Chapter Three #2
of school before finals was traditionally Senior Ditch Day—where
students cut class for the entire day. The faculty took issue with
that a few years ago, the seniors complained, and thus a compromise
was reached—Senior Sleep-In, where seniors can come in late, after
fifth period and thus ditch half the day. Since we get to sleep
until like eleven in the morning, new tradition apparently dictates
that the night before, we have to go out and have a late—well, the
word Dave used was epic—night out in the
city.
I can't say I'm especially
looking forward to it. The truth is, ever since Miami, I haven't
really felt particularly comfortable going out at night at all.
It's all just too familiar. The loud music, crowded bar or house,
drunk people… all loud whispers of a memory I'd rather soon forget.
But I've only been to one small get-together in these past weeks,
and Carl made me promise not only to commit to going out the night
before Senior Sleep-In, but to come to Andrew's tonight. Something
I'm definitely not looking forward to.
But I agree, because
becoming a depressed shut-in would mean Robin won. And I can't have
that. Not after everything he's already taken from me.
****
I ride with Carl and Tina to Andrew's for his regular Friday
night party. Sometimes it's an all out rager, other times it's your
average high school party, but usually, like tonight, it's more of
a get-together. Thirty or so of their friends. Of my friends, I
guess. Though there are only about six of them I actually consider
friends.
I feel a strange, new kind
of anxiety. Not the kind that threatens a panic attack—though
that's never more than some random trigger away—but the Sam-induced
kind. It's this elusive mixture of eager anticipation and dread. A
hint of excitement, a whisper of fear. Because I am both desperate
to see him, and terrified of the exact same thing.
I miss him. Terribly. But
I hate the act. The show. Of pretending I don't miss him terribly. Of being
right next to him and at the same time, in another way, so
excruciatingly distant. Of acting like this is really all I want,
and forget the something
more.
I dread it. When I have to
step into the facade and pretend this is all okay. That
I’m okay.
But I’m so not okay. And
considering I’m in love with someone I can never have again, I’m
pretty sure I’ll never be okay.
Nevertheless, I slip on my
mask as we all climb out of Carl’s Audi. Carl is in an
exceptionally good mood—she has been ever since she and Tuck
resolved their issues in Miami. But her concern for me is weighing
down her contentment. It's in her sideways glances—the ones she
intermittently casts my way to make sure I'm coping. And so I
plaster on the mask even when Sam's not around. Carl's a great
friend, the best girl friend I've ever had, and now that she's
finally happy, the last thing I want is to mitigate that with my
own misery.
Andrew marches right to
Tina as soon as we walk in, obviously impatient over having had to
wait on his girl to arrive at his own party. I half expect him to
be angry, maybe to grab her arm or growl some reprimand. But he
doesn't. He just kisses her sweetly on the lips and laces their
fingers together.
I'm reminded again of how
screwed up I really am. I think about what Cam told me the night I
told him what Robin had done, the night before he died. He said
that what Robin did—how he was—it wasn't normal. He was right of
course, it wasn't normal.
And now, neither am
I.
Carl's eyes lock on Tuck
right away, and I immediately turn in the opposite direction.
Because I know that where Tuck is, Sam usually is too. And as much
as most of me wants to see him, that small part of me—the coward—is
painfully aware of how weak I am in his presence, and it's
scared.
I'm scared. Because I've exerted the greatest strength of my life
in letting him go, and despite what Sam used to think, I'm not
strong enough to feel confident that I won't falter.
But as soon as I turn, I
nearly smack right into him. I catch myself at the last moment,
though part of me regrets the instinct. If we'd collided, at least
he'd have to touch me. He hasn't touched me in weeks, not since
Miami, and that small fearful part of me vanishes at just the mere
thought of his touch. But I caught myself, and so he doesn’t have
to.
And he doesn’t.
He doesn't give me a hug
or kiss on the cheek in greeting. He doesn't even shake my damned
hand. He just startles barely instantly before offering me a warm
smile. His perfect dimple is there, and it affects me, and it takes
me a moment to gather myself. I try to force the mask back in
place.
I am okay.
But Sam notices. He
pretends not to, but it's there in his eyes. He saw me fluster and
he's put off by it. His reaction makes me even more anxious.
