Being Jamie Baker

by Kelly Oram

  I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of that conversation. I was angry, so I went somewhere I could think in peace. There are a lot of spots in the country that work well for that, and this time I went with the Grand Canyon. I like it there because even though it gets a lot of foot traffic, it’s big enough that I can still find a spot far enough off the beaten path that I don’t have to hear tourists the whole time. Plus, the beauty of the Grand Canyon at sunset makes it hard for me to stay in a bad mood, and I was especially grumpy now.

  I don’t know what made me think Ryan was different. I should have known by the sheer fact that he was charming enough to break me. He was just like any other hormonal high school boy on the planet, only he was better at playing the game, which made him dangerous.

  I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up in the first place. It’s not like I could ever tell him the truth about myself, and I can’t exactly be his girlfriend when I have to constantly lie to him about myself. Apparently, I can’t even kiss him, so it’s not like he would stick around long even if I could be honest.

  I sat there thinking for a long time, long after the sun went down. When I finally decided to go home, I told myself there would be no more wasting any energy on Ryan Miller. Of course, it took me almost as long to tell myself I wouldn’t think about him anymore as it did to get home, and the stupid boy was at my house when I got there, so I kept my promise to myself for only like half a second.

  I heard his laugh from down the street and stopped dead in my tracks. It was just after nine thirty now, so theoretically he could have been there for half an hour already, and judging from the conversation he was having with my parents, he probably had been. The picture he was laughing at was the last one taken of me before my accident, and knowing my mother, she started with the baby pictures.

  “She’s a beauty queen too?” Ryan asked, full of surprise, and then giggled as he read the title. “Miss Sweet Corn?”

  “You laugh, young man,” I heard my mother say, “but that’s a big deal in Illinois. People come from all over the Midwest to go to that festival, and Jamie worked very hard to win that crown.”

  “And she looked every bit as beautiful as her mother did when she won the crown in high school,” my father added. I didn’t need supersight to see the proud look on his face; he was always looking at my mom that way.

  It got quiet for a second, and I thought about interrupting the party, but then Ryan said something that made me stop. “She looked so happy,” he said in this really pensive voice. “What happened to her? How come she’s not like this anymore?”

  I wanted to run inside and put a stop to this invasion of privacy, but my mom answered his question before I could make myself open the door. “Jamie was in a car accident.”

  Car accident isn’t exactly the right term for what happened, but it still cut through my heart. Painful memories flooded my mind as my mom continued her very watered-down explanation. “Her boyfriend was killed,” she said hesitantly.

  If Ryan reacted to the news at all, he didn’t do it vocally. He didn’t make a single sound. I wish I could have seen the look on his face or known what assumptions he was making as he tried to justify the way I act, but I could hardly breathe, much less keep myself composed.

  “Jamie won’t talk about it much,” my father said. “The accident changed her, and she’s had a really hard time dealing with it. She blames herself.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They may as well have told him I was now a superpowered freak. How could they be so cavalier about it? What if he started asking questions they didn’t have answers for?

  “We moved here, hoping that a fresh start might help,” my mom explained, breaking the awful silence that was now in the house. “But she’s just not the same girl anymore. She won’t get close to anyone. In fact, I’m really surprised she invited you over. You must be pretty special.”

  As angry as I was, I was kind of relieved to hear the hint of a laugh in Ryan’s response. “Not special, just stubborn,” he said. “I think she only caved because she thought I wouldn’t come. Tonight’s the homecoming dance.”

  I cringed when I heard my mother gasp. I knew the former prom queen was not going to like that. I finally pulled myself together and pushed open the door. I tried my hardest not to glare at my parents too much because for all Ryan knew I had no clue what they were talking about. My parents knew I’d heard them, though, and when I walked into the room they both jumped to their feet, looking every bit as guilty as I knew they felt.

  My father started the conversation with, “Where have you been? You’ve kept this poor boy waiting for nearly forty minutes.”

  “I wasn’t really expecting him.”

  “And you made him miss the homecoming dance?” my mother whined. “Jamielynn Baker, how could you?”

  “I didn’t make him do anything.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Baker.” Ryan laughed as he shot me that same carefree smile that either makes me melt or boil—tonight the answer was boil. “I’m pretty sure Mike is going to be king anyway, and I can always take Jamie to the prom.”

  I gave Ryan an annoyed glance as my mother’s eyes bulged from her head. “You’re nominated to be the homecoming king?” she gasped, and then immediately gave me a desperate look. “For heaven’s sake, Jamie, go put on a dress and take this poor boy to the dance.”

  When Ryan spouted nonsense about what an excellent idea that was, I couldn’t take it anymore and ushered my parents into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I hissed as soon as the door was safely shut behind us.

  I was surprised when my father spoke up first and said exactly what I thought I was going to hear from my mother. “He seems like a nice kid.”

  “Cute too,” my mother added excitedly.

  I felt my head starting to hurt and barely tried to control my temper. “Yeah, Mom, he’s really cute. He’s also charming and sweet and funny. But that’s what they say about the devil, and you don’t want me hanging out with him.”

