by Liz Fichera
Metal hangers squeaked as I leafed through his tiny closet. There wasn’t much to see. Sam was hardly a clothes-hound, and it was about what I expected. One rod, one wooden shelf. Lots of worn, cotton Tshirts, a couple of button-downs, six pairs of jeans, which, frankly, surprised me, and a black suit that looked six sizes too small. Two leather belts hung on a hook inside the door along with a cowboy hat. I fingered the belt with the round silver belt buckle. The buckle was bigger than my hand. Three pairs of sneakers and one pair of boots neatly lined the floor like soldiers.
“Do you ride?” I asked, fingering the belt buckle.
Sam didn’t answer right away, as if he were considering whether to tell me. Then he said, “I did when I was younger, me and my dad. Don’t ride too much anymore. Never enough time.” He nodded to the shelf. “That’s what some of the trophies are for.”
“What are the others?”
Sam turned and bowed his head. “A couple of them are from chess tournaments.”
I spun around, forgetting the buckle. “You play chess?”
He nodded.
I turned back around. “So do I. I can never find anyone to play with anymore. Ryan used to play with me. Now he spends all his time with Fred.” I paused. “Maybe we should play sometime.”
Sam hesitated. “Maybe.”
“You have horses?”
“Just a pony now in the barn out back. It belongs to Cecilia.”
“Does the pony have a name?” I continued to examine each of his shirts before working my way to his jeans.
Another long pause. “Papago.”
“As in the freeway?”
He chuckled. “No, as in O’odham.” He said it with a soft accent.
“Cool. What’s that mean?”
“It’s a Native thing. You don’t want to know.”
“Maybe I do?”
Sam shrugged as if he didn’t believe me. Or he didn’t feel like explaining centuries of Native-American history to me.
“Well, I always wanted a horse. You’re lucky. Would you show me Papago?”
Sam didn’t answer. He chose to sigh heavily instead.
“Stop it with the heavy sighing, Sam. Girls don’t like guys who sigh a lot. It’s not fun.” I bit back a smile. “How about you show me your pony after I beat you in chess?”
There was a smile in his response. “Don’t push your luck, Berenger.”
I turned to face him, a little breathless. Sam was so adorable when there was the hint of a smile on his face. “Well, maybe next time. We have a lot to do today.”
“Like what, exactly?” The irritation in Sam’s voice returned but I ignored it.
“First, I’m going to tell you what to wear tomorrow and for the rest of the week, and you’re going to listen to me.” I pulled out a T-shirt that wasn’t as frayed as the others. It would look totally hot underneath the solid blue button-down in his closet. I brought his shirt to my face. It smelled like campfire. My nose wrinkled dramatically, more for his benefit than mine.
Speechless, Sam turned a shade paler, which was difficult to do when you were as dark as he was.
“Then I’m going to cut your hair.”
Sam’s jaw dropped.
“Just a trim. Not much.”
He appeared to have difficulty speaking.
“Do you have any body spray?”
“I am not wearing perfume!” Sam stood up, finding his voice.
“It’s not perfume. It’s body spray. For guys.”
“Same thing. I am absolutely not wearing any perfume.”
“You can and you will, Sam.” I turned back to the closet, ignoring his glare. “Girls like guys who smell good.” I paused, letting my voice linger. “Fred does.”
His mouth snapped shut.
Gotcha, I thought smugly to myself.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t have any.”
“Yes, you do. I brought some in my bag. Along with a pair of scissors.”
Sam flopped onto his bed, the mattress groaning from his weight.
26
Sam
I realized that the only way that I was going to get rid of Riley Berenger was to do what she wanted. Until her brother came to claim her, I was stuck. In the meantime, I felt like a puppet and Riley was working the strings.
She had completely rearranged my closet—not that there was much to rearrange—even setting out what she wanted me to wear for the rest of the week.
