Page 3 of You Started It

CHAPTER THREE

Step one in getting Ben back: a plan. I need to come at this logically, logistically and without emotion. I have to make it so he sees what a major mistake he’s made. I will not grovel. I might want Ben Cameron back with every inch of my body (and loins), but I know enough about guys to know thirsting after them isn’t a good look.

But first, food! That’s what I need to temporarily fill the emptiness inside me. Everything is fixable. Well, almost everything.

I poke around my uncle’s immaculate kitchen in search of something to eat. I skipped dinner last night and all three meals today. I’ve gone from hunger strike to ravenous. But it’s Saturday night, which means the kitchen is closed and we’re expected to fend for ourselves. My mother popped her head into my room only once since my ass got dumped, to see why I was hibernating, and didn’t push when I’d blamed it on an “engrossing book.” She’s one of those people who eats only to fuel herself. Nadia Taher (no longer hyphen Foster) doesn’t derive any pleasure in biting into a juicy cheeseburger or forking a gravy-filled bowl of poutine.

I slam the cabinets, unable to find anything appetizing. Usually there’s leftovers from my uncle’s shawarma restaurant in the fridge, but tonight it’s bare.

“Jamie, is that you up there?” Mom calls from the basement.

A long, annoyed breath escapes me. “Yes.”

“Come down here, would you?” she asks.

I shove a couple crackers in my mouth before heading down. Mom has her dark, curly hair up in a messy topknot with a thick chartreuse headband keeping back the baby hairs. All her products are spread out on the shiny white tiled floor, in groups.

What was supposed to be a temporary stay three years ago has become permanent. Mom built her salon, In the Hair Tonight, in Amo Eli’s basement and does well, despite its terrible name (big Phil Collins fan). Mom’s a savvy businesswoman. She’s better at social media than I am. Her salon Insta has over five thousand followers and she’s constantly enlisting my help with creating reels. Most of the girls from my high school come here. Sometimes Mom forces me to help when a classmate is getting their hair done, hoping we’ll, like, bond over hair dye or something. Even after I started dating Ben, she wouldn’t let up about making friends. Like it’s so easy. Like baking a cake or something.

“Could you dust the top shelves for me?” she says, handing me the Swiffer. “Make sure you get the corners.”

As I’m dusting, Mom hits Play on her terrible playlist, which is overrun with songs by Phil Collins—or “Uncle Phil,” which is what I used to call him when I was a child with no discernable musical taste of my own.

“Why aren’t you and Ben out?” she asks, wiping the mirrors.

That’s shocking. Amo Eli didn’t run straight to Mom to spill the tea. I pause, debating whether to tell her the truth. Mom likes Ben but has made it clear that she a) doesn’t think he’s the one for me, and b) believes I’m way too serious about him. “Learn from my mistakes,” she likes to say.

“We’re taking a break,” I respond, avoiding eye contact. Maybe it’s better if Mom believes this was my choice too. That way, when we get back together, she won’t hold it against Ben for breaking my heart.

“Oh, Jamie, I’m sorry. How did you both arrive at this decision?”

I turn and face her, biting back the tirade of angry words I want to shout for both her lackluster attempt at empathy and her therapist-like question. “It’s fine.” I raise my shoulders and return to the shelves, dusting with vigor. “He’s just going through a phase. Those camp kids got into his head. Something that wouldn’t have happened if I’d been allowed to go with him.”

Mom comes up behind me and places her hand on my arm, forcing me to stop my aggressive dusting and face her. “Jamie,” she says, her head tilted at me like I’m three. “Are you two really on a break or did you break up?”

“Ben may have been the one to suggest it.”

“Suggest the break?”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “Suggest we break up, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

Mom’s face falls at my tone. I’d almost feel bad if I didn’t feel so sad for myself. She brings up a hand and strokes my cheek. “Sweetie.”

“It’s fine,” I say, shrugging her off. “I’m giving him space. He’ll change his mind.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Mom asks. I can tell by how she’s looking at me that alarm bells are going off inside her head. Whenever I snap or refuse to listen to her, she instantly jumps to the conclusion that my anxiety is taking over. God forbid she’d see my moodiness as a rightful result of being dumped and not assume the worst.

“He will,” I respond with indignant determination.

“Just don’t pretend you’re not hurting, like your father does. Ethan Foster would rather bury his head in the sand than admit to having feelings. Emotions are completely natural.”

“I know that,” I reply, taking a step back.

“Even still, it might not be a terrible idea for you to book an appointment with Dr. Mueller again. I know you’re not interested in seeing a therapist on a regular basis, but seasonal check-ins might be helpful for managing your anxiety,” Mom says, hope brimming in her voice.

And there it is. The suggestion I knew was lurking around the corner. “It’s not that serious,” I say, a forced laugh escaping. “Truly. I’m fine.”

