Neta there's a reference here you better get it (also mark the switch) 

For the rest of that night, all I saw was my last conversation with Jamie. Every time I thought about it, my stomach leaped to my chest.

     Everything had been so off since the moment I stepped into his house. The eerie neatness of it all, his underwhelming room in the basement, the secretive manner of every action he'd made while there. Then, the things he'd said in the car . . .

     What I needed was Stevie's advice, now more than ever. But for once, she was the one person I couldn't ask. It would be too soon, and the last thing she needed was for that wound to be opened after it had just finally healed. I was on my own.

     I knew one thing for certain; I couldn't leave things with Jamie where they were. I was sure that he never wanted to speak to me again after today. Our little arrangement, whatever it was, had come to an end.

     But I wasn't thinking about hooking up. Or, at least, I was only thinking about hooking up a little.

     I wanted to keep an eye on him. Even if we just resumed as we had before, with him keeping me at arm's length and not letting me any closer, at least I would have some idea of what was going on with him. A boy who worked so hard to isolate himself should never be allowed to succeed.

    Maybe I shouldn't have cared so much. I didn't have any reason to. I didn't like Jamie any more now than I had a week ago. He was still a rude, coldhearted, unambitious, self-important brat.

     But he was still human. 

     Somewhere under that rough shell of his was a good kid who'd been served up too much bad to digest. I was sure of it. I couldn't forget the moments -- the muted smiles and small gestures -- in which the old Jamie Alexander peeked through that hard new exterior. 

     Maybe I had a bit of a hero complex, but from my perspective, Jamie was still just a boy, and he was a boy with very self-destructive thoughts and actions. It was impossible to read him, but it was easy to know that wherever that mind of his was couldn't be anywhere good.

     He drove me absolutely crazy. But I'd already watched someone else go through this -- this numb idea, this recklessness, this door-closed-to-the-world disposition. I had no idea what it was like, but I knew it was bad. I couldn't help but want to do something, even if that just meant watching.

     The problem now would be managing to get on Jamie's good side again -- or, better, his not-completely-bad side, because I'd never really been on his good side to begin with -- when he probably wanted nothing more to do with me. I had prodded too far, and Jamie didn't take well to anyone poking at those titanium walls of his.

     I scanned the hallways for him all day on Tuesday, wanting to speak to him sooner rather than later. I didn't get so much as a glimpse of him, however, until he entered our sixth period class mere seconds before the bell rang, leaving me no room to even try.

    The entire time Mr. Peters was lecturing, I tried desperately to catch Jamie's eye, even going as far as pretending I needed scratch paper from the back of the room so I could pass in front of his desk. Not once did he meet my gaze, and I knew that was no accident. For as hard as I was trying to make eye contact, Jamie was trying just as hard to avoid it.

     When the final bell rang, I finished putting my calculator into my bag before standing, instantly realizing my mistake when his back disappeared through the doorway, the first to leave the classroom. Cursing under my breath, I shot to my feet and hurried after him, ignoring Mr. Peters' call to discuss some theorem or another. It made no difference; by the time I emerged into the hallway, Jamie's body had long been absorbed into the crowd of students.

     I'd lost my chance. Now I would be on Thanksgiving break until Monday with no way to get to him. The good majority of a week, completely lost.

     Which meant that over my short break, I could hardly think of much other than how I could get Jamie to talk to me, then what I could say and how I could say it. Stevie kept prying to dig up why I was in such a sour mood when I was supposed to be enjoying my break, Jacob kept poking fun at my frequent distraction at the dinner table, and my dogs, sensing my distress, wouldn't leave me alone, but I hardly had any attention to spare on my siblings or my pets.

     Monday seemed to take forever to roll around. When it did, I found that Jamie's attitude toward me was no different than it had been the week before, and he hurried from class so quickly that I lost him again.

    Tuesday, I was better prepared, and I made sure that I had my things packed up several minutes before the bell rang. When Jamie bolted, I was able to catch him in the hallway before the area was saturated with students.

     He stared forward as if I wasn't in stride next to him. "Can we talk?" I asked, my words coming out rushed.

     "No."