  My parents were both frowning their disapproval now, but I didn’t care. “He’s practically a stranger. How could you tell him about the accident? About Derek!”

  “What were we supposed to say to him, honey?”

  “Nothing! It’s none of his business!”

  When tears dropped from my eyes, I realized how worked up I was and stopped yelling. My mother started crying too, and when my dad held out his arms I practically collapsed into them. I know how much my parents worry about me, and when my father squeeze me, I couldn’t stay mad.

  “We didn’t tell him anything the people in Illinois don’t know,” he whispered. “We had to tell him something, though. He’s writing a paper. If we didn’t answer any of his questions he would only get suspicious.”

  Sometimes I forget that my parents are struggling with this just as much as I am. They don’t always know what to do either, but this time my dad was right. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “I know, honey.”

  My mom pulled me from my father’s arms for a hug of her own. She motioned with her eyes toward the door that separated us from Ryan. “I know this is hard for you, Jamie, but you didn’t die that night and you can’t keep living like you did. I think Ryan could be good for you. I’m not saying I think he should replace Derek, but—”

  “There will never be another Derek! Ever!”

  The lights in the house flickered, instantly putting me in check. I didn’t mean to lose control, but I still have a hard time keeping my emotions in line when it comes to the late quarterback of Mendota High School. Derek is by far my most sensitive subject.

  I watched my mom gulp and then force a smile through her fear. “I know you’re scared,” she said, and then in a whisper added, “we all are.”

  Seeing your parents afraid of you is probably the worst feeling a human is capable of experiencing, but at least it makes me feel a little better about being scared of myself. And I’m grateful that they try to be stron
g, even if they can’t always manage it.

  “You need to go out there and talk to that boy,” my mother continued. “And if I were you, I would try to be nice. You could use a good friend, Jamie.”

  My mom said that in her I-love-you-but-I-mean-business voice, so I knew the discussion was over. Without saying anything else, I went back into the living room, secretly hoping Ryan had decided to go to the dance after all, but I had no such luck. He was still looking through our family photo album, but he stood up when I entered the room. He smiled at me, but it wasn’t that classic innocent Ryan smile—it was much more serious. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “You should really think about letting me be your friend because I’d really like that, and I don’t think there’s anyone else at school brave enough for the job.”

  I swear, Ryan is the most confident person on the planet, and it is so annoying. I stood there glaring at him, so angry that he’d overheard us, and he just smiled back completely relaxed. Knowing him, he was probably waiting for me to tell him he was right, and give in to his request for friendship. Well, I wasn’t going to give in anymore, remember? No more giving in to Ryan Miller!

  I took the photo album from the coffee table, glancing at the picture of me winning the pageant as I put the book back in its place on the shelf. “You’ve got more than enough to write a full biography on the life of Jamie Baker already, so I guess the interview’s over. You can go now.”

  “Oh, no!” Ryan said. “You’re parents are pretty cool, but I didn’t miss my homecoming for a chance to look at pictures all night. I came to see the real thing, and you had me under the impression that you would be here if I showed up, so I think it’s only fair that you give me a little Jamie time before you kick me out.”

  I grunted because I was so frustrated just then. Ryan’s serious smile had turned back into his cocky little you’re-about-to-give-me-exactly-what-I-want smile, and it is just so hard to stay angry when he’s looking at me like that. So much for not giving in to Ryan Miller. “Ugh, fine, but I don’t promise to be nice!”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  Ryan actually had the nerve to laugh at me as I stormed into my room and slammed the door in his face. I wasn’t surprised when he let himself in behind me. Somehow I knew my overly dramatic tantrum wasn’t going to work with him.

  I flopped down on my bed with a book, preparing to ignore him as best as I could. I’d agreed to let him spend time with me, but I hadn’t promised to entertain him. And I wasn’t about to do anything that could give him the impression that I enjoyed his company, even if part of me did. The guy had a big enough ego as it was. He didn’t need to add me to his list of victories.

  He stayed quiet for a minute as he looked around my room, and then decided to just make himself right at home. He climbed up next to me on my bed, leaving a whole three inches of space between us.

  “Do you mind?” I snapped.

  “Yeah, a little”—Ryan chuckled—“but I’m dealing with it, so you can too.”

  “Well, if it bothers you so much—”

  “I didn’t say it bothered me. I’d just rather be closer, is all.”

  “Closer? Can you even get closer than you already are?”

  I knew I’d put my foot in my mouth the instant the words escaped it, and Ryan didn’t miss a beat in putting his arm around me and pulling me tightly against him. “Never ask a guy if he can get closer,” he said, refusing to let me go. “The answer is always yes.”

  The way he clamped his hands together so that I couldn’t push him away was playful, but I didn’t think he was teasing when he shuddered. That’s probably because I haven’t been held by anyone in a really, really long time, and I reacted the same way I did when I kissed him. I guess it’s not so much a superkissing ability as it is a case of superhormones.

  Ever since I got juiced up by some knocked-over power lines, I’m more amped than a power generator. The fact that there was friction when Ryan touched me meant that it doesn’t just seep to the surface when I get angry. I guess it’s every time I lose control of myself in any way.

