Page 1 of You Started It

CHAPTER ONE

I can look at a picture of myself, even one I don’t remember posing for, and know exactly how I was feeling when it was taken. It’s in the eyes. What is it that people say? They’re the window to the soul? It is one hundred percent a cheesy cliché but also, in my experience, one hundred percent true.

When I look at this picture of me and Ben taken the summer before ninth grade, every thought and emotion I harbored in that moment was captured. Not for the world to see. To anyone else, it’s merely a photo of two kids smiling for the camera. But for me, it’s like a time capsule of the girl I was when Ben Cameron entered my life.

Mom told us to pose for the photo in front of Ben’s large maple tree. My stomach fluttered as if a thousand tiny butterflies were performing a choreographed dance when he placed his arm around me. We’d known each other for almost two months by then. We both had huge crushes but hadn’t admitted them yet. It’s so obvious though. My smile is embarrassingly wide in the picture. And not only because Ben’s fingers were on my bare shoulder. I was on the precipice of something big: high school was a week away and I’d be the new girl. But I wasn’t going in alone. I had Ben, and for the first time in a long time, I was excited about my future.

Despite the bright smile and butterflies, my eyes do a poor job of hiding the grief. I hadn’t learned to live with it yet. I still (foolishly) held out hope Dad would come back for us. That was three years ago, and I haven’t seen my father since.

“Jamie, Ben’s here to see you,” Mom calls from downstairs. She has her sweet-but-fake voice on. The one that matches her non-intimidating stature, but I know better. I tuck the photo back in my memory box and shove it under my bed before glancing at my phone. Four thirty. Great. I lost two hours browsing through old photos and mementos when I was supposed to be looking for my left Converse. My time management skills need work. So do my organizational skills.

“Looking for this?” Amo Eli stands in the doorframe of my room holding up my missing shoe, a sourpuss expression on his squishy face. Makes it hard to take him seriously.

“Yas queen,” I say, practically leaping to grab it. He grimaces as I reunite it with my other shoe.

“Don’t ‘yas queen’ me. I tripped on this thing walking up the stairs.” He sighs as he takes in my bedroom. “Why is it every time I come in here it looks like your room has just given birth to fifty more books? The mess I can almost tolerate, and there are worse things to be than a book nerd, but I can’t deal with the rest of my house looking as if a teenaged tornado has swept through. Capiche?”

“Did you know the word ‘capiche’ derives from the Italian word ‘capire,’ which means ‘to understand,’ and from the Latin ‘capere,’ which translates to ‘to grasp or to seize’?” I ask my uncle, while holding back a grin.

“Jamie…”

“And,” I continue while slipping on my shoes, “in formal Italian, ‘capiche’ is pronounced ‘cah-PEE-sheh,’ but in Italian slang and English it’s ‘cah-PEESH.’ I bet you thought it started with a K but, fun fact, there’s no K in the Italian alphabet.”

“What is your point?” He folds his arms while very obviously trying not to look impressed, even though I know he is.

“My point, Amo, is that no one uses the word ‘capiche’ anymore, unless maybe they’re an Italian nonno. Capiche?”

“Jamie!” Mom calls again.

“I’m coming.” I try to exit my room but my uncle is still blocking the door. I have four inches on him, but he has girth. “I’m sorry,” I finally say, giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t get how someone who is such a stick-in-the-mud type A could also be such a hot mess.”

“Ask yourself that,” I say, squeezing past him and smacking him on the butt before racing down the steps.

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” he shouts from above.

“Ben.” I can’t fight back my smile as I reach the bottom of the stairs where Mom has Ben captive in the foyer. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his body to mine for a long overdue hug, but he’s stiff as a board. He’s always trying to be respectful in front of my mom.

“Ben was filling me in on his summer adventures,” Mom says as I release Ben. “Maybe I should have let you tag along. Sounds like he learned a lot.” Mom elbows Ben’s side and grins at me. She can’t actually be serious. I begged and pleaded with her to join Ben at camp and now she acts as if she made a small mistake by making me stay behind, like buying the salt-reduced bacon. “Ben, let me know if you need me to cut your hair before school starts.”

