“I know, but—”
“Grace, this Sam guy digs you. I can tell. At least, promise to flirt with him and look him in the eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always look away. Every. Single. Time.”
“I do?” I asked incredulously. I had no idea I do that.
Claudia stopped dead in her tracks, her shoes no longer clicking against the tile of the union floor. “Wait a minute. You don’t even know you’re doing it?”
“No,” I said with a shrug. “I had no idea.”
“Wow, I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Claudia wasn’t the apologetic type. Just another surprise from her in the last few weeks.
What the hell is going on with that girl?
“What?” she asked, recoiling a little, looking self-conscious.
“Nothing.” I looked away and walked to the sub shop. “I’ll do my best to make eye contact, okay?”
“Good,” she said, her voice soft yet assertive. I knew by now that Claudia wanted me to be more outgoing, more like her and Sunny. And I wanted that too, honestly I did. But it was hard. My shy nature took over in the moments that I needed it to take a backseat. Always had, just like back in high school.
Anthony Riddle had been the cutest boy in the tenth grade. Well, to me he was. My friends had thought he was kind of nerdy, but that was what I liked about him. He had been intelligent and shy, but really funny once you got to know him.
That school year, we had almost the exact same schedule. English, history, algebra—all together. And because my last name ended in M and his in R, the alphabetical seating charts usually had us sitting near each other. To say I had a crush on Anthony would be an enormous understatement. I was downright obsessed.
One morning, Allison, my best friend in high school, pressured me to finally ask him out. The turnabout dance was fast approaching and if I was going to attend, I’d have to ask someone. There was no way around it.
That morning when we were paired up in algebra, I made the decision to just do it. To ask Anthony to be my date. The dance was two weeks away and I prayed he didn’t have a date already. If he did, I’d be mortified.
We finished our assignment with seven minutes to spare before the bell would ring. Most of our classmates were still working and our teacher, Mr. Gaston, was busy reading the newspaper. It was the perfect time to ask.
“That was an easy one,” Anthony said, a subtle smile on his handsome mouth. He pushed on his glasses, just above the bridge of his nose. As I watched the tortoise-shell frames slide up his blemish-free nose, my heart skipped a beat.
“Yeah,” I said. Totally blowing it.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, our desks touching, but neither of us saying anything.
“Did you finish your Lit homework?” he asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah.”
More silence.
Just as I was getting ready to ask him, he glanced up at the clock and dragged his desk away from mine. He brought it back to its normal spot and opened up a book, shutting out the rest of the world.
Later that day, Allison had told me that Stephanie Reese had asked him at lunchtime. And he’d accepted.
They had started dating after that dance.
I had stayed home the night of the turnabout dance, pouting over a bowl of popcorn, begging my younger brother to leave me the hell alone.
My shy nature was most definitely my worst enemy.
And it seemed like nothing had changed as I stepped up to the counter to order my sandwich. When Sam approached, I did my best to make eye contact, just like Claudia insisted. I smiled at him and he returned the smile.
Maybe this won’t be so hard…
“Hey, there. Turkey on wheat, right?” he said, grabbing the bread.
I smiled. “Yes, please.”
Claudia nudged my arm, encouraging me to think of something else to say.
“I—I think I’ll have mustard today. Instead of mayo.” My voice cracked.
Why is this so freaking hard for me? He’s just a guy in a sandwich shop. A guy with an apron and baseball cap. A guy who knows all the ins and outs of condiments and veggies. What is my problem?
“As you wish,” he said with a wink as he grabbed the mustard container.
I glanced at Claudia, eyes wide. He’d just quoted my all-time favorite movie. I was in trouble.
“Th-thanks,” I stammered.
“Name that movie,” Sam challenged, one eyebrow raised.
“Princess Bride,” I said with a shy smile.
“Good job. I see you have good taste…in movies, anyway.”
