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.
“Sorry, I’m being totally rude,” I apologized. “Sam, this is Delilah. Delilah, Sam.” They exchanged hellos, though his was noticeably cold.
Sam had replied with exactly three words when I emailed him about my rekindled friendship with Delilah: Are you sure? I was, but evidently, Sam was not.
“You must be Charlie,” Delilah called out, homing in on him like a fox on a baby chick.
“Yeah, hey,” Charlie said as he walked by carrying a box of groceries, paying her zero attention. Unruffled, she turned back to Sam, her big blue eyes twinkling. She was wearing the tiniest pair of coral shorts and a skintight yellow tube top that showed off her boobs and stomach.