We’re in the girls’ bathroom—yes, we are the types of girls who not only attend homecoming as a group, we also stick together like glue all night and only pee when we’re all together—down the hall from the gym where approximately four hundred of our classmates are gyrating as one sweaty mass to “Bottoms Up.”
Washing her hands, Kenzie sends Tori a pleading look in the mirror. “Your dad works for that neurosurgeon, right? Can he get me on the schedule?”
“First of all,” Tori says, reapplying her hot pink lipstick, “my dad is renovating Dr. Montgomery’s offices. He’s not the receptionist there. Secondly, I’m pretty sure lobotomies are illegal now, what with the whole turning-people-into-lifeless-zombies thing. And if they weren’t, I’m guessing they wouldn’t be, like, elective surgery.”
Kenzie rips a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser with enough force to tear the whole thing from the wall. “I’d rather be a lifeless zombie! At least then I wouldn’t have this awful, horrible, disgusting memory in my head.”
“I think it’s sweet your parents are still so into each other,” Whitney says, adjusting the bodice of her silver strapless dress. “You’re lucky.”
“Lucky?” Kenzie repeats, all gaping mouth and crazed, heavily made-up eyes. “Lucky? They’re my parents. And they’re…old.”
“They’re not even fifty,” Tori points out, tossing her lipstick back into her black clutch. Her dress is long, black, slinky and so tight it took two of us to tug it down after she went to the bathroom.
But the best part is the glittering, plastic homecoming queen tiara on her head.
Royalty in our midst.
“They were doing it in the living room,” Kenzie mutters with a full-body shudder. “Like, right there. Out in the open like wild animals.”
We’d just arrived at the football game when Kenzie realized she forgot her high heels—we all wore jeans to the game and changed into our dresses at Fiona’s since she lives closest to the school. When Kenzie ran home right after Tori was crowned homecoming queen, she walked in on her parents having sex.
She is now extremely traumatized.
“You’re lucky you haven’t caught them before this,” Tori says as we make our way to the door.
“That’s true,” I say because I’ve never seen any man—none over the age of twenty, anyway—as into a woman as Mr. Porter is Mrs. Porter. Then again, she’s really hot. “The way your dad looks at your mom? I’m surprised they’re not hooking up every minute of every day.”
Kenzie covers her ears. “Ahh! Stop! Bad enough I have to have my brain bleached to rid myself of the image of them…of him…of her…doing…that.” She shoves the door open. “I am never, ever walking into my house again without ringing the doorbell first.”
“I’m never, ever sitting on your couch again,” Tori says and we all crack up, just die, right there, as we walk single file out of the bathroom.
We’re still laughing when Kenzie—the engine of our sparkly, high-heeled, heavily mascaraed train—stops without warning. Tori runs into her. I run into Tori. And Whitney runs into me.
“Shit,” Tori mutters and I immediately know something is up, something big. Whitney peers around my shoulder and reaches down to link her hand with mine in support. In comfort.
Kenzie and Tori step aside—Tori to the left, Kenzie to the right—and that’s when I see him next to the gym’s doors, slouched against the wall, head down, hands in the pockets of his black dress pants.
Sam Constable, big as life and darkly handsome in a suit and tie, his hair slicked back from his face.
Sam Constable standing between me and the gym.
My heart stutters and swells at the sight of him, conveniently forgetting how he smashed it into a thousand pieces.
But I haven’t forgotten.
My friends haven’t either. They flank me, all silently congregating to my right, putting their bodies between me and Sam.
My sisters aren’t the only ones who have my back now.
As if sensing me staring at him, he looks up. Across the distance, our eyes meet and hold, and my heart simply leaps.
I sigh. Stupid, forgiving heart.
But then, I broke his heart, too. Something I need to remember so I don’t get sucked into the who-hurt-who-more game.
Knowing my friends are waiting for me to make the decision of whether we go back to the dance or duck into the bathroom and hide out there until Sam’s gone, I take a step toward the gym.
I don’t run from Sam Constable. Not anymore.
He straightens as we approach.
And heads our way.
Crap.
Just because I don’t run from the boy doesn’t mean I want to torture myself by getting close to him.
“Hey,” he says.
As I’m not supposed to talk to him—or look at him or think about him—as per the stipulations he gave me that day at his house six weeks ago, I keep my mouth shut while my friends return his greeting.
I don’t talk to him, but I do look at him.
If only to prove he’s not the boss of me.
Also, because he keeps looking at me. Well, he keeps sending furtive, nervous glances my way then, as soon as he sees me looking back, jerks his gaze to the floor, the ceiling or my friends.
“Uh…congratulations,” he tells Tori, gesturing to the tiara on her head.
Tori grins. “Thanks. It was a surprise. I thought for sure you and Brynn were going to win.”
Sam was on the homecoming court, too, because of course he was. He’d been paired up with Brynn Ellsworth, a well-liked member of the marching band and track team.
One side of Sam’s mouth kicks up into that stupid, adorable grin that gets me every time. “Nah. You and Timmy always had it in the bag.”
