"She's fine, you know, but I'm not looking to marry the girl," he murmurs.
"I don't think—"
"Or have a relationship of any kind. Or hook up with her again either, for that matter," he clarifies.
I frown. I like Lily. And I know she really likes Dave. His rejection is going to sting.
"Don't look at me like that, Pine. It was just a hookup. I'm just not that into her, or whatever that line is. We can't all be Andy and Tina. Or Tuck and Carl now, apparently." Dave shrugs. I guess I can't blame him for not returning Lily's feelings. He's entitled to feel how he feels. Though it probably would've been better if he'd considered his lack of feelings prior to sleeping with her.
"Well that's all up to you, Dave, but you can't just hide from her every day. Just tell her the truth."
"Dude, I did. I totally told her I didn't wanna continue seeing her, and I fucked Lisa last week—"
"Jesus, Dave!" My laughter doesn't make me sound too serious though.
"Whatever, Pine, you're one of the guys, it's cool," he says dismissively, waving me off. How am I always one of the guys?
But Dave really has become a friend. He was there that night Robin came after me in Miami, and he's one of the few people who knows my attacker wasn't a stranger. I knew that Carl, Tucker, Tina, and Andrew would keep it to themselves, but I did have doubts about Dave. I feel guilty about that now. Sam, on the other hand, was confident that Dave could be trusted, and time has proven him right. At least so far. I've come to realize that after Tuck, Dave is probably Sam's closest friend, and he has grown on me quite a bit. I trust Sam's judgment implicitly, and the more I get to know Dave, the more I warm to him.
"She wants me to take her to prom. I think she just wants a varsity shirt to wear on Senior Monday. But even asking her to prom wouldn't give her the right for that! It's not like we're a couple. She dropped hints about prom over break, but I ignored them, because, you know, I was just looking to get laid. But now she's enlisting her friends! Girls are fucking crazy, man!"
"Thanks," I say sarcastically, but he dismisses me again, like I'm not even a girl at all.
"She had Carl tell Tuck to get me to ask her, and had Tina push Andy about it, too. I never gave her a reason to think I wanted all that."
"Well—"
"Fucking crazy, I'm telling you."
"So your plan is what? To hide for a few weeks until she forgets about you? Out of sight, out of mind?" I tease.
Dave blinks at me. "Um, yeah. Kind of, actually," he deadpans, and I burst into another fit of laughter.
Dave smiles.
"You could just give in and ask her. You know, go as friends. People do that, don't they? If they're not in a relationship?" I ask. That was standard back home. No one stayed home from prom. You either went with the guy you were dating or went with a guy friend. Only a few ever went stag.
"I could, but she'd take it the wrong way. Anyway, that'd probably get in the way of my plan to get in Sara's pants," he admits, and my laughter returns. "You going with Cap?" he asks, and my brow furrows.
I shake my head. "I don't really do school dances… not that he asked me."
Dave looks confused. "You have to come to senior prom. I mean, it's senior fucking prom," he says matter-of-factly, but I just shrug. The truth is, I'm pretty sure a school dance, even prom, could be a real dangerous trigger for me.
But I've only been at this school since February, so it doesn't really feel like my senior prom anyway.
"Well I'd say you and I should go as friends, it'd probably get Lily off my back, but it would also get Cap to knock me the fuck out, so you're out of luck, Pine," Dave teases.
"Ha. ha." I reply humorlessly. "I told you, Sam didn't ask me. We're just friends. He wouldn't care if I went with someone else, especially as a friend. But like I said, I don't do school dances."
Dave eyes me dubiously and I wonder what he's not saying.
"Shit," he loud-whispers when we see Chelsea's car zoom past our hiding place and out of the student lot just as my phone buzzes with a text from Carl asking where I am. "Do you think they saw us?"
I shake my head. "You're ridiculous," I tell him, as I stand and begin to make my way to my friends. I glance back as Dave climbs cautiously from his spot, looking around to make sure the coast is clear, and I shake my head again. He is too funny.
