EIGHT

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

THE LAST FEW weeks haven't been awful. My calculus grades are up, no doubt thanks to Sam's tutoring me in the library after school twice a week. My AP English teacher agreed to write a letter of recommendation to NYU, and even though it was submitted late, my mom got the admissions office to agree to include it with my application due to my "extenuating circumstances". I applied to a few local safety schools in the city and also here in Long Island, but I absolutely have to get into NYU. Stories of my mother's undergrad experience shine like a beacon in the melancholic gloom of the past year, and it's simply the only option that offers me a future I might actually look forward to. It's why I can't let my grades slip now.

Mr. Frank hands out yesterday's quizzes just before the bell rings to signal the end of first period, and I break out into a small, seated victory dance at my ninety two. Sam peeks over his shoulder at me and I mouth a heartfelt thank you. He tosses me a wink.

Carl pinches my arm like she always does when she notices some exchange between Sam and me she swears is evidence of a secret crush. Sometimes I'm the one with the crush, sometimes it's Sam, but Carl is convinced there's something going on.

She couldn't be more wrong.

In fact, we're still very much just friends, and if I'm honest with myself, in some ways he's become my best friend. I spend most of my social time with Carl, and Tina too usually, and I definitely have a more earnest relationship with them than I ever did with Lacey and the girls down in Linton. But I don't talk to them about the past, and they don't ask. Sam doesn't really know details, of course, but he knows more than anyone else.

Sam lightly elbows me to get my attention as we file out of class, as if he didn't already have it.

"See you at lunch," Carl calls out as she heads toward the gym for phys-ed.

"Told you you were ready for that quiz," Sam boasts. We walk together to our next classes, which happen to be in the same wing.

"You did. You were right," I mock grumble, earning myself a smile and a dimple. Gorgeous.

Sam cups his hand to his ear as if he has trouble hearing. "Come again?" 

I roll my eyes.

"Come on, Ror. One more time. You know I earned it." 

"Fine... You. Were. Right!" 

"Ah, music to my ears," he teases, and I elbow him back from earlier. "Alright, alright," he concedes his gloating.

"But that quiz was small potatoes. I had a rough time with the homework last night, and the chapter test is Friday-"

"I got you, Pine. Don't sweat it," he assures me, patting me on the head like a pet.

He's just teasing me, but I smile. I know Sam can't know how significant it is that I can tolerate these casual touches. Like his patting my head, or when he took my hand to lead me down the hall last week, or the few times he's touched my arm when he thought I might be upset, or even when he playfully elbows me. All friendly, innocent touches, that for me hold a world of meaning. Just a few months ago, a pat on the back from my mother's male co-worker thrust me into a full blown panic attack. But Sam - his touch feels natural, and not only can I tolerate it, but I think I actually find comfort in it.

"See you later," I murmur as I walk into my next class. I sure hope he's right about Friday's test, though, because the coursework has grown increasingly difficult as the weeks have progressed. It's only Tuesday, so at least I have this afternoon and Thursday for him to get the concepts to stick.

When the final bell rings, I head to the library to meet Sam, and find him in the hall, talking to Chelsea. I try to slip by them to wait inside for Sam, but no such luck.

"There she is - your little student," Chelsea announces, forcing me to either stop or come off as rude as I find her. "I was just asking Cap if you're coming to Miami for spring break."

I pause for a beat, bewildered. "Oh. Um, no. I don't think so," I murmur.

"Oh, but you should!" She is beyond enthusiastic for someone who's barely said two sentences to me since I started here. "We're all going. You know - our group of friends. Think about it - it's not too late," she sings before kissing Sam on his cheek and sauntering off.

I keep quiet as I turn into the library and take my seat at our usual table, Sam following on my heels. I know all too well what Chelsea is up to, and it's deeply off-putting. She thinks I'm a threat, though I couldn't appear less threatening, and she's trying to keep her enemies close.

I don't want her as an enemy. I don't want any enemies. I don't want to play this game at all - I just want to make it through the end of high school, and never fucking look back. I've gone as far as to practically push Sam away any time Chelsea's around, but this whole tutoring thing makes it difficult. And, of course, so does our friendship. Still, I find myself unwilling to give it up just to appease a mean-girl.

For some reason, every time Sam and I end up chatting in the lot, or at a party, Chelsea seems to take note. It's like she has a real-life Google alert for Sam talking to girls, just friends or not. Sam seems mostly oblivious about it, but at the same time he does seem to have a vague idea what's going on. I suspect he's aware of Chelsea's crush, but severely underestimates it. I do think he's noticed that Chelsea's glare has me abruptly ending our conversations, but if he has, he hasn't said anything.

