Pieces Of You by Jay McLean

7

Holden

“Dammit!”Jamie hisses, pulling her hands away from the blackberry bush. She looks down at the fresh scrape on her wrist caused by the thorns. It’s the third time she’s done the exact same thing in the space of five minutes.

When she got in my truck after school, dressed in her usual clothes, I asked her where she planned on changing. She said she didn’t. So, dressed in a pale pink blouse, another nana skirt, and completely inappropriate shoes, she’s been using garden shears to cut through the brush in Esme’s yard.

Meanwhile, knowing what to expect, I’m in work boots, a long-sleeved khaki shirt, and gloves.

After her second hiss of the afternoon, I offered her my shirt.

She declined.

After the fourth, I offered her my gloves.

She declined that, too.

And now her hands are scratched to shit and she’s glaring at the blackberries as if it’s their fault. Maybe it’s mine. Maybe I should’ve prepared her.

“At least take the fucking gloves,” I offer again, exasperated.

“No.” It’s been an entire week since we last spoke. Even the morning locker interactions have been void of conversation. I don’t think it’s on purpose. I just haven’t had anything to say. Plus, I’m usually always late to class, and being on time, being present, was part of the promise I’d made to Mom, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word. “Take my shirt then.”

“No.”

I drop my hands and face her. “Why the fuck are you so stubborn?”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“Because I have to work next to Whiney Wilma all afternoon.”

Her eyes thin, directed at me. “This is a big yard, Holden. Go stand somewhere else.”

“You’re being a bitch, Jameson. Take the fucking gloves.”

“No!”

I drop my shears and rip off my gloves, then take her free hand and start forcefully putting them on her. Surprisingly, she doesn’t fight me. I even manage to get the second one on before she speaks up, but what she says surprises me. “I’m sorry.”

“For being so difficult?” I deadpan, releasing her hand and shifting my eyes to hers.

She’s already watching me, those hazel eyes bright against the afternoon sun. Biting her bottom lip, she keeps my gaze hostage for a second, two, before dipping her head, her voice low when she says, “No. For what I said in your car last week.”

I rear back, just an inch, and try to recall what the hell she’s talking about.

“About your… your Mia,” she mumbles.

“What?” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but it comes out anyway. “I’d totally forgotten about that,” I mumble. And now I feel shitty because if she’s spent the entire week stewing over this… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.

To be honest, I’d been so consumed with other things going on in my life, in my head, that the few times Jamie’s somehow popped into my mind, it’d been easy to push thoughts of her aside, to disregard them as nothing more than curiosity.

She lifts her chin slightly and looks right at me, and I notice her height for the first time. She’s short. Short enough that I’d have to bend my knees to kiss her. And where the fuck did that thought come from? “So, you’re not mad at me?” she asks, and I shove the idea of kissing her way, way down.

At least until later.

When I’m alone.

Maybe.

I still don’t know what happened with her and Dean—my friend—and even without that aspect, Jamie annoys the shit out of me. She’s too fucking blunt and obnoxious as hell, and…

And kind of cute—in that unassuming, pathetic, cliché-high-school-movie kind of way.

“Holden?” She’s still looking at me, waiting.

“No, I’m not mad,” I say, taking a big step back and away from danger, danger, danger.

“Oh, okay.” She turns to the bush and starts cutting away. I do the same. Minutes pass, neither of us saying a word. But my eyes—my stupid, deceiving eyes—keep moving to her.

Peering at her.

Like a creep.

She breaks the silence. “It’s just that you haven’t spoken to me all week, so…”

Huh. I square my shoulders, pretending to focus on the task in front of me instead of the thoughts running circles in my mind. “You been keeping tabs on me, Taylor?”

“Taylor?”

I glance sideways at her. “That’s your last name, right?”

She nods, a slight smile breaking through as she drops a clipping to the ground between us. “You been keeping tabs on me, Eastwood?”

I shrug. “Do you want me to?”

Swear, her cheeks redden. “Not even for a second.”

* * *

When the hour’s up,we walk to my truck together while she removes the gloves and hands them back. “I found a bus route so—”

I stop beside the passenger door, rolling my eyes at her. “Shut up. Get in.”

She clearly hesitates, moving from one foot to the other, her eyes everywhere but on me. We spoke very little after her apology, so I don’t know what’s on her mind. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what I’m thinking either. All I know is that I’m confused—about a lot of things. Mainly about the girl standing in front of me with her nose wrinkled, no doubt trying to come up with a reason to say no. Or say yes. “It’s so out of the way.”

I sigh. Out loud. Games. These are her games, her terms, round and round, and I don’t have the patience for it, so I repeat, “Shut up. Get in.”

