“He’s looking this way,” I said.
Izzy studied her physics book. “Which means he’s looking at you.”
“My face or your rear, what do you think?”
Izzy half-snorted a laugh, then tried to compose herself. “Your face is every bit as lovely as my butt, Al,” she assured me. “Is he coming this way?”
“Yeah. He looks a little nauseated. That’s good.”
“Nauseated is good.”
“It could be pre-asking-out nausea.”
“Oh, God, oh, God, please,” Izzy whispered, then groaned. “Listen to me. I’m talking to a deity I don’t even believe in.”
I kicked her gently. Sam was closing in. “I think you’re supposed to do all the questions at the end of chapter seven,” I said loudly.
“Ladies,” Sam said, straddling a chair, “you are in possession of contraband in the form of high-fat snack food.”
“Hey, it’s our first offense,” Izzy argued.
“You can buy my silence with a couple of Doritos,” Sam said. His eyes bounced off mine for a split second. “Or you can go out with me tomorrow night.”
Izzy’s pale cheeks colored. “You drive a hard bargain. Just don’t put this on my permanent record.”
“Okay, then.” Sam wiped his palms on his jeans. “Sevenish. I know where you live. We’ll … I don’t know. Have a snack-food orgy. You know I have a motorcycle?”
“I can’t wait to tell Mom.”
“Don’t forget your extra helmet,” I said, instantly regretting it.
“How do you know he has an extra helmet?” Izzy asked.
The edges of Sam’s mouth curled ever so slightly. I knew what that look meant—I told you this wouldn’t work.
“That time in the field where he nearly killed himself—remember I told you about it? He had one then. I found it in a ditch.”
I smiled back at Sam. He stood up abruptly. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he said to Izzy.
“Sooner,” Izzy said.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. French.”
As he left he brushed my shoulder with his arm. No big contact, not a major foul, but instinctively I pulled away.
Izzy watched him go, perfectly serene. But as soon as he was out of sight she threw her fist in the air. “Yes!” she cried. “We have liftoff. Doesn’t he have the most incredible you-could-crawl-into-them eyes?”
“Excellent eyes.”
“And those kind of Brad Pitt lips, with that sort of Tom Cruise nose.”
“Excellent assorted body parts.”
She looked so ecstatic. I felt a sweet rush of power, like any successful matchmaker, but it was more than that. I felt positively generous. Almost, as Sam had put it, noble.
“God, I’m being a ditz, aren’t I?”
“Izzy, he’s gorgeous. He’s sweet. He sent you flowers. And you’re going out. What’s not to ditz over?”
“What makes you think he’s sweet?”
“I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“I’m not, though.”
“Sure you are,” I said.
“Remember the last guy I had a crush on? Jerry? Tall, very-tall-so-he-must-be-perfect-for-me Jerry? Remember how we had lunch outside by the flagpole? And how he said he had something to share with me? Do you remember what he shared?”
“Yes, Iz. I remember.”
“Say it.”
“No, Iz. I will not say it.”
“Say it.”
“I don’t remember.”
“He blew milk through his nose, didn’t he, Al?”
I tried very hard not to smile.
Izzy dropped her head to the table. “Oh, man, what if he’s another Jerry?”
“He’s not,” I said confidently.
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“He will,” I said, but just to be on the safe side, I resorted to the crossed fingers once again.
That afternoon in study hall I wrote Sam a simple, no-nonsense, I-just-want-to-help note. Things were getting off to such a good start that I wanted to make sure they stayed that way. I kept imagining a last-minute crisis with Morgan interrupting the plan, Sam calling Izzy with some bogus excuse, Izzy devastated.
I folded the note and passed it back.
Sam,
Izzy’s so psyched!!! You should have seen her. I know you guys will have a great time. Need any help with Morgan? I’d be happy to keep him company. Honest.