We decide on frozen yogurt for lunch, so it's just Carl, Tina, and me. The boys are presumably at the diner, and I don't know if I'm more relieved to not have to fake just friends with Sam, or disappointed not to be near him.
I never knew you could miss someone while you're right next to them. But that's the phenomenon my situation with Sam has created. And it freaking hurts.
But not as bad as losing him would hurt.
Tina starts talking about some dress she saw in Bergdorf Goodman last weekend when she was shopping with her mom in Manhattan. It's ridiculously priced for a prom dress—or any dress in my opinion—but Tina is hell bent on convincing her parents to agree to let her buy it. Carl had already purchased a dress, but now that she and Tuck are a real couple, she wants to get something more special. I supply my cursory smiles and ignore their pushes to get me to agree to attend the stupid dance. It seems like its the only thing anyone can talk about these days.
"So, did Tuck give you his varsity shirt yet?" Tina asks teasingly.
Carl—completely out of character for her—actually blushes as she nods.
"I bet you never thought you'd be wearing a guy's varsity shirt on Senior Monday, huh, Ms. Independent?" Tina is enjoying this, whatever it is she's referring to. I can only assume Carl wasn't exactly the relationship type pre-Tuck. I only really know her as being in love with Tuck. Even before she would admit it. Of course, the last time I'd seen her before I moved back here this past February, we were both twelve.
"What… and what?" I remind them that I'm still fairly new here and have no idea what the hell they're talking about.
"Oh. Yeah. It's tradition. Senior Monday is the last Monday of school. There's an assembly and whatever, and it's like a proclamation. For couples. If a girl wears her guy's varsity shirt it's like saying they're not just a high school relationship—that they're staying together. Obviously it's only for varsity athlete's girlfriends. Back in the day girls used to wear their boyfriends' class ring. But no one gets those anymore," Tina explains. The tradition surprises me. It's the kind of thing that would be normal back home, but here… I'd expect people to be more progressive.
"So you wear your boyfriend's varsity tee shirt and it's some grand proclamation of commitment?" I ask.
"Pretty much," Carl replies, and we all three giggle at the ridiculousness of it.
"So if your guy doesn't give you his shirt, or if he does and you don't wear it that Monday, it's what? Just a big fuck you?" I ask.
"Pretty much," Carl says again. "Kind of a way to say 'you were good enough to date in high school, but I'm keeping my options open'."
"Well that's fair, isn't it? I mean, how often is it that people find their future husbands or wives in high school these days?" I ask casually, but Tina and Carl just blink at me.
I've hit a nerve. With myself, too, I realize. I'm not sure either of them could quite imagine a future without their guys. Certainly not any more than I could imagine wanting to be with anyone other than Sam. But I can't be with him. And I realize that means I end up alone.
But if it gets Sam the future he deserves, then I can handle that, I remind myself.
Thankfully, Tina changes the subject to some popular bar in the city that we're apparently all going out to Thursday night. Friday is another "senior activity"—Senior Sleep-In. At first I thought it must be some kind of Lock-In where the students all spend the night in the gymnasium, but it isn't.
Apparently the last Friday of school before finals was traditionally Senior Ditch Day—where students cut class for the entire day. The faculty took issue with that a few years ago, the seniors complained, and thu
s a compromise was reached—Senior Sleep-In, where seniors can come in late, after fifth period and thus ditch half the day. Since we get to sleep until like eleven in the morning, new tradition apparently dictates that the night before, we have to go out and have a late—well, the word Dave used was epic—night out in the city.
I can't say I'm especially looking forward to it. The truth is, ever since Miami, I haven't really felt particularly comfortable going out at night at all. It's all just too familiar. The loud music, crowded bar or house, drunk people… all loud whispers of a memory I'd rather soon forget. But I've only been to one small get-together in these past weeks, and Carl made me promise not only to commit to going out the night before Senior Sleep-In, but to come to Andrew's tonight. Something I'm definitely not looking forward to.
