Free If He Had Been with Me by Laura Nowlin

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