Al
A few minutes later my note was returned. Sam had written at the bottom in a nearly illegible scrawl:
A—Thanks, no. Jane volunteered to keep an eye on him. Had a talk with M, he’s promised to behave, all’s well.
Glad Izzy’s glad.
I still love you.
I still love you.
I read the words a thousand times, but I did not turn around. I crumpled up the note, then reconsidered, folding it neatly and tucking it into my notebook. When the bell rang and we shuffled toward the door, Sam and I ended up right next to each other. We walked side by side, as stiff and self-conscious as a bride and groom heading down the aisle.
When we reached the door we went our separate ways without a word.
That night Sam called me. “Are you sure about this?” he asked me yet again.
“I’m sure.”
“Do you think she knows?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sure she doesn’t. And it has to stay that way.”
“I love you, Alison,” Sam said.
I waited. I could hear the breeze nudging the palms outside my window, I could hear Sam’s even, steady breaths.
“I love you too,” I said, and then I hung up the phone.
On Friday afternoon Gail and I went over to Izzy’s for the great pre-date conference. Most of it was spent on what Izzy called her very own personal Easter parade: a steady procession of headwear.
She was very cool about letting us see her head. Part of it was red from the radiation she’d been receiving, as if she’d been sunburned. The technicians had marked her scalp with purple ink to make it easier for them to pinpoint her treatments.
We settled at last on a black scarf. I advised against a skirt (the motorcycle again), so she opted for a pair of black jeans with a great vest Rosa had embroidered for her.
“We have to go, Izzy,” I told her a few minutes before Sam was due to arrive. “We have empty, dateless lives to lead.”
“Stay,” she pleaded. “Stay till he gets here.”
“No,” I said.
“Let’s,” Gail argued. “We can live vicariously.”
“Come on, Gail.” I pulled on her arm urgently.
Izzy led us to the door.
“You look great,” I told her.
“Gorgeous,” Gail agreed. “Our little Isabella, all growed up.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
“Not a clue,” Izzy said. She grinned. “You know what’s great about this? I feel normal for the first time in ages. You know, healthy normal. For the first time I’m not thinking about radiation and doctors and tumor size. Well,” she added wryly, “at least I wasn’t until now, when I brought up how I wasn’t thinking about it. The point is, all I care about at this particular second is me and Sam.”
That was all I needed to hear to know that Sam and I were doing the right thing. Whatever else happened, Izzy would always have this moment when, for a fragile bubble of time, she was just another nervous girl getting ready for a first date.
That evening I was lying in bed reading when Izzy called. “How was it?” I asked as soon as I grabbed the phone, knowing it was her.
“Perfect.” Her voice was tipsy with emotion. “Perfect guy, perfect date, perfect, perfect, perfect.”
“No first-date nerves?”
“No, that’s the amazing thing. Sam’s just so gentle and funny and sweet. Not at all what we thought, the whole mysterious tough-guy thing.”
“No awkward long pauses or anything?”
&n
bsp; “No. We went to Caragiulo’s for pizza and it was like we’d known each other forever. He was so cool about my being sick—really open, not like most people. You know how they freeze up.”
I twisted the cord around my finger. “Did you find out much about him?”
“Not much. A little. He told me he’s from Michigan, and he’s staying with his grandfather. That’s about it. He talked about you a lot, though.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize you two knew each other that well.”
“Well …” I hesitated. “We have study hall together.”
“That’s what he said. Anyway, he thinks you’re pretty cool.” She paused and laughed softly. “Of course, I’m the one he kissed.”
I tried not to think about what that felt like, letting go into that sweet rush of feeling when his lips had touched mine. “And?”
“Perfect. Just … so … perfect. I need a new word. Something that transcends perfect.”
“I’m glad, Iz. I’m really glad.”
“You know what’s great? I may still die a virgin, but at least I won’t be sixteen and never been kissed.”
Die. That word, so casual.
“How can you tell when someone’s, you know, really right for you, do you think?” Izzy asked.
