BEING JAMIE BAKER

Chapter 16

I was slamming the front door to my house shut not two seconds later. "Jamie?" My mother called nervously.

"Why are boys always so pigheaded?"

My mother's worry was replaced with a laugh. "It's just genetic, hon. What happened?"

My mom was making cookies, and when I spied the open bag of chocolate chips on the counter I grabbed a spoonful of peanut butter. "Nothing. Ryan's just delusional," I explained, my annoyance quickly draining—peanut butter dipped in chocolate chips always makes me feel better. "He's got this crazy idea in his head that he's my boyfriend and won't let me tell him otherwise."

"Oh?" My mother was trying really hard to play it cool, but her voice cracked.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter because he's not."

My mom turned on her mixer then, but she'd been so distracted by the thought of me having a boyfriend that she'd put too many cups of flour in the cookie dough, and the beaters jammed up tight in the thick goo. When they got stuck, the roar of the mixer morphed into a low hum.

Something clicked in my head, and I gasped. The noise from the woods. How could I have forgotten!

"Jamie?" My mother was now just staring at me, her face a mixture of surprise and concern.

I didn't know what to say. Like I was going to tell her about Carter. If she knew he was back, the first thing she'd do was tell my dad, and then one of two things would happen. He'd either be in Folsom Prison by the end of the night for killing Carter, or he'd be there for murdering me when he found out I was having super practices with Ryan.

"Jamie?" My mom asked again. She was taking her apron off now.

"Sorry!" I blurted out. "I was just—" I reached up lightning fast and yanked off one of my earrings. "I lost one of my earrings," I mumbled. "They're my favorite."

My mom took a visible breath of relief but still gave me a sympathetic smile. "Oh, I just hate it when that happens. Remember the pearl stud I lost in Chicago the last time we went? I'm still irked about that."

I nodded absently, telling myself that I wasn't stupid for completely forgetting about Carter. I was justifiably preoccupied with having fried my boyfriend.

Not my boyfriend! Ugh! Now he had me thinking it!

Anyway.

"I think I'm going to go look for it," I said quickly. "I mean, if anyone can find it, it's me, right?"

My mom smiled proudly as I ran out the door. "While you're at it, you should do a sweep of Chicago and find mine too!"

I actually got to Ryan's house a minute before he did. He was clearly startled when he pulled up to the curb and saw me waiting on his porch. He jumped out of the truck and I bounded across the lawn to him at superspeed.

"Jamie?" Ryan asked when I stopped just short of his open arms. "What is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Are your parents okay?"

"Ryan, that reporter that showed up here? He didn't go home after you broke his nose. He knows my secret! He has proof!"

"What? How?"

"He was at the cabin today! I thought I saw him, but it was right after the lightning thing, and you were lying there unconscious so I didn't go see, and then I completely forgot! And now it's too late! And he's going to expose me! And now I've got you involved, and he's going to ruin your life too!"

The more I spoke, the more upset I became. But now that Ryan knew what was going on, he curbed his own anxiety. "Okay," he said gently. "Okay. It's okay. We'll figure this out. But you need to calm down before you completely lose it."

Ryan took a deep breath, prompting me to follow his lead. It took me several tries before I was able to really fill my lungs and exhale slowly. When I finally managed it Ryan reached out and asked, "Am I gonna get fried?"

I shook my head. I was by no means calm, but I had a grip on the power. For the moment, anyway.

"Good." Ryan pulled me into his arms and squeezed like there was no tomorrow, then said, "I hate not being able to do this when you're upset."

Okay, I would never ever in a million years say this out loud, but I'm sure I hated it much worse. Having his arms around me was like magic. It worked to calm me down way better than any of his hippy breathing—no offense to his parents or anything.

Every muscle in my body relaxed, and I slumped against him with a sigh. "This doesn't mean that I'm your girlfriend," I mumbled, but unfortunately I was too comfortable to really sound like I meant it.

"Whatever you say." He chuckled.

Great. Like I was ever going to convince him now.

We stood there a moment longer, and then Ryan got down to business. "So this guy..."

"Dave Carter."

"Right, Carter. You saw him taking pictures? Filming us?"

"Well, I didn't see him, exactly. But I know he was there."

Ryan's concern turned into a patronizing smile. "I'm not paranoid!" I yelled before he had the chance to say anything. "You don't know him like I do. The guy is completely insane! He used to follow me everywhere, and he would make up all these crazy stories. I had to move just to get away from him. Trust me, he's here."

"All right," Ryan relented, though he clearly thought that a year and a half of keeping secrets was causing me to suffer from paranoid delusions.

Whatever. He's the deluded one, convincing himself that we're a couple.

He grinned at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and then grabbed me by the hand. "Come on," he said, and then dragged me toward