Filed to story: If He Had Been With Me Book PDF Free
“Okay, stop,” I say. “We were twelve. We didn’t even have hormones.”
“You were thirteen in seventh grade,” Sasha reminds me, “and you guys were still friends until Christmas.”
“Did something happen at Christmas?” Brooke asks.
“No,” I say. “We just grew apart during first semester.”
Sasha shrugs.
“Well, apparently he was in love with you,” she says.
“Oh come on, half of those questions couldn’t have really applied to us back when we were kids. I mean, ‘How often has he ever broken curfew to spend time with you?’ ‘What would it take for him to run back to his car to fetch your biology book even though his homeroom is all the way across campus?'”
“But you still had answers,” Sasha says, and she has me there. I did have answers.
“I was just guessing,” I say. “Like it matters anyway. He’s with Sylvie Whitehouse—“
“And you’re with Jamie,” Brooke says.
“Exactly,” I say. Sasha shrugs and we go back to flipping through the magazines.
The first day of sophomore year is going to be hot and muggy; I can already tell. I’m wearing a new tiara, purchased along with the rest of my back-to-school items. This one is black with dark stones. I’m wearing a red plaid skirt and black button-up shirt. Instead of last year’s book bag, I’m carrying an army green mail carrier that I’ve covered with buttons. Everything is new.
I’m ready to be a sophomore.
The group at the bus stop is smaller this year; there are only five of us now. Two are Finny and Sylvie. One is a junior named Todd who I have never spoken to before. The last is a nervous-looking girl who looks too young to even be a freshman. I’m fairly certain she is from a private school, and is terrified.
Finny and Sylvie are holding hands. The cheerleading uniform has been redesigned. I like it better than the old one, but I have no desire to be wearing it myself.
The new girl eyes me suspiciously when I stop at my regular spot at the curb. Like always, I am hit with the memory of flying down this hill on my bike. Finny was never afraid. I always was.
“Hi,” I say to the new girl and smile. She mumbles something and smiles back, a small grateful smile. “I’m Autumn,” I add. I’m feeling generous today. I also have a plan.
“We’re going to have so much fun in chemistry together,” Sylvie says.
“I’m Katie,” she says.
“Did you go to St. John’s?” I ask Katie the New Girl. She nods.
“Did you?” she asks, frowning.
“Oh, no, not me,” I say. For one moment, I have an urge to glance behind me at Finny. In fourth grade, my father wanted me to transfer to St. John’s, and it might have happened if I hadn’t cried every night at the dinner table and refused to eat. I wanted to stay at Vogt Elementary with Finny. At the time, I thought separation from him would be the worst thing that could happen to me. I lay awake at night wondering how I could survive without him. Knowing that Finny was there in the room with me made every test less scary, every taunt less painful. I would look over at him sitting at his desk and know that everything was okay. The thought of enduring every day without him took away my sense of self, of balance, of hope. It all finally ended when Aunt Angelina told my parents that Finny was just as distraught and begging to be transferred too.
I’m so distracted by the strength of the memory that it takes me a moment to realize that my plan is far exceeding my expectations.
“Yeah, he was in my class,” Katie the New Girl is saying.
“Oh really?” Todd the Junior says. “Did you know Taylor Walker too?” Katie the New Girl nods again. “That’s my cousin,” he says. They talk about Taylor, and then more people who they both might know. Somewhere behind me, Sylvie is talking too, but the plan has worked; it’s all a jumble of voices now and when I tune out Katie and Todd’s conversation, Sylvie’s voice fades to the background as well.
By the time the bus pulls up, I have not learned anything else about the fun Finny and Sylvie will be having this year.
I have Honors English with Jamie and Sasha, the only class I have with either of them. They’re both taking all Honors this year; I only have the one. Finny and Sylvie and several of their other friends are in our class.
Because we’re a small class, and supposedly the smart ones, our teacher lets us get away with a lot in there. It’s delightful to us, this special treatment, this freedom. Jamie is frequently hilarious. I’m more proud when the others laugh at his jokes than I would be if they were my own. He’s handsome and funny and mine.