She gets in the truck.

So do I.

And the second I’m in, my stomach growls.

Jamie turns to me, her eyes wide. “What the fuck was that?”

I mock pout, putting a hand to my stomach. “Listen, Taylor. I’m a growing boy. I have eight full meals a day.”

“Of course, you do,” she muses. “You’re such a jock.”

“How so?”

“Calling me by my last name is such a jock move.”

I pat the top of her head, chuckling when she pushes my hand away. “And you’re such a little weirdo.”

She puffs out a breath. “My name’s Jameson, by the way.”

I purse my lips. “Yeah, I don’t like it.”

“Good.” She giggles. “Because it’s not yours. And Taylor is so impersonal.”

“You want me to get up close and personal with you, Taylor?” I’m on autopilot, flirting as I do with every other girl in existence. The difference? Most girls don’t hit back the way Jamie does. I sit, and I wait for a retort because I’m already preparing my next words.

She doesn’t retaliate. Instead, she surprises me again and says, “At least let me feed you… to pay you back for the gloves and driving me home.”

I start the engine. “I’m not going to turn down a free meal.”

“Good,” she says, settling into her seat.

“Besides, we should feed you, too.” I reverse out of the driveway and wait until I’m on the road before adding, “This is about the time they serve dinner at the retirement home, right?”

She laughs once. “How long until the old lady jokes run their course?”

“Soon,” I admit. “I’m running out of material.” I glance sideways for a response, but she just sits there, her hands on her lap, staring out of the windshield and smiling. “Where to, Miss Daisy?”

“I know a place near me.”

“This is a truck stop, Taylor,”I groan, pulling into a parking spot.

“Don’t be so judgmental.”

“Oh, nice…. coming from Judge Judith.”

Her exaggerated eye roll has me holding back a smile. “Just trust me.”

Regardless of what the truck stop looks like from the outside, the inside is decent. Cherry-red stools line the counter, and the same-colored booths take up the windows. It reminds me of the diner back home, the only place to get a decent burger within an hour’s drive.

There are only a handful of other patrons here, and most of them don’t even look up when we walk toward a corner booth. Jamie slides in one side, and I slide in the other and pick up the menu. I’m starving, and I want to eat every single item listed. “What’s good here?”

“Everything,” Jamie’s quick to answer. She doesn’t look at the menu. Instead, she tugs a few paper napkins from the dispenser and dumps them in her messenger bag. “Get whatever you want.”

“I want all of it.”

“Then order all of it.”

“Okay, miss moneybags,” I say with a chuckle.

She nods, distracted by pulling out another napkin. “Seriously, go ahead.” This one doesn’t go in her bag. Instead, she unfolds it completely and spreads it out on the table.

“You come here a lot?” I ask, and she nods as she searches through her bag. A moment later, she’s pulling out a fine marker and uncapping it with her teeth. Pen to paper, she starts to draw on the napkin—black ink blotting, spreading. I’m so enthralled in the intricate lines she’s creating; I’m barely focused on her words when she says, “I work here.”

I don’t respond because it’s not important. What she’s drawing—it’s fascinating, and I can’t tear my eyes away. Too soon, the server—a woman in her thirties with dyed black hair and strawberry-blonde roots—interrupts us. “Hey, Jamie.”

Jamie looks up, scrunching the napkin in her fist and setting it aside. I’m bummed that I didn’t even have time to make out what it was before she ruined it. “Hi, Carol.”

“Is this your new boyfriend?” Carol asks, motioning to me.

“No,” Jamie’s quick to answer. “We’re working on a school project together.”

Carol smiles, her eyes shifting between the two of us before finally settling back on Jamie. “He’s cute.”

“He’s right there, Carol. He can hear you,” Jamie deadpans.

“Oh, hush.” Carol taps my shoulder. “He already knows he’s cute.”

“I do,” I agree. “Though I prefer hot. Sexy. Dynamite in the sack.”

Jamie blushes. Ah, so this is her hot button. No amount of filthy words and insults can cover up the fact that the thought of me and sex makes her… something. Or maybe she’s embarrassed that I just said all that at her place of work. Yeah, that’s most likely it. I should probably rein it in. Or at least try.

Try—it seems like it’s all I’ve been doing lately.

“What do you want?” Jamie asks, and for a moment, I think she’s just busted me staring at her. Analyzing her. But no, she’s asking about the food.

I drop the menu. “You order for me. You know what’s good.”

Jamie orders the standard burger, fries, onion rings, and vanilla shake each, and once Carol leaves, I reach across the table and pull her hand toward me. “Hey, what the hell?”

