Chapter 6 #5
“Polish up one of your horror narratives, dear,” she said, then shooed me out the door.
I took the journal to the cottage Thanksgiving weekend so Sam could help me decide which idea to work on.
We sat on my bed with the Hudson’s Bay blanket pulled over our legs, Sam flipping through the pages and my eyes stuck to him like a tongue to a metal pole in winter.
Ever since Sam had told me he hadn’t kissed anyone, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wanted to put my mouth on his before someone else got there.
“These are really good, Percy,” he said.
His face turned serious, and he gave me a there, there pat on my leg.
“You’re such a sweet, pretty girl on the outside, but really you’re a total freak.
” I grabbed the workbook from his hands and swatted him with it, but my brain had jammed on the word pretty.
“I mean it as a compliment,” he laughed, holding his hands up to shield himself.
I raised my arm to whack him again, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward so that I tumbled on top of him.
We both went still. My eyes moved to the little crease in his bottom lip.
But then I heard footsteps coming upstairs and I scrambled off him.
Mom appeared in the doorway, frowning behind her oversized red frames.
“Everything okay up here, Persephone?”
“I think you should go with the brain blood one,” Sam croaked after she left.
MOM AND DAD said we could spend March break in Barry’s Bay if I didn’t get into the workshop, and for a second I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t bother entering. I floated the idea to Delilah as we were walking home from school, and she pinched my arm.
“You’ve got better things to worry about than the Summer Boys,” she said.
I clutched her arm. “Who are you and what have you done with Delilah Mason?” I wailed.
She poked her tongue out. “I’m serious. Boys are for fun. Lots of fun. But don’t let one stand in the way of your greatness.”
It took every ounce of my self-control not to double over with laughter. But that was that.
I worked on the story throughout the fall.
It was about an idyllic-seeming suburb where the smartest, most attractive teenagers were sent away to an elite academy.
Except that the school was actually a nightmarish institution where their brain blood was harvested to formulate a youth-giving serum.
Sam helped me work through the details over email.
He poked holes in the plot and the science and then brainstormed solutions with me.
Once I finished, I mailed him a copy with a signed cover page and a dedication to him “for always knowing just the right amount of blood.” I called it “Young Blood.”
Five days later, he phoned the house after suppertime. “I’m going to stop thinking about what we can do over March break,” he said. “There’s no way you aren’t going to win.”
WE DROVE TO Barry’s Bay on Boxing Day. The bush seemed like a different world than it was in summer—the birches and maples were bare and a foot of snow covered the ground, the sun bouncing off the crystals in tiny glittering specks.
The pine boughs looked as if they were coated in diamond dust. One of the year-round residents had plowed our driveway and lit the fire, and the smoke billowed from the cottage’s chimney.
It looked like a scene on a Christmas card.
As soon as we unpacked, I bundled up in my red wool peacoat and put on my white boots with the furry pom-poms and a knit hat and matching mittens.
I grabbed the parcel I’d carefully wrapped for Sam and headed out the door.
My breath hit the air in silvery puffs, and the wind bit my fingers through my mittens.
I was shivering when I climbed up the Floreks’ porch.
Sue opened the door, surprised to see me.
“Percy! It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said, giving me a hug. “Come in, come in—it’s freezing!” The house smelled like it did at Thanksgiving—of turkey and woodsmoke and vanilla candles.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Florek. I hope you don’t mind me coming over without calling. I have a present for Sam and wanted to surprise him. I figured he’d be home?”
“I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome here anytime—you know that.
He’s . . .” She was interrupted by a chorus of agonized groans and then laughter.
“He’s in the basement playing video games with a couple of friends.
Take your things off and head down.” I stared at her blankly.
In theory, I knew Sam had other friends.
He’d begun mentioning them more than when we first met, and I’d been encouraging him to put the homework aside and hang out with them. I’d just never met them.
Do I want to meet them? Do they want to meet me? Do they even know I exist?
“Percy?” Sue gave me an encouraging smile. “Hang your coat up, okay? They’re nice kids, don’t worry.”
I walked down the stairs in my socked feet, and when I got to the bottom, I was met with three sets of surprised eyes.
“Percy!” Sam said, standing up. “I didn’t think you were here yet.”
“Ta-da!” I replied, dipping into a half curtsy as the other two boys put their controllers down and got to their feet. Sam gave me a tight hug, just like he would if it were only the two of us. I closed my eyes briefly—he smelled like fabric softener and fresh air. He felt thicker, more solid.
“Oh man, you’re cold,” he said, pulling away. “Your nose is bright red.”
“Yeah, I don’t think my stuff is warm enough for up north.”
“Let me grab you a blanket,” he offered, then left me standing in the middle of the room while he dug around in a chest.
“Hi,” I said, waving to Sam’s friends. “Since Sam clearly doesn’t know how to make introductions, I’m Percy.”
“Oh, sorry,” Sam said, handing me a multicolored patchwork afghan.