“It’s just like in the movies. Tight head shot and the music swells. If you’re really meant for each other, the camera fades away discreetly.”
She laughed. “Well, I should go. Rosa’s afraid I’ve overdone it. I come home, she feels my head and instantly makes me take my temp. So it’s, like, some minute amount over normal and now she’s stuffing all kinds of rude Cuban concoctions down me. OJ and pig livers or something.”
“I’m so glad you had a good time, Iz. You deserve someone like Sam.”
“Hey, Al? Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For hooking us up.”
“I didn’t … what are you talking about?”
“You know, inviting him to the party, giving me the moral support so I wouldn’t chicken out on the date.”
“All in the line of duty,” I said softly. “What are friends for?”
I hung up the phone and went to my dresser. As I took off the soft gray T-shirt I was wearing and put on another one, I began to cry in hard, hurting gasps.
Tears flowing, I folded Sam’s shirt up neatly and put it in the bottom drawer under a pile of clothes. Out of sight, where I’d forget I’d ever had it. Where I’d forget the uneasy whispers of regret that had made it so hard for me to hear the joy in my best friend’s voice.
Chapter 11
FOUR WEEKS PASSED. I saw Izzy less because she saw Sam more. She thought she was falling in love. I told her I thought she deserved it.
She was getting sicker, you could see that. Already there had been a couple of seizures, both at home. Her right leg sometimes dragged a bit when she walked. Occasionally she slurred her words just the tiniest bit. But despite the headaches, the steady weight loss, and the terrible fatigue, in a strange, bizarre way, I don’t think I’d ever seen her happier. She was always laughing, always trying to stay in high gear, almost as if she was trying to milk every precious moment.
Sometimes I thought I saw a ragged edge to all the manic moments, like watching an actress fall momentarily out of character. But I chided myself when I thought those things. Was I looking for a snag in her happiness, a sign all wasn’t well in the relationship I’d fostered?
I hoped not. I hoped I was letting go of Sam, sharing him the way I’d promised myself I would. Freely, out of love for Izzy, no questions asked. There would be time enough for Sam and me. We had all the time in the world. Izzy didn’t.
After a while I got used to seeing Izzy and Sam whispering, holding hands, doing the things people falling for each other do. He and I never talked, unless it was in Izzy’s presence. He didn’t even acknowledge me in the halls. It was as if, having switched his attentions to Izzy, Sam couldn’t deal with me on any level, not even as a friend. After their first date he’d taken me aside in the hall to explain that he had to keep his distance from me. It was too hard, he’d said, too complicated otherwise.
It hurt. I have to admit it hurt in a way I’d never hurt before, a dull, empty ache that never went away. But it was nothing, nothing like the pain I knew Izzy was silently enduring. That’s all I had to remember when I saw Sam’s long fingers tangle with hers, or watched him kiss her so tenderly I’d wonder if he’d ever really cared for me at all.
At times like that I would feel the awful hot-steel burn of jealousy. But then I would look at the black half-moons under Izzy’s eyes and her sweet, off-kilter baseball cap, and I would wonder what kind of horrible person lived inside me that I could even feel such a thing.
One time, soon after Sam and Izzy started dating, a bunch of us were in the lunchroom together. I was sitting next to Izzy. She said something that made us all laugh, and all of a sudden, Sam leaned forward to kiss her. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her long and slow while we all watched, a little embarrassed, a little fascinated.
While he was kissing her he opened his eyes and looked right at me. I didn’t know what I saw in his eyes at that moment—hurt? anger?—but I knew I didn’t like it. And I knew I didn’t like the acid grip of regret and jealousy I felt, looking at them together. I’d stopped feeling noble. At that moment I just felt angry.
I got up to leave before the kiss ended. I was halfway across the lunchroom by the time Izzy could call out to me. I slipped out the door as fast as I could, pretending not to hear.