Perhaps he just thinks I'm crazy. He wouldn't be wrong.

"She's right, you know," Sam murmurs as we both pull out our books.

I frown at him in confusion.  

"Miami," he clarifies. "It's going to be fun. You should think about coming."

"I, uh- don't think so."

"You only get to be a senior once. Carl and Tina are going," he says, as if I didn't already know this- as if they haven't already tried to convince me to join them a thousand times. "I'll be there," he adds more quietly, shrugging almost sheepishly.

He's offering me his support. Comfort. He's saying he'd look out for me - like he did when Dave drunkenly propositioned me at Andrew's party a few weeks ago. Like he's done several times since when he's perceived me to be uncomfortable, usually correctly. I soften a little.

"I'll think about it, okay? But if you don't get me ready for Friday's test, I'm gonna have way bigger problems than spring break," I warn.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Do you even doubt me?" he asks cockily.

The truth is I don't. But I don't tell him that.

We work longer than usual since Friday's test really is a doozy. I stretch my arms behind my back, yawning shamelessly as Sam looks over my work. The windows behind him are black with nightfall and I'm exhausted.

I haven't been sleeping well since I stopped taking my sleeping meds. The nightmares still come almost nightly, and though it's an improvement from having them every time I fall asleep, it's still enough to keep my energy level way lower than it should be. The thing is, the pills don't prevent the nightmares. If anything, they make them more vivid, and because I'm drugged, I can't wake up. At least when I haven't taken anything I can wake up, albeit screaming or crying. Usually both.

I'm also still on the same bottle of anti-anxiety meds, which is a small victory. I still have twelve pills left in the prescription, and I'm still hopeful I can make it my last one ever.

I glance around the library, finding it exceptionally empty. We usually aren't here this late. The few students who were here earlier seem to have already left. Sam is looking over the last problem I did and I'm wondering if we should call it a night when I slip a glance over my shoulder to find the librarian's desk deserted, her computer powered down.

"Where's Ms. Pitser?" 

Sam barely looks up from the paper. "Hmm? What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"I think she leaves at six," he murmurs nonchalantly.

My pulse slams on the gas so hard its wheels spin in place before it manically takes off .

There's no one else here.

Holy shit! I fly from my chair and Sam looks up with raised eyebrows like he doesn't know what's wrong.  

Is he fucking kidding me?

I want to close my eyes and count, but I'm terrified to let him out of my sight. I take a few cautious steps back as I break out in a cold sweat, visible beads forming on my nose and brow.

"Rory? You okay?" he asks.

"You- you said the library's open 'til seven," I barely choke out.  

Sam stands slowly. "It is," he says gently, cautiously.

"But the librarian left!" I snap.

I breathe in and out, in and out. It doesn't help. We're all alone.  

He had to know we'd be all alone!

Sam takes a careful step forward and I answer with one back.

"You knew she was leavin'!" I accuse.

"We both knew, Ror. Remember, she walked out the same time as us last Thursday? She leaves at six, but the library stays open 'til seven. See?" He gestures to the room. "The lights are on, the doors aren't locked." He's still using that gentle tone, like he's talking to a cornered animal.

And that's exactly what I feel like.

But he's not going to fool me with that fucking tone. He knew she was leaving at six - he had to have planned this. I snatch my bag off the floor and reach for my books, but he takes another step toward me and I back up again, my books forgotten.

My eyes well up. Fuck! I can't cry now!

But my eyes don't listen, and my tears start to fall. I hate myself for being so weak. But he's too big, strong and powerful - dangerous.

Just like him!

"Calculus!" I sob.

"Oh, God, Rory. Don't cry. Everything's fine. We're fine, okay?"

But I can't catch my breath, and I can't stop my tears. I feel him touch my arm, just like he has before, but it doesn't comfort me, and I start to tremble.

I reach for the side pocket of my bag, but I'm too frightened to take my eyes off Sam, I don't know what he's going to do, and I don't know how to stop him. All my self-defense knowledge has abandoned me in my state of distress.

"Please!" I sob, visibly shaking. Please don't hurt me! Please let me go!

Before I know what's happened, Sam has his arms banded around me. I try to shove him off, but he holds strong. I cry and cry, as my heart beats erratically, way too fast, my breath evading me each time I try to catch it.

"Calm down, Ror, you're fine. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that. I would never hurt you, okay?" he says softly into my ear.

I wait for him to push me up against the wall, or down to the floor. I wait for his hands to take advantage of my helplessness. I wait for his tone to change, for him to spit the nasty vitriol.

