That’s when I noticed Sawyer Tuttle. His eyes followed her every movement. His fists tightened when she tossed her hair behind her shoulders and I had the overpowering desire to clobber his face. I searched for a reason to justify such a violent reaction but there was none. Damn. He wasn’t doing anything repulsive. In fact, I was probably the only person in the room who even noticed him watching her; he was so subtle about it.
Still, it felt as if he was asking me to hit him and it was bothering me that I didn’t know why. I had no claim on Jules. She wasn’t mine to get in fights over but I still wanted to and had to busy my hands in order to distract myself. Yep, Sawyer Tuttle was officially on my enemies list and for motives I couldn’t comprehend. I was in trouble.
I officially knew what we shared as far as our schedules were concerned. On A days, Jules and I had second and third period together. On B days, we only had fourth period Chemistry together, but we shared lunches on both days, which put some color back into the way I felt about spending time away from a girl who essentially acted as if I were made of acid. I felt like a bonded animal. It was comical.
Despite her apparent hatred of me, time away from Jules seemed such an uncomfortable idea. I felt slightly queasy at the prospect because I had this confusing and overwhelming urge to protect Jules and couldn’t quite put my finger on why I felt that way. Jules was not exactly the kind of girl who needed defending. She was spirited, feisty. I passed her house dozens of times that first week on the way to and from school, and sometimes not even then, looking for her teal Karmann Ghia, hoping, no, desperate to know if she was at home. Just knowing where she was gave me a sense of peace and appeased the unwanted and definitely inexplicable ache I felt for her. Each class, we sat near to one another and each class I promised myself I would talk to her only to lose my nerve every single time I attempted to open my mouth.
Whenever I was near her she made my palms sweat. More than the two hours of practice I had every day baking in the sun. Football practice was sort of a numb distraction from the things I needed to forget about. At least for the little while that I needed to forget. I especially enjoyed it during the weeks I struggled with who the new Jules was supposed to be to me. Honestly though, football was at the bottom of the list of things I wanted to do, especially after seeing Jules outside Mrs. Kitt’s class that first day of school.
I was our high school’s quarterback, letter jacket and all, moonlighting as an academic obsessed with science. Looking back, I don’t know why I kept that fact a secret. My teachers certainly knew but I had made it very clear that I wanted no one else to know. I was afraid of the backlash I’d get from the team. I should have been proud of the fact that I was phenomenal at it right? Right. I should have been. But you didn’t have my father and you didn’t know Bramwell, West Virginia. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, my dad, Mark, was awesome. Awesome but also an out of shape ex-football star who hurt his knee senior year and wasn’t able to play college.
He had been banking on that to get him out of Bramwell, but eventually accepted his fate as a potential lifelong resident and settled down with my mom, Shelby. Once they had me and my little sister Maddy, they were stuck here for good. That’s why he was obsessed with me playing and playing well. He wanted me to have a life outside of Bramwell and its coal mines. My mom, on the other hand, didn’t care if I made Bramwell my home or not, as long as I was happy. All her family came to live in Bramwell when they caravanned as one huge group from Oklahoma about thirty years before. Bramwell was a step up in society to her, since it had been one of the wealthiest towns in America at the turn of the century.
Though the wealthiest in America no longer had a place in our sleepy little town, their homes remained and that’s where the very few of the wealthy-enough residing in Bramwell lived, including Jules’ family. Her mother and father were both big wigs at the coal mines my dad happened to work at. They had a flare for luxury, especially Jules’ mother. I remember Jules coming to school in elementary and junior high in the most hideous designer clothing I’d ever seen. It wasn’t until she reached high school and her mom couldn’t dress her anymore that Jules became her own girl and probably much to her mother’s dismay.
My mom had always been a simple woman, never really needing much. The one thing my mom and pop did have going on for one another was the deepest of loves. Deeper than any of the other parents I came across in Bramwell. My dad was always really kind to my mom. Once a week, he’d pick wildflowers off Main and put them in this little ceramic pitcher she kept on the table. Two summers ago, he got really sick and had to stay in bed for a week. He made me pick the flowers for her because he knew she was expecting them.
As I got older, I took serious notice of the way my mother and father looked at one another and knew it was something I had to have for myself. I learned early on through their example that I needed to find my hypothetical key in order to feel as happy as they did. Needless to say, I was in a hurry to love someone the way my father loved my mother. Nothing looked as comforting or as fun as that.
It never even crossed my mind that my key was someone I would have known my entire life. I always thought I’d meet her in college or something, funny how life bites you like that.
Jules definitely had a profound effect on me throughout those first few weeks. My life was filled with unbelievable anxiety every moment that I was awake. I did everything within my power but could not get her off my mind. I tried desperately to forget her. Every night, after dinner, I would get in my truck and tell myself to drive. Somewhere. Anywhere. Except to wherever Jules may be. That was my only rule. I forbade myself to look for Jules, convinced that I needed to break my dependence on knowing where she was, as if I could do that, but of course, every night, I meandered throughout town trying to tell myself that I wasn’t out driving to see if Jules was at Thatcher’s, or at one of the shops off Main in Bramwell’s business district, or at her home, The Perry House, on Brick that turned into Main.