Late one afternoon I was working on an English essay when I heard a familiar noise slice the air. I looked out my window and saw Sam talking to Sara in the driveway. My mom tapped on my door.
“Al?”
“I heard.”
She peered inside. “Shall I tell him you’re coming?”
I stared at my notebook. “Tell him I’m not here, okay?”
She gave me that disappointed look that mothers have a patent on.
“Don’t,” I said.
“What?” All innocence.
“Look at me that way. That superior mother-knows-best way. This is working, Izzy is totally in love with Sam, I do not have anything to say to him, end of story.”
She joined me on the bed. “What if Sam’s not in love with Izzy? What if this isn’t working, and that’s what Sam wants to tell you? Whatever happens, you don’t want Iz to be hurt, now, do you?”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to him in the driveway. But do me a favor and don’t invite him to dinner, okay?”
“I would never humiliate you that way. We’re having leftover goulash.”
I checked the mirror. I looked like … well, like leftover goulash. Not that it mattered.
“What’s up?” I said when I reached the porch. Sara was sitting on Sam’s motorcycle, doing her best Evel Knievel impersonation.
Sam hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “I wondered if we could talk.”
“I’ve got that English thing due tomorrow. I’m kind of swamped.”
“A few minutes, that’s all. I was just over at Izzy’s.”
“She’s okay?” I asked in alarm.
“She’s okay. Real tired. She’s having more trouble with her right side. But you know Iz. She’s pretending everything’s fine.” He locked eyes with me. “Me, I’m not so good at that.”
“I don’t think we want to have this talk.”
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
Without a word I turned, held open the screen door for him, and led him into the house. “Sam, Mom. Mom, Sam.”
“Hi … I guess it’s Dr. Chapman, right?” Sam said, extending his hand.
“I’m flexible,” my mom said. “I’m sorry Alison’s dad isn’t here to meet you, Sam. He used to own a Harley himself.”
Sam looked impressed.
“Don’t think he’s cool. He sold it for a VW.” I gestured toward the porch. “Come on. W
e can talk out back.” I sent my mom a look meant to ensure total privacy.
We sat on the patio furniture in the backyard, face to face, a white plastic table separating us. “Alison,” Sam said without preamble, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Sam,” I said, struggling to sound neutral.
“At first I was just hurt and really angry with you for suggesting the whole thing with Izzy. But after a while the hurt started to go away and I realized I just plain missed being able to talk to you.”
“So why have you been avoiding me?”
Sam rubbed his temples. “Because it’s too much, it’s too confusing.”
I tapped my fingers on the table. “Izzy’s in love with you, you know.”
“I know. But I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I …” Sam rolled his head back and closed his eyes. “Because this is all getting so complicated. Because I miss you.”
“This isn’t about us right now.”
“I feel like Izzy deserves the whole truth,” Sam said. “Whatever that is.”
“Why do you have to make this harder? It’s working. It’s working fine.”
He leaned forward, studying me. “I don’t know how to say this, Alison.”
“Your feelings for me don’t matter right now,” I interrupted, paving the way to the place I knew he was going. “There’ll be time enough—”
“You don’t understand. I do still have feelings for you.” He gave a wry smile. “Major feelings. But that’s not the problem. The problem is, I’m … I guess I’m starting to have feelings for Izzy too.”
He looked at me for absolution. I could see the pain in his face. I could hear it in his voice.
I didn’t react. I didn’t want him to know that at that moment I wanted to take everything back. Hearing him say the words out loud, I realized that I didn’t want him to love Izzy. At least not the same way he loved me … the way I’d thought he loved me. I wanted him back. For myself. Suddenly I didn’t want to share him anymore.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself as much as I did at that moment.
I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “But this is good, this is great,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “This is what I thought might happen. Of course you’re falling for Izzy. She’s beautiful and brilliant and hey, she’s my best friend. I’ve got good taste when it comes to friends.” I laughed brightly. “This is good, Sam. God, don’t fight it.”
Sharing Sam Page 9