Ignoring her, I turn her hand over, inspecting the scrapes now starting to scab. “It messed you up good, huh?”

“It’ll heal,” she mumbles, pulling her hand back and hiding it beneath the table. I don’t miss the way her cheeks bloomed pink at my touch, and now I’m wondering if they were that same way when I slid the gloves over her hands earlier. I wish I’d paid more attention.

Her gaze drops to the now balled-up napkin sitting between us, and I watch as her shoulders shift as if she was about to raise her hand to collect it. She doesn’t. Instead, she pulls out another napkin and starts the process again. Unfolding. Spreading out. Before she can put pen to paper, my phone vibrates, and I rush to see who’s calling, my lungs emptying with relief when I see it’s not Mia or her idiot dad.

“It’s Dean,” I tell Jamie. Then hit answer and say, “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“I was just checking in. How did it go?”

I watch Jamie watching me. “It was fine.”

“Cool. Did you want to meet up, grab something to eat?”

“I uh…” I don’t know if Jamie can hear Dean’s end of the conversation, so I don’t know why I’m looking at her, waiting for a reaction—an approval of some sort to say that it’s okay if I tell him we’re together, doing something we don’t have to be doing… but then I figure, fuck it. Whatever they have going on is their problem. Not mine. “I’m actually with Jamie right now. We just ordered.”

Silence greets me while Jamie gives no visible reaction.

“You good?” I say into the phone.

“Yeah, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hangs up before I can respond, so I drop my phone on the table and say, because I’m sick of all the secrets, “So, Dean.”

Jamie’s lips press tight before her shoulders drop. Man, she must’ve been tense the moment I mentioned his name. “He hasn’t told you, has he?”

“Told me what, exactly?”

Her mouth opens, shuts, again and again. “Can I ask you something first?”

I nod, settle into my seat.

“You know Bethany, right?” Well, that was unexpected.

“I mean, we’re not close, but yeah, I know her.”

“Is she nice?” This girl is full of surprises. And admittedly, I’d kind of suspected what went on. The breakup, followed by Dean and Jamie’s reaction to each other, and then the secrets that followed… it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. But now she’s asking about Bethany, and I have to wonder what role she’s played through it all. Dean—he’s not the kind of guy to cheat just for cheating’s sake. He’s had plenty of opportunities, especially when I’ve been around, and not once has he even stoked the flames.

So, it comes down to two things: lies and deceit. And I don’t want to add to the lies, so I give her the truth. “Yeah, she is,” I admit, watching her reaction closely. “I mean, she’s a girl with zero drama who just happens to be the most popular girl at school and the head cheerleader—not that any of that matters. But, she started and championed an anti-bullying campaign that’s now enforced in multiple schools, so…” I trail off, feeling a slight twinge of pity when I see the way Jamie nods slowly as if she knows all this already. I add, just so I don’t have to end there, “Truthfully, she’s a little too straight-edge for me, but hey, I wasn’t the one dating her.”

“So… she’s perfect,” Jamie mumbles. “Awesome.” She flops back in the seat, her shoulders slumped. And then she looks up, her sad, solemn eyes on mine. “I didn’t know about her,” she says, and now I’m all ears. “I wouldn’t have started anything if I did. And I’m not naïve enough not to realize how it must look from the outside.” She chews the corner of her lip, adding, “It was never just sex, at least not for me.” I don’t know why my stomach turns at that last piece of information, but it does. “I guess I just want you to know that I’m not that person. I would never knowingly do something that would hurt someone else.” She pauses a beat. “Especially not to someone like Bethany.” Half turning, she focuses out the window. She doesn’t say anything else, and I’m too busy trying to piece it all together.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I mumble, more to myself than anyone else.

Slowly, she faces me, and it’s clear she’s on the verge of tears. “What doesn’t?”

“Why isn’t it all over school? You’d think Bethany would’ve told her friends, and they’d tell everyone else.”

Jamie blinks once. Twice. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Because… it would be different if he cheated on her with someone worthy, you know? I’m trailer trash who washes dishes at a truck stop.” She laughs, but it’s filled with so much sadness it creates a sudden, forceful ache in my chest. I stare at her, right into her eyes, and I can see all the broken fragments of a girl who refuses to see her worth. I’ve stared into similar eyes my entire life: my mom and Mia. “I can’t even imagine her shame,” she says, her words uneven. I don’t look away, and neither does she, not even when I can see her discomfort set in. “I mean, just look at her… and look at me.”

“I am.” And then I clear my throat, steady my voice, filling it with enough clarity, so she never has to question what I say next. “And there’s not a single piece of me that sees you the way you see yourself.”