by Elise Bryant
Thanksgiving goes better than I expect it to. Audrey is too modest to mention Sam’s selection for the gala, and my mom’s too starstruck to mention mine, or rather “mine” . . . which I’ve forced myself to put out of my mind for now, because it makes me too anxious to think about. Dinner conversation, instead, sticks to safe topics, like politics (that is a safe topic in liberal Long Beach) and whether it’s puh-KAHN or PEE-can (that got a little more heated).
Sam brings four pies and a cake to share but spends the evening praising Dad’s sweet potato pie, which makes Dad proudly strut around the kitchen. And when Miles bursts into his favorite Dream Zone song before everyone’s even finished filling their plates, no one misses a beat. Instead, Sam joins in on background vocals flawlessly, making my parents clap in delight. And Audrey, inspired by their performance, gives us a rendition of some ancient boy band from the nineties’ greatest hit, using Mom’s fancy serving spoon as a makeshift mic. It’s all so easy and fun that I can’t help but imagine what next Thanksgiving might be like.
On Saturday night, Sam’s mom has an in-store appearance at some kitchen supply place in the Grove, so we have his house to ourselves. I can think of a lot of things I want to do with that alone time, but we somehow end up cuddling on his couch and watching a Twilight marathon on Freeform. And we have time.
“But, like, he’s a little possessive of her, right? In a sorta creepy way.”
“That’s how he shows that he loves her,” I say, leaning in to him.
“Oh yeah?” he laughs. “He’s basically using her scent to follow her around. I’m pretty sure guys get arrested for things like that.”
“But he saved her! It’s a little problematic, yeah, but there are literally thousands of fan fictions dedicated to just this attribute of his. It’s romantic . . . kind of.”
He gives me a playful side-eye. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
“At least it was way romantic when I was in middle school.”
Another commercial break comes on, and he scoops my legs into his lap. I always thought I would feel self-conscious about my body, having someone touch me like this, but all I want is more of it.
“Are your love stories like this?” he asks. “Guys who have all the control?”
“No! I try to give the girls more agency, I guess . . . they make their own choices and they pursue just as much as they’re pursued. That’s really the point of romance as a genre, I think: girls—women—asking for what they want, without apology.”
The answer falls off my tongue so easily, it makes me wonder why I’ve never talked about romance this way before. I’m always worried that my stories aren’t important like what my classmates write. But a good love story is smart. Empowering. It’s why I’ve been drawn to the genre for as long as I can remember.
I also can’t help but wonder: Do I live my life like the women in my favorite stories? Probably not, but maybe I’m moving in the right direction.
“So have you written yet? I’m not trying to check up on you or anything. But I mean, that was the point of your plan with Caroline, right? Making your own love story so you could write one again?”
His face suddenly turns an alarming shade of scarlet. “Not that this is a love story!”
I look straight at him. “I haven’t yet, but I’m getting lots of inspiration.”
I cup the side of his face, kissing him deeply, and soon we’re a little more horizontal on the couch—closer to where I thought this night would go instead of a Twilight marathon. His hand travels up the back of my shirt, hesitant at first, to make sure it’s okay, and I press into him more and do the same to show my enthusiasm. His skin is soft, and the fine hairs on his back stand up, responding to my touch.
My phone pings, alerting me to a text. I plan to ignore it, but then it goes off again three more times.
“I better check that . . . in case it’s my parents,” I murmur. The last thing I need them doing is coming over here to check up on me.
I reluctantly pull myself away from him, grab my phone, and then settle back in his arms. And false alarm, they’re all from Lenore, not my parents.
Why you been so MIA? Do I need to send a search party to Bixby Knolls?
My only companions this week have been my APUSH textbook and my irritating sibs NOT THAT YOU CARE
Have you talked to Nico????? Because I’ve been hearing some things
Your “happily ever after” just may be coming in the new year
Then there’s a gif of Beyoncé whipping her ponytail around on a stage.
I consider pulling away so Sam can’t see the texts. I can tell by his face, though, that he’s already read them.
“You haven’t told her about us?”
I can only be honest. “No. But I was going to! When we got back.”
I can feel his body stiffen. “I haven’t really talked to anyone but you this break,” I rush to explain. “I’ve just been enjoying this . . . us.”
I kiss him again, and he’s happy to pick up where we left off. Thankfully that’s enough of an explanation for now. Because the truth is, I haven’t even let my mind wander to next week. I wish we could stay in this week forever, where it’s just me and Sam and everything feels so easy and right between us—uncomplicated by what everyone else at school might think.
Chapter Thirty-Five
But of course Monday comes. Before I can think of a plan or why I even feel the need for a plan, we’re walking across the parking lot again. Hand in hand—because even in a week, that’s become natural. Sam is going on about some new pie place downtown he wants to try when all of a sudden he stops and his body gets tense. And when I look up, I realize why. It’s Nico, alone in front of us, looking at our faces, then at our interlocked hands, then back at our faces, trying to put it together.
I don’t really think about it. I just let go of Sam’s hand.
He looks at me, and the hurt I see in his eyes makes my chest feel tight.
