No, there it is again. It’s erratic but it’s not coming from me. I limp to an abandoned car, ducking beneath and looking back the way I came. There’s someone in the distance, obscured by the heat haze from the cracked asphalt.
I slip off my bag and toss it beneath the car before I climb under after it. Whoever it is can’t see me from where they are. They probably aren’t even looking for anyone.
I stay still in the shadow of the car as they approach.
From where I am it looks like a white male, and he’s on a bike. Something hanging off the sides makes the low thump sound as he steers around the potholes and cracks in the road. The brim of his baseball hat casts a shadow over his face.
He’s fifteen feet away now and...
It’s Jamie.
My face betrays me, pulling into a smile. I want to laugh. I want to shout and scream and cry and hug him. He came all the way out here. He came after me.
But then the excitement dies in my throat.
He came after me. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have stayed where he was; it was his home.
I remain silent beneath the car, watching him pedal slowly past. There are two packs tied to the back of his bike. Two of them. One for him, one for me. I smile again, laying my head against the road. He gets farther and farther away as he pedals. Tears burn my eyes.
He pedals past a car and then he’s gone from my sight.
My stomach clenches. He’s gone.
No.
“No.” It’s a whimper at first, like my body isn’t letting me talk any louder than that. It knows I shouldn’t, that it’s not safe for Jamie. But I don’t care. I need to see him again.
“No!” Louder, better.
I scramble out from under the car.
“Jamie!” I’m screaming it now. I repeat it over and over and over, yelling after him. He has to turn around. I try to run, the wooden crutch digging hard into my armpit. I leave my bag beneath the car.
He rides around in a circle, turning back to me. I can’t see his face beneath the shadow of his baseball cap, I can’t see if he’s smiling or not, but I am.
I shout his name again, trying to move faster. I’ll probably fall and break my leg all over again but I don’t care.
He puts on the kickstand and gets off the bike, walking toward me. There he is. The only person in the world left to even care about me. And all at once I realize it was a mistake to run off. Leaving him was easier than trying to convince him not to come. But seeing him here, now, gives me full-on heart-eyed butterflies in my gut. They’re stupid and, like Jamie, they shouldn’t be here. But they are.
And so is he. My Jamie. My stupid, stupid Jamie who left his home and followed me because he thinks I’m a good person. It’s selfish and Iso clearlyhave not learned my lesson because right now I want him here.
I come to a stop ten feet from him.
He isn’t smiling. In fact, he looks downright pissed.
He stands there, his arms crossed. Maybe I should have stayedunder the car after all. What if he wasn’t looking for me? He could have decided he needed to find someone else and just happened to pass me. He didn’t know my route so he wasn’t tracing my steps; he was following his own route.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It looks like he’s not going to say anything. But then...
“You’re a real dickhead,” he says. “You know that?”
He turns to his bike and unties one of the packs—a yoga mat and sleeping bag rolled up and tied to the top—and tosses it over to me.
“Transfer your stuff into this one, it holds more.” Then he cuts off the other pack, slings it over his shoulders, and turns back to me. “Well, come on.”
“That’s it?” I ask. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I left without saying goodbye and all you want to say is ‘Well, come on’?”
He shrugs. “I... I also called you a dickhead?”
