by Sandi Ward
Sam shrugs and sits down next to Lisa. I watch as he reaches out, and Lisa hands him the bottle. He sniffs it and immediately shakes his head.
“Really?” He glances down at the label. From where I’m standing, I can’t quite see what it says.
“Go on, lovebird. DRINK.”
Sam starts to smile, and surprises me by actually tipping the bottle back and drinking from it. His skin is just starting to tan, and I watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
“HA.” Lisa looks very happy. I can see her fishnet stockings are ripped up and her hair is a mess, yet something in her face is content. She’s glad we’re here with her.
Lisa reaches into her jacket pocket and takes out a pack of cigarettes. She hands one to Sam, who takes it and leans toward her when Lisa offers up her lighter.
“Who are you?” I ask him, kicking his leg, then can’t help laughing.
“Both of my sisters smoke,” he says. “My brother Danny, too.”
When he hands the cigarette up to me, I reach down to take it from him and then go ahead and take a drag. I feel glamorous for about three seconds, but end up coughing and fighting the sensation there’s ash in my lungs.
“It’s terrible, right?” Sam scrunches up his nose when I sit down next to him. “I don’t get the appeal.”
“I’d rather drink,” I admit. After I hand the cigarette to Lisa, Sam gives me the bottle. I take a swallow. Just one. It burns the back of my mouth. I try not to gag, but the taste reminds me of nail polish remover.
Here we are, senior year. Pretending to be adults, I guess. I’m not sure if I want to be an adult just yet, though.
We sit there with Lisa, just soaking in the sunlight for a while. Sam holds my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, something he’s never done before. The softball team takes the field, going out to warm up before the first inning. I focus on our hands. I feel like Sam and I are tethered together.
“You guys have it so easy,” Lisa says, and I recognize that her mood is darkening.
Sam rolls his tongue in his cheek. “If you think I have it easy, Lisa, you’re wrong.” He squeezes my hand. “You already know what my life is like. My dad has cancer. He’s not working. My parents are both in a bad mood all the time, and we’re out of money. We’re lucky to have enough for groceries.”
“Boo-hoo. So what. It’s the same for a lot of people.” She turns away from him. “You’re still going to college, aren’t you?”
“Either I’m going to college or I’m getting the hell out of here some other way.”
I’ve never heard Sam say anything like that before. It makes my stomach clench.
“Sam,” I ask, “where do you think you’ll go?” I know he applied to four schools and got into three of them.
He looks down at his lap. “Only one college offered me a full scholarship, so I have to go there. I have no choice. I mean, I can’t complain. It’s a great school. UCLA,” he mumbles.
UCLA. Our math teacher, Mr. Jones, is an alumnus, and he wrote Sam an amazing letter of recommendation. Sam showed me the brochure; it looks sunny and warm with palm trees, like a vacation destination. I’m sure it’s a terrific opportunity, but it’s so far away. On the West Coast. And plane tickets are expensive. Sam will never come home.
“I mean, I want to go there, but . . .” His voice trails off.
I suddenly realize what he’s trying to tell me, and how short our relationship is really going to be.
In one quick movement, I put my free hand on Sam’s face and kiss him. I really kiss him, for the first time, right on his stupid, delicious mouth. He closes his eyes and maybe it’s the spring day, or the fact that we’re acting crazy on the roof, or just the realization that we don’t have much time, but he leans in and it turns into a gorgeous, long, passionate kiss where I can hardly breathe and time stands still, continuing until Lisa yells at us.
“STOP! Jesus. Ugh,” she moans. “Get a room. Don’t come up here to SAVE me and then IGNORE me. I hate you guys.”
Sam smiles at me and I smile back, and I feel possibly the happiest I’ve ever been.
It doesn’t last long.
Soon we hear a car pull up on the side of the school, tires crunching on gravel, and then the beep and static of a walkie-talkie. There’s a cheer from the softball game, off in the distance. I can hear two men talking on the ground below, near the ladder.