And then we all stand there for what has to be the longest, most awkward minute of my life, glancing at each other as the music pours out of the gym, the bass so loud it vibrates the floor.
“Okay, well, this is, like, super uncomfortable,” Kenzie says, giving Sam a friendly pat on his arm. “We’re going to go now because I want this to be over.”
Tori laughs, Whitney presses her lips together to stop a smile and I just start tugging Whitney forward.
Sam touches my wrist. “Hadley…”
It was barely even a touch, that brush of his fingers against my skin, but I jerk to a stop.
It was hardly more than a whisper, the sound of my name, but it reverberates through my head.
I look up at him.
His throat works as he swallows. “Could…could I talk to you?”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk,” I can’t stop myself from saying.
Okay, I probably could have, but I don’t want to.
He blushes but doesn’t back down. “It’ll only take a minute,” he says holding my gaze, his eyes lit with stubbornness, jaw set with determination. “Please, Hadley.”
I tell myself I could resist him if he hadn’t said please, but it’s not his politeness that gets to me. It’s the thread of nerves in his tone. The slight tremor in the word please.
The way he says my name again, soft and almost tender.
Like he used to.
I am such a sap.
“I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” I tell my friends, earning me a pursed-lip perusal from Tori, an eyebrow wiggle from Kenzie and a worried frown from Whitney, who asks, “Are you sure?”
Tori and Kenzie are my friends, but they’re Sam’s friends, too. Were Sam’s friends first.
But Whitney is my friend first.
I give her a quick, grateful hug. “I’m sure.”
I watch them leave, Tori and Kenzie in the lead, Whitney bringing up the rear, her feelings about leaving me alone with the boy who broke my heart clear in her reluctant, feet-dragging walk. In the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder to give Sam the ol’ stink eye.
They disappear through the gym’s doorway and I force myself to turn and face Sam.<
br />
Only to find him staring at me, the look in his eyes so raw, so full of longing and need and something else, something deeper and so much more dangerous to my hard-earned peace of mind, to my healing heart, I take an automatic step back.
He notices—Sam notices everything. But he doesn’t try and hide what he’s feeling. Doesn’t shutter his gaze or smooth his expression. Doesn’t clear away the husky timbre of his tone when he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful. That dress…” He rubs his palms together. Shakes his head as if in wonder as he slides his gaze over me. “That dress is amazing.”
My skin prickles with heat. It’s not a dress. Not really. It’s two pieces: a cropped halter top done up in sequins and a snug, floral skirt that ends well above my knees. Zoe found it at a thrift store in Erie and sent it to me as a surprise, knowing I’d love it.
Did I mention it’s green?
Sam’s favorite color.
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat but it’s no use. That sucker’s staying there. “Thank you.” I look at the gym door. “I should probably--”
“Are you having fun?” he blurts, taking a quick step toward me. “At the dance, I mean?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he groans softly, his face scrunched up in a wince.
Well, that was an extremely lame question.
“I was,” I say, and by the way he nods, solemn and accepting, it’s clear he gets my meaning that I’d been having an enjoyable evening up until now. “You?”
“I wasn’t.”
My breath catches.
His meaning is just as clear as mine.
Gets even clearer when he continues.
“Talking to you,” he says, taking another step closer to me, “being this close to you, is the best part of my night so far. The best part of the last six weeks.”
“Sam--”
“I miss you. I miss you so much, Hadley, and I’m sorry,” he says in a rush, voice trembling. But his gaze is steady. Earnest. “I’m sorry for everything—for being selfish last summer and giving you that ultimatum. For being a spoiled brat and shutting you out the way I did and moving to LA without a word. For the things I said when you came to my house the day before school started. But what I’m the sorriest about is being such an asshole at Christmas. I never should have said those things to you. I never should have sent you away.”
“Because of what happened after,” I say slowly. “With me and Max.”
He shakes his head. “Because I hurt you.” He drops his gaze to the floor for a moment. Inhales deeply then meets my eyes. “Because I did it on purpose.”
I flinch and he hurries on, his words quiet but quick, as if they’re bubbling out of him, as if he’s been holding them back all this time.
“I’d convinced myself I did the right thing, moving to LA. That I was over you and then I came back here and you’re all I thought about. I picked up my phone at least a hundred times to call you. Christ, Hadley, I drove by your trailer three times, like some crazy stalker, and I just…I wanted one night, one night where I could pretend that it hasn’t always been you.” He inhales a shaky breath, his voice dropping. “I wanted to pretend, for one night, that it wouldn’t always be you.”
I lick my lips. “So you called Abby.”
“I was an asshole to her, too,” he says, shame filling his voice. He stabs a hand through his hair, causing it to wave wildly above his right ear. “I had no right calling her. No right spending time with her or” –his cheeks turn red— “or being with her, when the only girl I wanted to be with, the only girl I ever want to be with, is you.”
“No.”
The word bursts out of me, loud and adamant, before I even realize it. Like there’s some separate force inside of me, an internal defense mechanism that’s still chugging along, doing its best to protect me from having my heart broken yet again by this boy. Determined to save me from his words. From why he wanted to talk to me now, after all these weeks.
