SIXTEEN

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

WITH LILY’S INTERVENTION,, Chelsea was blamed for the entire fight, and I got nothing more than one afternoon of detention, which is the school's policy for anyone involved in a physical altercation, regardless of who instigated the conflict. I served it Wednesday after school, and since my mother was mostly just worried about me, I really got in very little trouble. When my NYU acceptance letter came that same afternoon, all else was forgotten and my mom and I went out for sushi to celebrate. She's proud, and honestly I'm just happy to give her pride when I've given her nothing but pain and regret for the past year.

I'm really feeling good - at least for me - for the first time in way too long, and I try to convince myself that the fact that Sam is going to be at Columbia next year - just uptown from NYU's campus - has nothing to do with my improved mood.

With spring break starting midweek, most are treating the three school days we have left as lame duck days, starting break this weekend instead, at least in spirit. It's Friday night and Andrew's is packed. Some kids who graduated last year are home from college, and apparently reliving their high school days, or reconnecting with their slightly younger friends.

I've just barely begun to feel somewhat comfortable around the usual crowd - the people I go to school with - and seem to be the only one here less than thrilled with the unfamiliar faces. Of course, they're only unfamiliar to me.

Carl introduced me to some girls she knows from the volleyball team, and they seem nice enough. A group of guys I don't know stand around, leisurely scanning the room for girls like predators stalking their prey. I've darted a few suggestive comments No one has said anything terribly out of line, but my line and other people's line don't exactly fall in the same place. I haven't been outright propositioned or anything like that, but if one more strange man asks to "get to know the new girl" with a cocky smirk, I'm going to lose it.

I sneak out to the back yard, which grows more and more popular as the season progresses and the air grows more mild. It's no longer an escape - just an extension setting of tonight's party. I spot Dave and Lily chatting with a few people I know and go over to bum a cigarette from Dave, knowing he always has some on him.

"Thanks," I murmur as he lights it for me, and turn to walk away when Lily stops me.

"Rory, can I talk to you a minute?" she asks tentatively.

"Sure."

We walk a few paces for some semblance of privacy before I turn to her to ask what's up. Since Chelsea has been suspended/ grounded, she hasn't been around, but I assumed her friends still saw her. Then I remember that Lily was the one who told the dean the truth, and Chelsea probably deemed that a betrayal.

"I just wanted to apologize for what happened on Tuesday. I swear I had no idea what she had planned. She just told us to follow her because she had something for us to see, and of course, like idiots, we did," she says contritely.

"She's not talking to you, is she?" No, Queen Bee would expect more loyalty from her subjects. She wouldn't            anyone how rare such a simple moral choice is, particularly in high school, and grateful I am. "All the same, thanks."

Dave interrupts us by coming up behind Lily and kissing her neck lewdly. It makes me uncomfortable, but I mentally shrug it off. She giggles and halfheartedly tries to push him away, but it's clear to me they're just one more pair that will undoubtedly couple off for break.

"You ladies talking about me?" he slurs playfully.

"No!" Lily replies.

"We were just talking about break," I lie.

Dave's eyes glow with excitement "It's gonna be slammin'. Drinking all day, partying all night, you all in bikinis..." He sighs dramatically. "A dream come true." Something tells me he'll be seeing Lily in even less than a bikini. Me? Not so much.

I roll my eyes and excuse myself as I smoke my cigarette down to the filter, embracing its calming effect. One cigarette a week - that is all I allow myself. Though in my internal negotiations I consider making additional allowances for vacations with friends - and several virtual strangers - that will undoubtedly include uncomfortable situations riddled with potential triggers.

I'm still on the same bottle of anti-anxiety meds, and I still have seven pills left. I'm a little worried this trip will require me to rely on them more than I've had to lately, but I've decided that the experience will be more rewarding than negative, and I'm truly looking forward to spending quality time with Carl and Tina, and perhaps now Lily, too.

And, of course, Sam.

I drop my cigarette into an abandoned beer bottle that's been repeatedly used for the same purpose, and head back inside. I look around for Carl or Tina, but it's Sam I spot first.

He's standing in the far corner of the crowded living room, off on his own with one other person - a girl I've never seen before. Her long strawberry blond hair hangs loosely down her back and her fair skin is almost luminous. Sam says something with a smirk and her head hangs back with laughter as she touches his chest. Sam smiles, pleased with her response.

