What I Didn't Say Page 13

  So us loser guys sat by ourselves on a log by the fire, and Carter pretended to be interested in sign language and I taught him a few signs.

  This sucks.

  When I pictured the party that night, I hadn’t imagined I’d be spending it with Carter, teaching him stuff I could barely manage to remember.

  I kept catching Samantha’s eye from across the fire. We were each pretending not to see one another, knowing it was a lie. My pride wouldn’t let me feel sorry for her and hers wouldn’t let her do anything but pretend nothing had changed between the two of us.

  Trying to ignore her, I watched my classmates around me. I was impressed that I didn’t see one brown bottle or red plastic cup. They’d taken that pledge seriously. Here we were, nine weeks later, and they were sticking to it. I hadn’t expected them to take it so seriously.

  And they were still having a good time. They were still laughing, throwing snow balls that were closer to slush and ice than snow. They were still singing idiotic songs and doing stupid things.

  But even that couldn’t cheer me up.

  It was obvious this party was going to last half the night. I debated leaving but then I’d have to figure out how Samantha was going to get home, or make her come with me.

  Again, there was my pride.

  So I just sat down in the sand, a ways back from the fire, by myself, and pulled my hood up over my head. My butt was slowly getting wet, the melted snow in the sand soaking into my pants. I didn’t care though. I was trying not to care about anything then.

  A few minutes later, a crunch in the sand from behind me caught my attention. Considering that it was probably just some couple trying to sneak away from the crowd to make out, I just ignored it. But then a pair of skinny legs settled on either side of me as someone sat on the log behind my back, and a pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders.

  I didn’t have to look up to know it was Sam.

  She pulled my hood down and pressed her cheek against mine, giving me a squeeze around my chest and shoulders. I faintly detected the scent of kiwi coming from her lips.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Her lips brushed my cheek as she spoke. “I was a really big jerk earlier. What I said was really mean.”

  I turned my head slightly, so I was looking at her face. She really did look sorry, her eyes downfallen, more tired than usual.

  “I have been pushing you away this whole time,” she said. “When we’re at your house, I just feel… safe. But when we’re at school, it just reminds me how fast my whole life could fall apart. I’ve worked so hard these last few months and it could all crumble if anyone were to ever find out I’m only seventeen and living on my own.

  “You’re a part of all that,” she said, her eyes growing serious. She placed a hand on my cheek. I placed my hand over hers. “While I can’t say that word, the thought of letting you in, really letting you in, just to have you ripped away…” she trailed off, closing her eyes. “If my own dad could walk away from me so easily, what’s to keep you from getting tired of me too?”

  I turned so I was kneeling in front of her. Her eyes still closed, I pressed my lips softly to hers.

  I’d been right earlier. Kiwi. I loved how her lips tasted different every time hers met mine.

  I placed a hand on either side of her face. Slowly, she let her eyes open. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my small notebook and a pen.

  I’m not going anywhere, I wrote. So don’t keep pushing me out.

  A smile cracked in the corner of her mouth. A small gleam came back into her eyes and she took my hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Guess I don’t really know how to treat one.”

  The smile that spread on my face must have looked ridiculous.

  Boyfriend.

  I was Samantha Shay’s boyfriend.

  I kissed her kiwi lips again before. Holding my hand out, I caught her eye, testing her to see if she was really ready to do this.

  She looked at me for a long moment, her smile faltering and strengthening. I could see the fear in her eyes. If we walked back to the party together, her hand in mine, it would change things again. It wouldn’t just be us anymore. It would be us and the whole island knowing there was an us.

  It meant she had to take a risk.

  The smile finally spreading to show her white teeth, she placed her hand in mine. Our gloved fingers wrapped around each other. And finally, our shoulders bumping in the dark, we walked back to the fire.

  As soon as Carter saw the two of us walking toward everyone, he started clapping, his hands above his head, and gave a huge whoop. Heads automatically turned, and more clapping and cheering broke out. Norah just glared at the two of us.

  A laugh bubbled out of Sam’s lips, her face instantly blushing as every face turned to us.

  “Finally!” a few cheers rang out through the crowd.

  Pressing my lips to Sam’s temple, I felt like maybe, just maybe, everything in the world was going to be okay.

  15 weeks ‘til Sam’s birthday

  I felt like I was in one of those cheesy teen romance movies, maybe one from the nineties, after that night on the beach. After all the hardship and trial, the boy and the girl finally get together. They move past the things that are fighting against them, and love conquers all. Happily ever after.

  After my accident I didn’t expect there to be a happily ever after for me. I’d resolved with myself that life was just going to suck. But there I was every day, walking through the halls holding hands with the most beautiful, and smartest girl in school. I spent my afternoons wrapped in blankets with Samantha Shay, on my bed in my room, or in hers in the motorhome. I spent chilly winter weekends walking around town like a tourist with her by my side.

  The only thing that was missing from my happily ever after was the “I love you” part. It sucked that she wouldn’t say it, and that she wouldn’t let me say it, but I knew I could wait. Maybe forever if I had to.

