recall the couple of mentions of guys Jamie has associated with recently. “Don’t you like Jason? Or Anthony?”
“They’re boys. They’re fine distractions, but Ted is a man.”
“He clearly has issues if he’s pursuing a high school girl.”
“I’m not just any high school girl. And really, London, you can’t change my mind. I like him! Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
My argument is going nowhere, so I bring out the big guns.
“Do I have to tell you how this will end?” I ask softly.
Jamie’s head whips in my direction. She meets my eyes. In hers, I see a fire blazing.
“You won’t tell me that I’m going to get caught cheating, but you’ll happily wreck things with Ted?”
“Not happily, it’s just that I…”
“Stop,” she says, holding up a palm. “I don’t want to hear it. We’ll just see. Okay? We’ll see how things turn out. You could be wrong.”
“I’m not,” I say confidently.
“Whatever,” Jamie snaps.
We are silent for a few moments. I consider the long walk home in the snow, and eventually I take one for the team.
“Sorry, J, I just worry about you.”
“I know you do,” she says. “But stop. I’m okay.”
“I know you are,” I say.
“Seriously, London, listen to me,” Jamie begins, sitting up taller on the bed. “You can mess with your own business however you want, but keep those memories about me to yourself. It’s weird enough knowing that you know how things will go for me. I’m not one of those people who go to palm readers. I like surprises. Just let me live my life.” Before I can open my mouth, she adds, “Please?”
“I will,” I promise sadly.
“Thanks,” Jamie says with a weak smile.
I think we’re okay now, but as we walk out of her bedroom to head upstairs for a spaghetti dinner, Jamie mutters, “You better write that down in your little notebook so you don’t forget it.”
“Don’t worry,” I say softly. “I will.”
10
I’m in the cemetery.