Nausea unfurls in my gut. She is absolutely beautiful. And it's clear for anyone to see that she and Sam are something more than friends - more than he and I will ever be. Their exchange is intimate without being necessarily affectionate, at least not in public. My heart rate takes off, but I'm not panicking. No, this is nothing more than your average, run of the mill, common jealousy.

I know who she is without needing to be told. Kendall. His "regular" hook-up before she left for college. But she's home now, at least temporarily, and Sam seems pleased with this development.

In fact, he probably knew she'd be here. He was probably expecting her. They don't look like they're catching up; they've probably been in touch the whole time. I wonder what would've happened if she hadn't gone away to school. If they'd be in a relationship. Carl made it sound like they were never serious or exclusive, and I wonder why not, when they obviously have a real connection.

Pain slices through my chest and it's unfamiliar. It was somehow easier to accept that Sam and I could only ever be friends before there was a beautiful girl hanging all over him right in front of me. One with whom he has a history - an intimate history.

I want another cigarette. Surely I can allow myself one more considering the extenuating circumstances.

I'm about to turn to go bum another one from Dave when I see Carl run over to them and hug Miss Beautiful like they're long lost friends. They fall easily into conversation and I'm even jealous of that. Of course she's friends with my closest girl-friend, and right now, I feel like I don't belong. Like I've just been a deficient, temporary stand-in for this stranger, and now that she's back, I don't have a place.  

I want to go home, but I don't want to make a big deal about it. I should just text Carl that I wasn't feeling well and couldn't find her to say bye. I pull out my phone and am about to head out and do just that when she spots me.

Damn

"Rory! Come here," she calls from across the room.  

Sam follows her line of sight and we lock eyes. He smiles, and I force the fake smile I mastered for Cam's benefit back when I was dating Robin. Sam frowns in response and I wonder if he can't see right through it just as Cam did.

With no other choice, I drag my feet to their corner, stopping to grab a beer on my way.

"Rory, this is Kendall. She graduated last year, she's at Northwestern now," Carl introduces.

I exaggerate my fake smile and murmur hello, silently wondering if her being in Chicago is the reason she and Sam aren't an item. Chicago isn't more than a couple hours away by plane, surely if they wanted to make a go of a long distance relationship, they could have.

"Kendall and her older brother Randy were a big deal in Port Wood. He's at NYU now, isn't he?" she asks Kendall, who'd rolled her eyes when Carl described her popularity. "That's where you're going, Rory, right?"

"Uh, yeah," I murmur.

"Ooh, maybe you can introduce her, Ken. God, Rory, Randy is so hot. We all had crushes on him freshman and sophomore year, you know, until he graduated," Carl explains.

Kendall smiles wryly, as if she's up to something, and I worry I might have another Chelsea on my hands. But of course, Chelsea lashed out at me because Sam didn't want her. Kendall doesn't have that problem.

"Carl, that is an inspired idea. Honestly, Rory, you're just his type, and he was just telling me how he'd love to meet someone and settle down," Kendall replies.

"Rory's not looking to date. She just got out of a relationship," Sam interrupts.

I furrow my brow at him and he clams up. "Uh, yeah. I'm a little young for all that settling down stuff, anyway," I murmur.

Carl and Kendall both laugh. "I didn't mean like marriage. I meant just to start taking someone seriously. But hey, if you're not looking for that, that's cool too. My brother's awesome - I'm sure he'd be happy to show you around campus, you know, as a friend. It's always good to know someone going into college."

"My cousin Thea goes there too. She can show Rory around," Sam interrupts again. "She's going to be in Miami for two days while we're there. I'll introduce you," he offers.

Kendall's smirk is back and I'm a little put off by the entire exchange. Does Sam think I can't handle interacting with men at all? That he's the only guy I can be friends with? Maybe that was true a few months ago, but I can't hide from the opposite sex forever, I realize, and my feelings for Sam are clouding my judgment.

"Yeah, well I guess it can't hurt to know some people. Why don't you give me his number and maybe I'll call him when I'm in the city," I murmur with false confidence.

"Here, give me your phone. I'll add him to your contacts," she offers with a grin, and I hand it over. I doubt I'll ever call him, but considering it, or considering considering it anyway, is a step in the right direction, I think. "Cap can vouch for him, they played football together for years," she murmurs as she programs her brother's number and hands me back my phone.  

Wait, football?

Sam played football?

"So, Rory, I've heard a lot about you, I'm glad I got to meet you. Cap says you're from Florida, right?"