     "Jamie!" I said exasperatedly as he began walking faster to get away from me. Jamie, of course, didn't slow down, and I saw his eyes trained on the doors of the hall, beyond which a throng a teenagers was hurrying to their separate classes; if he could get through those doors, he could lose me easily.

     I reached out instinctively, grabbing hold of his hand and forcing him to stop. Jamie finally turned to me, his eyes rounding incredulously, only to yank his hand away sharply. I didn't even try to stop him -- I was too surprised by my own actions.

     He pushed through the doors and vanished into the mass of bodies. I let him disappear, silently asking myself why the hell I'd grabbed his hand like that, instead of his wrist or his forearm or his elbow, and why the hell my own hand was tingling like I'd tried to play a game of sticks with a goddamn outlet.

++++

For the rest of the week, Jamie escaped calculus so quickly, I had half a mind to think he was secretly a wizard and apparated out.

     (He did have a bit of an edgy Malfoy vibe going on. Just saying.)

    I was feeling so discouraged by Friday afternoon, I wondered if I should just give up and move on. Two things stopped me from doing that, though.

     1. I was a horny motherfucker.

     2. I was worried about him, despite my best efforts not to be.

     I spent the weekend mulling over a way to win this game of cat and mouse. By Monday, I had one, and I only had to hope that a situation would present itself in which it could be put into action.

    With a newfound resolve, I entered my calculus class without trying to catch Jamie's eye or giving him even an ounce of attention. All I could do was wait.

     Today was an independent work day. Mr. Peters handed out four worksheets to be completed by the end of the period, sat in his desk, and promptly tuned everything else out, save for his occasional glances around the classroom to ensure everyone was doing their work. I watched him discreetly every time he did one of these checkups, mentally crossing my fingers.

     When there were thirty minutes left in class, I saw Mr. Peters looking around and followed his gaze. This time, his eyes zeroed in on a desk at the back of the room.

     I watched, chewing the inside of my cheek in anticipation, as Mr. Peters stood from his own desk and made his way over to Jamie's, where said boy had his head in his arms and was blatantly sleeping. Mr. Peters cleared his throat loudly, and Jamie's head raised without much enthusiasm, his eyes blinking boredly up at the teacher.

     "Can I see the work you've done so far?" Mr. Peters asked through gritted teeth.

     "You can see my blank worksheet, if that's what you want," Jamie said unapologetically, his gaze never wavering.

     Already, I could practically see steam coming out of Mr. Peters' ears. "You need to do your work, James. If you need help, just ask."

     "I don't need hel--"

    "I can help him," I interjected, feeling my cheeks turn pink in embarrassment as heads in the classroom turned to me in surprise, because god I looked like one pretentious son of a bitch. "We can go to the library, and I'll help him through the problems."

     I didn't look at Jamie as I spoke, but I could feel his eyes scorching my side. "Yeah, no," he scoffed. "I'll pass."

     But Mr. Peters had other ideas. "Actually, I don't think you will. Thank you, Liam; what a great suggestion. You two head off to the library, and hand in the papers before class is through."

     Jamie didn't so much as glance at me as we made our way from the classroom. Not a word was exchanged between us, and I was half-expecting him to just ditch me and run off somewhere else, but two minutes later we were sat on a sofa at the back of the rather empty library.

     Jamie dropped his worksheets onto the table in front of us angrily. "Alright, genius," he snapped. "Help me, since you're so smart."

     I sighed in exasperation, leaning back into the cushions and hardly sparing the papers a glance before turning to look at him. "I'm sorry."

     He didn't say anything, or even turn to me, but he didn't stop me, either, and I took that as a good sign.

    "Your life is your life, and what you do is your business. I shouldn't have poked my nose where it doesn't belong, and I won't do it again. What we were doing was fun, and I don't want it to stop just because I can be a nosy shit sometimes. I'm sorry for saying all of those things, and asking all of those questions and . . . yeah," I ended lamely.

     Jamie was quiet for a few long moments. After what felt like a millennium, he turned to face me, and I was surprised to see amusement in his eyes.

