10. Samuel
SAMUEL
THE PUTNAMS
It wasn’t surprising that Mr. Farley didn’t let Gordy, Benji, and me work together after yesterday’s incident.
I got paired up with a tall, slender man named Jin, who seemed wary of me at first, but once we were out on the field, he couldn’t stop talking about ‘them O’s,’ some baseball team I’d never heard of.
I just nodded along, focusing on my job, and sighed in relief when I met Benji back at the barn at the end of the day.
In the morning, we’d barely had time for ‘hello’ and ‘what’s up?’ I hadn’t even asked him about his follow on Insta (I only spotted it after waking up, because once I got back from my meeting with Mr. Penton, I collapsed onto my bed), or whether he’d seen my follow request.
We sat down on the bench out back, as if we still had to keep out of Mr. Farley’s sight.
Before we could strike up a conversation, Gordy gave the end-of-day briefing—all under the watchful eyes of his father, like some kind of corporal punishment—and dismissed everyone into the evening.
I expected Benji to head over to Gordy afterward, but once the crowd thinned, he made his way to the locker room instead, glancing at me like he wanted me to follow.
“You need a ride home?” he asked as we came to a halt in the hallway. The rest of the crew clogged the entrance to the small side building—some switching shoes, others clothes, and a few launching into heated debates in three different languages.
“I can’t let you become my chauffeur,” I said, laughing, trying to mimic the way he and Gordy usually talk, but it only made him frown.
“It’s no problem,” he said. “Really.”
“I appreciate the offer. But I can’t take advantage of you like this.”
“That’s not...” He pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “Just let me know whenever you need one, okay?”
He turned around, looking for a gap in the crowd so we could squeeze through to the back door, but Mosquito-Net-Luis stretched out his arms like he hadn’t slept all night, completely blocking the way.
“Then, uh,” Benji said, pivoting back to me, “I’ll ask you here, I guess.” His eyes flicked to the floor. “I, uh , told my Mom about...” He leaned in, his mouth now close to my ear. “...the necklace thing...”
His breath tickled my skin, the sensation sparking a tingle that shot through my entire body—something that clearly wasn’t his intention, but still made me wonder why he, unlike so many others, had no problem with being so close to me.
Fortunately, he pulled back right after, before my thoughts could spiral further.
“...and now she insists that you come over for dinner, and, uh, yeah.” He rocked back and forth on his feet. “If you have time.”
For some reason, my body decided the best response was a chuckle, which I barely managed to smother. I needed a second to realize what he’d asked, but by the time I did, his face had already darkened a little.
“Of—of course,” I stammered, sounding like this was my first time speaking English. “I’d love to.”
His eyes locked on mine, staring right through me as if he were weighing whether the offer still stood after my awkward reaction. But after a second, his face softened with a subtle nod.
“When?” I asked.
“How about tomorrow at six?”
“Sure.”
“Let me give you my number.” He pulled his phone out. “So that I can send you the address.”
Then everything went fast. He handed me his phone with a new contact already opened, and I typed in my number while he watched. When I passed it back, he called me so I’d have his number in my call history, and then we went our separate ways.
Before I knew it, evening had come, and I called my parents, telling them I wouldn’t be coming over on Saturday, which earned me the expected lecture to be careful with Benji.
Then, night fell. I couldn’t sleep at first, but then I only woke up with the sun already high in the sky.
I panicked about what to wear and whether I should bring anything.
I biked to the general store, bought lemon juice and flour, biked back and baked some lemon brownies (the only recipe I knew by heart) and while they cooled, I showered and then changed into brown shorts and a black shirt that looked too wrinkly, so I switched to a white one instead and suddenly it was already ten minutes to six and I carried my bike down the stairs, when a message popped up on my phone:
Benji
Sure you don’t want a ride?
Not having to push the pedals, especially with my legs aching like they’d been put through a meat grinder for five days straight, was tempting. But I couldn’t say yes. If Benji picked me up now, it also meant he’d have to drive me back, and that was just too much to ask.
One of the perks of living in a small town like Red Creek was that biking didn’t take much longer than driving.
