by Shel Delisle
I tell her everything about Sam. From meeting him to the day in the parking lot when Alana ambushed us. I tell her about Rodeo Bob’s, dancing with Sam and Irwin getting sick. I almost skip the part about the beach, but she gets that out of me too.
Through it all, she keeps saying, “I see. Then what?”
And I keep talking, pouring it out. I tell her about returning to school and how Sam thought I’d screwed around with Travis and how he ended up with Alana. And now, the Scavenger Hunt.
“That’s an interesting way to settle things.” She laughs.
“I know.” And that’s when I tell her Sam might come by tomorrow night.
Finally, I take a deep breath and stop. It’s like I’ve been talking for days and I’m ready for a rest. Lexie knows all this, but she’s been living it with me. Somehow, telling the whole story at one time is therapy.
“Do you want to hear what I think?” She pats my leg.
I’m not sure I do. I ran away from my Mom and don’t need or want Mom-sounding advice.
She waits for my answer.
“I guess so.”
She takes a deep breath. “I think this guy, Sam, cares about you. And I think you need to apologize to him. I understand why you kissed that other guy — what’s his name?”
“Travis?”
“Yeah, Travis. I understand why you kissed him. You know you shouldn’t have, but I get it.”
I’m nodding.
“But I think you hurt Sam’s feelings. So when he comes here tomorrow — and I’m glad it’s tomorrow because John and I have the day off again — you need to come clean.”
I nod, swiping at a tear.
“Listen.” She rubs my shoulder. “You’re not the first person who’s made a mistake, and you won’t be the last.” She shifts her hand to her belly and palms it like a crystal ball. “And I think if he comes over, everything’s going to be all right.”
I wish I could rub her belly too, so I could see what Sam will do when I try my best to apologize.
~~~
“Janey, there’s someone at the front door for you,” John yells through my door.
Sam? Sam! “Who?” I yell back, like I’m so popular and a ton of people besides Lexie pop in to see me.
“Someone named Sam.”
My heart leaps to my throat. I wasn’t sure he’d come. Wasn’t sure Alana would let him. Still, I tried on four outfits earlier for Desiree, just in case. After all that drama I ended up in my favorite jean shorts and a tee.
I step from my room. Sam stands in the foyer. John and Desiree are on the couch. This apartment is so small it redefines cozy.
The doorbell must have woken Bob Dylan, because all of a sudden he rounds the corner at top speed. He gives Sam the sniff-and-greet treatment. Sam steps back, astonished.
“He likes you,” Desiree says.
Yeah, so do I, but that’s not how I say “hi” to Sam. “Dylan! Stop!” I say, and he does. He’s amazingly well-behaved once he gets past the greeting.
Sam pats Dylan on his head, racking up more brownie points with me. He must be at a gazillion by now.
While I break up the Sam-Dylan tryst, Desiree and John snuggle on the sofa. Desiree rests her head on John’s chest, her legs tucked under, belly pooched out.
“Hey,” I say to Sam. “This is my brother John and his wife Desiree. They’re having a baby.” This is probably obvious. I mean, Desiree’s stomach is enormous. “And this is Sam.” I resemble a game show hostess with the way I wave my hands around.
Desiree gives me a quick, almost imperceptible wink.
Some people would act surprised about the baby or their age difference. To Sam’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch. “Nice to meet you,” he says in his friendly, open way and shakes John’s hand and then Desiree’s.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” John asks, shifting on the couch.
“I don’t think so.”
“Right. I don’t think I’ve ever met you, but you look really familiar. Weird.” John shrugs his shoulders.
“When’s the baby due?” Sam asks Desiree.
“March fourteenth.”
Sam sits on a chair, folds his hands and leans in. “Oh! That’s soon. Did you take Lamaze?”
“You know about Lamaze?” Desiree asks.
I’m surprised too. Will I ever know everything about Sam?
“My cousin had a baby about a year ago, and sometimes I’d practice with her.”
“Really?” Desiree raises her eyebrows and smiles, challenging him.
