SIX

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

FRIDAY HAS DRAGGED on, but I'm not exactly looking forward to tonight. Instead of last week's rager, Andrew's party will be a smaller get-together. Only about thirty or so seniors, according to Tina - their "friends". I tried to make an excuse not to go, but Carl gave me her pouty face, and Dr. Schall had given me such approval when I mentioned it during our session yesterday, and God knows how desperate I am for male approval.

But it's a great deal easier to remain invisible at a party of a hundred than at a "small get-together".

Anyway, the weekend won't start just yet. Now that the last bell of the day has rung, I head back to room 313 to see who's been assigned as my student tutor for calculus for the next month. The tutors and tutorees will meet up now and make arrangements for our sessions going forward, and since we have a quiz on Monday, I'm hoping my tutor will have some time right now to go over a few things with me.

There are a few students lingering in front of the door to the classroom, and as I approach I can see the list is tacked to it. I also can't help but notice Sam leaning against the adjacent wall of lockers with his arms crossed, waiting. I hastily look away, though I'm almost positive he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"You're mine," he murmurs as I pass him.

His words make me freeze. I swallow anxiously and turn to him before I even reach the list. Those words - they are a trigger, and as I feel my heart rate accelerate, I force myself to take even breaths.

Those words.

But in Sam's voice, for some inexplicable reason, they don't threaten me.   

"Excuse me?" I say tremulously.

He cocks an eyebrow at me, like he's sizing me up.

I will not freak out, I will not freak out.

"You're my tutoree."

I exhale. "Oh."

Damn it. This isn't going to work. For one, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate on calculus with those midnight blues and those full pink lips just inches from my face? Not to mention that chiseled jaw...

All of that is beside the point, of course, since Sam has made it pretty clear he wants nothing to do with me. He hasn't said a word to me all week and it's obvious that since our interaction at last week's party, he's realized that there is nothing appealing about a friendship with a girl who has panic attacks, snaps at people, and slaps them for no apparent reason. Truthfully, I don't blame him.

He smirks at me and reveals a perfect dimple I haven't noticed before. I force myself to gather my wits before I start drooling.

"I'll, uh, see if someone will switch," I offer.

I'm surprised by Sam's resulting scowl. "Why?" he asks. From his tone, it would seem I've offended him. Again.

I shrug. "Um... I don't know, I didn't think you'd want to, you know, tutor me." I tuck my hair behind my ear and look down. This is awkward. Everything about me is awkward.

"And why wouldn't I want to tutor you, Rory?" His question is an earnest one and I blink back at him, confused.

"Well, you've been ignoring me, so I just figured..." I trail off. He's looking at me like my words are irritating him. I'm trying to give him an out from doing something I'm sure he doesn't want to do, so why that would bug him, I can't imagine.

"You can't be serious." 

When I just continue to blink at him he continues.

"Rory I haven't been ignoring you, I just backed off because I thought that's what you wanted."

"What I wanted?"

"Well you did say we couldn't be friends. And I thought... I don't know, I thought we were becoming friends anyway, at Andrew's party last week, but then you told Chelsea you didn't even know me. If anything, you're the one blowing me off." He shrugs. "It seems like you have a lot on your plate, I didn't think adding a stalker who couldn't take a hint would be very expedient, so I backed off."

You seem like you have a lot on your plate. It's his nice way of saying I'm batshit crazy.

But damn, he was trying to be respectful by giving up on this friends thing. And I've been stressing about it, though I didn't want to admit it to myself. God, I just can't get it together - first I ask him to leave me alone, then I'm upset when he does. I suppose the concept of a man respecting my wishes, taking me at my word... these are completely novel to me. And how fucked up is that?

"Oh," I whisper.

"I'm not ignoring you," he repeats.

I can't help my shy smile, and I don't even know where it's come from. I never smile. Not unless it's forced.

"So can I tutor you? I could really use the extra credit."

I snort. "Please," I say sarcastically, "you don't need any extra credit in calc." I've seen his test scores. He knows his shit.

"I do, actually. My tests are fine, but Mr. Frank and I don't exactly see eye to eye on homework. You see, I don't like to waste my time doing it since I know the coursework, and Mr. Frank won't give me my A if I don't student tutor to make up for not turning any of it in last semester."

"And God forbid you were to earn a B," I tease.

He narrows his eyes at me and smirks again. "God forbid," he agrees.

"Well I guess I can't very well be responsible for letting you mar your perfect academic record," I shrug, wondering where I've pulled this wit out from.

