You've Reached Sam (27)

“Don’t worry. We would say good-bye first, okay? We’ll know when it’s going to happen before it does.”

“You won’t just leave again?”

“I promise, Julie. I’ll stay as long as I can.”

I shut my eyes for a moment and try to find comfort in this. I don’t ask Sam any more questions. I don’t want it to ruin this beautiful day. A breeze stirs petals along the grass. When I open my eyes, I look up through the branches and catch the sun glimmering like silver coins through the cherry blossoms.

“I wish you were here with me,” I whisper.

“I wish I were there, too.”



* * *



The sun has set by the time I get home. I was on the phone with Sam for so long, I lost track of the day. I wanted to call again once I got back to my room, but he said we should wait until tomorrow. This is probably for the best. Even though school is the last thing on my mind, I have so much work to catch up on. I’m so behind on all my readings, they’ve piled up on my desk. It’s a struggle to focus. I barely get through one chapter of my history book when a crack at the window jolts my head up. A second later, there’s another crack as a rock comes flying into the room, bouncing across the floor. I rush to the window and look out.

A tall figure moves across the driveway. A familiar one.

“Oliver? Is that you?”

Down below, Oliver stands in his letterman jacket, waving up at me.

“Hey—what’s up?”

I give him a look. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, just passing by,” he says, shrugging casually. “Thought I’d say hi. Hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Oliver—you threw a rock at my window.”

“Right, my bad, that was totally rude of me…” he says, holding both hands in the air as if surrendering to something. He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“Do you need something?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. Not at all. I mean, maybe. Sort of … Yes? I mean no. I mean—”

“Just spit it out.”

Oliver drops his shoulders and sighs. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to go on a walk or something.”

“Right now?”

“I mean, unless you’re busy.”

“Kind of.”

“Oh…”

I don’t think that was the answer he was expecting. He looks around in the dark, a bit flustered.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Oliver shrugs. “No, it’s okay. I guess I’ll head on home then…” He half turns, facing the street as if he’s about to head off. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just stands there frozen in this pose that looks like he’s about to leave. I wait a bit longer but nothing happens.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

He drops his head, looking miserable. “I really need someone to talk to,” he says.

I glance at the schoolwork on my desk and then back at Oliver. “Okay, fine. I’ll be right down. Just don’t make any more noise.”

Oliver covers his mouth and holds up an OK sign.

A few minutes later, I find Oliver waiting for me on the porch steps, his hands in his pockets. It’s dark out. The moment I step into the porch light, Oliver’s eyes widen.

“Oh—uh, your shirt…” He stammers a little, and steps back.

It’s a bit chilly tonight, so I threw on Sam’s plaid shirt before I left my room without thinking about it. I wasn’t sure if he’d notice.

“I couldn’t find my jacket,” I say. I roll up the sleeves and cross my arms, trying not to bring attention to it. The two of us stand in silence for a while. “So where are we walking?” I ask.

“Nowhere really,” Oliver says. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

He smiles a little. In the porch light, I see him better. Dark brown hair curls across his pale forehead, not a strand out of place. I’ve always been envious of Oliver’s hair. The curls can’t be natural.

Oliver motions me down the steps. “After you.”

We walk along the lamplit sidewalks in silence. The only sounds are our footsteps on the concrete and the occasional passing car. Oliver stares straight ahead, his eyes distant. I don’t know where we’re heading or if that matters.

After a while, I decide to say something. “Are we going to talk at all?”

“Sure,” he says. “What’d you want to talk about?”

I stop walking. “Oliver … you asked me to come out tonight.”

Oliver pauses on the sidewalk without looking back. “True.” He glances up and down the street for cars. “This way,” he says and crosses the road. I follow him reluctantly. As we leave the neighborhood, I get the sense he’s leading us somewhere.

Oliver doesn’t look at me. He keeps walking. After a while of this, he finally asks me something. “Do you still think about him?”

I don’t need to ask who. “Of course I do.”

“How often would you say?”

“All of the time.”

Oliver nods. “Same.”

We cross the street again, avoiding the lights from town. Oliver drifts onto a gravel road I’m not sure we should be walking on. I follow him anyway, checking back and forth for cars.