“I did,” Sam insists. “I know how to breathe. Watch. Hee, hee, whoooooo.”
Desiree laughs. “You do know how to breathe.” She breathes with him. “Hee, hee, whoooooo.” They’re panting in unison, and it cracks John and me up. Suddenly she stops and asks Sam, “Did your cousin use it? Lamaze, I mean?”
“She tried, but decided to use drugs.”
“I know. That worries me. It’s like you want to do the right thing, and then you’re overwhelmed by the situation and emotions.” Desiree rests her hands on her tummy. “People. Sometimes we’re not strong enough.”
I know Desiree is talking about labor, but it feels like she’s talking about what I did at the beach or how I need to come clean.
During the exchange, Sam’s eyebrows arch, and he rests his tongue on his chipped tooth. I want to say, That’s what happened to me.
Desiree lounges on the couch. It’s so strange she’s a dog person because she moves feline, slow and fluid. She smiles like she just had several helpings of canary at the all-you-can-eat bird buffet.
She pats her belly as if to say, Well, my job’s done, and grabs John by the hand. “We should move to the other room. These guys gotta study.” She smiles at me as she leads John out.
Sam scoots off the chair and sits beside me on the floor, our backs pressed against the sofa. He rubs his cheek. “She’s really nice.”
“Yeah. She is. We talked about you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I told her all about the Snow Ball and stuff. Y’know, I should never have kissed Travis at the beach. It’s what Desiree was saying — the emotions messed with my head.” Sam starts to interrupt but I put my hand up near his mouth to silence him. “Let me finish, okay? You don’t know this about me, but until that night I’d never kissed anyone.”
Sam looks surprised.
“I know.” I snicker. “It’s pathetic. Have you kissed someone?” Of course he has. What kind of question is that? I laugh at myself. “Don’t answer. That was a dumb question. But if you hadn’t kissed someone, wouldn’t you be desperate to try it? You might even kiss—” I try hard to come up with a bizarre name. “Becca Chartrand.” She’s an odd girl, stranger than me, actually, who mutters to herself as she walks through the halls and every so often has angry conversations with people who aren’t there.
Sam snorts. “Probably not Becca. But I get what you mean.”
“And then you weren’t at the beach. Or at least I thought you weren’t. I thought you were with Alana somewhere. I mean, you were with Alana, but I mean with-with.”
“I see.” Sam nods, then adds, “You worry too much about Alana.”
What he’s saying hits the bull’s-eye and I know it’s true. She bothers me. It’s the fact that we used to be friends, but I’m not good enough for her. And she doesn’t think I’m good enough for Sam. And in a really screwed-up way, I sort of believe she’s right. It’s like we’re competing for Sam and maybe the Hunt is our way of settling it.
I’ve been totally honest up to this point, but then I say, “It’s okay if you like her. I just want us to be friends again.” My big, fat lie — I still want Sam as a boyfriend.
“We are friends. In fact, we’re Romeo and Juliet.” He holds up his copy of the play with one hand and rests the other on the floor by my hip. “We should rehearse, huh?”
It’s the closest we’ve been since our dance and I don’t know how I’ll be able to think.
&n
bsp; With my book open to Act Three, Scene Five, I watch every move Sam makes. I don’t actually need the book, because after Breckenridge assigned the scene, I read it twenty or thirty times. It’s the last time they speak and about halfway through, they kiss.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Breckenridge already solved this issue for me. During the party scene near the end of Act I, Romeo kisses Juliet twice. When Connor and Emily performed for the class last week, they were going to really kiss and Breckenridge said, “Kissing her hand will do, thank you.”
So I’d decided when we get to the kiss, I’ll hold out my hand for Sam.
His leg bounces in time to the music playing in the other room. As we read, his leg grazes mine every couple of beats. It’s way more distracting than his chipped tooth. We’re coming to the kiss and I read, “Then, window, let day in and let life out.”
“Farewell, farewell. One kiss and I’ll descend.”