Mom nods and walks back to her chair, wiping the table under the mirror. “This is probably for the best,” she says. “You’ve been with Ben since you were fourteen. All your high school experiences are attached to him. This will give you time to get to know yourself before you go off to university. Figure out what Jamie wants.”

Jamie wants a cheeseburger and not to hear her mother spew terrible advice. Mom wouldn’t know good advice if it landed on the tip of her nose. Her life has been a series of bad decisions. Dating my father against her parents’ wishes. Getting pregnant at eighteen. Eloping and moving far away from everyone. Cutting her parents out of her life. Then turning the only person on her side—my dad—against her by constantly nagging him to be someone he was never meant to be. She makes me so angry, but sometimes I just feel sorry for her.

This isn’t the life she wanted. And I just serve as a giant, five-foot-ten reminder of that. But hey, at least I can reach the top shelves.

“Do you need me for anything else?” I ask once I’m done dusting.

Mom stares at me, her eyebrows knitted together, like she’s trying to figure me out. “No. You’re free to go. I won’t even ask you to clean your room.” She cracks a smile and for a split second, I see the mom who held my hand on my first day of kindergarten. The one who endured my weird crush on SpongeBob SquarePants by watching it alongside me, on repeat. The mom who slept next to me in bed every night for a month after Dad walked out on us. And then swiftly made me get fitted for a night guard because, apparently, I grind my teeth in my sleep.

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on it,” I say, cracking my own miniscule smile. I stall, trying to melt some of the ice between us. “I’m going to grab something to eat. Want anything?”

“I’m fine. Drive safe,” she says before crouching down and polishing the stainless steel base of her chair.

I nod and head back upstairs.

Just as I’m about to walk out the front door, I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. What’s so wrong with me that Ben had to end our relationship days before senior year? I’m a solid 8.5 and stand out in that mixed-race kind of way. My dad and his family have been here for multiple generations by way of England. Mom’s a first-generation child of Palestinian immigrants. Together they had me: a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned girl with light-brown eyes. Aside from that, I’m highly intelligent. What more could Ben want?

So maybe I don’t really have any talents outside of being able to read fast and ace tests. I just never spent much time focusing on other things. As early as I can remember, Mom lamented how much she wished she had gone to university and how her life would be different (a.k.a. better) if she’d had a “proper” education. That’s the one thing I’ve taken from her: the drive to be successful. Ben saw that drive and encouraged it even more.

I close the front door behind me. It’s barely eight but it’s already dark, another sign summer is almost over. This is usually my favorite time of year. A fresh start looming, the promise of great things, but tonight the violet-tinged sky just makes me want to lay flat on the grass and cry. But I’m tired of crying over men.

Parked outside the drive-thru, I down my cheeseburger, medium fries, and water (because health). I’m not ready to go back home. Home. Even saying that feels like a cheat. It’s not the home I grew up in. Sometimes I feel like a squatter, especially when Eli rags on me for my messy room. What did he even mean by saying my room was a reflection of my true self?

I’ll just drive around listening to sad music until I’m ready to go hide in my room, and if I happen to pass Ben’s house and if his lights happen to be on, then maybe I’ll walk myself up to his front door. He may find it hard to resist me under the night sky and in the late summer breeze.

I turn the corner onto Varley Crescent, mentally preparing what I’m going to say when I ring Ben’s doorbell, and a baby-blue BMW convertible catches my eye. It’s parked in front of Ben’s house. I don’t recognize that car as belonging to anyone in Ben’s family or extended family. I would know. Ben’s house is like my second home. What’s more annoying is that this baby-blue eyesore is parked where I usually park my car.

I slow down to study the BMW. As my car crawls past Ben’s house, his front door opens and a girl steps outside. Her face is covered by a dark shadow, but her shoulder-length black hair is shiny even at night. She’s a tiny little thing with a snatched waist. Who is this? Probably the owner of the obnoxiously colored car. Ben joins her a second later, shutting the front door.

I lower my music and open the window, hoping to hear something, anything, to help me figure out who this is. I’d like to believe this is some sort of door-to-door evangelist or Girl Scout, but my heart tells me it’s something else. The ease between Ben and this person. Their proximity. I’ve studied Ben for years. This girl is more than just some random person or friend. She’s standing in my spot, in front of my boyfriend, tilting her head in the same flirtatious way I used to.

I flick off my headlights so as not to draw any attention to me or my car. Laughter travels from Ben’s porch into my front seat, and my stomach sinks like a million bricks. That’s a laugh I’ve never heard come out of Ben’s mouth before. With my foot on the brake, I crank my neck to get a better view as Ben dips his head down to kiss the girl. Ben Cameron is kissing another girl. I slam my hand into the steering wheel and the horn sounds. Damn it! Ben and the girl turn their heads in my direction. I lay my foot on the gas pedal, heart pounding out of my chest as my car surges forward.

