How hard it was to get over him.
Except all that I’m over him is a lie.
I’m not over him. And I doubt I ever will be.
Yeah, complete and total idiot.
Because instead of telling him no again and sending him on his way, I hear myself say, “Give me ten minutes.”
10
The first time things changed between me and Sam was when we became friends. But I didn’t finally give him a chance because of his charm, friendliness or dorky sense of humor. Or because I felt guilty about ignoring him all through the school year. It wasn’t even because I felt particularly nice that day.
It was because he had a pool.
Not exactly a deep and noble reason to finally talk to someone who’d been trying to befriend you for months, but in my defense, I was ten and going through a rough time. And it’s a huge, in-ground, kidney-shaped pool with a waterfall at the shallow end and a two-story curved slide at the other.
It was the summer after fourth grade and Zoe was in Erie for two weeks visiting her grandmother. None of us had our dads in our lives: Devyn’s father died while serving in the Marines in Afghanistan when she was a baby but he’d walked out on Mom and her years before that, Zoe’s dad spent most of his time in prison and mine took off to parts unknown before I was even born. But Zoe had something Devyn and I didn’t.
Another family.
Grandparents and aunts who kept in touch with her, called her every weekend, sent cards on her birthday, presents at Christmas, and always had her visit for a few weeks each summer.
Nice for her. Not so nice for me.
It didn’t help that Mom had been gone for two months—the longest she’d ever stayed away before. Or that Devyn had gotten a job doing dishes at a local diner and wasn’t around very often.
Without her to watch me, Gigi took me with her to work cleaning houses.
I hated it. Hated having to sit still and be quiet, reading in a corner while Gigi scrubbed someone else’s toilet or mopped their floors.
Hated how jealous I was that Zoe got to escape our life for a few weeks. That her dad’s family wanted to spend time with her. That they wanted her.
Hated that Devyn was gone all day and that when she got home, she was too tired and grumpy to play with me.
Hated that Mom had taken off again. That she didn’t love us enough to stick around. Hated that, even then, I knew this time she wasn’t coming back.
So, no, I hadn’t been feeling particularly nice that day. Or friendly.
What I’d been feeling was hot and sweaty and itchy with boredom.
And more than a little sorry for myself.
I’d sat on the edge of that fancy pool, my bare feet in the cool, clear water, and shut my eyes, breathing in the sharp, strong scent of chlorine, the rush of the waterfall filling my head.
It wasn’t fair.
Zoe didn’t have to stay in our stupid little town all summer. She got to spend two weeks somewhere new. Somewhere else. Her other grandmother took her shopping and bought her new clothes even though she could just wear Devyn’s hand-me-downs. And her aunts took her and her cousins to the zoo and a water park and the lake.
I didn’t even have any cousins. Not that I knew of, anyway.
Gigi didn’t yell at her, didn’t tell her that when they got home she had to spend the rest of the day in her room and be in bed by eight o’clock.
And I hadn’t even done anything! All I’d said was that I was bored. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the first time I’d said it, and yes, Gigi had warned me what would happen if I complained or asked what time she was going to be done again, but still…
Eight o’clock? I wasn’t a baby. And my favorite show was on at eight thirty.
There was no sense hoping she’d forget about the punishment, either. Gigi never forgot. And she never went back on what she said.
She was so mean.
I hoped she was looking for me, wondering where I went. She probably wasn’t. She probably thought I was still upstairs in the hallway with my book. Ha. I showed her. As soon as she took the sheets downstairs to the laundry room, I snuck outside. To the pool. To that waterfall and the promise of that slide.
Even though she’d told me not to.
I kicked the water, had it showering down on my legs. It felt good. I bet if I got in, the water would wash away all the mixed-up feelings inside of me. Would make my anger and jealousy melt away.
I peeked at the door leading into the big, bright kitchen. No sign of Gigi. I could do it. No one else was here except us, so no one would know. And it’d only be a minute or two, just long enough to cool off.
Biting my lower lip, I started a slow slide into the pool, ankles then calves then knees--
“You’re not allowed to be here.”
I jerked in surprise and lifted back onto the edge, my heart racing. Sam stood over me in gym shorts and a Nike T-shirt, his bare legs skinny and tan, both knees scabbed over. Squinting against the sun, I raised my gaze to his face. “What?”
His braces flashed when he spoke again. “You’re not allowed to be here.”
My entire body got hot, but not from the sun, from someplace inside of me. “Yes, I am. I’m with my grandma. She’s inside cleaning.”
He shook his head. “I mean you’re not allowed at the pool.”
“Why not? Because you’re rich and I’m not?”
He took a step back as if I’d hit him. “No. Not because of that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Some of the kids in our school thought they were better than us just because Gigi’s car was old and rusted and we lived in a trailer. Just because Mom had us when she was young and disappeared for days…weeks…at a time. Because Gigi cleaned houses for a living and we had to wear clothes from Top-Mart or Goodwill.
Just because we all had different fathers.
Zoe called them stuck-up pricks and told me to ignore them.
