Chapter 6
Summer, Sixteen Years Ago
Eighth grade didn’t suck.
It didn’t suck, but it was weird. I (finally) got my period. Kyle Houston touched my butt at the spring dance. And by the end of September, Delilah Mason and I were best friends again.
She had clomped up to me in a pair of white cowboy boots and a short denim skirt on the first day of school and complimented my tan.
I told her about the cottage, trying to play it as cool as possible, and she filled me in on the equestrian camp she attended in the Kawarthas.
There was a horse named Monopoly and an embarrassing period story involving white shorts and a daylong riding trip.
(Delilah got her period and her boobs when we were eleven, naturally.)
After a few days of niceties and shared lunches, I asked about Marissa and Yvonne. Delilah curled her lip in disgust. “We went on a group date with my cousin and his friends, and they were such babies.”
It’s not that I had forgotten what happened the year before, but I was willing to look past it.
Having Sam meant I didn’t feel the same kind of pressure to please Delilah, didn’t take her quite so seriously, although I was determined never to be such a baby.
Besides, being friends with Delilah meant no more lunches alone, no more feeling like a complete loser.
And while I wouldn’t ever describe her as nice, Delilah was funny and smart.
She chose crushes for both of us, saying that high school boys were much cuter, but we needed practice before we got there.
Mine was Kyle Houston, who had both the coloring and personality of mashed potatoes.
(For his part, Kyle didn’t seem too interested, either.
That is, until he copped a feel at the dance.)
SAM AND I had a never-ending email chain, but it wasn’t until Thanksgiving that I saw him in the flesh again.
Sue had invited us to join them for turkey dinner, and my parents had happily accepted.
They may not have been sure about Sue when they first met her, but I could tell they’d warmed up to her.
They had her over for coffee a couple of times the previous summer, and I heard Mom telling Dad about how impressed she was that Sue was raising “those two nice boys” on her own and how she “must have a keen business sense” to have made the Tavern such a big success.
Sam warned me that his mom tended to overdo it for holidays ever since his dad passed away.
She wouldn’t hear of my parents bringing any food, either.
So we showed up carrying wine and brandy and a bouquet of flowers Mom and I had picked out at the grocery store.
The sun was low in the sky and the Floreks’ house looked like it was glowing from within.
The smell of turkey wafted out to us as we stepped onto the porch, and the door swung open before we even knocked.
Sam stood in the doorway, his thick shag of hair combed into submission and parted to one side.
“I could hear your footsteps on the gravel,” he said, seeing the surprised expressions on our faces. Then he added an uncharacteristically chirpy, “Happy Thanksgiving!” and held the door open with one arm, stepping to the side to let us in.
“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser?” he asked. He wore a white button-down shirt tucked into khaki pants, which made him look like a busboy at my parents’ favorite French restaurant.
“Certainly. Thank you, Sam,” Dad said. “But Diane and Arthur will do just fine.”
“Hey, guys! Happy Thanksgiving!” Sue greeted my parents, her arms held wide, while I put the gifts I was holding on the floor and took off my coat.
“May I take that, Persephone?” Sam asked with exaggerated graciousness, extending his arm for my coat.
“Why are you talking like that?” I whispered.
“Mom gave us a big speech about being on our best behavior. She even played the ‘make your dad proud’ card. He was big on manners,” he said quietly.
“You look lovely, this evening, by the way,” he added in an overly enthusiastic tone.
I ignored his comment, though I had made extra effort, brushing my hair out so it shone and wearing my crushed-velvet burgundy dress with the puffed sleeves.
“Well, cut it out,” I said. “That voice you’re using is giving me the creeps.”
“Got it. No weird voice.” He smirked, then crouched to pick up the bottles and flowers from the floor. When he stood, he leaned closer and said, “I mean it, though. You do look nice.”
His breath on my cheek made me blush, but before I could respond, Sue had me in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Percy. You look beautiful.” I thanked her, still reeling from Sam’s comment, and waved at Charlie, who stood behind her.
“Red’s your color, Pers,” he said. He had on a pair of black dress pants and a shirt that matched the pale green of his eyes.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to fully dress yourself,” I replied.
Charlie winked, and then Sue ushered us into the living room, where a fire crackled in the stone hearth.
