Between Logan and Jamie {complete}

Jamie: 14.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” Mason replied. “Hello? Jamie can you hear me?”

“Yes I can hear you.” I replied, smiling at the worry and confusion in his voice. It was cute. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t hear her…” Mason mumbled. “Maybe I’ve got no signal—”

“Mason! Can you hear me?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. Who was that boy talking too? And where was he? Obviously not home because he always got signal in his house. Plus he didn’t exactly talk to anyone at home. It’s not like he would be discussing with his parents that I was not able to reply. Even though I was replying.

“Ah, look. No signal. I’ll call her back—”

“Mason! No, Mason, wait—”

I cut myself off when the phone hung up and fell back on the bed. I grimaced. This bed wasn’t like mine. The mattress wasn’t memory foam; or comfortable for that matter.

I turned my head to the side and tucked my hair behind my ear. Tom was right; I didn’t look like a cheerleader.

I snapped out of my revere when my phone buzzed in my hand. I quickly shuffled into a sitting position and looked at the caller I.D.

“Mason!” I said happily when I answered. “Can you hear me this time?”

“Jamie?”

My heart dropped a little when he asked that. Of course it would be me on the phone. It was obvious that he couldn’t hear me. “Mason?”

“Oh, Jamie.” He replied. “Hello!”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

Someone mumbled something incoherently next to him and I frowned. Who was he with?

“Yes. She can hear.” He replied, but not too me.

Somewhere in the distance I could hear the sound of a car honking it’s horn. Maybe Mason was in a car.

“Mason—”

“Hang on a moment—”

I blinked. “What?”

“No wait! Jamie, hang on.”

“What are you on about?” I asked.

“Sorry I couldn’t help it—”

Mason was cut off by the sound of muffling. It was obvious that the phone had been passed to someone else.

“Hello? Mason? Wha—”

“Jamie Isabel Mars!”

I froze, cursing under my breath. Suddenly it made sense why Mason just apologised to me. He was in the car with my mother.

“Hi, mom…” I said sheepishly.

“Where the bloody hell are you?” She demanded crossly.

“I’m at the tournament.”

“Oh I know that!” my mother replied. “I told you that you weren’t allowed to go.”

My mouth turned to a straight line. “Mom, I’m eighteen. I don’t need you to tell me whether I can go somewhere or not. I needed to turn upto at least one show! It was the last one!” I defended.

“But I said—”

“I know—”

“This isn’t helping your state!”