Devyn said the next time they said something mean to punch them in the stomach.
But I’d never thought Sam was like that.
I’d known he was one of those kids, the kind who paid for their lunches instead of getting them free, who started every school year with brand-new clothes whether they needed them or not, who went on vacations to places like Disneyland and Mexico.
But he’d always been so nice—to everyone, not just me. I’d thought he was different.
That was before I saw his house. It was like a castle. The outside was stone, the windows were tall and gleamed as if no dirt dared get on them, and it sat on top of a hill. All rich people lived on hills. It’s, like, a rule, allowing them to look down on the rest of us poor schmucks. Besides the pool there was a fenced-in, full-sized basketball court, a trampoline Gigi said I was absolutely not allowed to go on no matter how bored I got and a real tree house that looked like a pirate ship.
Sam probably thought I wasn’t good enough to touch his stupid pool.
“I don’t lie,” he said after a long moment. “You’re not allowed out here because it’s a rule. No one’s allowed to be by the pool alone.”
“Oh.” The heat inside me subsided but was replaced with a weird, fuzzy feeling. A happy one that Sam wasn’t a stuck-up prick. That I didn’t have to punch him in the stomach. I dropped my gaze to my feet, swished them around to make small waves. “I’m not alone now. You’re here.”
“An adult someone.”
I kept staring at my feet, their image distorted and fuzzy in the water. “My grandma said it was okay.”
He toed off his sneakers and tugged off his socks. Set them aside and sat next to me, this dark-haired boy with his skinny arms and legs, kind eyes and friendly smile. He was the opposite of scary or mean. He was always polite. Always nice.
I was terrified of him and had no idea why.
“You don’t have to lie, either,” he said quietly. “I won’t tell on you.”
“I wasn’t going to get in or anything,” I said quickly then
winced. You don’t have to lie. “I just wanted to put my feet in. That’s all.”
“Do you know how to swim?”
“Yes.”
When Gigi was younger than me, she’d almost drowned in some pond outside of town, so each summer, she paid for us to have swim lessons at the local pool until we’re twelve.
But this year she couldn’t afford them because the water heater broke, even though I would be the only one going.
Another reason to be mad.
Another reason life was so unfair.
Not that there was anything I could do about it. About life or swimming lessons. At least I learned how to tread water and do the breaststroke and the safety rules of being around a pool.
The first one being to never go swimming alone.
“I said I wasn’t getting in,” I told Sam, my stomach feeling all twisty with guilt. “I’m not stupid.”
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“That you’re not stupid,” he said, as if it was a guaranteed truth, as if he knew me so well. As if he saw me. He noticed me. “We could get in,” he continued, his face turning red. “The pool, I mean. Uh…together. I can ask Laura if she’ll watch us.”
“Who’s Laura?”
“Our babysitter. My little brother fell asleep in the car, so she’s taking him up to his room.”
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here,” I said, disappointed because I wanted to go in that pool, down that slide more than anything. “My grandma has other houses to clean after this.”
“Oh. Maybe…maybe you could stay here. Laura said I could have a friend over.”
A friend.
Me.
After all those months of me being mean to him, he was giving me another chance.
I looked at him and he seemed so nice, so harmless that I couldn’t remember why I’d never wanted to talk to him before.
Couldn’t remember why I didn’t want to like him.
Mistake number one.
Mistake number two was smiling at him and saying, “I’ll ask Gigi.”
Mistake number three was pretending that we were going to end any other way than badly.
11
When I come out of my room, Devyn’s waiting for me in the hall.
Arms crossed, she flicks her gaze over me, then tilts her head to the side. “Going somewhere?”
I consider lying, saying I’ve made some new friends and we’re going to the movies or some such nonsense, but quickly discard the idea. Not because I’m above it or anything—I think it’s been well established that me and lying are not only well acquainted, but good buddies. I don’t lie because Devyn can see Sam’s SUV in the driveway and knows darn well he’s waiting for me.
And because she wouldn’t believe the whole new-friends thing anyway.
I nod. Switch my phone from my left hand to my right. “To Beemer’s.”
“With Sam.”
It’s not a question.
More like a declaration of war.
I switch my phone back to my left hand. “He’s giving me a ride.”
She drops her arms with an extremely long, drawn-out sigh. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Nope. It’s a terrible idea.
But when has that ever stopped me?
“It’s just a ride,” I say, shooting for easy, breezy but coming across more nervous and wheezy. I clear my throat. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
I won’t let it.
“We’re not going to be friends again,” I add firmly, hoping to convince us both as I step toward the door.
I don’t want to go back. That’s what Sam told me today at lunch. I don’t want to be your friend.
He wants more. He wants too much.
For a while, after he left, I thought I could give it to him. Thought I could be what he wanted. Then everything changed between us again. And now it’s too late.
I’m turning the doorknob when Dev takes a hold of my arm, stopping me. I frown at her, and for a moment, I think she’s going to yank me back inside, lock the door and forbid me from leaving.