“This shouldn’t be tucked in, Sam,” she’d said. And “You need to wear a belt with this, not with that.” Blah blah blah. “Get rid of that and buy a new pair of stone-washed.” More blah blah blah. I had to laugh. Only in Riley’s world did people have credit cards with unlimited spending limits. Welcome to my world. I certainly did not.
Riley placed a new bottle of body spray on my dresser. I had to admit, it didn’t smell half-bad, although I would never tell her that. She’d sprayed some into the air when I’d refused to let her spray it on my arm. It smelled earthy, like creosote in the desert after it rained. I supposed I could live with that.
She grabbed my hand, pulling me off the bed, and walked me outside with her hand in mine. Then she found a chair and set it under a paloverde tree. She told me to take off my shirt, again, as Grandmother watched us, never saying a word, her fingers working as feverishly as Riley’s.
Riley detangled my hair with the brush she’d grabbed from my dresser. She produced scissors from her bag and began to cut the ends. I watched as at least two inches of my hair fell to the dirt like black smudges.
“Sit still,” she said, pulling my hair back. “I’m not cutting that much off. Just the ends. You totally need this.”
“I do not need this, Berenger.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
Then Riley combed the hair over my eyes and stood in front of me, her thighs pressed against my knees, my gaze dead-even with her chest. Her skin was as warm as mine.
I closed my eyes, ordering myself to forget the curves and pearly-white skin I had seen beneath her clothes on Saturday night. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t remembered it at least a dozen times since being stranded with her on the side of the mountain. What normal guy wouldn’t?
“When I’m done with you, you’ll have every girl at Lone Butte begging you to take them to junior prom.”
My tongue got lost in my throat. Then I managed to ask, “Who said anything about prom?”
She continued to comb the hair over my eyes. “Well, it’s pretty much a given that you’ll be nominated for junior court. Jay Hawkins mentioned it to me in study hall today.”
“Jay Hawkins?” I blurted. “I told you I can’t stand that guy. What do I care what he says?”
“You should care. Jay’s popular. He’s also on the court committee.”
“I couldn’t care less. And I have no desire to go to a stupid prom.”
“What if Fred wants to go?”
“She’s going with Ryan.”
“I’m not sure if he’s formally asked her yet. A girl likes to be asked, you know.”
“Come on, Riley.” It was hard not to roll my eyes in frustration. “It’s a given that they’ll go together at this point. Get real.”
“Nothing’s a given in high school, Sam.”
“Since when are you the expert?”
Her scissors paused in midsnip. “You can learn a lot when you don’t say much.”
“Are we talking about you?” Quiet wasn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe Riley Berenger. Did she have an evil twin?
She ignored me.
“But prom is in a month.” Never mind that I had no suit, no money and no ride. Not gonna happen.
“And that’s why we don’t have any time to waste.” She combed back my hair so that I could look up at her. Her body blocked the setting sun, which framed her like a photograph, all shimmery around the edges. In this light, her blue eyes darkened like deep water.
I bli
nked away the thought of Riley’s eyes and the way they stared back at me as if I were the most important person in the whole world. “And you think that body spray and a haircut is going to change things between me and Fred.” It wasn’t even really a question.
She nodded. “Sure. It’s a start. And, oh, by the way, you’ve got plans Saturday night.”
I coughed. “I do?”
“You’re going to Jay’s party.”
I sat straighter in the chair, enough so that she had to pull back the scissors.
“I am not going to Jay Hawkins’s party, Riley. Never. No way.”
Riley’s shoulders slumped. Her arms slapped to her sides. “It’s probably the biggest party of the year. You’ve got to go. It’s part of the plan.” Then she begged. “Please?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Her face crumpled and I had to look away before I’d weaken. Again. I had already let this girl leaf through my closet, cut my hair and douse me with perfume. There was no way I was going to spend a Saturday night at Jay Hawkins’s house. “I wasn’t invited.” Big surprise.