What am I doing?
Nico closes the distance between us, and he gives us his best toothpaste-commercial smile, seemingly unfazed. And why shouldn’t he be? He has Poppy. I’m just glad she’s not here with him now.
“Hey, Weiner,” he says, nodding at Sam. Then he turns to me. “Tessa, can we talk?”
“My name is Sam.” His jaw is set, and his voice is deeper than usual.
Nico just waves his hand. “Yeah, sure. Sorry, Sam.” He takes a step closer to me, as if Sam is no longer there. “Tessa, is that okay? You, uh—you didn’t respond to my texts all break. Did you get them?”
I steal a glance at Sam, and his eyes are dark.
“Yes, I did. Sorry, I was busy,” I say quickly to Nico. I just want to get out of here. “Look, this isn’t really the best time. I have to go to class.”
“Okay, yeah. But maybe at lunch?” Why isn’t he letting this go? What would Poppy—his girlfriend, who obviously, probably justifiably, hates me very much—think about this?
“I’m going to sit with Sam today,” I say. “And, you know, Lenore and Theodore.”
Why did I add that? Sam and I are together, something that made me so happy—makes me so happy. So why aren’t I making that clear to Nico?
“Sure, okay. Tomorrow then,” Nico says with another perfect smile. He leaves before I can say anything else.
“All right, I’m not trying to act like a controlling vampire here, Tessa, but he texted you over break? Why didn’t you tell me that?” Sam’s trying to make this light, but I can tell from his face that he’s upset. And I can’t blame him.
“Just a few texts. They were nothing. Just him asking to talk. I didn’t want things to be weird, and I never responded.” I slip my hand into his again, and he looks at it meaningfully but says nothing.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you. But I didn’t text him back.”
“Yes, but . . . I don’t know. Why didn’t you tell him we’re together now?”
“Was I suppose
d to announce it?” I poke his shoulder, playfully. I desperately want this fog that’s falling over us to go away, to go back to the easiness of just a few minutes ago. I poke him again, and he’s smiling now but still looks uneasy.
“I just . . . I think he should know.”
I kiss him quick. “I’ll tell him next time I see him.”
“Ooooh!” I hear Lenore before I see her. But then her squeal makes its way through the crowd, and she appears in a gold-pleated wrap dress, Theodore sauntering slowly behind her.
“This!” she says, motioning rapidly between us. “I’m all about THIS!”
Sam blushes, but he looks happier now. I hold our hands up. “The secret’s out!”
“EEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Lenore lets out a scream one pitch away from that kind that only dogs can hear. “I knew it! I knew it! Right, Theo, I called this, right?”
“Well, I mean, it wasn’t rocket science.” Theodore laughs, which sets her off even more.
I squeeze Sam’s hand. “See, the whole school will know before first period now.”
Nico is waiting for me outside at the end of my American lit class.
I see him, take a deep breath, and then start walking in the other direction.
“Tessa?”
“Nico, that story wasn’t about you.”
“Well, regardless, we need to talk about it.”
“I really can’t—”
“Can you just listen for a second? I need to tell you something.” He’s following after me, and even though I’m horrified that this is happening, I also can’t help but feel a little thrill that Nico seems so into me all of a sudden. I keep moving.
“There’s nothing for us to talk about.”
“I want you to know that I broke up with Poppy!” he shouts. That stops me, and he takes the opportunity. “Like, for good this time. Things weren’t working with us. They haven’t for a while. We almost broke up after Halloween because she was all suspicious or whatever about how we went off alone. And then when she broke into the creative writing office and leaked your stories . . . well, I don’t want to be with someone like that.”
“That story wasn’t about you.” I repeat. I need him to know this. “I wrote that before I started at Chrysalis. It’s just a coincidence that he—the character looked like you.”
“Okay, yeah, sure.” He smiles, like he’s humoring me. It’s irritating, but I think it’ll be even less believable if I keep insisting. “You can’t deny that there’s something between us, though. I’ve felt it since the party, maybe even before that. And I think you have too. I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid and didn’t end things with Poppy sooner. I want to be with you, Tessa.”
The hallways are empty now, everyone else heading outside for lunch. His words feel loud, like they’re echoing across the halls. And I’m thrown off. This is everything I wanted just a few weeks ago, and I can’t believe it’s actually happening, because I don’t know if I ever really thought it would.
But now that it is happening, I feel frozen. Because I’ve found someone else I want, someone I didn’t know I wanted until he was right in front of my face. And this whole week with Sam has been so perfect—the conversations and the desserts and the kisses. He gets along so well with Miles, treating him how I wish people always would. And, like, he made me my own ice cream—who even does that? In just one week, Sam has gone beyond any of my expectations of what a boyfriend could be. We haven’t really talked about it, but I think that’s what he’s becoming, my boyfriend.
So why am I just standing here and not saying anything to Nico?
“Tessa, did you hear me? I want to be with you, and only you.” It’s the declaration of love, just like Caroline predicted in her happily ever after plan. All he needs is a construction paper sign held over his head.