  Obviously, that’s not good, so when he shivered, I panicked, elbowed him hard enough to leave a bruise, and made my way across the room to the much safer single-person chair that sat at my desk. “You should have stuck with the compromise,” I grumbled. “I probably wouldn’t have moved if you’d kept your hands to yourself.”

  “It was worth it.” He was laughing at me again.

  “Why are you so annoying?”

  “Why are you so compelling?”

  It was useless. I was never going to win. He was much better at the witty comebacks than I was and a lot less easy to get flustered, so I gave up the argument. I was pretty sure getting on my nerves was what he was aiming for at the moment, so I figured not fighting with him would be a better tactic. I dropped the attitude and probably sounded a little bit desperate as I asked, “Why are you doing this? What exactly do you want from me?”

  “Is it really so bad to have to talk to someone other than your parents?” he asked in all seriousness. “I don’t want anything from you. Okay, no, that’s a lie. I would love to make out with you again, but that’s not why I’m here tonight.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I just wanted to understand you. I couldn’t imagine why anybody would exile themselves the way you do.”

  “Yeah, well, now you know. I killed my boyfriend, and my friends hated me for it. The whole town did, actually. People can turn on you and hurt you, even the ones who say they love you. I don’t want to go through that again. It’s that simple.”

  Ryan didn’t say anything after I stopped talking. He just watched me, and I haven’t felt that insecure in a long time. The silence made my heart race like a million miles an hour, and if I couldn’t calm myself down I was likely to trip a circuit breaker in the house.

  It wasn’t exactly mature, but I chose hostility to cover up how vulnerable I felt. “Mystery solved,” I said coldly. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put any of that in your paper. Mr. Edwards likes to read things out loud, and I’d rather the student body kept calling me the ice queen instead of boyfriend killer.”

  “Of course not.”

  I was surprised by the amount of sincerity Ryan displayed, but then he smirked again. “I won’t say anything,” he teased. “But it wouldn’t really matter even if I did, because everyone will be in so much shock over the beauty pageant thing that they won’t even hear the end of my paper.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from cracking a smile at that, and the way Ryan’s face lit up when I did actually made me blush. “I don’t suppose you’ll consider leaving that part out too?”

  “Not a chance.” Ryan laughed. “I am going to have to figure out something to tell Mr. Edwards, though, because he’s never going to believe I didn’t just make it all up. I saw the pictures, and I can hardly believe it.”

  “Just tell him I wouldn’t tell you what happened. He’ll have no trouble believing that. It’s the truth anyway. I didn’t tell you. And I wouldn’t have. My parents are the ones with the big fat mouths.”

  “Well, I’m really glad you stood me up then because it’s a relief to have the real story.”

  “The real story?”

  Ryan shrugged with a bit of a guilty smile. “I’ve been making my own up for weeks. I had myself convinced that you were in witness protection, and that you were hiding until you could testify against the inner workings of some vicious mob.”

  “The witness protection program?” I was smiling again. I couldn’t help myself. “I guess that could explain the hair dye, but why was I connected to the mob?”

  “A girl as hot as you? You were dating the boss’s nephew, of course. You witnessed a violent crime, and when you got scared they threatened you. But you’re tough, and your boyfriend was a big, murderous jerk, so you went to the cops anyway. And now here you are with your jet-black hair, hostile attitude, and distrust of basical
ly the entire human race.”

  I didn’t think he was kidding. On the bright side, I guess it was good to know that it wasn’t just me that couldn’t stop thinking about him these last few weeks. “Sounds to me like you’ve already written the end of your paper,” I said, and then sighed. “I like your version better.”

  “Me too,” Ryan admitted shyly. Well, shy for him. “It involves a lot less of you getting hurt. I really am sorry you had to go through all of that.”

  I tried to smile appreciatively, but I don’t think I accomplished it, and things got really quiet. Awkwardly quiet this time. Thank goodness Ryan’s unusually perky because he successfully changed the subject and managed to bring back the light mood as well. “So, tell me what it feels like to be crowned since now, thanks to you, I’ll never know.”

  Two seconds ago I was wallowing in the memory of the single worst moment of my life, and here, with one little comment, Ryan had me smiling again. How does he do that?

  I didn’t exactly know how to answer his question, so I went to my closet, pulled the stupid tiara from the old shoebox I kept it in, and joined him on the bed again. “It feels kind of like this,” I said, and placed the crown on his head.

  Ryan feigned a look of surprise and wiped away fake tears as he spouted thank-yous to an imaginary audience. When he tried to wave, though, I absolutely had to step in. “No, no, no, no! A beauty queen is all about poise and grace.” I sat up very straight as I proceeded to show him the trademark Miss America wave.

  “All I need is the dress,” Ryan said as he diligently tried to copy my perfect wave.

  He looked so ridiculous that I actually burst out laughing. It was the first time I had laughed an honest-to-goodness laugh since the accident, and it felt surprisingly good. “That can be arranged,” I said.

  “You still have the dress?”

  “It’s a gown, and yes, it’s hanging in the closet.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go put it on. I want to see Miss Sweet Corn in all her glory.”