     "I guess I do kind of miss it," Jamie said, his lips turning up ever so slightly at the edges. "Beats driving an hour to Vagabonds."

     I felt myself smile as I let out a relieved, airy laugh. For all the effort he'd put into avoiding me, that had been way easier than I'd expected. "You really made me work for that," I complained.

     Jamie shrugged. "Maybe I like a good chase."

     He wasn't looking at me, but he was smirking. Asshole.

     "So we're cool, then?"

     Jamie's expression became serious again. "You have to mean what you said," he said, and I was startled by his sudden shift in tone. "No more prying."

     I nodded. "Cross my heart and hope to die," I said cheekily, making an X over my chest with my finger, gratified by Jamie's little laugh in response.

     "Okay then," he said, biting down on his lip. "We're cool."

     "Great," I said, trying and failing not to stare at his lips. I found myself annoyingly distracted by them as I said, "We should probably, uh, do those worksheets."

    "Don't be an idiot," Jamie scoffed, looking at me pointedly and 'accidentally' making our knees brush. "I've got a better idea. You can let me use yours, and we can find another way to spend the next twenty minutes."

      I grinned. "You really are a genius, Alexander."

++++

I was on cloud nine for the next few weeks.

     Jamie and I continued as we had before without anymore incidents, and he seemed to have moved past the last one completely. There was no more tension, and I would be more than happy to keep it that way. So long as I didn't attempt to get a window into Jamie's personal life, we were fine.

     My meetings with him grew more and more frequent until we didn't go a day without finding a place to sneak off to. No matter how often we met, I felt the same every single time. I wasn't sure I would ever get over Jamie's lips, or his touch, or the way he seemed to know just how to send me off the rails.

     We never actually went all the way; closets and bleachers weren't exactly the best places to have sex. We didn't need to, though. 

    Maybe I was crazy, but I could have sworn that he had finally started warming up to me a little. The two of us certainly weren't friends, but I did notice that Jamie seemed less moody each time we met, and that he smiled and laughed more often now, even if the gestures were still small and subdued. True, we never did much talking, and when we did, I had to be careful with my words, but it was enough. We weren't supposed to talk -- getting to know each other wasn't part of the arrangement. We merely had our fun, maybe beginning to appreciate each other's company a little more each time. It was a nice feeling, getting along.

++++

I was walking from my car into the supermarket on a Wednesday night to buy my mom more peanut butter (before she realized I finished the jar at home and castrated me. That woman loved her Skippy Super Chunk). Of course, I was staring at my phone and not paying attention to where I walked, diffusing the responsibility of avoidance to everyone else around me like the obnoxious teenager I was. Apparently, though, not everyone got the memo, because someone was being just as careless as they rushed past, becoming the unlucky fellow to fall victim to my inattentional  blindness. I barely stumbled back as we collided, but the same couldn't be said for the poor guy, who went crashing to the asphalt, scattering his grocery bags around him.

    "Woah, I'm sorry," I said immediately to . . . to Jamie, I realized with one look. He glanced up at me as I knelt down to help him gather his things, and I noticed that he was even paler than usual, and his eyes wide and unfocused like I'd just woken him from a nightmare. "Hey, you okay?"

    Jamie nodded, averting his gaze, and the light from the streetlamps illuminated his face differently from this angle -- made me realize that his eyes were watery.

    I stood up and held out my hand. He took it, rising unsteadily to his feet. "You seem . . . you seem kind of shaky. Is something wrong?"

    Just then, a car honked -- we were in the middle of the street. I pulled Jamie further into the parking lot to where I saw his car waiting before dropping his hand and giving him his bags. He acted as if he'd forgotten, or never heard, my last question, and I was careful not to ask again.

    "Are those for Penelope?" I asked instead, nodding to one of the bags, which held a pack of gummy worms. I regretted it right away -- Jamie's sister was one of those topics he never touched. I wasn't surprised when I saw him tense midway through opening the door.

    "Yeah," he said; his voice was quivering, and I wished I could help him. But how was I supposed to help someone who I didn't know how to help, who wouldn't even help himself? He looked startled at having been found like this, so upset. His eyes darted around distractedly, his fingers fidgeting on the door, anxious to get inside. Or better, to keep me out.