Ben runs a hand though his dark locks and nods. He’s tanned. Looks a little more muscular. His hair is longer than it’s ever been. But he’s still perfect. I try to make eye contact with him, hoping he’ll read my mind and say something to appease my mother so she’ll leave, but he’s not meeting my gaze.

“Jamie, did you clean your room?” Mom asks.

“I’ll do it later,” I say, locking my arm through Ben’s. I just want to be alone with my boyfriend. Is that too much to ask?

“Jamie,” my mother says, like it’s the only word in her vocabulary.

“Yes, Mother,” I reply, clenching my jaw and wrapping my fingers around Ben’s wrist.

“Would it hurt you to try to at least exhibit a show of gratitude? This is your uncle’s home. All he asks is that you clean up after yourself.”

“I’m not the one who got hair dye on his Persian rug,” I say, clasping on tighter to Ben. He finally looks at me and his eyes are telling me to let it go, but how can I? This is so embarrassing. She always picks a fight whenever he’s around.

“That was an unfortunate accident, which occurred because I had to race upstairs to answer the door mid-client since someone had their headphones on. And I paid to have it cleaned. It’s important that we show Eli we respect him and his home.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she repeats.

I unspool my arm from Ben’s, stepping up to my mother. Ben remains by the door, probably planning our escape. Can’t blame him. My mother ruins everything. This was supposed to be a romantic reunion, but she won’t get the hint and scurry off to her basement salon.

“What else do you want me to say?” I raise my hands, then quickly lower them once I realize it looks like I’m about to choke her.

Mom puffs air out of her nostrils and places one hand on her hip. “I want you to say, ‘Sure, Mom. I’ll keep my crap out of the rest of the house and maybe I’ll even clean my room once in a while. I might even cut the attitude and show some appreciation to my uncle who has sacrificed his privacy for us.’?”

“If this is not a good time…” Ben begins, his hand on the doorknob.

“It’s a great time. Mom,” I say, glaring at her, “I haven’t seen Ben in two months. TWO. MONTHS. Can you save this lecture for later?” Ben’s been away working as a counselor at an overnight camp up north. The goal was to go together, but Mom wasn’t cool with the idea. Even though I’m seventeen, going on eighteen, and even though she’s pretty chill for an Arab mom, it was still a hard no. But if she knew me as well as she claims, she’d know Ben and I would never do that …at least not yet.

We’re waiting until winter formal.

“Fine. Amo is going out with Eric tonight. He wants to bring him back here after. Just make yourself scarce,” she says.

“All good. We’ll hang out at Ben’s,” I say, nodding at him for approval.

He opens his mouth and looks back and forth between us. “Actually, that might not work.”

“Why not?” I ask, trying to read his adorable but slightly distanced face. We’ve been together since our ninth grade winter formal. That’s when we made it official, but we were destined to happen. Our moms were best friends in high school. They grew apart when my mom married my father and moved to the middle of nowhere. Okay, not the middle of nowhere, but two hours north of Toronto. One of the few benefits of my dad leaving us has been getting to live closer to the city.

Ben’s mom, Lucy, and my uncle remained close through the years and even live in the same neighborhood. So, when Mom and I came to stay with my uncle three years ago, it was only a matter of time before Ben and I would have our magical meet-cute.

It happened about a week after we’d settled in. Mom, Eli, and I were invited to Ben’s house for a barbecue to welcome us to the neighborhood. I’d heard about Ben. Was told he’d show me around and make my transition easier. I wanted to tell my mom that I didn’t need someone to make things easier for me, but that would have required an open and honest conversation, and we weren’t always so good at that. Especially back then when things were still so raw.