As Sam leans in, Desiree walks into the room. He jerks away like we got caught kissing.
“Oops. Sorry. Just getting some ice cream. Do you guys want anything?”
Sam says no while my mouth runs away. “I want a lot of things. But no thanks to the ice cream.”
Desiree giggles, gets bowls for her and John and returns to their room.
Sam’s face is inches from mine, hovering. “What do you want?” he asks softly.
A million thoughts run through my head, but I can’t find the right words so it’s quiet for a long, long time.
“What?” Sam whispers.
I ignore him and read my next lines.
“Wait!” Sam says, and bends over to kiss my temple.
There is absolutely no debate, no question, no doubt about what I want. I want more.
~~~
Later on, after Sam’s gone home, there’s a light tap on my bedroom door. John opens it and peeks inside. “I figured out who he was. I knew I’d seen him before.”
“How do you know Sam?”
“I don’t know him.” John points to the sketch of Sam that I brought from home. I’d hung it on the wall here. “God, Jane. That’s really good. I saw you draw that — when was it?”
“The day you told Mom and Dad about Desiree.”
“That’s right. I forgot.” John leans forward to eye the sketch closely. “You’ve liked him for a long time, huh?”
I shrug. “When did you figure it out?”
“All of a sudden it hit me where I’d seen him, so I grilled Desiree to see if she knew anything. That guy, he likes you.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. No, I’m not. I’m a guy, and I know how guys act. I know how I acted.”
I avoid John’s eyes and flip the pages of Romeo and Juliet. “He’s in the trophy case pod.”
“So was I,” John says. “Sometimes that doesn’t matter.”
He’s out the door and it’s practically shut when John says through the crack, “Tomorrow night. Algebra tutoring. I didn’t forget.”
I had. And it’s good he postponed. I glance from the book to the drawing and smile at Sam’s sketched face, replaying his lips against my temple over and over and over again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Last night the frame in the sofa bed poked me in the back again and I didn’t get enough sleep. I’m living some weird variation of the Princess and the Pea. Except I’m not a princess, and the pea is an old sofa bed that needs a thicker mattress.
So, I’m cranky.
But not only from lack of sleep. Because after Sam studied with me earlier this week and we talked about the Snow Ball and Travis and everything, I thought things would be different at school. They’re not. He and Alana are as cozy as ever.
To top it off, Lexie’s deserted me today at lunch. She has a dentist appointment, so I can’t even really be mad at her.
Slouching through the line, I sling a sandwich onto my tray.
“Hey, if Dakota Fanning married Oliver North,” a voice from behind me says.
My heart skips three beats. “Dakota North! That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, but it’s funny when you fill out forms.” He smiles, and I make a weak attempt at one. We always had funny, smart conversations without some big point.
Sam grabs a slice of pizza. Then another. And another.
“Shoot! Just take the whole pizza, would ya?”
He laughs and slides his tray along the silver rails toward the register. “Where’s Lexie?”
“Dentist. It’s worse than cafeteria food.”
Sam laughs again. “We should eat together.”
“Where’s Alana?” My voice is frosty.
“She called in sick today. Trying to get some extra sleep before The Hunt, y’know? ”
This fuels my already crappy mood. I’m pissed Alana’s mom is lax about stuff like that. Would my mom ever let me take a day off? No way. But the worse thing is the way Sam’s using me as a lunch buddy substitute.
“Yeah, whatever.” I sniff. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’d swear it’s PMS, but it’s the wrong time of the month. More likely it’s BMS — Bad Mattress Syndrome.
I follow Sam to our old table and sit across from him. Two tables over I see Willow give me a curious look, then a grin, while everyone at Sam’s table stares openly. He squeezes the wedge on his milk carton, smiling, like he’s happy to be here. When he rests his tongue against his chipped tooth, my hostility fades. A bit.
As we sit together, I have a déjà vu vibe. It’s like all our lunches earlier this year, but not exactly because so much has happened since then. The Snow Ball. Travis’ lie. Our conversation the other night. A small kiss from Sam. Why did he ask me what I wanted? Was he just teasing me? It didn’t feel that way.