     His other hand lifted to the brim of the black cap that sat backward on his head, as if he was regretting not wearing it forward now so that he could pull it down, cover half of his face. Everything about him screamed that he wanted to shrink into himself and hide.

     "She's really sweet," I said. "Your sister."

    Jamie nodded tightly, pretended to cough into his elbow, but I didn't miss him using his sleeve to wipe his eyes. "Yeah," he repeated.

     "And you're a really great brother."

     It seemed that that was the worst thing I could have possibly said, because suddenly, Jamie stopped avoiding my eyes, and I saw bitterness in his own -- startling and furious and intense.

     I saw it, but I didn't feel it. His glare didn't sting like it usually would.

     Which was how I knew it wasn't for me. Jamie was looking at me, but he was upset with himself. Somehow, that was worse.

     "No, I'm not," he said sharply -- too sharply, like he wanted to hurt himself with those words. I caught sight of a hot, angry tear slipping down his cheek right before he got into his car and shut the door. His movements were oddly controlled -- as if he wanted to lash out at any moment. The last thing I noticed before he reversed was the state of his knuckles on the steering wheel -- cut and bruised and raw again.

++++

It was a Saturday night when I found myself lying awake in bed, unable to fall asleep and feeling the irresistible urge to just do something that came to me every now and then. Usually I would call Bryan and head out for some late-night McDonald's or an aimless drive around town, but I knew he had an early rise tomorrow morning, so I chose not to wake him.

    I pulled on a t-shirt, workout shorts, and sneakers, figuring a jog might ease my restlessness. As quietly as I could, I snuck out through my bedroom window, knowing that my dogs would make enough noise to get me in trouble -- not for going out at night, but for disturbing the Sleeping Beauties -- if they were awake and saw me. I didn't realize it was raining until I stepped outside and felt light droplets bounce off of my arms, and a smile came to my face. Even better.

     I walked around to the front of my house and was about to start my run when my eyes landed on my car in the driveway, and suddenly, I had a different idea.

    Fifteen minutes later, I was calling Jamie's number, holding the phone against my ear and waiting for an answer.

     "Liam, what the fuck?" came Jamie's irritated voice after several rings. "It's midnight."

    "I'm outside your house," I said.

     "What?" he hissed. "Are you crazy?"

     "Probably," I chuckled. "Come here."

     "Wh--no!" he said incredulously, his voice hushed. "Liam, go home!"

     "No can do," I sang. "I'll just wait for you here."

     "Lia--"

     I laughed to myself at the aggravated huff I heard on the other end of the line.

     "Give me a minute," Jamie grumbled, "so I can come out there and punch you."

     Five minutes later, I looked up from my phone to see Jamie walking down the driveway, looking hot as ever in a white t-shirt and joggers, the darkness doing nothing to conceal the murder in his eyes.

     "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped as he sat in the passenger seat, glaring heatedly at me. But I had seen him enough over the last few weeks to know when he was genuinely mad and when he wasn't; he was a bit ticked off right now, but not angry.

     "Couldn't sleep," I shrugged. "When did you get a nose ring?"

     "So you drive to my house in the middle of the night?" Jamie said, ignoring my question entirely.

     It was cute on him.

    "Yup," I said as if it was nothing. "I'm taking you hostage. You're mine for the night."

     Jamie stared disbelievingly at me. "I don't get you."

     "And I don't get you. That's part of the deal, right?"

     He let out a conceding sigh. "Fine, whatever. Just," he glanced out the window at his house, which was even more imposing on a rainy night, and I noticed his anxiety. "Just drive."

     Jamie didn't speak again until we were a good distance from his house. "Where are you taking me, idiot?" he asked, sweet as ever.

     "Lake," I answered simply.

    "You realize it's storming, right?"

     "It's just rain," I pointed out, and I was right; the entire time I'd been out, I hadn't seen lightening or heard thunder a single time.

     "I really can't stand you," Jamie muttered.

     "I can take you home, if you want," I offered, holding back a smile when he didn't respond.

