Oh God after the show closed and the house was dark the three of us didn't fly home right away. You know we walked the tourist walk for a while, but Mom's point-and-shoot won't show me swooning and fluttering inside because of Jamie, solid and smooth and stockstill, glasses glinting in the empty hall, making daylight and noon and twilight and deep throaty dusk beam from his fingers on the tiny keyboard. "Brilliant but I don't trust him more 'n' a snake," I heard Dad say to the Ryans a while back. Oh God, I saw him, I saw Jamie watch me watch him and I swear he knew what I saw and he did not look away but eventually I did turn my eyes away myself under the weight of my parents' scrutiny. Flying home, all the way along the coastline, I begged the power of my mind to turn the plane around, to return me to the dark house so I could turn myself in. Freeze me, Jamie, with those glittering eyes; pin me down, pin me open; pin me to your dry and terrible Styrofoam.
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