“So Lexie’s at the dentist.”
I’m startled and say yeah, with finality, killing the conversation before it starts.
“How’s John?”
“Good.”
“How’s Desiree? She’s close, huh?”
“March fourteenth.”
Honestly, I don’t know why I’m doing this. You’d think I’d be happy to have lunch with him.
“So, are you excited about The Hunt tomorrow?”
When he asks this, I get annoyed. Not a little irate like I’d been until now, but major domo pissed. Doesn’t he know Alana and I are competing. Over him. There’s a lot more at stake than some stupid Hunt. Him. My home. My life. Doesn’t he get that?
I answer his question with a question. “Are you my friend?”
“What? Janey! You know we’re friends.”
“Then how can you be so clueless about this? I’m living at my brother’s with a baby on the way. I don’t even know where I’ll be sleeping next month. Do you think I care about the Hunt?”
That sounds a little overly dramatic, even to me. But, too bad — it’s how I feel.
Sam looks at his tray and says, “I know. But I thought you were into it. I thought you and your friends came up with the idea.”
I glare at him. “Well, we did. Come up with it. But that was before. I might not even do it.”
Lexie and company would kill me if I backed out now. My pod might not care about winning this thing, but they don’t want to lose to the Trophy-Casers.
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
I smoosh my tuna sandwich into my plate. “Well now you do.”
“Listen, I’m just trying to make conversation with you,” Sam says, palms up. “You’re not making it easy.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I mean, you haven’t asked me one question,” Sam says.
He’s wrong. I asked him if he was my friend, but I know what he means. It’s just I’m sick of his flirting not being any more than that. And I’m sick of Alana getting in the way. But what really gets me is the whole cross-clique taboo that keeps everyone from dating anyone outside the socially acceptable circle. The whole trophy case, water fountain, science lab, courtyard pod thing.
&nbs
p; “Here’s a question for you. Do you go out with Alana because she’s in your pod or because you’re too spineless to end it?”
Sam’s mouth drops open.
“She’s not a nice person, in case you hadn’t noticed,” I continue, “And, and… she’s got a lousy of sense of humor. I bet she wouldn’t even get your Oliver North/Dakota Fanning joke and I know she’d never come up with one. I don’t get it. She’s not even good-looking.”
So the last insult I hurled is a humongous lie, because she’s gorgeous and everyone knows it.
Sam laughs at my tirade, which infuriates me. My anger and jealousy are like a dolphin that’s been trapped in a fishing net and finally surfaces. I can’t push it under until it gets what it needs — breathing room.
“Because I don’t know which is worse, that you’re too worried about what other people think, or that you let this carry you along, not taking any action when you want to. Because if you told the truth, Sam — if you told the truth to yourself and the world — you like me. You like me a lot more than Alana, but I’m not ‘cool.’ I know I’m a little out there, but you must be a little out there too because you like me more.” My voice drops to a whisper because all the anger inside collapsed. “And I don’t know which hurts worse. That you’re with Alana or that I care you’re with her.”
Sam stares at his plate and pushes crumbs around with his pizza crust, while I wish I could take back every word.
His mouth flattens into a thin angry line, but that emotion doesn’t make it to his eyes. The brown eyes are sad. And am I imagining it, or do I see guilt?
I sigh massively. “Sorry,” I croak. I mean the word in so many ways. Sorry I’d gotten angry. Sorry I’d been mean. Sorry I’d said these words at all.
Sam grabs me by the wrist and looks at me intently. “I never meant to hurt anyone, and I still don’t want to.” He drops my wrist. “Especially you.” Then he picks up his tray and walks away.
I watch him leave. And do nothing.
I meant the words I said to Sam. Everything about the way he acts says he prefers me — the Snow Ball set up, the sweet kiss when we rehearsed. I’ve never even seen him kiss Alana. And they’re supposed to be a couple.
