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and I felt a little better.  Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.
     
    Advanced academic classes, top studio art class, and a full class period to do the editor work for the school newspaper (another “Senior Privilege!”) and I happily fell back into my beloved OLOS routine.  Sister Margarita pushed us creatively to stretch our artistic boundaries.  Five new cameras were a focus of this advanced art class and as newspaper editor one was assigned exclusively to me.  Bliss! I spent many hours looking at the world through that camera lens.
     
    I avoided Jame at all times, exiting a room if he came in. I decided I was too busy for cheerleading and that would get me out of his way even more.  I had a little part-time reporter job with our local newspaper and had saved up my summer money to buy a 9-year-old navy blue Volkswagen Beetle Bug so no more buses! 
     
    I had freedom, a camera, my art and a new status around OLOS.  I was the responsible one, the one that several of the teachers depended upon to be the leader for the underclassmen.  I took this on with a vengeance, loving every controlling minute of it!  I tried not to let the power go to my brain, but it was a heady start to my senior year.
     
    Still… I would catch Jame watching me as I jumped into my Beetle Bug or send me a small smile across the cafeteria.  It almost looked like he was sad and missed me, but I worked hard to ignore it.  Until that day after school a few weeks into our senior year.
     
    The big rivalry football game was coming up and there were 10 of us working frantically in the art studio on the Pep Club banners we would hang all over our home team stands. I was in my glory telling the others what to do.  I loved to imagine myself as the head writer of a news show or editor-in-chief of a city newspaper, coordinating all the important projects.
     
    “Great job, everybody! We’ll let these dry over night and hang them tomorrow morning before the game.” The other kids said goodbye and I was left alone doing final clean-ups.  Sister M had entrusted me with the key so I finished up the last task and got ready to go home.
     
    “Hey, Cath,” his voice called to me from the doorway.  “I waited til they all left.  Can we talk for a minute?”
     
    Jame came into the studio.  I can’t remember him ever coming in here to see me even though I practically lived here with Sister M.
     
    “Hey Jame, what’s going on?” I made myself sound as nonchalant as possible though my heart was pounding with something.  What was I feeling? Scared, upset, hopeful, happy? Yeesh, this guy still can make me a mess.
     
    “I hoped we could sit and talk a little, Cath.  Um, if that’s OK with you.”
     
    Do I stay or do I brush him off and leave? Dammit, I sat down.
     
    Jame came over and sat close to me on the bench.  I could smell his “Jame smell”- a little cologne left over from this morning, his unique smell that I used to love breathing in when we kissed.  I didn’t realize I had let a big sigh escape my lips.
     
    “Cath, I don’t want things to be like this anymore.”
     
    “Like what? You have your life, the basketball kingdom that you and your father built , and I have my life, all set up and going along just fine.”
     
    He reached over and took my hands in both of his. Tingles went up my arms right to my heart. I wanted to bury my face in his hands and cry.  Too much emotion here.  I struggled with getting myself under control.  This was the guy who gave me up not once but twice.  He was not going to get the easy way out.    
     
    Jame lifted up my hands and kissed them as he had done so many times before.  His actions always spoke louder than his words, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear it this time.  But the hand kissing was an amazing thing. It always caught my heart.
     
    “Cath, I don’t care what my parents and Father Tim say.  I’ve been miserable without you. I hate seeing you running