I guess Sam thought I must have been testing him, which in hindsight, maybe I was. Because he left the bonfire to find me. It was somewhere between eleven thirty and midnight while Sam was driving down route 10 when a truck swerved into his lane. I imagine Sam must have honked for his life. I wonder if he tried to dodge out of the way.
But Sam didn’t die in the wreck that flipped his car. Not only did he manage to stay conscious, he freed himself from the seat, crawled out onto the road, and began walking. Somehow, he made it more than a mile down the road before collapsing. An officer said it was a testament to how strong he was. I think it was a testament to how much he wanted to live. It took hours before someone finally found him. It was too late by then. Sam had lost too much blood and died from exhaustion. No one likes to say it, but maybe it would have been easier for him if he’d died there in the crash. But his will to live on was too stubborn. Just like him.
They found Sam’s phone near the crash site, covered in glass and dirt. Maybe if I had called at just the right time, he might have heard it and picked up, and I could have sent for help. Maybe if I hadn’t been so angry with him, he might not have left the bonfire so quickly and might have missed the truck entirely. Maybe if the stars were aligned differently, or the wind blew the other direction, or it suddenly started raining, or something else, Sam would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be driving out here in the middle of the night looking for him.
There’s something up ahead. My headlights illuminate the dark road in front of me as I slow the car. Along the side of the road, the rails have been tied up with dozens of white ribbons. I put the car in park and get out. I follow the line of ribbons until I reach it. There beside a wreath of flowers and burnt candles is a portrait of Sam nailed to the rail. I kneel down in the dirt beside it. He’s wearing his denim jacket, the one I threw out the other day. A breeze sends some ribbons fluttering. I touch the picture frame with my fingers.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” I whisper.
After all this time, I finally found him. But I’m too late.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BEFORE
The drive-in is crowded for a Tuesday night. There are a few tables outside, each packed with teenagers sharing fries beneath long strings of light. It takes a while before some seats open up for us. I am sitting beside Mika, while Sam leaves to grab our drinks. This is the first time the three of us have hung out together. I’ve only met Mika once, at a party a few weeks ago. I wasn’t planning to go out tonight. But Sam texted me an hour ago, asking me if I wanted to grab something to eat. He didn’t tell me his cousin was coming, too.
Mika and I barely speak to each other. I wish Sam hadn’t left us alone like this. Maybe I should have offered to pick up our order instead. I wonder what’s taking him so long. Then out of the blue, without even turning to me, Mika asks something completely inappropriate.
“So you’re in love with Sam, right?”
“What—” I was too thrown off to string a sentence together. Something gets caught in my throat. “I mean, excuse me?”
Mika runs a calm hand through her smooth black hair, unbothered by my reaction. “I’m just saying, he seems to be really into you.”
My eyes widen, shocked by her nonchalance. “Should you be telling me that?”
Mika gives me a look. “Don’t pretend you didn’t already guess. It’s so obvious. The whole school knows.”
My mouth moves but no words come out. What’s taking Sam so long? Why did he leave me with her?
“You should compliment his hair,” Mika continues.
“What—why?”
“It’s only a suggestion,” she says, and leans closer to me. “Do you like Sons of Seymour? The band, I mean.”
“I think I’ve heard of them,” I say vaguely.
“They’re playing downtown this weekend. Sam’s obsessed with their newest album. You should suggest we go. He already bought his ticket.”
“Then why would I need to suggest—”
She holds up a hand. “Just do it.”
A second later, Sam reappears through the crowd, holding milkshakes. Mika whispers, “He’s coming back. Act natural.”
Sam sets the tray down between us. “So they ran out of straws…” he says, reaching into his jacket. “Had to fight a guy for the last two.” He hands one to each of us. “I guess I’ll wait for mine to melt so I can sip it.”
“That’s gross,” Mika says.