While Sue finished in the kitchen, Sam passed trays of cheese and bowls of nuts, and Charlie took drink orders, offering Mom a gin and tonic and asking Dad if he wanted red (“it’s a pinot noir”) or white wine (“sauvignon blanc”).
My parents looked both impressed and amused.
“Restaurant kid” was all Charlie said by way of explanation.
Sue joined us when everything was just about ready and had a drink with my parents.
She was more made up than usual, in a fitted black turtleneck and capri pants.
She had her blond hair down around her shoulders and wore a rose-colored lipstick.
It had the effect of making her look both older and more beautiful.
My own mom wasn’t unattractive—she kept her dark straight hair in a neat bob and had strange rust-colored eyes—and she was fashionable. But Sue was pretty pretty.
By the time we sat down for dinner, our faces were flushed from the fire and the overlapping conversations.
Charlie and Sam brought out platters and dishes and bowls of sides and sauces, and Sue carried the turkey to the head of the table and carved it herself.
The boys dug in with impressive speed, manners abandoned, and my parents watched, slack-jawed.
“You should see my grocery bills,” Sue laughed.
I sat next to Sam, and when I reached for a second helping of potato casserole, he gave me a stunned look.
“You’re not wearing your bracelet,” he said quietly, his fork suspended midway to his mouth, a piece of dark meat speared on the end.
“Uh, no,” I replied, watching the hurt flicker in his eyes. I felt self-conscious wearing it around Delilah, but I couldn’t say that right now. “I still have it, though. It’s in my jewelry box at home.”
“You’re cold, Pers. Sam never takes his off!” Charlie cut in, and the chatter that had been swirling around us stopped. “He freaked when Mom wanted to wash it. Thought it would get ruined in the washing machine.”
“It would have,” Sam said flatly, streaks of crimson painting his cheeks.
“We hand washed it, and it was fine,” Sue said, either not picking up on the tension between the two boys or ignoring it altogether. She went back to chatting with my parents.
“Jerk,” Sam mumbled under his breath, looking down at his plate.
I leaned in closer and whispered, “I’ll wear it next time. I promise.”
MOM AND DAD let me invite Delilah to the cottage for the first week of the summer.
On the last day of June, the four of us rode up in my parents’ new overstuffed SUV.
My knees were bouncing with anticipation by the time we turned down Bare Rock Lane, and there was a huge, stupid smile across my face.
The cottage needed more work before we visited in winter, so I hadn’t seen Sam since Thanksgiving, seven months ago.
“What’s with you?” Delilah whispered across a stack of luggage. “You look deranged.”
I had sent Sam an IM with our estimated time of arrival the night before we left, another when we were packing the car, and another just before we pulled out of the driveway.
He hated IMs and responded to precisely none of them.
Still, I knew he’d be waiting for us when we arrived.
But I wasn’t prepared to see two very tall figures standing outside the cottage.
“Is that them?” Delilah hissed, pulling a tube of lip gloss out of her pocket.
“Yeah?” I said, not totally believing it. Sam was tall. Like really tall.
I was out the door before Dad shut off the engine, and flung myself at him, stretching my arms around his slim torso. His wiry arms came around me, and I could feel him shake with laughter.
I pulled back with a big smile.
“Hi, Percy,” he said, his eyebrows raised high under his uncombed hair. I paused at the sound of his voice. It was different. It was deep. I quickly pushed aside my shock and grabbed his arm.
“Update one,” I said, holding my wrist next to his, lining up our bracelets side by side. “Haven’t taken it off since after Thanksgiving,” I added.
We grinned at each other like lunatics.
“This way we’ll have something to swear on,” I said.
“Thank god. It was my number one concern.” Sarcasm oozed from Sam’s words like caramel from a chocolate egg. He was pleased.
“Hey, Pers,” Charlie said from over Sam’s shoulder, then called to my parents, “Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, Mom sent us over to help unload.”
“Appreciate it, Charlie,” Dad hollered, his head in the trunk of the SUV. “But drop the Mr. and Mrs. thing, okay?”
“I’m Delilah,” said a voice behind me. Whoops.
I had completely forgotten my friend. A small part of me—okay, fine, a rather large chunk—didn’t want to introduce Delilah to Sam.
She was so much cuter than me, and her boobs had gotten huge this year while I remained flat chested.
I knew it wasn’t like that between Sam and me, but I didn’t want it to be like that between them, either.