You've Reached Sam (60)

“I guess so. I’m trying not to stress about it.”

“Seriously,” he says, groaning. “I wish we had another month to figure stuff out, you know? Do you even know what you’re doing after, yet?”

I thought I did. I thought I had everything planned out. From the apartment I wanted to live in to the different writing classes I would take. But it’s been hard to focus on school since I messed up our connection, so my final grades remain question marks. For some reason, Reed still hasn’t sent me my admissions letter. On top of that, I still haven’t finished my writing sample, so maybe a writing career isn’t even in the cards for me. It seems no matter how much effort I put in, and how much I try to plan things out, nothing ever comes together.

I stare into my cup, which is still steaming. “Not yet.”

“I thought you were going to that one school,” Oliver says. “Reed, right? You must have heard back from them by now.”

He’s right, I should have. I don’t know why they left me in the dark. What if I submitted my application wrong or something? Or maybe some technical error happened, and it never went through. But Reed would notify me about something like that, wouldn’t they? Should I call someone in admissions? I’ve been checking the mailbox and refreshing my email every morning. But nothing from them. I’m too embarrassed to tell Oliver this. I should have kept these plans private. So I wouldn’t need to explain myself when I’m forced to change them.

Why is everyone so caught up on going to college? It’s not like an English degree is practical in today’s economy, anyway. Why bury myself in loans to write when I can do it on my own? I mean, some of the greatest writers never went to college. Hemingway, Twain, Angelou—I could go on. Admittedly, their circumstances were different from mine, and it was a long time ago. But there is still a point to be made. Of course, my thoughts will probably change once I get accepted. But as I’m learning, you should always plan for the worst. “Actually, I’m thinking about sticking around here,” I say casually, and take a sip of coffee.

“Here, as in, Central Washington?” Oliver asks, arching his brow. “But you hate this place. More than anyone I know. You always said you’d be the first one to go. I mean, Central isn’t a bad school, but it isn’t anyone’s first choice, I can tell you that. You go because it’s next to home.” Oliver looks around us, leans into the table a little, and whispers, “Is it because you got,” he gulps, “waitlisted?”

“What—absolutely not.”

His eyes widen. “Rejected?”

“No. And it’s rude of you to ask,” I say defensively. “Maybe I changed my mind. I’m allowed. I mean, you’re going to Central, too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m from here. So it’s different. It’s what we all do.”

“So you stay here, just because?”

Oliver shrugs. “Pretty much. It’s an Ellensburg thing. You wouldn’t get it. You’re from”—he makes a long arch in the air with both hands—“Seattle.” He takes a sip of his latte and sets it back down. “You’re practically an alien to us.”

“I feel like one around here.”

“Then what’s keeping you? It’s obvious you can’t stand it here, but I don’t blame you for that. You always seemed ready to leave. Even if it meant finding a job waiting tables or something. I mean, you even convinced Sam to—” He stops himself.

I drop my gaze. Because I don’t want him to look me in the eye and see he might be right. That maybe Sam is one of the reasons I don’t want to leave. They were once our plans, after all. Moving to Portland together, finding an apartment, and taking whatever part-time jobs we needed to save up money. He’d play his music somewhere, I’d find places to write. But he isn’t here anymore. So I have to figure everything out alone.

I stare at the table. “I just need a little more time…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Oliver says. He reaches across the table for my arm. “Listen, at least you’ll have me here. Maybe we can take some classes together. I’ll need someone to copy off of.”

“You always know the right thing to say.”

He leans back, smiling. “I have a way with people.”

I take a sip of coffee, ignoring this.

We finish our drinks. At noon, I have to leave for work.

I push in my chair. “Did you want to walk with me?”

Oliver checks his phone. “I would. But I’m meeting someone.”

I give him a look. “Oh? Who is it?”

He hesitates. “Jay.”

I give him a different look.

“What’s that look mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.”

I sniff the air. “Is that why you’re wearing cologne?”

“I’ll have you know, I wear cologne all the time,” Oliver says, folding his arms.

“Yes, but I’ve been noticing it more recently,” I say.

“Aren’t you late for work or something?”

I can’t help smiling as I leave, but not without whispering, “Is that a new shirt, too?”

“Please go.”

I wink at him. “Tell me everything tonight.”