And that’s when it happened. I looked away, focusing on the cash register at the end of the counter. I didn’t mean to do it; I swear. I’d meant to talk more with him, to quote the movie myself. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I struggled just to breathe.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
Sam finished building my sandwich and wrapped it in parchment. Claudia narrowed her eyes and glared at me. My heart was going a million beats a minute.
When he handed the sandwich to me, I was finally able to speak. “Thanks.”
And that was that. I took my sandwich and found a table, making sure not to face the sub shop. It was tenth grade all over again. The cutest boy I knew was talking to me, trying to make conversation. Maybe even flirting. And all I could do was panic.
Good Lord. Will I ever change?
Chapter 8
Yo soy estupida!
Claudia
November, a morning the week before Thanksgiving
“Is this seat taken?” Libby asked, standing in the aisle of the lecture hall before Spanish class. She was way too chipper in the mornings.
“Yeah, my friend is sitting here,” I said, teasing her as I cleared my coat and backpack from the chair.
“Well, I’ll be sure to apologize to her when she shows up,” Libby said with a grin. Her rosy cheeks shined in the bright fluorescent lighting. “How are ya?”
God, I loved her voice. I loved her slight Southern drawl. I loved her rosy cheeks. And I adored our banter. I loved everything about this new “friend” of mine. And it scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Sleepy. And you are way too awake for eight o’clock.”
“I’ve been up since six,” she said, stripping herself of her winter coat and sliding into the seat.
“You run even when it’s cold like this?” I knew Libby loved to run, but my God, it couldn’t have been more than twenty degrees this morning.
“Yep, unless it’s a snowstorm, or really icy. Don’t want to break my neck.”
“Do you have little icicles dangling from your nose when you’re done?” I asked with a laugh.
“Snot-cicles?” she asked and I nodded. “No, I carry Kleenex.”
“Thank God,” I teased. The truth was, even when I pictured her like that, with ice-cold snot hanging from her nose, she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“When are you heading home?”
“Saturday. You?”
“Same.”
Awkward silence hung between us. I already had her cell number and she had mine, so obviously we could talk over the fall break. But would that be weird?
The Libby Situation was as follows: I was crazy about her. And considering how much she flirted with me, I was pretty sure she felt the same way about me. But this was really foreign territory to me. I’d been friends with other girls my entire life. If I were honest with myself, I did have feelings for Darcy, my best friend years ago, but I was younger. I didn’t know the depth of emotion I was capable of.
Now I knew—I knew I was in love. But I had no one to talk to. I couldn’t tell Sunny. Or Grace. Or, God forbid, my family. It was my dirty little secret.
Of course, being a lesbian or a bisexual or whatever I was—I still didn’t know—was so much more acceptable these days than when I was a kid. There were openly gay students all over campus.
They had clubs and parties; they even had an off-campus bar. It was probably the easiest time in history to be gay. But I wasn’t ready. I’d only met Libby a few weeks ago. That day in the coffee shop changed me, and I had to figure things out before I could let anyone in.
“Would I be seriously lame if I called you?” Libby asked. “I mean, I’m going to be really bored next week.”
We’d been texting constantly since we’d met, but hadn’t yet spoken on the phone. For some reason, it felt like a big step. A giant one. When I opened my mouth to speak, our professor began his lecture in Spanish.
I wasn’t the best at Spanish; I had to pay attention if I was going to follow anything in class. So, as much as I wanted to answer her, I had to focus my attention completely on the front of the room.
I could feel Libby’s eyes on me for the first few seconds of the lecture. When I finally decided to turn my attention back to her, to give her a quick nod to ease the tension between us, she’d turned away. I knew I’d hurt her. So, instead of missing two seconds of the beginning of the lecture, I spent the next fifty minutes obsessing over how I’d left her hanging. How I’d probably blown my chance with her.
When Professor Hastas excused us at the end of the class, I felt like I was about to burst from frustration.