Growing up as an only child with parents who sometimes suffered from a state of arrested development, I’d gotten used to being independent. Over the years, there were kids who tried to befriend me, and I sometimes tried, despite being a shy and anxious child. But my parents were so inconsistent. They’d agree to bring me to a birthday party and then cancel last minute when they forgot to buy a gift. Mom would arrange playdates, but after one of my friends told her parents that my mom and dad screamed at each other the whole time she was over, word got out and people stopped accepting and extending invitations. That’s when books became a lifeline. As long as I had a good story to keep me company at recess and on weekends, I could block out the rest of the world.

When I saw Ben for the first time, reading on a hammock, it instantly put me at ease. He was my kind of people. Back then, he wasn’t as tall as he is now, or as filled out, but I could see the potential.

“What’re you reading?” I asked, deciding to skip all pleasantries. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved button-up shirt, like he was about to attend an all-day golf tournament.

Ben looked up from his book, his hazel eyes locking in on mine. The breadth of his smile reached almost across his face, and it made his eyes disappear into little slits. He had this one tiny dimple on his left cheek, and the sight of it melted me. Maybe being an independent woman is slightly overrated , I thought.

“It’s just…um…” He struggled to get out of the hammock, stumbling slightly and dropping his book. “You’re Jamie?”

“I’m Jamie,” I said as he bent down to retrieve the book. He seemed a little awkward, but to me, it was endearing.

“My mom—” He cleared his throat. “She didn’t tell me you were so…”

“So…tall?”

“No.” Ben looked down at the ground, trying to hide his blush. He cleared his throat again, finally looking me in the eye. “Pretty.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Puberty had been quick and kind to me, but being pretty isn’t enough. It doesn’t fix the messy parts of your life. It doesn’t keep your parents together. It doesn’t stop you from doing or saying or thinking things you shouldn’t. “Thanks. My mother probably thinks warning people about the words that may come out of my mouth is more important than giving them a heads-up about my supposed above-average looks.”

And then something unusual happened: Ben laughed, the sound like a song I wanted to play on repeat. The tingles that pulsed through my body in response told me everything I needed to know: this guy would be my first—everything.

“You’re funny too,” he said, standing straighter.

“My mother doesn’t seem to think so.”

Ben glanced over my shoulder and sucked in a smile. I turned to find the adults gathered by the barbecue, pretending not to watch us. Ben waved politely at my mom and uncle before returning his gaze to me.

“There must be some sort of microchip that reprograms a person’s DNA once they have kids, which sets off as soon as we turn thirteen. That’s when they seem to stop understanding us,” he said.

“Yes. Oh my god, YES! Although”—I paused and spoke more quietly—“my mother and I made it to fourteen before that fully happened.”

“Aren’t you fourteen now?” he asked. I nodded, and Ben studied me for a moment before asking, “What happened this year?”

I twisted my heel into the grass, deciding whether I was going to open up to this person or not. My heart told me I could, but my brain said Be careful . I’d carried around a heaviness, this all-consuming dread, ever since…ever since.

“Things with my parents kind of went downhill,” I responded with a level stare.

“Right,” Ben said. “I heard your dad isn’t really in the picture anymore.”

“No. It’s why we’re here.”

Ben’s eyes slowly met mine, causing my heart to thump, thump, thump into my throat. “Is it wrong for me to admit I’m kind of glad you’re here?”

“No.” I smiled. “I’m kind of glad I’m here too.” And in that moment, I really meant it. “So, the book?” I asked, nodding to it.

“It’s a…um…it’s stupid,” he said, holding it up.

“ How to Kill It in Life: A Guide to Achieving Everything You Want (and More) ,” I read aloud. “Kind of intense.”

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of an intense guy.” He rolled his shoulders back, and it was like he was letting his guard down slightly, just for me.

“I’ve also been told I can be quite intense.” By my former classmates. My father. My mother. Basically, anyone who has ever met me.

I haven’t quite found the balance between feeling too much and not enough . It’s like I was born on high alert or something. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. What now? What more can life throw at me? I’m either aware of every single thing surrounding me or I disassociate, watching the world unfold and I’m just an invisible character taking it all in.

“As far as I’m concerned, intensity equals passion, and who wants to live a life without passion?” Ben asked.