     I was the first out of the car when we arrived at the empty park. Jamie was at my side moments later, and we walked in silence, close enough for our shoulders to touch, down to the lakeshore.

    "Pretty, huh?" I said, staring up at the sky dotted with stars.

     "I know I am."

     I turned to him, mouth hanging open slightly and shoulders shaking with disbelieving laughter, to see him pulling his shirt off over his head. "Was that a joke I just heard, Mr. Alexander? I feel honored."

     "Suck my dick, Bane," he said, chucking his shirt at me and giving me the middle finger.

    "Been there, done that," I said slyly with a cheeky wink, and he made a face at me.

     "Fuck off."

    "I'd rather not," I grinned, moving to stand behind him and pull him against me. I leaned my head into the crook of his neck, planting a kiss on the smooth skin there. "Not when you look so good."

    "Someone's been working on their flattery," Jamie hummed, reaching up with one hand to grip my hair and leaning back into my chest. "So, real-talk, is the rain thing, like, a fetish of yours?"

    I chuckled and kissed up his neck; someone was on a roll with the jokes tonight. "I don't know," I muttered, biting gently on Jamie's ear, causing the other boy to arch further into me involuntarily. "Ask me again after tonight."

     He turned around, using his free hand to grip my shirt and drag me closer, but right before our lips could touch, I turned my head away. "Not so fast," I said teasingly. "I didn't bring you to a lake for us to stand on the shore the whole time."

     "Asshole," Jamie muttered. "Getting me—"

    I backed away and took off my shirt, instantly silencing any protest Jamie was about to make. Then I pulled my shorts off, too, followed by my shoes and socks, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. Jamie was staring at me with unfocused eyes, and I really loved that I had that affect on him.

    I turned around as if I didn't notice his little stupor and waded into the lake until the water reached my knees before glancing over my shoulder and saying, "You coming?"

     Moments later, I heard the sound of splashing water and was soon joined by Jamie, who was just as close to naked as I was.

    "So," I said, nudging him slightly. "How was your day?"

     "Oh my god," Jamie groaned. "You're such a loser."

    I pretended to pout. "Well that's not very ni—"

     I never got to finish, though, because Jamie grabbed the back of my neck and very effectively shut me up. 

++++

"Jesus Christ, how often do you do this to yourself?" I asked incredulously, holding Jamie's hands in mine. At a text from him, I had found an excuse to leave my third period and sneaked backstage in the auditorium to meet him.

     He tugged his hands from my grasp. "Doesn't matter," he said, and tried to pull me closer by my collar, but I put my hand on his chest to stop him. It had hardly been two weeks since I'd seen him at the supermarket with his fists cut and bruised. And when that had happened, he'd been a mess, crying and upset about something I couldn't figure.

     These wounds were fresh.

    "Did you just do this?" I asked, examining his knuckles again.

     "Why do you care?" he grumbled.

     "What kind of fucking question is that?" I asked incredulously. "Because this is seriously unhealthy!"

     Jamie rolled his eyes. "Quit freaking out, I washed the cuts."

    I let out a frustrated huff. Either he didn't get it, or he was playing the fool, and I was sure he got it. "Did you just do this?" I asked again. Jamie sighed.

    "Yes, I did, now --"

     "Where?"

     "The back of the school."

     I wanted to ask why, but I knew that was pointless. And I remembered the first time I'd ever found him like this -- when he was stumbling home, drunk, in the middle of the night. I had a feeling his reasoning now was about the same.

    "Did a lot of thinking. Made me angry."

     "Jesus, Jamie," I said as I turned his hand over in mine to find angry red scratches along his palm. "Now you've moved on to smacking the walls, too?"

     He glared at me. "I texted you so you could distract me," he snapped, puling his hands away again. "Not sit me through a goddamn lecture. Could you quit hovering?"

     No, I wanted to say, I can't. But I didn't, because that would do nothing but make him shut down on me. "Fine," I said reluctantly. "I'm sorry." I wasn't.

    Jamie's shoulders relaxed and his gaze softened. "You don't -- it's. . . nice that you care," he said, and the hint of guilt in his voice took me by surprise. "Just . . . don't."