“Ummmm . . . Lisa.” I wince. “Did you . . . ? Did you do something?” I already know the answer. Suddenly, I feel a little light-headed. “Why did you actually come up here?”
“Yeah, I did something. I’m hiding out.” She reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “I took this from the cheerleaders. They’re doing these idiotic fund-raisers, you know, the flower sale and car wash? But they left the box of money sitting on a bench in the gym. They’re a bunch of airheads. What do they need the money for, seriously? New pom-poms? This is for you.” She lays the money on Sam’s lap. He just stares at it. “Take it. Because you’re starving. And you’re the only boy who is actually nice to me at this goddamn school.”
Sam drops his head. He considers the money, but only for a moment.
“No, Lisa.” His eyes fill with tears, and I’m caught off guard at his sudden burst of emotion. “Oh, my God. Look, I totally appreciate it. I know you mean well in your own twisted way. But . . . I can’t take this money. I can’t.” He lets go of my hand and stands up, carefully straightening the bills into a stack.
Lisa kicks her foot like a toddler. “I’m a criminal. I’m going to get suspended and maybe kicked out. With two months to go. Whaddya think of that? Will I make a good high school dropout?” Her voice cracks; then she starts to cry.
“What is wrong with you?” I feel hot, and angry, and confused. I want to strangle her. I was so happy a minute ago, and now she’s ruined it. “Can’t you just keep it together for a little while longer, until we graduate?”
Sam takes in a deep breath. “Shhh. Guys. Quiet.” He walks toward the ladder. “Lisa, you’re not dropping out or getting suspended. Let me handle it. I’ll just go to Mr. Galanes and say some kid gave me this money to turn back in. I’m a good student and he likes me. He’ll believe me.”
“No, Sam,” I whisper. “That’s not a great idea. Please. Lisa needs to—”
“Hey.” An adult male voice calls up to Sam. “What’re you doing? Get down here.”
Sam looks at Lisa. “Hey, Lisa. You know what? We did come up here to save you. And I have never ignored you. Annika is right. Try to get it together.”
Stay here, he mouths silently to me, then descends the ladder.
Lisa keeps crying, and I stay up on the roof with her, despite my urge to run after Sam and try to explain everything to the cops. I realize that Sam has been trying to look out for Lisa all along—out of loyalty to me—and he thinks that’s what I want. But the truth is, my impulse is to abandon her and protect him.
I am officially the worst sister in the world.
And is this really helpful to Lisa, covering for her when she messes up? I’m not so sure.
I am also officially the worst girlfriend in the world, of course.
Who lets her boyfriend take credit for her sister’s stupidity, when he’s already stressed out about college? What if the police arrest him, and UCLA hears about it and decides they don’t want him anymore? And what girlfriend doesn’t even know that her boyfriend gets hungry because there isn’t enough for him to eat at home?
Once the cops have disappeared into the school, bringing Sam with them, I bend down and shake Lisa. She’s my sister. I need to take more responsibility for her. Maybe I can talk some sense into her.
“Why did you let him do that?” I demand, as her sniffling finally comes to a halt. “Sam can’t afford to get in trouble any more than you can. Are you trying to wreck his life on purpose, when he’s so nice to you?”
“He enjoys helping me out.” Lisa wipes her nose with the side of he
r hand. “He likes looking after me.”
I feel my hands clench. I have to fight the urge to punch her, or kick her leg. But I know she’s speaking the truth. Sam likes helping people, to the point where he gets himself into ridiculous situations. And I don’t understand it at all. “I sincerely doubt he enjoys looking after you. You ruin everything.”
“No, it’s true. Whoa—ouch. Don’t pinch me.” She shakes her head. “He does enjoy it. Sam thinks he’s doing you a favor. He likes to be your hero.”
“I know.” I cover my eyes with my hand. “You’re right.”
She wipes dirt off her hands. “You know what else I think it is? With me, he gets to play ‘big brother,’ you know? He gets to feel competent. Instead of like at home, where he’s the baby of the family and they shit on him all the time.”
I pick my head up and stare at her. Hmm. She might be right about that, too.