Sam is scowling, and he looks cute as hell like that too, but... why has he never mentioned he's a football player? I know it's come up. I think I even once ranted to him how football players are all over-privileged, self-important, asshole jocks...

"Yeah, northern Florida," I reply absently.

"Cool. Well, have a good time in Miami. Look out for my friends, will ya?" she says lightly, and teasingly musses Sam’s hair.

"Uh, sure," I mutter, but then I turn to Sam, I can't help it, "you play football?" I ask quietly. He bristles, blinking at me, and it's Carl who replies.

"Duh, he's the star of the team. He's been the captain of every team since pee wee league. He's the freaking quarterback," Carl says with a laugh. "That's why everyone calls him Cap. Because of his last name and that he's been team captain like four times."

This irks me deeply. Rationally I know the fact that Sam plays the sport doesn't change who he is. But it's just one more thing he has in common with Robin to add to the list. Not to mention the fact that he played quarterback too and was captain. And it can't be a coincidence that he's never brought it up. It doesn't make sense. Being the quarterback of the football team, the captain, the star... it's got to have been a significant part of his life, even if the season's over and he's not playing anymore.

"Oh," I reply as casually as I can manage. I don't want anyone to realize I'm upset, because frankly I'm not sure I have a right to be. I'm just a stupid, jealous girl who's surprised to find out she doesn't know her crush as well as she thought she did. I just want to leave.

"Anyway, I'm starving, we were just going to head to the diner for a late night snack. Do you guys want to join us?" Kendall offers Carl and me. Why she would want us on her date with Sam, I can't imagine. If I were her, I'd want him all to myself, especially after being apart for so long.

"I'm actually kinda tired. I was, um, about to leave anyway. It was nice to meet you," I say to Kendall as sincerely as I can. "See you," I add to Carl and Sam, and turn on my heel before either of them can stop me.

I'm out the back door and around the side of the house before I can watch Sam and Kendall leave for their outing to the diner.

"Lookin' good, Pine," Marshall drunkenly calls out from the front of the house. I ignore him - and the wafting scent of pot smoke - and keep moving toward my car which I parked just up the street.

"Ror!"

It's Sam. He's out of breath, but I don't stop. Instead, I pick up pace. Maybe he'll think I didn't hear him.

"Rory, will you fucking wait?!" he calls out, exasperated.

I stop, and still facing away from him, close my eyes and count backwards from ten. Why did he follow me? Shouldn't he be with Kendall?

I hear him jog up behind me and stop to catch his breath. He takes hold of my arm to get my attention, as if he didn't already have it.

"For such a star athlete I'd have thought you'd be in better shape," I spit more maliciously than intended as I turn to face him.

Sam flinches and I feel instantly guilty. I take a deep breath and look down at my worn boots, contrite.

"I'll have you know I am in impeccable shape," Sam retorts through an adorable pout, and I can't help but rake him with my gaze to confirm what I already know - he's in incredible shape, all carved muscle and chiseled sinew. My eyes land back on my boots as I wait for him to explain why he's chased me out here when his girl is obviously waiting on him. "Will you look at me?" he asks, his words drowning in frustration. I meet his eyes, and they're beautiful, but turbulent with uncertainty - so very unlike him. "What's up? You okay?"

I shrug. "Why wouldn't I be?" I know it's a childish response, but right now I don't care. How I am is none of his business. I'm not his. He runs his fingers through his hair and I'm immediately assaulted with the image of Kendall playfully messing with it.

"I don't know, maybe that plastic smile you've had on all night? Something's off. Tell me, Ror, what's up with you?" he demands.

I'm momentarily stunned at how perceptive he is of my moods. It isn't the first time Sam's noticed I was upset about something while Carl and Tina hadn't a clue. "Why didn't you tell me you're a football player?" I counter, steeling myself for this conversation. "I mean, I know I didn't ask. I know it's not like you lied or anything, but-"

"No, Rory, actually it is like I lied," he says carefully and I blink at him. Sam sighs. "I did. I lied. You know, you weren't exactly easy to get to know. Your trust in me was never more than tenuous at best, and you'd been pretty open about how you feel about football and football players in general... I didn't want to give you a reason to dislike me before you even got to know me," he shrugs.

I'm astonished. He's right, of course. If I'd learned he played football when we'd first met, I never would have given him a chance. I wouldn't have let him tutor me. We'd never have become friends.

"I never asked," I whisper, vaguely wondering why he's the one convincing me he lied and I'm the one defending him.