Riley yanked my hair. “Are you kidding? Everybody’s invited, even sophomores.” She pointed at herself as her eyes widened with delight. Then she proceeded to talk a million miles a minute. “Jay sent out a text to the whole school today. His parents are in Jamaica. I’m going with Drew and I heard Ryan saying something about it to Fred.”
I brushed the tiny fallen hairs from my arms. My skin itched as if I had hives, just at the thought of sitting inside Jay’s house did, making small talk with people I barely knew—people I didn’t want to know. “I’m not going.”
“But—”
I stood up. My chair crashed backward. I towered over her, my chest bare and covered by clumps of my own cutoff hair. “Forget it! Now call your brother and have him pick you up. I’ve got homework.”
Riley stood with her arms extended, the scissors still poised in her right hand. Her voice softened. “Come on, Sam. Stop being difficult.”
“I mean it, Riley,” I said, but there was something about the way her eyes pleaded with mine that made my knees wobble. I huffed, “We’re done here.”
Riley looked beyond my shoulder. Grandmother was walking toward us across the lone piece of patchy grass around our house, a light brown basket in her hands.
“For you,” Grandmother said, extending both hands. They might have been the only words she’d uttered all day.
Riley placed the scissors on my chair. Then she reached for the basket. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” Riley fingered the tight weave. Two rectangles of horsehair dotted each side, the basket no bigger than a fist.
Grandmother nodded at her before turning back to her chair, her hands clasped behind her back as she walked across the yard with her usual deliberate, tiny steps.
Riley looked at me and whispered, “What is it?”
“A basket?” I said in a normal voice, in case it wasn’t obvious.
She shot me a glare. “I know that,” she said, still whispering. “But, I mean, why would your grandmother give me a present? She doesn’t know me.”
Grandmother mumbled something, not meant for Riley to hear but I heard it. Loud and clear.
“Sorry, Grandmother,” I called after her.
“Sorry for what?” Riley whispered.
“She says I’m being rude. And she’s got ears like Superman. Even though she’s almost ninety, she hears everything.”
Riley cupped the basket in the palm of her hand, cradling it like a fistful of gold.
“It’s a dream basket,” I said finally. “You’re supposed to write down your dreams and place them inside. If you do, they’ll come true.”
Riley’s head tilted, and she beamed at the basket with renewed interest. “Is that a Gila thing, too?”
“No, that’s a Grandmother thing. I’m pretty sure she made that up, but it sounds good. And she sells a ton of them.”
We laughed, and the laughter lifted some of the tension between us. I did like Riley’s laugh. It was the light and girly kind that made you smile just hearing it.
“Wait here,” I told Riley. “I’ll grab a couple of Cokes and wait with you till your brother gets here.”
“Bring out your chess set?” Her lips twisted.
“Okay,” I said. “But be prepared to lose.”
“Big talker!” She crossed her arms.
I went inside and then returned with two soda cans and a dusty chess set that hadn’t been used in forever. The last time I’d played was with Dad during Christmas four years ago. Dad liked chess almost as much as I did, mostly because very little talking was involved. I figured that was why he’d taught me the game in the first place. It was the one thing we could do together. Unfortunately the set now mostly collected dust in my dresser drawer.
For the rest of the afternoon, Riley and I didn’t talk about my hair, my clothes, body spray or Ryan and Fred. We just sat beneath the tree, playing chess and talking about weird teachers and classes and nothing in particular until we reached a stalemate. Just us. Just talking. Kind of like Saturday night on the side of the Mogollon Rim all over again except without the torrential rain and lightning and cold. I had to admit that she was better at chess than I’d have thought.
When Ryan pulled up, the sun had almost completely set behind the Estrella Mountains. It didn’t seem like another hour had passed, but I guessed it had. I reached down my hand to help her stand and then she hugged me, just like that, like it was the most natural thing. Without a word, we waited for Ryan to stop the car.
As Riley climbed into the Jeep, she said, “Don’t forget about tomorrow.” Then she winked at me.