  The Monday before Christmas, I collapsed onto my bed after dinner. Kali and I had been signing to each other most of the night, a lot of the family catching onto it as well since Kali was now living with us full time. Flipping on the lamp next to my bed, I pulled the red notebook out of my backpack.

  I’d left it with Sam after ASL, in hopes that she’d write another letter. There were a few pieces of paper stuck to the spiral binding, like she’d ripped a page out that I wondered at, but I wasn’t let down.

  My mom started traveling a lot when I was about ten. We’d been really poor for a long time, after Mike left. She’d been going to school part-time and working full-time. Finally when she finished school, she got this new job. She had to travel for a few days every other week and so I’d stay with my grandparents when she was gone.

  I hated it. My mom’s parents are the most un-grandparent type of people you’ve ever met. Grandma only cared about impressing and outdoing her fancy “friends.” Grandpa was absorbed in his stock trading world, or whatever the crap it was he did.

  Mom knew I didn’t like staying with them when she was gone. I tried not to make it hard on her, but she knew. Guess that’s just part of being a mom. One time she came back and gave me a present. It was this package of six lip glosses, flavored, and totally little kid. When I was ten it seemed so cool that they were all the way from New York, even though you could have gotten them anywhere.

  I’d wear that lip gloss all the time when she was gone. Even though they were all different, each one reminded me of her. After that, whenever she went away, she’d always bring me back some new kind of lip gloss or Chapstick. One time when she had to travel to Paris for work, she bought me this fancy make-up bag for me to put them all in. Over the years I’ve filled the whole bag. It’s a pretty big bag.

  Seems silly, doesn’t it? That just Chapstick makes me feel like Mom’s here again. Sometimes when I put it on, certain smells make me think of what she looked like when she was making breakfast, or drinking her cof
fee out on the back deck.

  It kind of scares me though, to keep wearing it every day like I do. What happens when I run out of it? Will I forget what she looked like? What it looked like when the sun reflected on her hair? The way her pillow always smelled like her? Will my memory of her run out too?

  I let the notebook rest on my chest when I was done reading, my head filled with a lot of rambled thoughts. I almost felt worse and worse about every time I had felt sorry for myself these past few months. Really, for ever feeling sorry for myself.

  It seemed so simple, Chapstick and lip gloss. I certainly enjoyed the million flavors that were Sam’s lips. But it was so much more for her. Those flavors and smells were someone who she cared for, who had meant more to her than anyone else.

  I had this airplane when I was little. Guess I shouldn’t say had. It’s still sitting on my bookshelf. You’ve probably seen it before and not even noticed it. My grandpa gave it to me when I was like five, my mom’s dad. I don’t even really remember him, he died when I was seven, I think. But he was this old, shriveled up guy, who couldn’t even stand up straight, and always looked like he was scowling. But I remember that he told stories about when he was in the Air Force. I don’t really even remember any specific stories, but I remembered him telling them. And then he gave me that old metal airplane on my fifth birthday.

  It was pretty roughed up. But I loved that crappy old thing. When I was eight, one of the wings broke off and I bawled my eyes out until Dad finally found someone who could weld it back.

  Guess that’s where I decided I wanted to get my pilots license. I wanted to test out the skies, to see how the world looked from above. I took that stupid metal plane up in the air with me the first day I few solo. I was so scared I thought I was going to crap my pants. But for some reason I felt a bit better having that little plane there with me. Maybe my grandpa was flying with me that day.

  Some days I miss flying so much it makes my entire chest hurt, feels like I can’t breathe sometimes. I try not to think about the fact that I’ll never have thousands of feet of air between me and the ground again. But it’s those times that I have to remind myself that at least I got the chance to do it sometime in my life. A couple dozen solo flights are better than having never done it at all.

  15 weeks ‘til Sam’s birthday

  The weather took a turn for the worse the next day. Tuesday dawned with a fresh blanket of snow. And six inches of snow meant school was definitely canceled. If Orcas got more than two inches, the entire island pretty much shut down.

  Normally I would have been stoked, but considering the circumstances I knew Sam was living under, I felt pretty panicked and worried. With everything in me, I wished Sam had a cell phone so I could call her and make sure her pipes didn’t freeze. Or that she hadn’t frozen. Instead I had to wait until almost eleven when the roads were semi-cleared to take as many extra blankets as I could steal without Mom noticing. I told her I was going to spend the day at Sam’s. She’d just told me to be home before ten so I didn’t get stuck somewhere in the snow.

  Sam’s driveway was covered in a perfect, fresh blanket of white snow and for a minute I didn’t know if I was going to make it all the way into her place. I wasn’t so sure I was getting out unless the snow started to melt.

  I shivered at the sight of the motorhome. It definitely didn’t look warm. I could only hope the small trail of steam coming through a vent on the side of it meant it was warm enough on the inside.

  I knocked on the door just once before I let myself in.

  Everything inside was covered with a thin film of dew, the warmth from the space heater battling the cold outside. The motorhome was a mess, and there was no sign of an alive Sam.

  Walking back toward her bedroom, I found her still zonked out in bed, buried beneath a pile of blankets. She lay there with her mouth slightly open, her hair stuck to her forehead, which looked slightly damp.

