You've Reached Sam(21)

“Did you need something?”

“I wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi,” I say quickly. I turn back to my locker and grab another book, hoping he’ll take the hint.

Oliver doesn’t move. “How have you been lately?”

“Fine.”

“Oh…” He waits for me to say more but I don’t. Maybe he was expecting a different answer. I’m not in the mood to have that conversation right now. Especially with him. But he keeps talking. “It’s been a real week, hasn’t it?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Oliver asks again.

“I said I’m fine.”

I don’t mean to be so rude. But Oliver and I have never been good friends, despite his relationship with Sam. There was always some tension between us I never completely understood. It always felt like the two of us were competing for Sam’s attention. There was a time when I wanted to get to know Oliver. Whenever we were together with Sam, I remember trying to start a conversation with him, but he’d always be short with me or pretended not to hear it. He would invite Sam somewhere and say there was no room in his car or spare ticket for me. So forgive me if I’m in no mood for a chat. Especially since Sam isn’t around anymore. I don’t have to be friendly. I don’t owe him anything.

Oliver was also one of the people there at the bonfire that night. Maybe that’s what he wants to talk about. I’m not looking for a confrontation right now. I shut my locker. “I have to go.”

“But I was hoping you and I could talk, or something,” he says somewhat tensely.

“I don’t really have time right now. Sorry.” I walk off without saying anything else.

“Wait—just for a second?”

I keep walking.

“Please, ” Oliver calls after me. Something sharp and wounded in his voice cuts me, making me stop. “Please…” he says again, almost desperately this time. “I don’t really have anyone else to talk to.”

I turn around slowly. The two of us stand there, looking at each other as people walk right past us. Now that I’m looking at him, I can read the pain in his face. He lost Sam, too. Except he isn’t connected to him like I am. I step toward Oliver, closing the distance between us, and whisper, “Is it about Sam?”

Oliver nods. “Nobody else gets it,” he says. Then he leans into me.

“Why did it have to happen to him, you know?”

I touch his shoulder and feel how tense he is. Like he’s holding something in. Neither of us say any more because we don’t need to. For the first time, it’s like we understand each other.

“I know…” I say.

“I’m really glad you’re back,” Oliver says. “It was weird not having you around, either.” Then out of nowhere, he puts his arms around me and hugs me tight. The leather of his jacket is soft against my cheek. I usually shy away from this sort of affection, but for this occasion, I allow it. We both lost somebody we loved. After a moment, Oliver pulls away and readjusts his backpack. “Is it okay if I text you sometime? Just to talk?”

“Of course you can.”

Oliver smiles. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I watch him disappear down the hall. It almost feels like we just met for the first time. It’s too early to say if Oliver and I might be friends after all of this, but at the very least, maybe things will be different.

At home, I find my mother’s car in the driveway. She’s in the kitchen washing dishes as I make my way inside. As soon as I close the door, I hear the faucet shut off, followed by my mother’s voice.

“Julie? ” she calls from the kitchen. Before I can answer, she storms down the hall with a look relief on her face. “Where have you been all day?”

I take off my jacket. “I was at school. I thought I told you yesterday.”

“But why didn’t you answer my messages?” she asks.

“What messages?”

“I texted you last night. I even called.”

“You called me?” I don’t remember waking up to any notifications. The only person I’ve spoken to since last night was Sam. I check my phone again. “Are you sure? I never got anything from you.”

I hand her my phone to see for herself.

“Of course I’m sure,” she says, scrolling through it. “That’s so bizarre. I definitely texted you. Do you think it’s your phone? I guess it could be mine.”

“Maybe it’s the service.”

“Maybe…” my mother says, thinking. She hands me back my phone.

“You know, no matter how smart they try to make these things, they never work.” She lets out a long breath.

“I’m sorry to worry you.”

“It’s alright,” my mother says. “I’m just glad you’re fine.” She takes my jacket from me, and hangs it on a hook on the wall. “Thankfully I noticed your backpack was gone this morning, so I figured you were at school. How late did you come home last night?”

“Oh—” My eyes shift to the floor. She doesn’t realize I never came home at all. “Not too late…” I say.

“You know, I could have given you a ride this morning.”