"Yeah, but every time it came up and I said nothing, I felt guilty as hell, Ror," he admits. "You mad?" he asks anxiously.

The truth is I'm not mad. I'm just confused, and I don't know why Sam cares either way. "Football players are a real bad trigger for me," I reply, my voice low and shaky, and I can't look at him.

"Well I'm not a football player anymore, am I? The season's been over for months, it's not like I'm playing in college," he qualifies.

I don't reply. Honestly, I don't care that he's some football star. General trigger or not, I'm standing out here alone in the dark night with him. If he were any other man, I'd be freaking out. If he were any other football player, I'd have hyperventilated by now.

No, Sam isn't going to trigger a panic attack. Not tonight, probably not ever again, and no sport he plays or played is going to change that. I realize I only even said it to make him feel guilty, and I only wanted to make him feel that way because of Kendall. But he has nothing to feel guilty about, though his expression tells me he doesn't agree.

In my heart of hearts I know this whole football hang-up is stupid. I remind myself that Cam also played football. It just wasn't as much a part of his identity as it was for Robin. But, of course, maybe that's because I knew Cam so well. Knew all of the building blocks that made him him. And football, for him, was just one miniscule, unimportant detail. Not a defining quality. Not his life; not his future. And if I'm willing to admit it to myself, I know Sam, too. I know who he is. And whether or not Sam plays football, he's not a football player, at least not in the way I've defined it for myself.

It bugs me that he didn't mention it before, but I understand why, and I can't deny that it would have changed things for me if I'd known earlier. It's him and Kendall that has my stomach in knots, and that I could never explain, so I continue to silently pick at my nails.

"Come on, Ror, I'm still just me."

"I'm tired. I just wanna go home. You should get back to your girl," I murmur, then turn to continue to my car.

"Rory, I need to know we're okay!" he calls out.

I take a deep breath and turn back to him. "We're the same as we've always been, Sam. Friends," I reply, and climb into my car before I can turn back again.

Through the rear view mirror, I do notice that he stands in the street until I drive off, before he returns to the party, and to Kendall.

****

 

Wednesday is a half day, and we're all flying out early Thursday morning. There's a party at some junior's house tonight, but I stay home with my mom, who's stressing about me leaving, even if it's only for five days. I help her do the dishes after dinner, then head upstairs to pack.

I've waited until the last minute, as I do with everything, but it isn't a difficult trip to pack for. I own mostly warm weather clothes anyway, and besides my purchases from my shopping trip with Carl, I just throw in my old jeans and cutoff shorts, some tee shirts, tanks, sandals, and I'm good to go.

I set my alarm for 4:00 AM. JFK is only about thirty minutes away, but with a 7:00 AM flight on such a busy travel day, we all agreed to meet at check-in by five. Being just about the exact opposite of a morning person, I'm not looking forward to the travel part of the vacation, but maybe I'll fit in a nap when we get to the hotel.

I'm dazed with exhaustion as my mom drives me to the airport. I sip my coffee in vain, knowing nothing will fully wake me at this hour. I call Carl to tell her I'm almost there, and hear Sam in the background telling her to go get her boarding pass - that he'll wait to help me with my bags. Ever the good friend.

We pull up to the terminal right on time and my mom squeezes me zealously until I tell her she's cutting off my breathing. I wince at my own joke.

As promised, Sam is waiting for me by the outdoor check-in counter, and he opens my door for me.

"Ready?" he asks through a giant spring break grin.

I yawn in response, even as I think to myself that he looks adorable - and freaking sexy - when he's all excited, too.

Sam chuckles. "Wake up, Pine. You can sleep when we get back."

My mother shakes Sam's hand and makes him promise to look out for me before driving off, and Sam tosses his duffle over his shoulder and reaches for my bag.

"I got it," I murmur through another insuppressible yawn. "It rolls."

"Why don't you just focus on walking straight, sleepyhead. I'll check the bags."

I'm too tired to argue, so I hand it over and follow him to get our boarding passes. Everyone else has gone ahead, so it's just Sam and me going through security. I remove my jacket and shoes in a daze as Sam sets our carry-ons on the belt.

A TSA agent pulls me aside for a random additional screening and I sigh. Great, I get to go through the machine that allows strangers to see through my clothing. A machine called "Rapiscan", as if there could possibly be a more poorly chosen, and perhaps aptly fitting name.

Sam follows me to the screening area and I'm confused when we pass by the machine.

