Jimmy Names It
Jimmy didn't confront me at the river.
Not that day. Not with Dougie splashing and shouting like the kingdom could be saved through sheer volume. Jimmy was too proud for an outburst in public. Too careful. He let the river stay neutral ground. But neutrality doesn't last.
It was two days later, in the heat of an ordinary afternoon, that he finally named it.
School was still technically going, though senior year in August felt like a rumor. The hallways smelled like floor wax and distant futures. People moved in clusters, laughing too loud, trying to pretend the year wasn't already ending before it began. I was at my locker when I felt him behind me. Not footsteps. Presence.
I turned.
Jimmy was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, shoulders set like he'd rehearsed this in his head and hated every version. For a second, I was almost relieved. At least he was here. At least the silence was over.
"Hey," I said cautiously.
He nodded once. Then, without preamble: "You walking her home now?"
My throat went dry. "What?"
Jimmy's jaw flexed. "Don't play dumb, baloney."
"I'm not —"
"You are," he cut in, sharper than he meant. He exhaled hard, like anger was the only thing keeping something softer from breaking through. "You're always with her. Or going to her. Or thinking about her."
"It's not like that," I said quickly.
Jimmy let out a humorless laugh. "Everything's like that now."
I closed my locker slower than necessary, buying time. "What do you want, Jimmy?"
He stared at me. His eyes weren't furious. They were hurt. "I want to know when it became this," he said.
"This what?"
He took a step closer. "This... you and her."
My chest tightened. "It's not a big deal."
Jimmy's laugh came out sharp. "Nothing is a big deal," he said bitterly, "until it is."
Silence stretched. The hallway noise faded around the edges, like we were standing underwater. I swallowed. "It's just... she's different," I said finally.
Jimmy's face twitched, the word landing wrong. "Different," he repeated. Then, quieter: "Different from us."
That was the wound. Not Teppie. Us.
He shook his head once. "You know what's messed up?" he said. I didn't answer.
Jimmy's voice dropped. "This was supposed to be our summer."
The sentence carried everything he couldn't say. Our kingdom. Our river. Our rules. Our last chance.
I felt guilt flare hot. "It still is," I said.
Jimmy stared at me like I didn't understand. "It can't be," he said softly. "Not if you're halfway gone."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came. Because part of me knew he was right.
Jimmy's jaw tightened. "Does she even care?" he asked suddenly.
"What?"
His eyes flashed. "Does she care about you, baloney? Or are you just... entertainment? A boy with a tape and a bike who thinks he's crossing into something bigger?"
My face burned. "That's not fair."
Jimmy flinched slightly, as if the word hit him too. "I know," he muttered. His shoulders sagged, just for a second. Then the armor returned.
He stepped back. "I don't want to be the bad guy," he said, voice rough.
"You're not."
Jimmy laughed again, bitter. "Aren't I?"
He looked away, blinking hard. "Just... don't disappear," he said quietly. The softness in the sentence almost undid me. "Because if you go..." His voice caught. He swallowed. "...then it means it's real."
"What's real?"
Jimmy's mouth tightened. "That this ends."
He stared at the floor for a long moment. Then, like he couldn't stand the feeling any longer, he turned and walked away — no speech, no dramatic exit, just Jimmy moving through the hallway crowd with his hands in his pockets and his jaw set against the world.
I stood there alone, the hallway noise rushing back in, lockers slamming, the world continuing like nothing had cracked open. But everything had. Jimmy had named it. And once something is named, it can't be unnamed again.
I have thought about that hallway a hundred times. Not the duck pond, not the river — the hallway. Because the duck pond was Jimmy performing his anger, still managing it. The hallway was Jimmy without the performance. That's the conversation I carry. The one where he said "don't disappear" instead of anything else he could have said. That was the real Jimmy. That was the one worth knowing.