But I agree, because becoming a depressed shut-in would mean Robin won. And I can't have that. Not after everything he's already taken from me.
****
I ride with Carl and Tina to Andrew's for his regular Friday night party. Sometimes it's an all out rager, other times it's your average high school party, but usually, like tonight, it's more of a get-together. Thirty or so of their friends. Of my friends, I guess. Though there are only about six of them I actually consider friends.
I feel a strange, new kind of anxiety. Not the kind that threatens a panic attack—though that's never more than some random trigger away—but the Sam-induced kind. It's this elusive mixture of eager anticipation and dread. A hint of excitement, a whisper of fear. Because I am both desperate to see him, and terrified of the exact same thing.
I miss him. Terribly. But I hate the act. The show. Of pretending I don't miss him terribly. Of being right next to him and at the same time, in another way, so excruciatingly distant. Of acting like this is really all I want, and forget the something more.
I dread it. When I have to step into the facade and pretend this is all okay. That I’m okay.
But I’m so not okay. And considering I’m in love with someone I can never have again, I’m pretty sure I’ll never be okay.
Nevertheless, I slip on my mask as we all climb out of Carl’s Audi. Carl is in an exceptionally good mood—she has been ever since she and Tuck resolved their issues in Miami. But her concern for me is weighing down her contentment. It's in her sideways glances—the ones she intermittently casts my way to make sure I'm coping. And so I plaster on the mask even when Sam's not around. Carl's a great friend, the best girl friend I've ever had, and now that she's finally happy, the last thing I want is to mitigate that with my own misery.
Andrew marches right to Tina as soon as we walk in, obviously impatient over having had to wait on his girl to arrive at his own party. I half expect him to be angry, maybe to grab her arm or growl some reprimand. But he doesn't. He just kisses her sweetly on the lips and laces their fingers together.
I'm reminded again of how screwed up I really am. I think about what Cam told me the night I told him what Robin had done, the night before he died. He said that what Robin did—how he was—it wasn't normal. He was right of course, it wasn't normal.
And now, neither am I.
Carl's eyes lock on Tuck right away, and I immediately turn in the opposite direction. Because I know that where Tuck is, Sam usually is too. And as much as most of me wants to see him, that small part of me—the coward—is painfully aware of how weak I am in his presence, and it's scared.
I'm scared. Because I've exerted the greatest strength of my life in letting him go, and despite what Sam used to think, I'm not strong enough to feel confident that I won't falter.
But as soon as I turn, I nearly smack right into him. I catch myself at the last moment, though part of me regrets the instinct. If we'd collided, at least he'd have to touch me. He hasn't touched me in weeks, not since Miami, and that small fearful part of me vanishes at just the mere thought of his touch. But I caught myself, and so he doesn’t have to.
And he doesn’t.
He doesn't give me a hug or kiss on the cheek in greeting. He doesn't even shake my damned hand. He just startles barely instantly before offering me a warm smile. His perfect dimple is there, and it affects me, and it takes me a moment to gather myself. I try to force the mask back in place.
I am okay.
But Sam notices. He pretends not to, but it's there in his eyes. He saw me fluster and he's put off by it. His reaction makes me even more anxious. Immediately I realize my mistake. That my reaction to him, no matter how fast I tried to cover it, wasn't fast enough. He's annoyed, because he's trying to act normal for the sake of our friendship—my request—and here I am, acting like some lovesick puppy, even if only for a moment. Robin's words from Miami invade my mind, the accusation that I was following Sam around like a fucking puppy, and I blush, ashamed.
But ever so quickly, we both slip our masks into place, and Sam's smile returns.
"How are you doing, Ror?" he asks. I worry my lip between my teeth before I can stop myself, and then release it as nonchalantly as possible. I wonder if Sam has picked up on the lying tell only Cam and my parents have ever recognized.
"I'm doing okay," I reply. Sam seems unsure as to whether he wants to hide his skepticism or not.
"What are you up to this weekend?" he asks.
