You've Reached Sam (38)

Yuki notices me looking over. “Is something wrong, Julie?”

I turn back around. “No. Just some guys being loud.”

“Ignore them,” Jay whispers.

I nod and try to eat.

After a moment, Yuki says turns to me again. “We missed you last night. At the vigil.”

I look at her. “I didn’t know you guys were going.”

“A lot of people from school did,” Rachel says. “The street was filled up. Cars couldn’t drive through.”

I lower my gaze to the table, ashamed to hold eye contact. Because I should have been there, too.

“Sam’s family came as well,” Yuki says. “His mom asked about you.”

Sam’s mom. I look up again. “What did she ask?”

“She wanted to know if I heard from you,” Yuki tells me. “She wonders where you’ve been, that’s all. She said she hopes you might come over for dinner someday. It would mean a lot to her.”

My chest tightens. I haven’t spoken to Sam’s mom or his family since he died. I realize how terrible this is of me, especially after I think about how often I used to come over and have dinner with them. Sam said his mom always had a place set for me at the table just in case. Whenever she made Sam lunch for school, she made sure there was something for me, too. I thought she would hate me after I missed the funeral. After she noticed not a single flower was sent from me. And now the vigil, too. Shame washes over me, making me lose my appetite. What would Sam think of me if he knew this? If he knew I wasn’t the same person he fell in love with?

I can’t even look at my food. I push the tray away from me. “I know, I should have come last night. I should have showed up this time.”

Jay places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“But it isn’t okay,” I say to the table. “Because I skipped all of it, everything you guys did for Sam. And now even Mika hates me for it.” I didn’t even mean to miss the vigil this time. After I got off the phone with Sam, I fell asleep at my desk, and had that strange dream, and the next thing I knew I was out looking for him. It’s easy to forget that everyone is mourning for Sam when I’ve been speaking to him every day. The worst part is I can’t even explain myself. I promised Sam I wouldn’t tell, because it might affect our connection, and I can’t risk that. My eyes start watering, and I don’t know what else to do. The others at the table are kind enough not to say anything else.

At the end of lunch, the three of them walk me to my next class. Before I head in, Yuki says something. “You know, maybe we can do something else for Sam. Something special to honor him by.”

“That’s a great idea,” Rachel says, nodding. “And we can bring Mika, too. The five of us, together.”

I think about this. Something special for Sam. To honor him by. “Like what?” I ask.

They all glance at each other, looking uncertain.

“We’ll think of something,” Jay promises.

I smile at them. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you guys.”



* * *



It’s the end of school. I need to hurry home without running into anyone. But it’s difficult to avoid people when you can’t even get to your locker without bumping into a dozen shoulders. As I’m packing up my books, someone taps me on my arm.

It’s Oliver. Again.

“Hey. Whatcha up to?” he asks me.

“I’m about to leave.”

“Cool—where?”

“Home.”

“Oh.”

I shut my locker and walk toward the front doors without another word.

“Hold up—” Oliver says as he follows me down the hall. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted to do something.”

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“It doesn’t have to be too long,” he says. “Maybe we can grab some ice cream.”

“I told you, I’m busy,” I say without looking at him. “Why don’t you hang out with your other friends?”

“Did I do something wrong?” Oliver asks, scratching his forehead.

I don’t feel like explaining it to him. I shouldn’t have to. “I’m just not in the mood, okay?”

“For ice cream?”

I turn to him. “For anything.”

“Just two scoops,” he insists.

“Oliver. I said no.”

“One scoop.”

It’s like he can’t hear me. I walk off again, leaving him standing there.

“C’mon!” he shouts down the hall. “Pretty please!” His voice is loud and desperate. “It’s on me!”

Maybe it’s the empathy from being a writer that makes me stop walking. Or maybe it’s Sam’s voice inside my head. Reluctantly, I take a deep breath and turn around.

I narrow my eyes. “It’s on you?”



* * *



“I’ll have three scoops of pistachio, hot fudge, some marshmallows, whipped cream on top, rainbow sprinkles, and don’t go easy on it,” I say to the man behind the glass. I turn to Oliver. “What are you having?”

“Uh, one rocky road, please…”