About three seconds into my great getaway, and not even three houses down, I come into contact with something that causes my car to bump up and down. Shit. The loud thump has me crossing my fingers I didn’t hit a person…or worse, an animal. With my heart up in my throat, I put my car into park and swallow. Please don’t be a dog. Please don’t be a dog.

I step out slowly, pulse pounding as I will myself to look in front of my car.

A bike.

I ran over a stupid bike. Thank god!

“Hey!” a voice calls from the driveway. “You ran over my bike.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see it,” I say, studying the wreckage.

“No shit. Your lights were off.”

I turn back to check if Ben saw me run over this person’s bike, then whip my head toward the silhouette on the driveway. “Would you keep your voice down?”

“What for?” he asks, his voice rising. The person, who appears to be around my age, crouches. “Aww man. You destroyed Betty White.”

“You named your bike Betty White?”

“First you run over Betty White, then you make fun of her name?”

Is this guy for real?

“Why is it parked on the road anyway?” I ask.

“It wasn’t. It was on my lawn.”

I squat to study my car more closely and find the right front wheel perched atop the curb in front of this person’s house.

“Are you high?” he asks. I stop staring at the carnage and turn my attention back to the person attached to the annoying voice. Huh. Not what I expected. I figured it would be some scrawny skater boy but he’s…well, he’s not scrawny. He looks like the kind of guy who’d be in a Netflix teen romance. Not the guy the main character falls in love with, but that guy’s obnoxious best friend.

“Hi,” he says curtly. “Could you get your car off my curb so I can pull my bike out from underneath your beast?”

“Beast? I’ll have you know this is a 2007 Dodge Charger.”

“I stand corrected. An old beast. And what’re you doing driving around without your headlights on?” He rises and runs a hand through his curls. The hair on the sides of his head are tapered. It’s a ridiculous cut. Not at all practical. How is one supposed to wear a hat with hair like that?

“Jamie? Is that you?” Ben calls from the end of his driveway across the street.

No, no, no. This is all wrong. I stand quickly, taking a step so I’m face-to-face with Mr. Betty White. “If I promise to fix your bike, will you play along? Please?”

“Play along? What’re you—?”

“Jamie, are you alright?” Ben approaches the scene of the accident. His eyes assess the wreck as his “new” friend joins us.

Olivia Chen. Her? She’s one of those types everyone loves. Popular. Involved in any school committee that has to do with hosting “fun” events. Average intelligence. Basically, my complete opposite.

“I’m fine,” I say, walking over to the driver’s side. “I was just parking here and didn’t see his bike.” Smart, Jamie. Enlist a person’s help when you don’t even know their name.

“Were you coming to see me?” Ben asks. Olivia eyes me up and I eye her right back.

“No. Why would I come see you? We’re broken up,” I say matter-of-factly.

“She came to see me,” curly top says as he approaches us. “Axel. Jamie’s boyfriend.” He places a hand around my waist, pulling me in, and it feels weird, foreign, but I don’t fight it. The look of confusion on Ben’s face is worth having this strange person’s fingers on me. But boyfriend ? “I moved in a month ago.”

Ben’s eyes zero in on mine. “Boyfriend? Already?”

“That’s right,” I say, staring back at Ben. “I guess we both recovered quickly.”

Ben swallows before his eyes size up Axel. He extends a hand, in typical Ben fashion. “I just got back from being away this summer, so I didn’t notice someone had moved into the Khans’ old house.”

Axel shakes Ben’s hand. It’s civil at first but then Ben shakes harder, almost aggressively. Axel matches his energy and my body vibrates alongside his. “That would be us.”

“You going to Maple View?” Ben asks, withdrawing his hand and rolling back his shoulders.

“Yep. Eleventh grade.”

Oh my god, he’s younger than me.

“So how did you and Jamie meet?” Ben asks, his eyes back on me. “Jamie never mentioned you.”

I interject to control the narrative. “I was on a run and…”

“A run? You don’t run,” Ben says, looking me square in the eye.

“Okay, I was on a brisk walk,” I say, gritting my teeth, “and I happened upon Axel’s house the day he was moving in and, you know, we started talking.”

“And how did it go from talking to this?” Ben asks, waving an accusatory finger between us. The nerve he has considering only moments ago he was kissing OLIVIA EFFING CHEN!

We got paired up in geography last year to do a project on earth’s nonrenewable depleting resources and she thought it would be “cute” if we staged a fundraiser with props, but each prop would represent a step everyday citizens could take to help. Ironically, she ordered balloons for this presentation/fake fundraiser, completely missing the mark on the helium shortage. Despite that, we got an A because of how “accessible” the lesson was. Another win for mediocrity.