Sam grins.

"Do you think you could help me before Monday's quiz? I'm totally lost," I admit.

"Sure, how's right now?"

"Perfect."

Sam starts walking down the hall and I follow.

"Should we go to your house?" he asks.

I startle, though I try to hide it. "My mom's not home," I reply.

He furrows his brow. God, I wish he wouldn't do that, I don't know why but it's just adorable when he does it.

When I realize he's confused, I elaborate. "I, um, I'm not allowed to have guys over when I'm alone," I lie. In fact, my mother and I have never discussed this - there hasn't been a need since I have no plans to put myself in such a position any time soon. Though, I'm sure she'd agree this rule is a good idea.

Sam looks skeptical. Obviously this isn't exactly par for the course for a normal eighteen year old, but he should already know that that isn't what I am. "What about your dad?" he asks. We're still walking, and I know he's glanced over at me, but I just continue to look down so he doesn't see how affected I am by his seemingly innocuous line of questioning.

"No Dad," I murmur as casually as I can manage.

"Oh. I'm sorry," he offers, but I shake my head.

Now I look at him. "Don't be. We're better off without him." I don't know why I give him this personal tidbit, but I do.

Sam nods. "Yeah, I can understand that." Something in his eyes tells me he really does understand it in some profound way. Vaguely I remember hearing something about his father having left his family when Sam was in middle school, and I wonder if there's more to that story, but I don't pry. "Anyway, we can go to my house," he offers.

I stop walking. "I, uh, can't," I murmur. I don't elaborate, and I inwardly curse my life that I can't even make plans to study without complications from my fucked up past.

"My mom's home. My sister too," he assures me.

It's nice of him to play to my issues, but the truth is it doesn't help. Even with his family in the house, it doesn't mean he couldn't get me alone, and if he did, I would panic. No question. "What time's the school library open until?" I ask.

"Seven, I think."

****

 

There are a few other students studying or doing coursework. The school librarian, Ms. Pitser, is sitting quietly at her post at the reference desk. I have to really rally my focus not to be distracted by Sam's looks, but the extra focus actually works. The way Sam explains the formulas in his deep, gravelly timbre somehow makes more sense than when Mr. Frank drones on and on in first period every day.

He has me grasping the concepts in no time, and the way he smiles at me when I get a problem right - like he's proud of me - it's an effective incentive. In just over ninety minutes he declares me ready for Monday's quiz, and by the time we're heading out of the library I'm feeling pretty self-satisfied.

The more we chat, the more it becomes clear that regardless of what I've said, we are becoming friends. There's a strange kind of comfort, a rare connection I seem to share with Sam. I realize how unlikely it is to find, and decide that maybe I should give him a chance. After all, it's not like I'm trying to replace Cam.

"So, why doesn't your sister go here?" I ask, braving a question I've been wondering about.

Sam hesitates. "She used to, but... she's homeschooled now," he shrugs.

"Why?" I blurt without thinking. I think my eyes widen with surprise at my own invasiveness.

Sam slips me a thoughtful glance. "That's kind of personal, Rory. No offense, but you're the one who doesn't want to be friends," he replies, not unkindly, and even half-smiles to soften the blow.  

I frown. He's right. I stop walking and he follows suit.

"Yeah... um, so I'm real sorry about that. Actually, I think I'm probably sorry about almost everything I've said to you since we met," I let out a brief ironic laugh at my own expense. "Look, I kinda had a rough year, and I'm still kinda dealin' with things. It's not easy for me, even just this friends thing." I gesture between us. I'm inwardly cringing over how much I've revealed, by how pathetic I sound. But this is me, I am pathetic.

Sam surprises me with his grin. "Well being honest is a pretty good start." His fingers twitch once, as if he wants to touch me, but thankfully he doesn't. Vaguely I think I might not actually panic if he did. "You know, that friends offer is still on the table. Anytime you're ready, okay?"

I smile, I can't help it. I don't respond directly to his offer. Instead I say, "I was homeschooled for a while." If asking about his sister's being homeschooled was personal, then I hope he understands that my confiding this is an offer of friendship. It's the best I can do right now. "When we moved here, my dad didn't come with us. My mom needed to work, so I had to, you know, come here," I explain. I was terrified to go back to any school, let alone a public school. But I was comforted by the fact that no one here would know me, and I didn't want to make it harder for my mom, who after years of what was basically volunteer work, now has to work long hours at a private firm to keep us afloat.