  My guess was that Sam was sick. She wouldn’t have slept in like this otherwise, especially considering it was supposed to be a school day.

  Deciding to let her keep sleeping, I closed her bedroom door quietly behind me. Turning to her tiny sink, I set to doing her few dishes. The water at least hadn’t frozen.

  I slowly worked my way through the motorhome, straightening the kitchen, discarding wrappers, sweeping the floor. It was humbling to fully immerse myself in Samantha’s new way of living. She really had nothing.

  “Jake?” I heard a croaky voice call from the bedroom.

  Leaning the broom against the wall, I walked back towards her, grabbing our notebook from the table. She had propped herself up on one elbow, squinting in my general direction. She looked terrible.

  “What time is it?” she asked, her eyes squinting, looking for the clock. “What are you doing here before school?”

  I held up one finger on one hand and two on the other, hoping it would look like twelve instead of three. I could never remember the signs for any numbers above five.

  “Crap!” she shouted, jumping out of bed. She groaned as she did, her face looking pained as she searched around for clothes.

  There’s six inches of snow outside, I wrote. No school today.

  “Oh,” she said, her frame instantly relaxing. She slumped back into bed, pulling her pile of blankets around her.

  You okay?

  She kind of shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t feel real great today,” she said, nuzzling further into her blankets. “I feel kind of achy. I really hope I’m not coming down with something.”

  I shifted on the bed, grabbing one of Sam’s legs from inside the blanket and pulling it towards me. Pressing my thumbs into the sole of her foot, I started working firm circles into it.

  “That feels really good,” she said, her eyes sliding closed, her whole body relaxing into her worn out bed.

  I glanced around Sam’s room. Her clothes were everywhere, mixed with notebooks, textbooks, and random sheets of paper. Sam was messier than I was. I didn’t think girls were allowed to be sloppy.

  On the tiny nightstand next to her bed, I spotted a golden colored bag with dark red, intricate stitching and beading. It was unzipped a little bit, and inside I could see colorful tubes, the entire bag full of them.

  The lip glosses from Sam’s mom.

  It took me a minute to notice that Sam’s leg and foot had gone totally limp in my hand. She’d fallen back asleep. Setting her foot down gently, I lay next to her, a pile of blankets underneath me. Resting my head on my arm, I just lay there and studied Sam’s face.

  Her lashes fanned out on her cheek, long and perfect. Yesterday’s make-up still clung to them. Her nose was slender and rounded, it almost reminded me of a little kids nose. All kids had cute noses; Sam never lost hers. Her lips were perfect and pink. For once it looked like there was nothing on them.

  She gave a little sigh, rolling towards me just a bit. Her arm rolled off of her and onto my chest. Careful not to wake her, I took her hand in mine, resting my lips against her skin just lightly.

  I thought about Christmas coming up. Only four days away. I’d never had a girlfriend before so I didn’t know what I was supposed to get Sam. I wanted it to be something special, not just some stupid thing she’d say thanks for and never really look at again. It was going to be all the harder to get something good since I didn’t have a job.

  Sam slept for another hour, her eyes finally fluttering open and locking with mine.

  “Hey,” she said, a small smile spreading on her lips. I had never seen such a perfect sight.

  I smiled back, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “I could get used to waking up next to you.”

  I was surprised at such a serious comment from Sam. I didn’t get to hear things like that from her very often.

  But I’d take what I could get.

  Me too.

  “I feel gross,” she said, breaking the spell that had been weaving between us as fast as it had formed. “Though I feel a littl
e better. Not quite so much like I’m cooking from the inside out. I think I’m going to jump in the shower, if you don’t mind?”

  I shook my head, trying to keep out thoughts of joining her.

  Sam closed the door to the pocket-sized bathroom behind her and I heard the water sputter on. I shoved a pair of her underwear with the toe of my shoe, trying not to imagine what she looked like in them.

  “So what do you want to do today?” Sam called from the shower. I sat there for an awkward moment, unable to respond. A little more quietly, I heard Sam mutter “Duh,” to herself. I just chuckled and shook my head.

  I couldn’t blame Sam for forgetting sometimes. There were endless times when I found words forming on my lips, taking the short, un-thought about breath before the words came out. But they didn’t. They stayed trapped inside of me, eventually having to find their way out through my fingers and onto the page if they ever wanted to come out.

  Sam and I ended up spending the entire day outside, romping through the snow. She got creative with a piece of hard plastic and some rope, turning it into a sled. Her energy seemed to come back as we threw snow balls at each other, rolled an entire family of snowmen, and created a pretty impressive-sized igloo. I kept worrying about Sam and her wet hair while we were outside. The ends of her dark auburn strands became icicles. Sam teased me relentlessly about worrying over it, asking when I’d become such a girl.

  It had been dark for well over an hour before we tromped back into the motorhome. Our clothes were soaked, neither of us having any real snow clothes.

  Sam’s teeth chattered as she peeled her coat off in the tiny kitchen/dining area. My toes and fingers were completely numb. I clumsily pried off my soaked tennis shoes. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, both of us realizing we were soaked completely through, and I didn’t have anything to change into.