"Hold out your hands, ma'am, and spread your legs," the female agent directs, demonstrating how she wants me to stand. I blink at her with wide eyes as my pulse takes off like a 747. She's going to touch me.

Now I'm awake.

"What about the- uh, scanner?"

"It's not in service," she murmurs disinterestedly. "Now please stand like this," she repeats, showing me again.

Oh shit. I don't know if I can handle this. A stranger touching me. A stranger touching me everywhere. My gaze darts around in panic and finds Sam's worried eyes. He knows. Without me having to say anything, he knows.

"Ma'am."

"I uh, is there anything else you can do? I can't... I..." Fuck. They're not going to let me get on a plane if I refuse a pat down. I don't know if I can handle a freaking pat down!

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

I concentrate on my breathing, I can't hyperventilate here. I don't even have my pills - they're in my bag, and the agent took it after bringing me over here. Oh, God.

Sam's fingers find mine and wrap tightly around my hand. I didn't even notice him make his way to my side. "Ror, it's okay. You're fine," he whispers.

"Excuse me, sir, you need to wait over there," the agent orders, a warning.

"Can I have a quick word?" he asks.

I don't hear the agent's response. I can't concentrate on anything other than controlling my breathing. Sam's fingers release mine and my breath catches and escapes me.

I'm vaguely aware that Sam is several feet away talking to the agent, but I can't focus. I close my eyes and count and count, my mouth going bone-dry as I break out into a cold sweat.

I blink a few times to help get my bearings.

A stranger touching me like that. Anyone touching me like that! Oh, God.

My chest constricts painfully, choked by an invisible, unyielding steel band that continues to tighten incrementally, and the vaguely disembodied sound of my own gasping breaths taunt me.

"Ror, take these," Sam's voice is back, right in my ear. I close my palm around my pill bottle. He's gotten them for me. "Lidia here needs to pat you down. You're going to be okay, but if you need to take one, then take one, okay?" He waits for my shaky nod. "I explained to her that you don't like being touched, so she's going to make it as quick as possible. Right, Lidia?"

"It will take less than a minute," she assures us.

"I'm not allowed to hold your hand, but I'm going to be two feet away, see?" He waits for me to make eye contact and then takes two cautious steps back. "Keep looking at me, Ror."

I do. I keep my eyes locked with Sam's midnight blues as Lidia, the TSA agent, touches me in places I've never allowed anyone to touch me, but that Robin did anyway.

"You're done," Lidia announces, and makes some gesture to Sam I don't see since I'm so painstakingly focused on him. Sam is back holding my hand in a flash.

"See? You're fine. And you didn't even take a pill," he praises.

I whimper.

"Oh, Ror." He pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me. In his embrace, I can breathe again, and I do, I breathe him in.

It's over. Sam was right. I'm fine.

We stand there like that for minutes, until I'm sure I'm back to normal - or as normal as I'm capable of - and then finally, I pull away.

"Thanks," I murmur.

"Anytime, Ror. What are-"

"Friends for, I know," I grumble, and Sam smiles.

****

 

While everyone chats excitedly at the gate, I curl up in the cheap upholstery of the terminal seating and close my eyes. I don't sleep, though I'm tired enough that I probably could. But I really just need this time to get myself together. I hadn't even anticipated a TSA pat-down - didn't even consider it in my hundred reasons why this trip wouldn't be a good idea. I can't help but wonder what else I've missed.

I hope seven pills is even enough.

JFK is a bit overwhelming. I flew back and forth between here and Gainesville many times as a child, and it always struck me - the juxtaposition between the terminal here and that of my small town airport.

But this time I'm flying into Miami International. I'll never see Gainesville again.

The early spring air sends a chill through my energy-drained body as I board through the gate, and I pull my hoodie tighter around me.

Tina and Carl are seated together since they booked their tickets at the same time. Sam is with Tuck, and the rest of the group is paired off as well, except Lily and me who are both seated beside strangers since she was supposed to be with Chelsea and I booked my ticket alone. But after a quick game of musical plane seats, Carl and Tuck end up together, Lily and Dave, and Sam's with me. We both want to watch the Batman movie so we partnered up to save money by buying it on one TV and sharing ear buds. But I vaguely suspect Sam asked Tuck to switch with me because he knew how much I'd hate sitting so close to a stranger.

Sam seems enthralled with the film, but fifteen minutes in, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I yawn, like I've been yawning all morning, and pull my legs up to get more comfortable. I know better than to fall asleep in public - a situation that threatens humiliation for someone who suffers from night terrors. Sam lifts the arm rest that separates our seats and holds out his arm - an invitation to sleep on him.