Sam starts walking again and I fall in line beside him.

"You're from Florida, right?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"We're all going down to Miami for spring break. The seniors go every year, it's kind of tradition."

"Not that part of Florida," I murmur.  

Sam sucks in a deep, settling breath. "Beth, my sister, she went through a bad breakup last year. She's doing fine now, but for a while... anyway, she just fell behind a little, and it's easier for her to catch up at home with private tutors, which is why I'm so ahead in calc," he explains.

"Oh." A bad breakup. Maybe I can use that to describe my year last year. It doesn't sound so bad.

"So, you coming to Andrew's tonight?" Sam asks.

I nod as we approach the juncture where the old and new parts of the building meet. It's also where I exit the building to avoid passing by the locker rooms "I, uh, go out this way," I say.

He furrows his brow. "That's the faculty lot. The student lot is this way," he nods further down the hall.

"Yeah, I know. I just, um, walk around from here," I explain, explaining very little.

Sam looks warily at the blackness beyond the windows. "Why would you do that? I mean, I know it's not too late, but it is dark..."

He's right, and suddenly I'm stuck having to choose between walking the perimeter of a nearly empty building in the dark and walking through an equally empty hallway, alone with a guy, past the locker rooms.

Fuck. I swallow audibly, looking dubiously between my two options, both of them so disconcerting that my pulse accelerates exponentially. But I know there's no way I'm walking past those locker rooms, not when the hallway is all but deserted, and definitely not with a boy. I take a deep breath and turn to Sam.

"So, look, you saw me have that panic attack my first day..."

I wait for him to acknowledge this with a nod.

"So I have these triggers. I know it's weird-"

"It's not weird," he cuts me off, and I blink at him for a moment.

"Well it's not normal," I counter.

He doesn't make any sign of agreement, but he doesn't argue either. "So, triggers?" he prompts.

"Um, yeah... I just really don't want to walk past the locker rooms if I don't have to." So much so that I hide in the bathroom next to the cafeteria to change for phys ed every other day.

"Okay," he replies - no judgment. "I'll walk you," he offers, and starts out the main exit, but stops when he realizes I haven't moved. He looks at me inquisitively.

I take another deep breath. "So if we're gonna do this - this friends thing - I need you to understand somethin'."

He nods to urge me on.

"Some of these... triggers... Look, I can't walk out there with you," I gesture out the doors. "Not alone. It's not personal, okay? It's got nothin' to do with you. I really don't wanna offend you. Like I've said before, you've been nothin' but nice to me." I'm rambling, my nerves betraying my otherwise carefully hidden accent, and I'm not sure if I'm making any sense.

"Okay, Rory. I get it," he says.

"You do?" I ask, incredulous.

Sam nods. "I do. How about we make a deal? When we're approaching a situation that makes you uncomfortable, you just tell me, okay? And I won't get offended and I won't judge. We can even have a safe word," he offers.

I laugh. "A safe word? What is this, BDSM?" I joke.

He chuckles. "Hey, if you want me to restrain you, just tell me, Ror."

My entire body stiffens. "Safe word," I whisper shakily, and Sam's handsome face drains of mirth.

"See... It works," he says tentatively, and I relax, which he surely notices. "But you have to pick an actual word, not just 'safe word'."

"How about calculus?" I suggest.

Sam chuckles again and it unnerves me how much I enjoy the sound. "Calculus it is," he agrees. He peeks out the dark glass doors again. "So we have a little dilemma. I can't walk you to your car, but I can't let you walk around the back of the building in the dark alone either," he murmurs contemplatively.  

I want to argue that I'll be fine alone, but I'm not sure I will. I surreptitiously feel around to the pocket of my bag for my pill bottle.

"Here, give me your keys. I'll bring your car around front."

I want to argue that he doesn't have to do that, but I don't. Instead, I wordlessly hand over my keys.

"Stay here," he says, and turns to head in his original direction.

"It's the silver jeep!" I call out, but he waves me off, as if he already knows what I drive. Of course it's probably the only car left in the student lot besides his own, so it shouldn't be too difficult to deduce, especially with his math skills.

The hall is mostly empty, save a few faculty members passing by; they scarcely notice me. It's barely minutes later when Sam pulls my car around, and I thank him. It's on the tip of my tongue to offer to drive him back to the student lot, but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm not sure I can be alone in a car with him. In fact, I know I can't. So I watch silently as he jogs back into the building and cuts through back to his own car.