It left me independent enough to save offers like his for when I really needed them, like when I needed to shop for a week's worth of groceries. Sure, I would have loved to own a car at times. I knew how to drive and actually loved it, but when I turned eighteen, my parents revealed they’d saved some money for me, and I had a choice: a car now or invest it in my education.
Intending to go to college, I chose the latter.
And now, with the money spent on prep-classes and me still only waitlisted, I had to live with that decision.
ME
Still sure, but I appreciate your offer. See you in five.
Ok.
I slid my phone into my pocket, swung my leg over my bike, and set off.
I took the back road through the residential area, as it rode more easily with far less traffic than Main Street, until I hit Third Street, passing a few weathered houses that had clearly seen better days.
Somehow, I’d never been in this part of town before, which was quite an accomplishment, considering how small Red Creek was.
I looked for 124 Third Street but spotted Benji’s metallic car with its oversized trunk before I found the house number on the mailbox.
The house, sitting at the very end of the dead-end street, had a gray-ish facade that might’ve once been white or beige.
Two rocking chairs sat side by side on the porch beneath a hand-painted sign telling everyone that they were “Welcome to the Putnams’ house.
” The colors were a little sun-bleached, but still showcased how much care had gone into making it.
The second I hopped off my bike, the front door opened, and Benji stepped out, wearing light-brown jeans, a white shirt tucked behind a black belt with a silver buckle, and the silver necklace on top, coincidentally matching my outfit almost exactly.
He waved casually and pointed to the right side of the house.
“There’s a rack,” he called, pulling the door shut behind him. He hopped down the porch and walked over to where he had pointed.
I followed him around the house and into a backyard garden.
To the right, an apple tree had grown wild over a shed, its fruit threatening to drop onto the roof like little timed bombs.
Just before that, there was a stone patch surrounded by thriving tomatoes, zucchini, strawberries, and other plants that I couldn’t take in all at once.
For now, it held only a weathered grill, but there was enough room for a table.
To the left stood a rusty bike rack underneath a small roof overhang that hadn’t done a good job of keeping it dry.
One bike, splattered with dirt, was already parked there, right beside the back entrance.
“Hi,” I said as I hoisted my bike into the rack.
“Could’ve saved yourself some sweat,” Benji said, reaching for a low-hanging apple, feeling its skin for a second before letting it go.
“If I had let you pick me up?”
“Yup.” He squeezed his right eye shut, his mouth twisting into a teasing grin. “Not sure how often I’ll keep offering, though, if you keep turning me down.”
“I didn’t want to be a bother, that's all.”
“And I thought you’d just like to sweat.” He stuck his tongue out. “Anyhow, glad you could make it. Mom’s been on her feet for hours. She hasn’t been that excited in months.”
“Looking forward to meeting her.” I crouched down, fumbling my bike lock out of my backpack.
He watched me lock up my bike with raised eyebrows, as if that kind of precaution was unnecessary this far out at the edge of town. Once I was done, he brushed past me to the back door and held it open.
I nodded my thanks and stepped inside. A dark brown floral-print carpet led the way through a narrow, windowless corridor.
Framed family photos hung on the beige walls, but I didn’t dare to look closely.
Benji didn’t strike me as the type who wanted anyone staring at old pictures of him.
To the left was a closed door; to the right, two stood ajar.
The first was a bathroom. The second, a bedroom—probably Benji’s, judging from the unmade twin bed I could spot in passing as he motioned for me to keep going.
At the end of the corridor, the space opened into a spacious living area connected to an open kitchen. The sizzling sound of something frying, paired with the mouthwatering smell of meat, fat, and salt, hit me full on.
A woman, maybe in her late fifties, stood at the stove. Her long hair, streaked with gray but still showing hints of its once radiant brown, was twisted into a bun. Yet the smile she gave me when she noticed me could’ve belonged to someone my age.
She took the frying pan off the burner, killed the flame, and turned toward me, her eyes alternating between me and the food.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. You must be Sam,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and striding over, sizing me up with obvious delight. “What a handsome young man you are.”
Her comment prompted a short but distinct huff from Benji, who stood a few feet back, watching the scene unfold.
“I’m Linda. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Ma’am,” I said, but that immediately earned a laugh from both her and Benji.