From what he’s going to say next.
Saving me from myself.
“No,” I repeat, softer now.
But it’s as if Sam expected nothing less than full-out resistance and has prepared a counterattack, one using his honesty and feelings and hope to chip away at my resistance.
“When you showed up Christmas night,” he says, “when I saw you there on my doorstep with snow clinging to your lashes and your cheeks pink from the cold…it was like my heart” –he rubs a hand absently over his chest— “started beating again. Like it’d been silent and still for four months, but one look at you and I came to life again.”
There’s an ache in my own chest because that’s how it’d been for me, too. Like I’d been underwater ever since he left, holding my breath, but as soon as I saw him, I could breathe again.
“I saw you,” he continues, his voice hoarse, his eyes shiny with tears, “and it was like God or the universe was laughing at me, showing me exactly what was really going on, how little control I had over my own thoughts and emotions. I was so pissed. So hurt. And instead of realizing it was all my own fault, I blamed you. For showing up at my house, for being everything I wanted. For not wanting me back.”
“I did want you,” I say, and despite my vow not to cry over this boy again, tears are filling my eyes. “You pushed me away. You were with Abby.”
“I was wrong. I was so wrong and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Hadley.” He takes a step toward me but I shift back and he stops. “I know I changed things between us without giving you a choice, I know I had to have everything my way, but I don’t want to do that now. So if you tell me to go, I will. I promise I will. And I won’t bother you, won’t ever bring this up again. I love you. I love you, Hadley. Will you please give me another chance to show you how much? To treat you the way you deserve to be treated?”
I want to. It terrifies me—the new bolder, braver me—how much I want to. How badly I want to jump into his arms and pretend the past six weeks never happened. That I was never with Max. That Sam hadn’t been with Abby.
But in the end, I can’t. I can’t put myself through that pain again. Not when I’ve finally started healing.
“It won’t work,” I say. “Too much has happened between us. Too many mistakes have been made.”
“We can get past them.”
He sounds so certain. So sure of us both that I almost believe him.
Almost.
“You said that before,” I point out. “You said that we were starting fresh, that the past didn’t matter, but it does. What we do matters. And you’ll never be able to forgive me for being with Max. Not completely.”
“Do you forgive me? For being with Abby?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
He nods. “Maybe…maybe that’s something we could work on. Together. Getting past what we both did.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” And it’s the best thing he could say to me because it’s the truth. And it’s not a promise, but his next words are. “But I’m willing to try, to do whatever I have to in order to make us work this time. Forever.”
“I’m scared,” I admit, hugging my arms around myself. “More so than when you first asked me to give you a chance. Having you leave me hurt, but losing you? Sam, it tore me apart. I don’t know if I can put myself through that again. Not even for you.”
“I know,” he says, and this time when he steps forward, I stay where I’m at and he leans his forehead against mine, his voice thick with tears. And I remember the first time I admitted I was scared, how he told me he was, too. But isn’t that what being brave is all about? Doing something despite your fear?
“You said you loved me,” he says, lifting his head so he can meet my eyes. “At my house, you…you said you’ve always loved me. You still do, right? You didn’t stop?”
“I didn’t stop. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”
He shuts his eyes on a long exhale. “Thank God,” he murmurs.
“But love isn’t
always enough.”
We loved each other before and we still made so many mistakes. Hurt each other so badly.
“No,” he says, surprising me with his agreement. “It’s not. It might not be enough for us. In the end, we may end up right back here, broken up. Broken-hearted. But what if we don’t? What if somehow, despite everything we’ve done and everything that’s against us, we make it? Together? That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
Doing so is crazy. Risky, like he said. It’s the complete opposite of careful and safe.
But then love, like life, often is. Full of joy and heartache. Wins and losses. It’s about forgiveness and acceptance. Fear and courage.
“Why don’t we…” I stop. Clear my throat and blink back the last of my tears. “Why don’t we start with a dance and go from there? No promises. No expectations.”
His grin starts slow then builds and builds until I can’t help but smile back, then he nods and holds out his hand, palm up.
Sometimes, to get the most out of life, you need to steer it in the direction you want it to go.
And sometimes, I think as I take Sam’s hand, you need to hold on and just go along for the ride.
Epilogue
Christmas night I’m hit with déjà vu.
Same holiday. Same boy. Same girl.
Except this year, I’m not standing on Sam’s porch, waiting hopefully, anxiously to be let in.
He’s standing on mine.
Also, it’s not snowing.
We’ve had an incredible lack of snow this winter, which has been a curse for certain local businesses, such as the ski resort forty miles outside of town and Mr. G, who relies heavily on people needing his snow removal services to help get through the winter.
For me? Total blessing.
I got fired.
Well, not fired, exactly. Laid-off was what Mr. G called it the day after Thanksgiving when I went into work only to find I shouldn’t have bothered. Since there wasn’t any snow to be cleared, and since he already had two full-time employees who could handle what little work they did have, I got the boot.
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