I shrug. I know his family is hosting some brunch on Sunday. I know because Tucker invited Carl, and Carl mentioned Chelsea was going to be there as well. This irks me, of course, though I have no right to be irked.
Chelsea's parents are friends with Sam's mom, and Sam and Chelsea have been friends since they were little. They had one spat when Chelsea tried to take a photo of my scar while I'd been changing in a bathroom stall after phys ed, but apparently Chelsea saw the error of her ways after Sam stopped speaking to her, she ended up grounded, and her parents cancelled her spring break trip.
I understand why Sam accepted her apology. Really, I do. What I don't understand is how he fell for her story about being over her "little crush". Chelsea and I both know that her feelings for Sam were more than some insignificant crush. For as long as she must have been pining for him, there can be no small amount of feelings that have amassed over the years. I mean, I've only known him a matter of months and look at me. Chelsea didn't just get over him in the past couple of weeks, and I can't understand how Sam doesn't get that.
And it's not like I can say anything about it. Surely I'd just come across like the jealous girl who's still pining over Sam herself. Or like I'm annoyed Sam accepted Chelsea's olive branch because I'm still holding a grudge over the bathroom incident.
I'm both, of course. But neither are the reason for my perception of the situation. It's simply the situation. And Chelsea's pretense of being over Sam, is just that, an obvious and utterly transparent pretense.
But Sam seems to have accepted her story without question. And just as he's done with me, he's managed to act as if nothing disruptive to their friendship ever even occurred and gone back to being just that—friends.
I don't know why this facade is so much harder for me than it is for everyone else. It seems as if wearing a mask of some kind or another is par for the course in high school, I just hadn't noticed it until I'd had to start wearing one myself. And for the hundredth time, I doubt the wisdom in attending this party when the person I wear the mask for most of all can read every thought or emotion I might possess right there on my face.
I fix my expression into what I hope passes for inscrutable before I finally manage to answer Sam's generic, friendly question about my weekend plans.
"I have an, uh, appointment tomorrow," I murmur, fully aware that Sam knows precisely with whom my appointment is scheduled. He nods vaguely to signal as much, as if it makes perfect sense that a shrink's office is where I spend my Saturday afternoons.
"And Sunday?" he asks, and I shrug again. I thought I might possibly consider some studying in the afternoon, but that's all I'd had planned.
"Cap!" someone—Marshall I think—calls from across the room
.
"My mom's doing a brunch at my house. You should come. Tucker and Carl will be there, and Chel, and my cousins, Thea and Danny. And Bits would love to see you. And my mom, too," Sam rambles adorably.
The truth is any excuse to see him sounds good as hell to me. But if I can barely act like I'm okay when were at a crowded party where I only run into him for a couple of minutes, how could going to his house possibly be a good idea?
"Cap!" Marshall shouts again. "Come on, beer pong. Today, bro!"
Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes before letting out a exasperated sigh. "I should go deal with Marshall's new obsession with what he thinks are things people do in college. Never mind that we used to play beer pong as sophomores."
I smile, gradually growing more at ease despite myself. Sam has his way of doing that to me.
"I bet less so in Columbia, though," I hedge.
Sam's smile grows, and his dimple deepens, and just as quickly as he put me at ease, he has me on edge again, sending butterflies aflight in my stomach. "You'd be surprised."
"Cap!"
I'm both furious with Marshall and indebted to him. The mask is slipping, and right now all I can think is how much I miss Sam. I'm standing right next to him, again, and I miss him, again. And in this moment, I feel that newfound selfless strength fading. The ache in my chest is consuming, and I fear I might say or do something extraordinarily stupid.
But in the end, it isn't Marshall and his drunken antics that rescue me from myself. Of all people, it is Chelsea.
She approaches Sam and me as if we're all old friends, and she didn't just basically attack me in the girls bathroom less than a month ago.
"Hi," she says casually. Sam returns her greeting as if it's the most normal thing in the world, but I just blink at her.
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