“Say something, please? I’m starting to feel a little . . . I mean, don’t leave me hanging like this.” He reaches forward and lightly touches my arms. The touch flips a switch, jolting me awake.
“I’m with Sam,” I finally manage to croak out.
“Weiner?” His head reels back like I just told him something crazy. “I thought you guys were just friends.”
“We were . . . but we’re not anymore. Now we’re more than that.”
He blinks a few times, taking that in, but then he shakes the thought away. “Ooh-kay . . . but there’s something special between us. We can’t just, like . . . ignore that.”
Nico takes a step toward me, and his hands move to the sides of my face. His touch feels different from Sam’s—Sam can be so tentative at times, but Nico feels sure.
It would be easy to go along with this. It would make sense to choose Nico. He’s who I’ve wanted all along. But now that he’s right here in front of me, is he really who I want?
It’s like I’m watching a scene in one of my stories instead of real life. I feel like my legs are glued to the ground . . . until his face starts moving toward mine, and I realize what he’s going to do. I turn my head just in time.
“I can’t . . . I just . . .”
He looks flustered. It’s clear this doesn’t happen to him often.
“Will you just think about it?” His voice is soft. “Maybe we could even go out this weekend?”
I shake my head. “Nico . . .”
“Don’t answer me now then. We don’t have to make a decision yet. But I’ll be waiting for you. You know it’s right.” Before I can stop him, he kisses my forehead real quick and walks past me down the hallway.
Only then do I notice Sam standing there, his entire face broken apart.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Sam.”
“I was . . . I wanted to walk you to lunch.” He’s shaking his head. His face is like someone punched him in the stomach. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
I rush over to him. “There’s nothing going on with Nico. He just—he wants there to be, but I told him I was with you.”
“Is that why you didn’t want to be seen holding my hand this morning? You’re still holding out hope for him?”
“That wasn’t it.” But what was it then?
“So you didn’t drop my hand and spring away from me as soon as you saw him walking up? That was just in my head?” His face is heavy with the challenge, and when I don’t say anything—because I can’t really deny that, can I?—his eyes darken even further.
“I guess I can only be mad at myself for being so stupid, for believing that last week . . . what we had . . . was anything real. Was I just a nice little break for you? You know, before you got back to reality and the person you really wanted?”
“Of course not!” I grab his hand, and I can feel him wanting to pull away, but he doesn’t. I touch the side of his face. “Last week was real life, and it was more than I ever could have imagined. You are perfect, Sam, and you have been so good to me, and I’m telling you now that I didn’t let anything happen with Nico. I am with you and not him, and I would never do that to you.”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice, Tessa,” he says, “some sort of consolation prize. You’ve always been my first choice, and I deserve that back. Can you tell me that I’m your first choice?”
I want to explain to Sam that he wasn’t my first choice, but he is now. Or at least I think he is. Or at least he will be when I get a second to catch my breath. But this moment between us is so tenuous that I’m scared to say anything, do anything, that will scare him away.
Apparently my silence is enough of an answer, though, and his face shutters. The vulnerable, soft side is tucked away to be protected—to be protected from me.
“Forget I asked, Tessa.”
He starts off down the hallway, moving fast, and pushes the button for the elevator, which opens immediately as if it was waiting for him. He gets in, but before the doors can close, I jump in after him.
“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” He scoffs. I flinch at his tone. He’s never talked to m
e like this before.
“I just . . . I need you to let me get my thoughts together. It’s a lot to process today.”
“Why bother processing anything? Because if you’re putting me and Nico up against each other in your mind, we both already know who’s going to win. I don’t need to wait around for the results.”
“I’m not saying these things! Stop acting like you know what I’m thinking!” We’re getting dangerously close to the first floor, and I can feel whatever is left between us slipping away. Once we get to the bottom, I know I’ll lose him. So I do the only thing I can think of—I pull up the glass protective cover and slam the emergency button. The elevator car screeches to a stop.
“Sam, please, can we slow this down? You’re assuming you know what I want, what I’m thinking, and I’m not even sure yet. I just know that I like me and you, and this isn’t supposed to end. Not like this.”
“Why delay the inevitable?” he says, not looking me in the eye. “And wait—” His gaze whips from the bright red emergency button that I pushed and back to my face. “Are you seriously trying to use something off that stupid happily ever after list right now? You know I’ve seen it, right?”
“I mean, that wasn’t . . . It is, but I wasn’t thinking about—I just want us to talk.”
“This isn’t a game to me, Tessa.” His voice is small, and I can’t stand the look of hurt on his face.
I know this is my chance to convince him—to explain away everything with Nico. To make him understand how I really feel. But all I can manage is “I like you, Sam.” I hate that my voice cracks when I say it. I hate that it doesn’t feel like enough.
He looks at me, and his green eyes are shiny. There’s pain there, but also resolution. “I like you too. But I’m done.”
He brushes past me to pull the red button. The door springs open, and a crowd of students and staff members is waiting for us. He walks away without turning back.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I convince Mom that I’m sick and need to be picked up, so I can avoid the rest of lunch and conservatory. And really, I am sick—I feel nauseous and have a pounding headache—but it’s all self-inflicted.