What do you think? Let’s talk about it tomorrow—I was thinking Sunday could be our day.
Sam
I read the whole thing three times, my cheeks wet with tears, a wad of crackers lodged in my throat. Sam wanted space. From us. From me. Because talking to me made him feel lonely. I was a distraction. I was holding him back from his future.
Sam was kidding himself if he thought I’d wait till tomorrow to talk about this. To fight about this. This was not how you treated your best friend, and it was absolutely not how you treated your girlfriend.
His phone rang three, four, five times until he picked up. Except it wasn’t Sam who yelled hello over the music and laughter in the background. It was a girl.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“This is Jo. Who is this?” Was this why Sam didn’t want me calling? He wanted to have other girls over?
“Is Sam there?”
“Sam’s busy at the moment. We’re cheering him up. Can I take a message?” Her words slopped together.
“No. This is Percy. Put him on.”
“Percy.” She giggled. “We’ve heard so . . .” Suddenly she was gone, the music went quiet, and there was muffled laughter before a door closed. Then silence until Sam spoke.
“Percy?” From the one word, I could tell Sam was drunk. So much for needing space to work harder.
“So was this whole email bullshit? You just want more time to get drunk with other girls?” I was yelling.
“No, no, no. Percy, look, I’m really wasted. Jo brought over raspberry vodka. Let’s talk. Tomorrow okay? Right now, I think I’m gonna . . .” The line went dead, and I curled up on the couch and cried till I passed out.
* * *
CHARLIE PICKED ME up a bit before eight the next evening. By that time, I was all out of tears. I had sobbed through a long conversation with Delilah and then again when Sam sent a short apology for hanging up on me to puke. He wrote that he wanted to talk tonight. I didn’t reply.
I didn’t think it would be possible to laugh, but the mountain of snacks Charlie had assembled on the front seat was truly insane.
“There are burgers, dogs, and fries there if you want something more substantial,” he said as I eyed the packages of chips and candy.
“Yeah this probably won’t be enough,” I joked. And it felt nice. Light. “I usually go through at least four party-sized bags of chips a night, and there’s only three in here, so . . .”
“Smart-ass,” he said, glancing my way as he headed down the long driveway. “I didn’t know what flavor you like. I was covering my bases.”
“I’ve always wondered what happens to all those girls you date,” I said, holding up a box of Oreos. “Now I know. You fatten them up and eat them for dinner.”
He shot me a mischievous grin. “Well, one of those things is true,” he said in a low drawl. I rolled my eyes and looked out the window so he couldn’t see the blush spreading from my chest to my neck.
“You scare easily,” he said after a minute had gone by.
“I don’t scare easily. You like to provoke people unnecessarily,” I told him, turning back to study his profile. He was frowning. “What? Am I wrong?” I barked, and he laughed.
“No, you’re not wrong. Maybe ‘scare’ is the wrong word, but it’s easy to get you worked up.” He looked over at me. “I like it.” I could feel the flush move down through my body. He turned back to the road wearing a big enough smile that a hint of a dimple appeared on his cheek. I had a strong urge to run my finger over it.
“You like to make me mad?” I asked, trying to sound indignant, but also trying to flirt. He glanced over again before answering.
“Sort of. I like how your neck gets red, like you’re hot all over. Your mouth gets all twisty, and your eyes look dark and kind of wild. It’s pretty sexy,” he said, his eyes on the empty stretch of highway. “And I like that you stand up to me. Your insults can be pretty savage, Pers.” I was shocked. Not by the sexy part—that was just Charlie being Charlie, at least I thought so—but by the fact that he’d so obviously been paying attention to me. Spending time with him had been the only thing keeping me halfway sane, but I was getting the impression that he’d started paying attention before he’d taken pity on me this summer. At least I thought it had been pity. Now I wasn’t so sure.
“When it comes to insults, you deserve only the best, Charles Florek,” I replied, trying to sound easy.