Somewhere in the Middle

Not Anymore

It was already nearly two in the afternoon, but Jamie didn't feel as exhausted as he usually did upon waking. Because it only took a moment for everything to come rushing back to him—all of the ways the night before had been one of the best nights he'd had in a while.

And to think it was a night he'd spent on the bus...

He still couldn't really believe it. How easy it had been, how much he'd enjoyed it, and how much he wanted to do it again. And for the first time, maybe ever, he was desperate to get tonight's show over and done with so that he could talk to her again. It was a hotel night, but he'd find a way.

The bus wasn't moving, and the engine wasn't running. All was quiet. But he didn't waste time lying in his bunk. Rather, he threw the curtain open and swung his legs over the side, his feet meeting the floor with a dull thump.

Her curtain was open, and the bed was messily made. Jamie looked both ways down the hallway to find that no one else seemed to be on the bus. Then, he stepped forward.

There was only one picture hanging on the wall. Evie, in a black graduation gown and cap, smiling wide for the camera with her arms around a dark-skinned woman, who was smiling just as brilliantly. They had the same smile, he realized, pleased by the thought for whatever reason. Evie had told him she was nothing like her mom, but she looked just like her.

Jamie couldn't help but smile, remembering the way she had spoken of her mother—her best friend. The way she had grinned when she said that her mother hated the way she lived. Hated that she was never home.

Evie had curled her hair behind her ear with one hand, and glanced down at her lap. "I don't like leaving her either. She was the only person I could really rely on growing up."

Jamie knew she'd mentioned her mother before. He remembered that her mom was as obsessed with coffee as the rest of them. So, he wasn't sure he should ask, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "What about your Dad?"

She'd met his eye then, and shrugged. "He left when I was a baby."

In the grand scheme of things, Jamie didn't know about much, but he did know something about being left behind. "I'm sorry," he said. And he meant it.

Evie had only smiled. "I barely even remember him, so it's not that big a deal."

Jamie didn't say that it was, that a parent should never leave their child, no matter the circumstance. He didn't say that he knew what it was to lose a parent. He knew the loneliness and guilt you could feel in knowing that you hadn't been enough for them to stick around. He didn't say that, either. He wanted to, though.

"Anyway," she'd said, before he could work up the courage. "She's my best friend, without a doubt."

He'd only smiled at her then, and when she asked the inevitable—he should've been more careful—he deflected as neatly, as kindly as he could manage.

"My dad wasn't around, either," he'd said. "My mom remarried, though." But he'd left it at that, and it was strange, because he could've sworn he saw disappointment in her eyes when he changed the subject, when he asked her if she liked growing up in New York.

Even stranger, he thought now, was that he was already able to recognize those little shifts in her facial expression. The way he was already totally tuned into the way her shoulders lifted or slumped. The way he was almost constantly looking for that little quirk of her lips, always starting in the right corner, that warned him of one of her disarming smiles.

She was more familiar to him than she should've been. It was strange, and he would never voice it aloud to anyone, but it was almost like he'd already known her somehow. Like maybe he'd known her in another time, another place, somewhere other than now... here.