Immediately I realize my mistake. That my reaction to him, no
matter how fast I tried to cover it, wasn't fast enough. He's
annoyed, because he's trying to act normal for the sake of our
friendship—my request—and here I am, acting like some lovesick
puppy, even if only for a moment. Robin's words from Miami invade
my mind, the accusation that I was following Sam around like
a fucking puppy, and I blush, ashamed.
But ever so quickly, we
both slip our masks into place, and Sam's smile returns.
"How are you doing, Ror?"
he asks. I worry my lip between my teeth before I can stop myself,
and then release it as nonchalantly as possible. I wonder if Sam
has picked up on the lying tell only Cam and my parents have ever
recognized.
"I'm doing okay," I reply.
Sam seems unsure as to whether he wants to hide his skepticism or
not.
"What are you up to this
weekend?" he asks.
I shrug. I know his family
is hosting some brunch on Sunday. I know because Tucker invited
Carl, and Carl mentioned Chelsea was going to be there as well.
This irks me, of course, though I have no right to be
irked.
Chelsea's parents are
friends with Sam's mom, and Sam and Chelsea have been friends since
they were little. They had one spat when Chelsea tried to take a
photo of my scar while I'd been changing in a bathroom stall after
phys ed, but apparently Chelsea saw the error of her ways after Sam
stopped speaking to her, she ended up grounded, and her parents
cancelled her spring break trip.
I understand why Sam
accepted her apology. Really, I do. What I don't understand is how
he fell for her story about being over her "little crush". Chelsea
and I both know that her feelings for Sam were more than some
insignificant crush. For as long as she must have been pining for
him, there can be no small amount of feelings that have amassed
over the years. I mean, I've only known him a matter of months and
look at me. Chelsea didn't just get over him in the past couple of
weeks, and I can't understand how Sam doesn't get that.
And it's not like I can
say anything about it. Surely I'd just come across like the jealous
girl who's still pining over Sam herself. Or like I'm annoyed Sam
accepted Chelsea's olive branch because I'm still holding a grudge
over the bathroom incident.
I'm both, of course. But
neither are the reason for my perception of the situation. It's
simply the situation. And Chelsea's pretense of being
over Sam, is just that,
an obvious and utterly transparent pretense.
But Sam seems to have
accepted her story without question. And just as he's done with me,
he's managed to act as if nothing disruptive to their friendship
ever even occurred and gone back to being just
that—friends.
I don't know why this
facade is so much harder for me than it is for everyone else. It
seems as if wearing a mask of some kind or another is par for the
course in high school, I just hadn't noticed it until I'd had to
start wearing one myself. And for the hundredth time, I doubt the
wisdom in attending this party when the person I wear the mask for
most of all can read every thought or emotion I might possess right
there on my face.
I fix my expression into
what I hope passes for inscrutable before I finally manage to
answer Sam's generic, friendly
question about my weekend plans.
"I have an, uh,
appointment tomorrow," I murmur, fully aware that Sam knows
precisely with whom my appointment is scheduled. He nods vaguely to
signal as much, as if it makes perfect sense that a shrink's office
is where I spend my Saturday afternoons.
"And Sunday?" he asks, and
I shrug again. I thought I might possibly consider some studying in
the afternoon, but that's all I'd had planned.
"Cap!" someone—Marshall I
think—calls from across the room.
"My mom's doing a brunch
at my house. You should come. Tucker and Carl will be there, and
Chel, and my cousins, Thea and Danny. And Bits would love to see
you. And my mom, too," Sam rambles adorably.
The truth is any excuse to
see him sounds good as hell to me. But if I can barely act like I'm
okay when were at a crowded party where I only run into him for a
couple of minutes, how could going to his house possibly be a good
idea?
"Cap!" Marshall shouts
again. "Come on, beer pong. Today, bro!"
Sam shakes his head and
rolls his eyes before letting out a exasperated sigh. "I should go
deal with Marshall's new obsession with what he thinks are things
people do in college. Never mind that we used to play beer pong as
sophomores."
I smile, gradually growing
more at ease despite myself. Sam has his way of doing that to
me.
"I bet less so in
Columbia, though," I hedge.
Sam's smile grows, and his
dimple deepens, and just as quickly as he put me at ease, he has me
on edge again, sending butterflies aflight in my stomach. "You'd be
surprised."
"Cap!"
I'm both furious with
Marshall and indebted to him. The mask is slipping, and right now
all I can think is how much I miss Sam. I'm standing right next to
him, again, and I miss him, again.