I'm tempted.

God, am I tempted. All I want to do is curl up into that clean, masculine scent, close my eyes, and pretend I'm his for the next two hours. But it would just hurt more when we land and I'm thrust back to reality.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," I whisper wistfully.

Sam frowns, but nods. I know he thinks I can't handle it. Being so close to him. Especially while unconscious. He thinks I don't trust him enough for that. But I trust him just fine. It's me I don't trust.

Sam resumes watching the movie, but doesn't replace the armrest between us. He seems pensive, but then again, it's probably just Batman.

I lean away from him, against the window, and against my better judgment, let my eyes flutter closed.

 

I'm at a football game. It's fall in Port Woodmere, and I'm cheering again. I cheer for Sam as he throws the winning touchdown, and he takes off his helmet to reveal his triumphant grin. He's happy, and that makes me happy. But then I notice the girl cheering next to me. It's Kendall, and she runs onto the field and jumps on Sam, who kisses her ardently.

It's then that I notice the opposing team is Linton High. Robin has removed his helmet, too, and he's angry. Cam is nowhere to be found, and Sam is otherwise occupied with Kendall, as Robin locks eyes with me.

I turn and try to run away, but Robin catches me under the bleachers. Somehow, all the fans, all the other players and coaches, are too distracted to hear my cries for help. Fans stand just overhead, on the bleachers cheering, but no one looks down. No one sees that just below their feet, Robin has me pinned to the ground.

"Please!" I beg, but he doesn't relent. I fight and cry, but it just makes him more determined. I'm wearing my uniform, but I'm not wearing anything over my underwear.

Where are my spankies?

Robin tears through my one layer of protection, and suddenly he's inside me. I scream in pain, but still, no one even turns my way.

I fight and scream and-

 

"Ror!"

I gasp for air.

"Rory, wake up!"

My eyes spring open.

I whimper and wheeze.

I'm on the plane. I fell asleep. It was just another nightmare.

Oh, God, and Sam saw it.

I should have known it was a dream when I continued to fight. When I didn't just give up.

"You're okay, it was just a nightmare," Sam says soothingly, stroking my hair with unfathomable tenderness. But his eyes are anything but calm. I've frightened him.

I'm mortified.

It's only then I realize that although I took care to sleep leaning into the plane window, I've ended up on the opposite side of my seat, clutching him desperately. I loosen the grip of my fingers and release his sweatshirt.

I look around to see if anyone else is staring at me, infinitely relieved to find I've only got the attention of Sam, at least for right now.

I swallow anxiously. "I didn't scream, did I?" I pray that whatever I said or did, it wasn't loud enough to garner widespread humiliation. I know I must sound desperate and frightened, but this isn't my first nightmare. Or my hundredth.

Sam follows my darting gaze. "No one else noticed," he replies, obviously recognizing my concern. But he still looks distressed.

"I, uh, sorry," I murmur, gesturing to where I clung to him in my sleep.

He looks at me like I'm crazy for apologizing to him.

"What did I, um, say?" I ask hesitantly.  

Sam shoves his hand through his hair. "God, Ror, you were sobbing and saying 'please' and 'stop'," he chokes out. His eyes are subtly glazed, and I wonder if he's holding back tears. God, I'm that pitiful. Without warning, he grabs me and tugs me to his chest, his  long fingers threading through my hair. I allow myself thirty seconds to savor his embrace before I lift my head.

"I'm okay. It was just another nightmare," I assure him.

"You have them a lot?" he asks softly.

I let out an ironic, humorless laugh. "Only when I sleep."

"God, Ror." Sam's consternation is palpable.

"It's fine."

He looks at me in open awe. "It's so not fine, but you.. You're amazing, you know that?"

I look away. I'm many things, but amazing isn't one of them. "Can we just forget this happened?" I plead. I can tell he doesn't want to - that he wants every detail of the nightmare I just had, and probably every one I've ever had, but I can't give him that. "I, uh, need to use the bathroom," I murmur unconvincingly, and unceremoniously climb right over his lap and rush to the front of the plane, thanking God the lavatory is unoccupied.

I stay in the restroom more than fifteen minutes, until the flight attendant announces our initial descent into Miami. Sam makes no further mention of my nightmare. Instead, he goes on and on about our trip, and even gets me to agree to try jet skiing. The reformed tomboy in me can't wait.