The teacher, Mr. Laughegan, likes me; English teachers always do. Sometimes after this class, I worry that I talked too much, that I sounded like a know-it-all, yet the next class I can’t keep my hand out of the air again.
The third week of school, I see a book on Mr. Laughegan’s desk. He isn’t in the room, but the bell will be ringing soon. It’s
David
Copperfield, a book I’ve long been meaning to read. I pick it up and begin reading. I’m absorbed by first page. I sit down at his desk and continue reading.
“What are you doing?” Jamie says.
“Reading Mr. Laughegan’s book,” I say. Someone in the class laughs. Jamie snorts. It’s hard to predict when Jamie will approve or disapprove of any eccentricity of mine. I’m guessing this is borderline; perhaps he wishes that he had done it first.
“She is so weird,” Jack says. I feel the usual swell of pride and shame, and I am determined to stay at the desk and read.
I’m still reading the book when Mr. Laughegan comes in.
“Hello, Autumn,” he says. “Do you like Dickens?” I nod. “I’ll loan that to you after I finish writing my paper if you like.” The surprise must show on my face, because he adds, “I’m taking night classes for my Master’s.”
“Oh cool,” I say. The bell rings and I go to my seat without being asked.
Mr. Laughegan makes good on the loan; Jamie teases me about my new best friend the English teacher and mocks the length of the book. I make a habit of sitting in Mr. Laughegan’s desk before class, reading his books, sometimes going through the drawers. He never minds. I question him about the contents of his first aid kit and his preference for blue highlighters.
I think Mr. Laughegan gets me. One day he asks me if I write. I tell him I do. He asks me if I know about the creative writing class for seniors that he teaches. I do.
***
My one-year anniversary with Jamie is on a Tuesday. He gives me three red roses at school. I expected him to bring me a rose; I am surprised by three. The Friday afterward, Jamie and I go out to dinner and make out on my living room couch. I clutch him tighter than ever before and for the first time I forget about everything else while he kisses me. He stops suddenly and looks at me. I’m bewildered, thinking I must have done something wrong. And I’m annoyed, wondering what it is he doesn’t like this time.
“What?” I say before he can speak.
“Do you want your present now?” Jamie says. He smiles and I nod. We sit up and I run my fingers through my hair as he reaches into his pocket. Suddenly I’m nervous that I won’t like what he got me. He hands me a flat white box and I stare at it.
“Go on,” he says. His voice is so eager, I promise myself that no matter what it is, he will believe that I love it. I close my eyes before opening the lid. The room is dark; when I open my eyes, I have to lean forward to see what is lying on the cotton.
A silver bracelet with two charms. I lift it up and try to see them in the weak light. One is a turtle. The other is a heart with something engraved on it. I hold it closer to my face.
“It’s the day we met,” Jamie says. “That starts it. And then the turtle is our first year together. And I’ll get you one every year for the rest of our lives, and when special things happen, like our wedding and our kids.”
My eyes and throat feel tight, like I might cry. I hug him and rest my head on his shoulder. I think about how certain he is that those years together will come. Our age doesn’t matter to him. He never fears that we aren’t meant to be together. He never doubts us; he never doubts anything.
“I love you, James Allen,” I say. My voice cracks. The tears do not spill from my eyes, but I’m still amazed. I’ve never cried from happiness before.
“Are you crying?” Jamie says. I nod, even though it isn’t quite true. His fingers tighten in my hair and I press my face into his shoulder. We sit together like that for a long time. I think to myself,
This is it, I really do love him. Tonight it’s easy to say, to feel.
“Why a turtle?” I say finally.
“They’re slow but steady,” he says. “And I like turtles.” He laughs when I laugh, and we lean our foreheads together. He reaches up and brushes his fingertips under my eyes; I squeeze them closed so that a few tears dampen my lower lashes for him to wipe away.
***
Mr. Laughegan suggests more books for me and loans me several others. I work hard on my first book report for him; I want to impress him.