Axel clears his throat and tightens his grip around my waist. He’s not as tall as Ben, but he’s pretty built and I can tell Ben is slightly intimidated. Olivia smiles a nervous smile at me and I squint my eyes in response. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have Ben believing, at least for a little longer, that this Axel person and I are together.

“I’ve been waiting for Jamie to finally cut you loose,” Axel says. “Sounds like you did me a favor. But don’t worry. It was all above board until you set her free. Can you say the same?”

Axel leans in and Ben takes a step forward. I kind of want to pull Axel back, but I also kind of want to see what might happen. Will Ben take the bait? Will he fight for me?

“Ben.” Olivia locks her arm through Ben’s, stroking her fingers along his wrist. He looks down at her and then across at me.

“Well, I guess there’s no point hiding that I’ve also started seeing someone. Jamie, you know Olivia from school, right?”

“Yeah. I know Olivia,” I say, placing my arm around Axel’s waist. “We go way back. But I didn’t realize the two of you did.”

“Ben and I got to know each other at camp,” she says, as if she doesn’t realize she’s incriminating herself alongside Ben. “We were both counselors.”

Ben’s jaw clenches at Olivia’s admission.

“Yeah. I figured you weren’t one of the campers.” Ben gives me the look he always gives me when I’ve just said something rude. Shaking off his disapproval, I continue. “Is Olivia the reason you so badly wanted to ‘strike out on your own’? ’Cause, hate to break it to you, Ben, immediately coupling up with another girl kind of negates the whole ‘doing senior year alone’ thing. But then again, I guess it makes sense seeing as you connected with people on a ‘deeper level’ this summer. Clearly.”

Ben shakes his head, and his shaggy locks move with him. “Jamie.”

“It’s all good. No bad blood here,” I say, trying my best to play off that I’m not seconds away from pummeling both of them. I don’t buy them as a couple. In my wildest dreams I’d never pair the two of them. Which should make it easier to break them apart.

An awkward silence descends between the four of us as literal crickets sing a chorus in the background.

“Do you need help with your car?” Ben finally asks, his question slicing into the quiet like a knife.

Axel squeezes me closer while waving Ben off with his other hand. “We got this. Jamie isn’t your problem to fix anymore.”

Smooth.

“Okay, well, try not to run over anything else tonight,” Ben says. A smile stretches over his teeth before he and Olivia head to her car.

“You’re welcome,” Axel whispers in my ear. His hot breath tickles the back of my neck. I wait until Ben and Olivia have driven off before I squirm away.

“Boyfriend? I said play along, not write your own fantasy.”

“You needed to make the guy jealous, and that did the job.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of hanging out, or something less serious, but boyfriend? I don’t even know you. And you’re younger. And Axel? Is that seriously your name?”

“Hold up,” Axel says. He bites on his lower lip while shaking his head. “You ran over my bike. You asked me to play along with two seconds’ notice, and when I do manage to save your ass, you complain about the logistics behind it?”

“I just…I needed an excuse to be here.”

“An excuse for stalking your ex?”

“All I needed was for you to play along long enough for…” I stall, trying to keep my breathing steady. Now is not the time to lose it. Especially in front of a stranger. “It was supposed to be, you know, a short-term excuse. Me being here…with you. Dropping off cookies or handing out flyers for my mom’s salon. Anything! But now he thinks you’re my boyfriend. And you’re in eleventh grade.”

“Yes, we’ve already established that.”

“How am I supposed to make Ben jealous dating a younger guy?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

“First of all, we’re not really dating, so don’t get ahead of yourself. Secondly, that guy is a dork. Younger or not, I’m an upgrade.”

“You think pretty highly of yourself,” I say, sizing him up in his gray sweats, hiked-up socks, rubber slides, and band tee.

“At least I don’t expect people to read my mind.” He folds his arms over his chest.

“What’re we going to do?”

“First, we’re going to rescue my bike and then you’re going to pay to fix it.”

“Yeah, about that…I don’t have a lot of money. The thing is, I kind of have a book-buying problem.”

“Then I guess we have ourselves a predicament. What else have you got to offer me?”

I fold my arms across my chest, matching his pose. “What do you want?”

The corners of his lips turn up. “Glad you asked.” He rubs his hands together, his shoulders bouncing, and it looks like he’s about to break into dance. “Seeing as you destroyed my wheels, I’m going to need a way to get to and from school every day.”

“You want me to be your own personal Uber?”

“Look at it this way. Picking me up means having to drive by your boy Ben’s house, every morning. It’ll keep him thinking you and I are together. That’s what you want, right?”

I don’t know what I want. All of this has happened so quickly. I haven’t even had time to process the fact that Ben has moved on with Olivia Chen.

“Okay, fine. If I drive you to and from school until your bike is fixed, we’re square.”

Axel laughs. “Not even one corner of the square are we.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ll discuss it later. But first,” he says, stepping closer so we’re nose to nose. “Would you please get your car off Betty White?”