“This is Finn,” he said, pointing to the one with unkempt black hair and round glasses.
Finn was almost as tall as Sam. “And this is Jordie.” Jordie had dark skin and close-cropped hair.
He was shorter than the other two but not as wiry. All three wore jeans and sweatshirts.
“The famous Percy. Nice to meet you,” said Finn, smiling.
So they do know about me.
“Bracelet Girl,” said Jordie with a smirk. “Now we can finally see why Sam never hangs out with us in the summer.”
“Because I’m clearly more interesting?” I joked and curled up in the leather armchair while Finn and Jordie plunked back down on the couch and picked up the controllers. Sam sat down on the arm of the chair.
“Exactly,” he said.
“Three updates?” I asked.
He pushed his hair back and gestured to the TV. “New video game.” And his shirt. “New hoodie.” He pointed to a pile of hockey skates. “We made a rink on the lake. You’re going to love it.” He paused and adjusted the blanket on my lap. “We’ve got extra winter gear you can borrow. Your turn.”
“Umm,” I began, like I hadn’t planned what I’d tell him. “I got a laptop for Christmas. Mom brought an espresso machine up with us, so if you want to get into latte art, we’ve got you covered. And”—I held back a smile—“I got into the writers’ workshop.”
His face lit up, an explosion of blue eyes and white teeth. “That’s amazing! Not that I’m surprised, but still. It’s a huge deal! I bet it was really competitive.” I grinned up at him.
“Hey, congratulations,” Finn said from the couch, giving me a salute.
“Yeah,” Jordie chimed in. “Sam told us about your story. Wouldn’t shut up about it, actually.”
I raised my eyebrows, feeling lighter than popcorn.
“I told you I thought it was good,” Sam said. He tilted his head toward the large gift in my lap. “Is that for me?”
“No,” I replied, innocently. “It’s for Jordie and Finn.”
“She’s good,” said Jordie, pointing his index finger at me before going back to the game.
“It’s stupid,” I added quietly, my eyes on Sam’s friends. He followed my gaze.
“I got something for you, too,” he said, and I saw Jordie elbow Finn.
“You did?”
“It’s upstairs,” he said. “Guys, we’ll be back in a sec,” he announced, and we padded up to the main floor. Sam pointed to the stairs leading to the second floor. “In my room.”
I had been inside Sam’s bedroom only a couple of times.
It was a cozy space with navy-blue walls and thick carpeting.
Sam kept it tidy—the bed was made with a blue plaid duvet, and there were no piles of clothes on the floor or stray papers on his desk.
Next to the bed was a bookshelf filled with comics, secondhand biology textbooks, and full sets of J.
R. R. Tolkien and Harry Potter. A large black-and-white poster showing a sketch of an anatomical heart, with labels pointing to the various parts, hung on the wall.
There was a new framed photo on his desk.
I put the gift down and picked it up. It was a picture of Sam and me from my first summer at the lake.
We were sitting at the end of his dock, towels wrapped around our shoulders, hair wet, both squinting into the sun, a barely detectable grin on Sam’s face and a toothy one on mine.
“This is a good shot,” I said.
“Glad you think so,” he replied, opening up his top drawer and handing me a small present covered in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon.
I opened it carefully, tucking the ribbon in the pocket of my sweatpants. Inside was a pewter frame holding the same photo. “So you can take the lake home with you,” he said.
“Thank you.” I hugged it to my chest and then groaned. “I really don’t want to give you yours. This is so thoughtful. Mine is . . . silly.”
“I like silly,” Sam said with a shrug and picked his present up from the desk.
I bit my lip while he tore off the paper and examined the cartoon naked man on the Operation board game lid.
His hair fell over his forehead, making it hard to read his expression, and when he looked at me it was with one of his unreadable stares.
“Because you want to be a doctor?” I explained.
“Yeah, I get that. Genius over here, remember?” He smiled. “Definitely the best gift I got this year.”
I exhaled in relief. “Swear on it?” He pinched my bracelet between his thumb and forefinger.
“I swear.” But then his face scrunched up. “I don’t want this to sound bad, but I think that maybe sometimes you worry too much about what other people think.” He rubbed the back of his neck and bent his head so that his face was level with mine.
I mumbled something incoherent. I knew he was right, but I didn’t like that he saw me that way.
“What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter what other people think about you, because if they don’t like you, they’re clearly morons.” He was so close I could make out the darker flecks of blue in his eyes.
“But you’re not other people,” I whispered. His eyes flicked down to my mouth, and I leaned a tiny bit closer. “I do care what you think.”
“Sometimes I think no one gets me the way you do,” he said, the pink of his cheeks deepening to scarlet. “Do you ever get that feeling?” My mouth felt dry and I ran my tongue over my top lip. His gaze followed its path, and I could hear him swallow thickly.
“Yeah,” I said, putting a shaking hand on his wrist, sure that he would close the gap between us.
But then he blinked like he had remembered something important and straightened to his full height and said, “I don’t ever want to mess that up.”