****

 

It's only a few hours later that I arrive at Andrew's house with Carl. Tina is already here. Chelsea has started a game of "Never have I ever" where someone says something they have never done, and the rest of the group must drink if they have. I sit holding my cup of beer, surprised how open people are being about such personal experiences.

Sam doesn't play. He stands in the corner with a few of his friends, chatting and sipping his drink.

"Never have I ever... had sex in water," a girl named Sandy shouts.

"Fresh or salt?" Andrew asks and Tina playfully punches his arm.

"What does it matter?! Either, both!" Sandy replies in her drunken excitement and a few people sip their drink, including both Andrew and Tina.

I have yet to take a sip.

"Never have I ever... gotten laid on school property," a guy whose name I've forgotten says and two boys take a sip.

I shoot out of my seat and murmur to Carl that I need some fresh air. Barely a moment later, I'm through the back door where a girl I think is named Lisa is smoking a cigarette.

"Can I bum one?" I ask. I don't want to smoke, and I rarely do it, but the truth is, I find cigarettes calming. She hands one over as she finishes her own and heads back inside and I'm grateful to be alone.

I sit on one of the steps that lead from the back door to the patio and inhale long and hard, allowing the nicotine to relax my nerves. I remind myself that smoking is bad. Lung cancer, emphysema, heart disease. I've silently repeated this mantra again and again on the rare occasions I've smoked, but it doesn't stop me from sucking the thing down to the filter any more than it has the last time or the time before that.

"So that sex on school property comment sure sent you running away fast," an unfamiliar male voice slurs suggestively.

My pulse races as I turn around to see Dave leaning back against the wall of the house, sipping his beer.

"Just needed some air," I choke out.

He smirks. "So you haven't done it at school yet? You know, I'd be happy to help you remedy that." I don't know if he's teasing or hitting on me, and I don't care.  

"Not. Interested," I grit out through my clenched jaw.

"Ah, a good girl. Well I don't usually do the girlfriend thing, but you know, I think I'd be willing to give it a try for a chance at a pretty little thing like-"

"Back off, Dave," Sam's low voice murmurs.

I turn. I didn't hear him come outside, and my hands are trembling, all my energy concentrated on counting backwards and taking deep breaths.

I'm relieved not to be alone with Dave, but now I'm alone with two guys. I remind myself that there's a party, or get-together anyway, just inside. I remind myself that Sam is my friend. That he's just defended me.

I turn away and silently count backwards again.

"I'm just getting to know the new girl, Cap," Dave slurs lightheartedly.

"Just leave her alone," Sam says quietly, and I peek over at them.

"Oh, sorry man. She yours?" Dave asks.

Why are they talking about me like I'm not even here? I jump up, suddenly angry. "I ain't his! I ain't anyone's!" I shout, the southern accent I've worked so hard to suppress since I moved here flooding out unbidden.

Dave raises his eyebrows, surprised by my outburst, but Sam appears to be trying to stifle a smile. Dave looks to Sam, who just shrugs. "You heard her, she's her own woman. Now back off."

Dave shrugs, and heads back inside without another word.

I almost thank Sam for standing up for me, but my gratitude dies in my mouth. Instead, I just sit back down on my step.

"You okay?" Sam asks softly.

"Yeah." I peek up at him. He seems conflicted.

"You, uh, want me to leave you alone?" he asks. He knows I'm afraid of being alone with him, but for some reason, right now, I'm not. Maybe it's knowing that there's a crowd of people just on the other side of the door.

I shake my head.

"Can I sit?" he asks, nodding at the step I've claimed.

I laugh. He's asking my permission to sit outside at a party at his own friend's house. "Sure, if you want," I shrug, and he folds his long frame to sit on the opposite end of the step, facing me. "Your friends sure are somethin'," I mutter.

"Dave has a, uh, special sense of humor, but he's just flirting. You don't need to worry about him," he offers. I don't reply. Sam sighs. "They're not gonna stop, you know. You're the shiny, pretty, new girl, and they're all interested."

"Great," I say sarcastically, but inwardly I'm dwelling on the fact that Sam just called me pretty, and I'm surprised it actually pleases me.

"It might help if they knew your deal. I mean, after last week I mentioned that you're not looking for a hookup, but, you know... they're guys, and you're hot."

I don't point out that Sam, too, is a guy, or ask why he's not included in the group he's mentioning. I do, however, blush at the fact that he's now called me hot, and for some reason - maybe because we've already discussed just being friends - this doesn't bother me, either. In fact, it just about the opposite of bothers me.

