And I said yes. He told me to meet him in his bedroom, and while that night we only made out, it was the catalyst for what happened the rest of the year: Jamie sneaking kisses, whispering things in my ear, asking me to come over…
I’m not naive enough to think hooking up with someone means they like you. Things are justdifferentbetween Jamie and me. I catch him looking at me sometimes, trying to rile me up on purpose, smiling widely whenever he succeeds. He makes me laugh… looks at me like I’m special.
I’ve spent the past three years building myself up to be the most popular girl at school, the girl who has it all, wanting to secure theperfectending to my time at Niveus. And now that I’m Senior Head Prefect, all I need are the final pieces: the Snowflake Crown, a Yale acceptance letter, and Jamie.
I feel a nudge from Ava, who I share English class with. Sometimes we poke fun at the conspiracies our teacher, Mrs. Hawthorne, comes up with. Like the time she told us F. Scott Fitzgerald was really the reincarnation of William Shakespeare. To which Ava said, “And I’m the reincarnation of Jane Austen’s asshole.” I laughed so hard Mrs. Hawthorne threatened to separate us. I admit, class is more entertaining with Ava around.
Perhaps if hierarchies weren’t so important and people weren’t constantly trying to take me down, maybe I’d be more trusting of people, and Ava and I would be more than just two girls using each other to survive high school. But the reality is, Niveus will always be Niveus. Besides, I didn’t invent this twisted system that pits us againsteach other and makes us do crappy things for status—but I do know how to play it.
I have Jamie anyway; I don’t need any more friends here.
“You don’t even look like you’re trying to listen,” Ava whispers.
“I think Jamie is going to ask me out at lunch,” I say, looking at her. Ava’s eyes widen.
“Fucking hell, that’s something. I always thought you guys were secretly dating anyway.”
That makes me smile inside. It’s one thing to convince Jamie that we are perfect for each other; it’s another to make others believe it too.
“Well, soon it will be official—I hope.”
Jamie always talks about looking for “the One.” He’s never dated, because he says he’s not yet found “her.” People used to think he didn’t like girls, but then he joined the football team—apparently that was confirmation enough he’s straight.
I sort of believe in the One, that one person who makes your insides glow and makes you feel like you’re losing control, but not in the same sappy way he does. Jamie acts like the One is this predetermined thing that God or Santa came up with when he was born.
I think we choose our own destiny. We choose who we befriend, kiss, and date, and I guess I choose Jamie.
The bell rings and I stand, throwing my notebook into my bag and rushing out of the classroom, not wasting time by saying goodbye to Ava. I’ll see her later in the cafeteria.
Jamie has history class, so I wait outside. Soon enough he’s out, with a wide smile on his perfectly freckled face. His brown, floppy curls look like they are in need of a cut, but I like his hairthis way. He looks like a member of a boy band I might pretend to dislike.
“Benches?” he asks, linking his arm through mine. I nod, trying to compose myself as we head out to the benches in the courtyard.
Jamie’s told me how he plans to ask the One out. He said it’ll be romantic, with chocolates and maybe a poem if he has the nerve—which I think is really cliché, but… I still want to see it play out.
The rest of the student body is spilling out of classrooms as we walk past them, some of them glancing at us like they know. First, Head Prefect and now this? The first day of school is only half over, and I can already tell that this is going to be the best year of high school.
We take seats on opposite sides of one of the wooden tables. I rest my chin on my hands and he does the same. Wherever we go for Lola’s, however public, it always feels intimate.
“So,” he starts.
“So,” I reply.
“I think I’ve found the One.”
“You have?” I say, soundingwaytoo eager.
“I have indeed. She’s clever, stunning, makes me laugh—”
“She sounds amazing,” I interrupt, my heart banging at the walls of my chest.
“You might know her actually.”
This is it.
“Her name is Belle Robinson…”
Wait… what?