I manage to get Lisa down the ladder, and we walk home so she has time to sober up. I tell her how horrible she is for stealing money, but she’s in no mood to hear it.
“Don’t worry,” she says to me, when she sees I’m still stewing. “Sam would do anything for you. He loves you. You’re lucky. You’re so goddamn lucky.”
I don’t know what to say to that. “I am lucky.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the weight of my heavy backpack pull at my shoulders as we walk under a flowering tree. I feel a headache coming on. “You’re absolutely right about that.”
* * *
Sam doesn’t confess that he stole the money, but he doesn’t blame it on Lisa either. He just says a kid stole it, felt guilty, and handed it off to him to turn back in. Our principal pressures him to give up a name, but he won’t. The police question him, but Sam isn’t arrested. He still gets suspended again. Mr. Galanes tells Sam he’s sorry to do it, but he has no choice. I think Sam has a blind spot where he doesn’t realize how much trouble he could potentially get into when things happen. So now just one more suspension and Sam will be expelled or sent to another school, even though we only have two months to go.
I’m not sure what punishment Sam gets at home. He won’t talk about it—he stubbornly refuses to. But he holds my hand a little tighter when we’re together, his palms sweaty. He hugs me after school when he has to go to lacrosse practice and I have to run for the bus. Sam seems stressed, almost as if he’s unraveling, but at least this time he doesn’t run from me. If anything, he runs toward me. I tell him I’m sorry he got into trouble on Lisa’s account, but he always waves that off. “I don’t care about getting suspended. I’m just sorry to disappoint my dad. My dad is important,” he tells me. “And you’re important. Not that other stuff.”
We start spending all of our time together. Although we can’t get together at his house because he’s grounded, he manages to stop by my house after work a few nights to watch TV with me. On the rare occasion when Lisa isn’t home and my parents go up to bed, he kisses me. Sam takes everything slowly, which seems to have the perverse result of making me more frantic to spend every minute with him. My short time alone with Sam is never enough. As spring emerges, the days getting longer and warmer and greener, I start to feel like everything is going to be okay.
Even when I know perfectly well it’s not.
Girl Trouble
LUNA
Sam enters the house with Lisa and Delilah. They’re covered in snow and pat themselves to get the snow to fall off in clumps.
I’ve always liked Lisa. She doesn’t always play by the rules; she feeds me scraps of chicken or fish under the table when no one is looking. Lisa doesn’t take off her puffy coat, but she does slip off her wet boots and put on a pair of shearling slippers she brought with her in a large bag. I watch as a white feather emerges from a small rip in her coat, and I chase it down the hall.
Sam starts a fire in the old stone and brick fireplace in the back room. Annika throws logs into the woodstove in the living room at the front of the house, and Delilah brings a small electric space heater downstairs to the kitchen and plugs it in. All of these sources of heat make the cottage tolerable—not exactly warm, but okay, and better than outside, where the air is crisp and raw.
Later, I hear the front door swing open again and Danny and Donovan enter. They’re deep in conversation. I walk over to greet them.
“So, you don’t know any classic rock?” Danny makes a face of disgust. “No Led Zeppelin at all? How is that even possible?” He reaches down to ruffle the fur on my head.
“I don’t know. My mom sometimes plays some of that music in the car, but—”
“Do you at least know some eighties pop bands? The Police? Talking Heads?”
Donovan unzips his coat and exhales. “Look, my dad played classical piano. He spent a lot of his teenage years in Germany, and I don’t know what he listened to. What can I tell you? He liked the Beatles. Does that count?”
“That’s good, but no. That’s definitely a solid no. I’m talking about classic eighties bands. Man, my girls love that stuff.”
Donovan smiles. “Well, what should I listen to, then?”
Danny throws his gloves on the mat. “I’m gonna make you a list.”
Annika approaches the front door. She watches them take their hats and mittens off. My woman looks eager to hear their news, hands gripping the end of one braid.
“Did you find anything you could use in the garage?”