"What do you mean my deal?" I ask, and he shrugs again.

"Like if you're seeing anyone, or if you have a boyfriend back home," he murmurs.

"Would it help if I did?"

Sam chuckles. "Dave would probably just see it as a challenge."

"I don't have anyone back home," I admit. "No boyfriend, no one at all."

Sam frowns. "You must have friends," he hedges, but I shake my head.

I look down, staring at the fingers I twist in my lap. I really don't. In fact, next to Carl and Tina, Sam - who I've only just accepted as a friend a matter of hours ago - is my closest friend. I don't know why I've chosen to confide this; frankly it's very embarrassing.

There's a long pause, but for some reason it isn't awkward. At least not for me. "You never said why you were homeschooled," Sam observes.

No, he's right, I didn't. "Same as your sister. Bad breakup," I murmur, stealing Beth's excuse. It's not really a lie, just not nearly the whole story. When I peek over at Sam, he looks distressed, and I blink at him, wondering what I've said wrong.

He rakes his fingers roughly through his hair as if deciding something. "Rory, my sister didn't just have bad breakup." He stares at me meaningfully, and somehow I know whatever he's about to confide- it's momentous. "She's been having a tough time for a while now. She was just a kid when my dad left, and this guy she was seeing was older, he graduated last year. When he dumped her she… kind of lost it.”

I don't break eye contact, I'm stunned by how open he's being right now, and I want to be worthy of his confidence.

"She took a bunch of pills last summer. She almost died..." His eyes close. "She did it on purpose," he whispers.

I blink at him for a moment. He stares intently down at me, searching my eyes for something unfathomable. I don't know what he finds, but it isn't pity, and it isn't judgment. The least I can do is return that gift. "That must have been tough on you," I say when I finally find my voice.

It isn't the response Sam expected, and he lets out a short, ironic laugh. "It was tougher on her." 

I reach over and place my hand on his arm before I even realize I've moved. He's surprised by my touch, that much is obvious, but he doesn't pull away. "Still, you obviously care about her. It must've been hard on you, too."

We sit there for several moments, eyes locked, silent, until finally, Sam sighs. "Yeah," is all he says.

I pull my arm back and start yanking on a loose thread from my oversized sweater.  

"So, a bad breakup, huh?" he prompts.  

I nod.

"Bad like Beth's?"

I'm not sure exactly what he's asking. I nod again. "Bad. But I didn't do anything like that." Though there were times I'd considered it.

"Did you love him?" Sam asks.

"Who?"

His lips quirk up into a small smile. "The guy who broke up with you."

I shake my head. "No. Not him. And I broke up with him, he just... didn't make it easy on me. And things were complicated. I had this best friend since I was a kid... and then my parents broke up right after... It was just a lot, all at once," I explain, vaguely aware I haven't explained much.

Sam doesn't push though. "He was an idiot," he says simply. "The guy that hurt you."

Now I'm the one with the ironic chuckle. "They all hurt me, Sam. One way or another," I murmur. "But thanks."

Sam is just offering platitudes, trying to be nice, and I'm dumping my baggage on one of my only friends.

"What-"

"Can we talk about somethin' else, please?"

"Just trying to get to know you, Ror," he replies, and again, I'm struck by the sound of the nickname on his lips, how much it reminds me of Cam, and how conflicted I am by that realization.

"Calculus," I breathe. I surprise Sam with our safe word, but after a second he nods and changes the subject.

"So why do you call me 'Sam'? I mean, everyone else calls me 'Cap'. Besides my family, I mean."

"You introduced yourself to me as 'Sam'."

His brow furrows, and again, I can't help but think of how adorable he looks when he does that. "Did I?"

I nod. "I can call you 'Cap', if you prefer," I offer, but he shakes his head.

"I think I like that you call me 'Sam'," he says, but doesn't elaborate.

"Sam it is, then."

He smiles. "You know, your accent comes out when you get mad."

"I know."

"I like it. It's... cute."

"Well, kind sir, I'm glad you found it entertainin'," I joke, exaggerating my accent for his benefit, and he lets out a loud, genuine chuckle. It's positively musical - a melody of warmth and light - and

"I do. I like it a lot."

We rejoin the party when Andrew comes to retrieve Sam for his beer pong partner, and after confirming that Carl can get a ride home with Tuck, I decide to head home, thankful that I drove myself and haven't drunk anything.