Free If He Had Been with Me by Laura Nowlin Page A

happiness before.
    “Are you crying?” Jamie says. I nod, even though it isn’t quite true. His fingers tighten in my hair and I press my face into his shoulder. We sit together like that for a long time. I think to myself, This is it, I really do love him . Tonight it’s easy to say, to feel.
    “Why a turtle?” I say finally.
    “They’re slow but steady,” he says. “And I like turtles.” He laughs when I laugh, and we lean our foreheads together. He reaches up and brushes his fingertips under my eyes; I squeeze them closed so that a few tears dampen my lower lashes for him to wipe away.
    ***
    Mr. Laughegan suggests more books for me and loans me several others. I work hard on my first book report for him; I want to impress him.
    At lunch, I show everyone his comments on my paper.
    “Read this,” I say, shoving it in Brooke’s face. “‘I’ve never noticed that before, Good Job.’ I made a point that he had never thought of!”
    “That’s neat,” she says.
    “I like Mr. Laughegan too.” Noah says, “He’s cool.”
    “Oh, I just adore him,” I say. Jamie rolls his eyes.
    “Yeah, you’re in love with him,” he says.
    “No, I just love him,” I say, and I realize it’s true. I do love Mr. Laughegan, not like a crush or like a father or a brother or anything that I can define, I just love him. I love him because he said I could stare out the window when it’s raining as long as I’m still listening, and because he said Macbeth was a jerk. I love Mr. Laughegan, and it is a simple and easy thought to have; it is nothing at all to say it.
    Jamie rolls his eyes again.
    “You’re in love with a teacher,” he says under his breath. I ignore him and read through Mr. Laughegan’s comments again.
    ***
    “Hey, Autumn,” Finny says. I stop in my tracks. His voice is low. He doesn’t look directly at me when he speaks. We’re standing outside the closet-sized classroom. His book bag is slung over one shoulder, and he stands to one side of the door so that he cannot be seen from inside.
    “Hey,” I say. I wonder if something is wrong.
    “Happy birthday,” he says. He still is looking down at our feet.
    “Thanks,” I say. I’m confused. He could have said this at the bus stop this morning. He could have waited until tonight, when we go out to dinner with The Mothers and my dad. Finny turns away and walks into the classroom. I follow him. To the others, it only appears that we arrived at the same time.
    Since it’s my birthday, Mr. Laughegan says I can sit at his desk for the whole class if I promise to behave. I fold my hands and sit up straight, miming perfect attention, as if I would ever give Mr. Laughegan anything less.
    And yet I am distracted. His desk is to the side of the room, perpendicular to the board. From this angle, I have an unobstructed view of Finny. By looking at the board, I see him too. I see him only.
    And I love him. For all of my memory, I have loved him; I do not even notice it anymore. I feel what I have always felt when I look at him, and I have never before asked myself what it is exactly. I love him in a way I cannot define, as if my love were an organ within my body that I could not live without yet could not pick out of an anatomy book.
    I do not love him the way I love Jamie. It’s not the way I love Sasha or my mother or Mr. Laughegan.
    It’s the way I love Finny.
    And it’s impossible to say and even harder to feel.

19
    When the weather turns cold, The War breaks out.
    On a Monday in mid-November, as I enter the cafeteria, Angie rushes up to me with her eyes narrowed. “They’re at our table,” she says. I know who she is talking about without having to ask.
    “What?” I say. I follow her through the crowd to an unfamiliar table. Jamie, Alex, Brooke, Noah, and Sasha are all already crowded around the small square. “I cannot believe this,” I say as I sit down. I glance over to where Alexis, Jack, Josh, and Victoria are sitting, with ample room about