Which is crazy. And a complete turnaround from how our lives have been so far. She’s never stopped me from doing anything. I’ve never had to ask permission to go out or had a curfew. As long as I’m here to watch Taylor when they need me, both she and Zoe have always let me come and go as I please.
But there’s no yanking. No forbidding.
Just a warning.
“Be careful,” she says. “Boys like Sam…” Mouth turned down, she shakes her head. “They don’t stay. Not in this town. Not with girls like us.”
Don’t I already know that? Haven’t I said, time and time again, that he’s not here to stay, that in a few days or weeks, he’ll be gone again?
I know all that and yet I find myself defending him. “He came back.”
Yes, he left me just like everyone else.
But unlike everyone else, he’s here now.
He’s the only one who came back.
The look Dev gives me is so sympathetic, so condescending it sets my teeth on edge.
“Just because he came back doesn’t mean he won’t leave again.” She draws her hand away, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. “And it doesn’t mean he won’t break your heart again, either.”
She walks away.
I should do the same. The smart thing, the safe thing would be to follow her. To not just listen to her good advice but to take it, maybe have it tattooed on my forearm where I can see it each day.
But I’ve never been smart where Sam is concerned.
And I’ve always been willing to risk more than I can afford to lose.
Inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, I open the door. The sun is lower in the sky than when I was out here earlier. But it’s still shining. The air is still thick and warm.
And Sam is sitting on the top step looking at his phone. He’s still here.
I wasn’t sure he would be. Not after the ten minutes I told him I needed to get ready turned into twenty, plus another couple spent with Devyn.
Twelve extra minutes that weren’t just due to me being unable to settle on an outfit and changing clothes three times. I was testing him. To see how badly he wanted me to go to the party with him. To see if he really did want to make amends.
To see if he’d lose patience and interest and walk away from me again.
He stands when I step onto the porch and I see it all on his face, in his eyes. He was worried I’d lied to him, that I’d stay inside, hiding in my bedroom. He’s surprised I came back.
Happy I’m going to the party with him.
I am, too. Surprised and happy.
Oh, we are both so messed up.
He slides his gaze over me, and it’s different than how he used to look at me, quick and glancing, as if afraid I’d notice. Afraid he’d get caught.
It’s slow. Deliberate. Forthright and challenging.
Changed.
I’m unable to move. With him looking at me like that, it’s tough just to breathe. I wipe my palms against the sides of my shorts. After much deliberation and those three outfit changes—which necessitated changing my bra twice—I’d settled on my favorite jean shorts, an emerald-green halter top and strappy, slip-on sandals. Nothing fancy. Certainly nothing that could be misconstrued in any way, shape or form that I was trying too hard.
Or that I was trying to impress anyone. Least of all Sam.
But the longer Sam stares at me, the more uncomfortable I become. The more exposed I feel. Which is stupid. The jean shorts are no shorter than the cotton ones I’d had on when Sam first arrived. But they are tighter, the bottoms of the front pockets sticking out. And the halter top is looser than the tank I’d worn, but the hem barely reaches the waistband of my shorts.
Indecision grips me and I almost turn to run back inside, to change once again, but I force myself to remain still. No, this outfit is fine. The perfect blend between casual, comfortable and c
ute. Besides, I didn’t choose it for him—even if dark green is his favorite color and, I realize with a blush, matches his own shirt. I chose it because I like it. Period.
I left my hair alone because it would have taken too long to straighten it, not because it air-dried after my shower all wavy and tousled.
And, yes, okay, I put on mascara. And lip gloss.
I’m not an animal. I may not have been to a party in almost a year but I still know how to dress for one.
Sam exhales, long and low, and I realize I’m not the only one holding their breath. “You are so pretty, Hadley.”
His voice is soft, gravelly, and it rubs against my skin, has goosebumps rising.
Leave it to Sam to say something so direct. So stunning. No half measures for him. No I like that top or You look pretty.
You are pretty.
So pretty.
No wonder I can’t freaking breathe.
“Thank you,” I manage, but it’s barely a whisper and I know he can hear how unsettled I am. How nervous.
But he doesn’t call me on it. There’s no gloating for Sam Constable. No pushing.
The last time he pushed, I ran.
Then he did.
“Ready?” he asks.
I consider telling him no, that I need to duck back inside, let Devyn know I’m leaving, kiss Taylor good night. But I’ve already done both of those things, and if I go in now, I won’t come back out.
And I’m getting tired of being a coward. So I take a deep breath and hope I’m not making mistake number four where Sam is concerned.
“Ready.”
12
Walking down the steps, I feel Sam behind me, big and silent and dangerous to my peace of mind. My resolve. His fingers brush against my lower back, like he’s guiding me. Like we’re on a date.
Panic bubbles in my stomach. No. This isn’t a date. This is…oh, jeez…I don’t know but I do know it’s not a date.
I’m not going to Beemer’s so I can be with Sam as a friend or anything else. I haven’t forgiven him. This isn’t like when we were kids and he wore me down with his charm and persistence. He hasn’t won me over again with his patience and kindness.
The Art of Holding On Page 7
