Forgotten

“What’s up?” she asks, a funny expression still plastered on her face.

You tell me, I think to myself.

“Nothing, why?” I say instead.

“You seem… off. You seemed off last night, too,” she says, one hand on the open door and the other on the frame.

“Well, I’m not,” I retort. She holds up her hands in surrender.

“Okay, fine, London. Just get moving. You’re going to be late.” She turns and closes the door behind her.

Twenty minutes later, during the ride to school, she interrupts my thoughts.

“Is this because of that boy?”

>She laughs like it’s a game. She can’t see what this fling will do to her down the line, but I can.

“Why not? I’ll tell you why not.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening,” she says, but she picks up a bottle of hot-pink polish and goes to work on her toes.

“He’s a teacher; you’re a student. He’s an adult; you’re a minor. It’s illegal, Jamie. He could get fired and sent to jail.”

“He won’t. That never happens.”

That never happens? Do we live in a world where this is so common that Jamie has grounds to say “that never happens”?

I ignore her and go on.

“He’s old.”

“He’s only twenty-four,” Jamie answers. “And have you not seen him? He’s totally hot.”

I think of passing Mr. Rice in the hallway next week: she’s right, he is hot. But that doesn’t make this okay.

I mentally consult my notes and recall the couple of mentions of guys Jamie has associated with recently. “Don’t you like Jason? Or Anthony?”

“They’re boys. They’re fine distractions, but Ted is a man.”

“He clearly has issues if he’s pursuing a high school girl.”

“I’m not just any high school girl. And really, London, you can’t change my mind. I like him! Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

My argument is going nowhere, so I bring out the big guns.

“Do I have to tell you how this will end?” I ask softly.

Jamie’s head whips in my direction. She meets my eyes. In hers, I see a fire blazing.

“You won’t tell me that I’m going to get caught cheating, but you’ll happily wreck things with Ted?”

“Not happily, it’s just that I…”

“Stop,” she says, holding up a palm. “I don’t want to hear it. We’ll just see. Okay? We’ll see how things turn out. You could be wrong.”

“I’m not,” I say confidently.

“Whatever,” Jamie snaps.