Reluctantly, I nodded. I went over Riley’s “plan” in my head. It was so not me, and yet she had me cornered as neatly as she had cornered my king in our last chess game.
“Good,” she said, lifting her chin with plenty of confidence. “I’ll see you in the cafeteria. This’ll work, Sam. You’ll see.”
I looked at Ryan. He was talking on his cell phone as if Riley and I were invisible. He had no clue that Riley’s plans involved changing his life forever—well, at least for the rest of the school year, if Riley had her way.
“See you tomorrow,” I said, tossing my shirt over my shoulder.
Riley smiled back at me. I was in so deep that I couldn’t see the surface anymore.
“Bye, Grandmother Tracy! Thanks again for the basket!” Riley waved.
Grandmother raised her eyes from her weaving and nodded. A small smile lifted her lips.
I watched Ryan’s Jeep until it reached the end of our dirt road, bouncing over all the ruts. I remembered that I’d forgotten to show her Cecilia’s pony. Oh, well.
Just as Ryan’s Jeep was turning onto the main road, Mom and Dad drove up the dirt road from the opposite direction in Dad’s truck, dust swirling behind their rear wheels as they chugged toward the trailer. The warm fuzzy feeling from Riley’s hug faded. Great. They were home early. Just my luck.
Dad parked the truck alongside the house, exactly where he always did.
“Who was that?” Mom called from the passenger window. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head.
Suddenly I felt self-conscious, standing under the tree without a shirt and with newly trimmed hair. A thousand questions scrolled across their foreheads. I looked over at Grandmother for a little assistance, but she was deep into her next basket.
I turned back to Mom. “Just a friend,” I said, picking up the box of chess pieces and crushing a Coke can beneath my foot.
“Wasn’t that the girl from Saturday night?” Mom stepped out of the truck. Mom was as sharp as a cactus needle. She never missed a thing.
I nodded.
“What was she doing here?” Mom’s eyes narrowed, sweeping over me. Dad joined her from the other side. He dragged a hand through his hair. New lines had sprouted between his eyes. He looked more exhausted than usual.
“Homework,” I said, but th
en I realized how stupid that sounded as I stood surrounded by two inches of my hair, holding my chess game against my hip, Coke cans at my feet, along with an empty bag of potato chips.
Even Dad exhaled, saying nothing. He started walking to the house.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I said, “What the hell is his problem?”
“Watch your language, Sam,” Mom snapped.
But I stared at her, waiting for a response, for anything that made sense. “Well?”
“It’s been a long day and we’re still tired from the weekend. We come home and find you with your shirt off and this girl from Saturday who got you into trouble exiting our driveway. Give us a chance to process, Sam,” Mom said. “And give your dad a break today, okay?”
“I’ve had a long day, too,” I said. “Can’t I at least get a hello?”
“Your father said hello. Didn’t you hear him?” Mom’s brow furrowed but I think she was rethinking whether she’d heard him say hello or simply wished he had.
“I didn’t hear one.” I rarely saw Dad during daylight hours. The least he could do was acknowledge my existence. Why did I feel like a trespasser in my own home?
“Don’t be so sensitive, Sam,” Mom scolded, walking toward the house and leaving me under the paloverde tree, confused as usual about how things had gone so terribly wrong. “You know that your father has never been very good with words. It’s what he feels inside that’s most important.” Then Mom stopped and turned. “You could make more of an effort.”
I snorted. “An effort to do what?”
“An effort to be more understanding. He’s had a lot on his mind lately.”
“Like what?”
Mom stopped. “Work. Chasing after idiots all day at the casino. Paying the bills around here. Did you know we need a new air-conditioner and the truck needs new tires?” Her arms folded across her chest. Mom always defended Dad. Always. No matter what I said. “The pressure can wear down a man.”
“Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind, too.”
Mom’s chin lowered. “You’re just a kid. What could be troubling you?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Mom chuckled as if I were making a joke.
“I’m serious, Mom. And I am not a kid anymore. I’m seventeen.”
