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WatchingBilly attempt to climb into my passenger’s seat is comical. In fact, it’s the only thing that’s made me laugh in weeks. He’s stuck, with one leg in and one leg out, cursing to himself as he tries to adjust the seat. After catching my breath from laughing so hard, I reach over, pull the lever under the seat, and slide it back as far as it goes. “Sorry,” I tell him. “Jamie’s the only one who sits there, and even then, she usually sits with her legs crossed.”
I wait until he’s strapped in before pulling out of the spot. Cars line the exit of the school, like every afternoon, and Billy says, “Jamie Taylor?”
I nod.
“I like Jamie,” he almost announces. “She’s cool.”
I glance sideways at him. “Youknowher?”
“Yeah,” he says, opening his backpack to reveal an entire McDonald’s meal. He unwraps the burger, takes a bite, then offers it to me. I shake my head, not even surprised that he’s been walking around with that for who knows how long. Around a mouthful of food, he adds, “She’s in my art class.”
“You takeart?”
“Yeah.” He laughs, finishes chewing before saying, “I thought it would be one of those subjects I could breeze through, but damn, that shit’s hard.”
I drive out of the parking lot and head toward Esme’s house.
Billy says, “Pretty cool about her work being chosen for that art contest.”
“Yeah, it is,” I agree, then clear my throat. “Do you know what piece was entered? Is it good?”
He shifts in his seat, making my truck groan beneath his weight. “I assume it’s good because,duh, it’s Jamie, but no. No one’s seen it besides Miss Lockhart. She keeps it locked in her office at the back of the art room, and Jamie works on it outside of class.”
“Weird,” I say, and Billy nods. “So, like, how well do you know her?”
“Miss Lockhart”?”
“No, you idiot.” I chuckle. “I meant Jamie.”
“Oh.” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you said youlikeher, so you have to kind of know her, right?” I don’t know why I’m pushing the issue, but it only really occurred to me now that Jamie has a life outside of me. She has friends, has all these other things going on that she never told me about. She never once mentioned Billy or her secret art project, and obviously, she didn’t feel for me the way I felt for her, but now I’m wondering if every interaction we ever had was a different experience for her than it was for me.
That would suck.
“The first time I spoke to Jamie, I was whining about not understanding the work,” Billy says, pulling me from my thoughts. “She was sitting next to me and she asked, completely straight-faced, ‘Is Billy short for William or Wilma?’” He scoffs. “So I told her Wilma was a girl's name, right?”
“Right…”
“To which she had theaudacityto respond, ‘Then quit being a little bitch.’”
I chuckle, imagining the interaction as if I were there, and I can see Jamie clearly. See her mind turning, waiting for the punchline, and then her eyes light up just before she delivers it.
“Anyway,” Billy says, “when it was time to work on our projects, she said she would help me understand the work on one condition…” He waits, knowing he has me eating right out of his palm.
“What was the condition?” I ask.
“That I teach her about football.”
My gaze slides to his.
He smirks. “She said some idiot jock who wanted to bend her over and bone her was on the team, and she just wanted to know the basics.”
I look away, my heart picking up at the thought.
“I take it you’re the idiot jock?” he asks.
My non-response is answer enough.