“My mom apparently,” I quipped, and Ben chuckled. Up until this point, I hadn’t found my match—not in friendship or in love. I’d been searching for that person, my person, for my whole life. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something inherently wrong with me, something that made me unfriendable—besides my messy parents. But it became clear that day: all this time, the person I’d been searching for was Ben. Moving here was my fresh start, and Ben was my endgame.

“You can’t come over because I already have plans,” Ben says to me now. He swallows and his eyes dart away from my stare.

“I should go—I have a client,” Mom says, tossing Ben a strained yet polite smile. It’s like she’s finally clued in that she’s being a gigantic third wheel.

“Plans?” I ask Ben, as Mom heads to her salon. “Why would you make plans without me on a Friday night? I thought we could discuss our Kill-It List before school starts. Make sure our goals for the year sync up. I’ve added a few since we last spoke. I was thinking of taking calculus instead of statistics. Figured it would open more doors when university applications come around. What do you think?”

Ben reaches a hand behind his head and scratches his neck. “Maybe we could just stay here for a bit.”

So that’s what this is all about. Ben wants to be alone with me. A smile spreads across my face as I grab his hand and lead him past the foyer.

Amo Eli comes down the stairs. “Na-ah! No shoes on my new runner,” he says, pointing at my feet.

“Hi, Mr. Taher,” Ben says, nodding a cordial hello at my uncle. Mr. Taher?

“Benjamin. You too. Shoes off.”

I roll my eyes before removing my shoes and kicking them to the front door entrance. What is up everyone’s butt? Today is a great day! The sun is shining. Ben is back. And school starts in less than a week.

“And you wonder why you lose your shoes,” Amo says as one shoe ends up behind his bench.

“Do you mind?” I ask my uncle, who is barricading access to the stairs. “We kind of want to be alone.”

“Why would I mind? This only happens to be my home.” Eli steps aside and heads to the foyer where he proceeds to arrange my shoes neatly, side by side, next to Ben’s.

“Let’s go to my room,” I say, pulling on Ben’s arm.

“Leave the door open,” Eli shouts as we walk up the steps, two at a time.

“Finally,” I say, slamming the bedroom door shut and basically tackling Ben to my bed. “I missed you so much.” I bring my lips to his but he turns his cheek and crawls out from underneath me.

“Let’s talk.”

“Ugh,” I say, tipping my head back. “All we’ve done this summer is talk. When I said I missed you, I meant I missed your bod.” I try to untuck his polo from his shorts but he pulls away.

“I can’t do this right now.” He gets up and walks to the other side of my room.

“Can’t do what? Kiss me? I’m your girlfriend.” A sudden rush of nausea swirls through me. Usually, when we’re alone, Ben can’t keep his hands off me. We’ve been counting down to our senior winter formal for two years. We decided it would be the perfect night and setting for our first time. It’s just over a hundred days away (not that I’m counting). I wasn’t always so obsessed with making goals and lists and checking things off. It’s Ben’s influence. He said it would help with my nerves and he was right. Ben makes me better.

“Jamie, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” I say, perched on the edge of my bed. Maybe Ben requires more time to ease himself in. He’s kind of thoughtful like that. He needs to feel a connection before getting physical. Unlike me, who is basically raring to go 24/7.

Ben tosses the dirty clothes piled on my desk chair to the floor and sits across from me. “I’ve been thinking a lot about senior year.”

“Me too.” I reach for the notebook on my nightstand atop a stack of overdue library books and open it up to the purple tab, labeled Senior Year . “I’ve got it all planned out. Check this out,” I say, as the nausea is replaced with excitement. “We’ve spent three years talking about how we live in this great city and never go to any of the tourist traps, so I made a list of all the dates we can go on, leading up to winter formal. Sort of like an extracurricular branch to our Kill-It List.”

I place the notebook in Ben’s lap, and his eyes move through the list I’ve curated with accompanying photos. “Ripley’s Aquarium…Royal Ontario Museum…CN Tower?” he asks, looking up at me. “I thought you were afraid of heights.”