But it doesn't happen.

Sam just holds me and repeats over and over again that I'm fine and that he would never hurt me. I'm still not sure I believe him.  I'm not sure what to believe.

His hands slide soothingly up and down my back, and I realize he's been doing that for some time. I also realize that I have, in fact, started to calm, and I suck in deep breaths, filling my lungs with much-needed air.

"That's it, Ror. See? You're okay," he whispers, his fingers stroking my hair with practiced tenderness.

I surrender to Sam's hold, vaguely aware it's all that's keeping me together right now, and I reach around to the pocket of my bag and grip the zipper pull.

"You don't need them, Rory. Look at you. You're fine. You're calming down. You don't need a pill," he whispers insistently.

And I realize, I think he's right.

I have calmed. I haven't taken a pill.

Sam doesn't rush me, and I wait until I finally have a stronghold on my breathing to pull back just enough to peek up at him. His distress takes me aback. His strong brow is deeply furrowed, and his midnight blues glisten with unshed tears.

God, I must have really rattled him. Shame surges through me and I avert my gaze.

It's then that I realize he isn't just holding me, I'm clutching the back of his tee shirt for dear life.

I release my death grip and he takes it as his cue to relax his hold as well.

"You're okay," he says. It isn't a question.

I nod absently. Sam takes a cautious step back.

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry!" As reality sets it, so does utter mortification. I just completely freaked out on Sam - my friend. One of my only friends! And I thought that panic attack on my first day was bad! But hell, this was so much worse. I basically just accused him of plotting to get me alone so he could attack me, and I wonder if he realizes that.

"It's fine, Ror. I mean it," he says emphatically, but I shake my head.

"Oh, God," I sob.

Fine. How could any of this be fine?! I fall into the nearest chair and drop my head in my hands. I am so fucked up.

Vaguely I'm aware of Sam kneeling in front of me.

"Hey," he says gently, but I shake my head again. "Hey," he says again, this time more insistently, and he hesitantly wraps his long fingers around my wrists, pulling them down so I'm forced to lift my head.

He's holding my wrists. I should be freaking out again. I didn't even take a pill. But his eye contact soothes me, and right now, I really don't believe he's going to hurt me.

"I should have told you when Pitser left. I didn't realize it would matter. That's my fault. I didn't think. I am the one who is sorry, okay?" he says carefully.

I stare at him for several moments. Rationally I know I'm the one who overreacted. That he's innocent in this. Why would he think he needed to tell me the librarian was leaving? But he's taking the blame anyway.

"I don't know why you're so nice to me," I whisper, not even really meaning to say it out loud.

Sam smiles wistfully and releases my wrists. He brushes my tears away with the pad of his thumb, another gesture that reminds me so much of Cam that I have to close my eyes for a second. "We're friends, Ror," he replies, as if it explains everything. "That's what friends are for, right?"

I nod, because I really don't know what else to do. Sam stands and goes to pack up his books. He then proceeds to pack mine as well, and slips them into my bag.

He holds his hand out to me. "I got you, Pine. Come on, let's get you home. You must be tired," he murmurs.

I take his hand, and let him lead me from the library. We make our way down the hall, but I still don't release his hand. Right now it's my lifeline, and I cling to it desperately.

We reach the main exit, where Sam usually leaves to bring my car around. But still, I can't quite bring myself to let go. It's ridiculous. He was the one I'd been afraid of. I don't know what I'm afraid of now, but he's the only thing holding me together. I think he senses this because he doesn't even try to free his hand.

"Ror?" he asks, and I know he's asking what I want him to do.

"I can't walk by the locker rooms." I look up at him meaningfully.

"Can I walk around the building with you?"

I nod, and without another word, he leads me out the main exit and we walk silently around the perimeter of the building.

By the time we reach the student lot, I've mostly pulled myself together. I take a deep breath and release his hand. I look down, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. Now that the danger of the attack has abated, as well as my perceived danger of being attacked, I feel nothing but humiliation.

"I really am sorry, Sam," I murmur to the ground.

"Enough, Rory. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? I'm sorry for putting you in that position, but you know what? You're stronger than you think you are."

I snort.

"You are, Ror. Look, I obviously did something to trigger you to panic, but you got through it all on your own. You didn't need a pill. You did it yourself."

I think about his words for a few moments before responding. "I didn't need a pill," I agree, my voice quiet and introspective. "But I didn't do it on my own either." He's the reason I got through that. I meet his gaze. "Thanks."

Sam offers me a half-smile. "Hey, I got you, Pine. What are friends for?" he says lightly.