Danny is reaching down toward his boots but wavers when she mentions the garage. Without looking at Annika, he continues his downward motion to unlace his frozen shoelaces, coated in ice. “I found two shovels, but that’s it. The amount of wood that your dad has got stacked up in there is impressive.”
“I helped him dig out around the truck,” Donovan volunteers. He throws a soggy glove onto the floor. “It’s kinda strange, though. The front driver’s side tire is definitely punctured. Almost like it hit something super sharp. But I didn’t see anything that could have done that kind of damage. Maybe you guys drove over something in the road before you got to our house?”
Danny shrugs. “We could have.” He clears his throat as Sam and Lisa come down the hall. He stands up straight, watching them approach. “Hey. I remember you from high school,” Danny says, his green eyes opening wide at the sight of Lisa.
“I remember you, too,” she says. “You were a senior when we were freshman. I seem to recall we had lunch detention together a few times.”
“That’s it!” He points at her. “That’s where I know you from.”
Annika shakes her head. “C’mon.” She taps Lisa’s arm. “Let’s see what we can throw together to eat.” They head back to the kitchen, and soon I hear a pan being slid out of a drawer.
Danny stands up straight and folds his arms. “The tire is flat. It has a big tear. Almost as if it was slashed. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“Weird?” Sam has a blank look on his face.
Danny scratches his chin. “Yeah, weird.”
Sam’s face starts to turn pink. He squirms in his boots. “No . . . what . . . what do you mean?”
“I mean,” Danny says, tipping his head toward his brother, “maybe it’s divine intervention. It’s God’s way of stranding us here and telling me my plan to deal with Dad’s house is a good one.”
Sam cringes. “Well, I don’t think—”
“Or, it means you’re helping me. And you slashed the tire.”
“What?”
“Come on. Is this your way of helping me out?”
Sam holds up both hands. “No, no way, Dan. You’re reading too much into it. I told you, I don’t like your plan, and I mean it.” He swallows. “And you know I wouldn’t mess with Dad’s new truck.”
Danny stares at his little brother and rolls his tongue in his cheek. I can hear Lisa talking excitedly in the kitchen, along with the sound of clinking plates and silverware.
“Okay,” Danny says, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Fine.”
“I’m not secr
etly trying to help you.” He pushes his brother’s hand away. “Do you realize you smell like gasoline? You’d better wash up. What is wrong with you? Can’t you smell it?” Sam walks back toward the kitchen.
“Hey. I’m not dumb. I told Donovan that I spilled—Hey, are you listening to me?”
But Sam is gone.
Danny and I are left alone. He crouches down and extends a hand. A sharp chemical scent tickles my nostrils. I still touch my nose to his fingers and allow him to pet me. I can sense his stress, and I know the illness is eating him from the inside out. His hand shakes slightly as he runs it down my back.
You’d better slow down. You need to concentrate on finding a cure for your illness.
He nods at me, as if he agrees.
* * *
The kids retreat upstairs. Annika makes the adults grilled cheese, using a loaf of bread that Lisa brought with her. The humans stand around the stove, occasionally pacing or pulling their coats tighter to stay warm, and I join them. The smell of butter melting and browning gets me worked up, and I throw my body against legs indiscriminately.
“Did you find the journal?” Sam asks Annika quietly, sliding a sandwich from a spatula onto a plate.
“No, but I did find something else interesting.” She points to a stack of papers on the kitchen counter.
“What’s this?” Lisa leans over the counter. I watch her eyes scan the paper. “Did Peter . . . Is this a story?”
“Yes, I believe it’s a novel. Luna dove under Donovan’s bed, and when I went to look, I noticed Peter’s old typewriter in the back corner. This was in the case.”
“Your husband wrote a book?” Danny takes a step closer and peers over Lisa’s shoulder.
Lisa whirls around. “I didn’t know Peter was writing a novel.”
Annika shrugs. “Neither did I.” She slides another grilled cheese onto a plate and slices it in half. Steam rises into the cool air.
Lisa is baffled. “Holy crap.” Her lips move slightly as she reads. “This is like finding buried treasure under the floorboards.”