“I’m not afraid of heights. I’m afraid of elevators. I’m claustrophobic. How don’t you know that?” It’s been eight weeks. Not eight months.

Ben puts the notebook back on my nightstand and tips his head down. “Here’s the thing…”

Oh no. Not the thing. That’s how my dad started his sentence before he told me he was leaving.

“Here’s the thing, James,” Dad said, using his nickname for me. “I’m feeling a bit stifled here. I’m getting older and my life is slipping away from me. This isn’t what I saw for myself. I just need some distance to figure things out. But I promise I’ll be back.”

I was such a fool for believing him.

“This is our last year of high school,” Ben goes on, “and I don’t know, I kind of want to loosen the reins.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “We’ve been in our own bubble for three years, just you and me, checking things off our lists. Like, don’t you think it’s a little pathetic that we have to plan our dates in advance?” he asks, nodding to my notebook. “Why didn’t we ever just hop on the subway and go to the ROM or the aquarium?”

“I thought you liked lists. And plans. And setting goals.” My cheeks flush as my voice grows higher and squeakier with each word. It’s like I’m fourteen again.

“I thought I did too, but then, this summer was…” He laughs and there’s a far-off look in his eyes. Ben Cameron doesn’t do far-off looks. “Everything went off the rails. The kids were monsters and it rained almost every day. The itinerary had to change from second to second, and you know what happened?”

Words don’t come to me as a piercing cramp stabs through my lower abdomen. I bring my hand to my stomach and exhale, trying to hide the pain while squeezing my eyes shut.

“We had so much fun. Being forced to switch things up. Trying and failing and trying again. I got to know people on a really deep level.” My eyes blink open to find that the color has come back to Ben’s cheeks. He’s speaking so fast, I don’t recognize the person in front of me. “People I never would have spoken to before. Something that wouldn’t have happened if I’d stuck to the plan.”

People? In the three years Ben and I have been together, we’ve never needed other people. It’s always just been us.

“Okay, so fine.” I nod, trying to keep my cool, playing along with this new version of Ben. “We won’t do lists this year. We’ll just fly by the seat of our pants. I can do that.” I grab a pen and the notebook, flipping to a new page. I write in all caps BE SPONTANEOUS .

“No.” Ben shakes his head. “Not we. Me. I’m sorry, Jamie, but I think we should break up.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?” I straighten in my seat, the notebook sliding off my lap and onto the floor. All those dancing butterflies fall to the pit of my stomach and I’m seconds away from throwing them up. “I’ll play along. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” My voice cracks. I can’t let him walk out that door. If he does, it’ll be just like my father. And I regret not trying harder to convince him to stay. I won’t make that mistake again.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

No. All I hear is the sound of my heart breaking.

“Jamie, you’re just clinging to me because it’s comfortable, because I’m all you know, but this would be good for you too,” he says, like he’s trying to convince me to try a new vegetable.

“What’s wrong with being comfortable?”

“Do you really want to go through life making safe choices? It doesn’t leave room for us to make mistakes and grow.”

“So, let’s grow together,” I say, grabbing his hands.

“You’re not getting it,” Ben says, ripping his hands away from mine and standing. “I need to strike out on my own. See what else is out there. Being with you is holding me back. It’s holding both of us back.”

“No.” I shake my head and bolt up, my hands balled into fists. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie. It’s over.”

“What about winter formal?” I know it’s pathetic of me to ask, to even use sex to get him back, but I’m desperate. He’s slipping away. My anchor. My everything.

“The winter formal plan is off.” Ben pauses and takes one last look at me and my room, like this is the final picture of me he’ll have in his head. “Hopefully we can be friends someday.” He forces out the world’s phoniest smile before opening my door and leaving.

Friends? Someday? This isn’t Ben. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. For the last three years it’s been Ben Cameron and Jamie Taher-Foster. Why do the men in my life keep leaving me? What am I doing wrong? Not only am I unfriendable, but apparently, I’m unlovable too.