“Yes,” I said rather loudly. The couple in front of me turned in my direction as they picked up their bags from the floor.
Libby’s cheeks turned red. The thought of her forgetting the question she’d asked at the start of the lecture made my stomach churn.
“Oh,” she said before pausing. “Okay.”
She didn’t forget. Not at all.
“Okay,” I said with a sigh.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Libby said.
• • •
“You’re never going to believe who called me,” Sunny said as she stood in my doorway that evening.
“Xander?” I guessed, trying so hard to be present in the conversation. But it was difficult. I kept picturing Libby’s scarlet cheeks when I said the word “yes.”
“Yes…and someone else.”
“Um,” I said, blanking on his name but I could picture him perfectly. I knew he had the same name as a character on Lost.
“Sawyer,” Sunny said. “I came home to two notes on the dry-erase board.”
“They didn’t call your cell?”
“Xander did, but I ignored it. So he called my room.”
“Wow.”
“I know. Crazy, right?”
Sunny grabbed the pretzels from my snack shelf and plopped herself on the bed.
“Who are you going to call back?”
“Can’t decide.”
“Seriously?” I asked, surprised.
“What do you mean?” Her brow crinkled in frustration. Sunny hated when she couldn’t read me.
“I just thought that’d be an easy one,” I said with a shrug. “Sawyer.”
“Ah,” she said.
“I mean, Xander pissed you off when he left without saying good-bye.”
“True. But Sawyer has a girlfriend.”
“That you know of,” I said. “Maybe they broke up.”
“Then I feel like sloppy seconds,” she said sadly.
Sunny always wanted the fairy tale. When was she going to realize that wasn’t what life—real life—was like? If it were, I’d be engaged to some gorgeous frat boy by now, not crushing on a girl from my Spanish class.
“Just keep an open mind,” I told her. “He seemed to like you. A lot.”
“I’ll think about it.” Sunny popped another pretzel into her mouth. “What about you? You haven’t been seeing anyone lately. Dry spell or something?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just not into it, I guess.”
Sunny narrowed her eyes at me and slowly said, “Interesting.”
“What?” I glared at her, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
“Nothing, you’re just…” She sat up straight, crossing her legs in front of her, leaning in to look me directly in the eye, which made me want to hide under the bed. When Sunny did the lean-in, you were forced to pay attention. You were forced to converse.
“Listen,” she said. “You’re just different. Grace and I have been trying to think of a way to bring it up. You’re not dating, you’re keeping to yourself. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, it’s just—” I bit my bottom lip, totally unsure of what to say.
“Did I do something? Did I piss you off?” Sunny’s voice cracked as she said the words.
“No, Sun. I swear.”
“Are you sure?” She peered deeply into my eyes, like she was trying to figure me out. Catch me in a lie, a slip-up, or something that would reveal what was really happening with me.
Part of me ached to tell her. I wanted to; I really did. But I couldn’t. For God’s sake, Libby and I hadn’t even talked about it yet. For now, we were just friends. I couldn’t put myself out there to Sunny like that. So vulnerable, so naked. No freaking way. I’d rather she stop speaking to me for an entire month than deal with the torture of exposing myself like that.
I gave her my most sincere look. “I promise you. I’m just in a funk. That’s all.”
“Okay then, I’ll drop it. But I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
“Of course,” I said, attempting a weak smile. “So, which one are you going to call?”
I threw all of my enthusiasm into that question. No matter the inner turmoil swimming around inside me, I had to be supportive of my friend. I knew that having both those guys call her on the same afternoon must have been overwhelming for her. Sunny was in love with love. And to her, each of those phone calls was a possibility—the possibility of the fairy tale she craved.
And for the first time, I kind of understood where she was coming from. The idea of a fairy tale with Libby…I had no words. Just the thought of kissing her made my heart race and my forehead sweat. Finally, I was starting to understand both Sunny and Grace just a little bit more.
“Sawyer, I think,” she said, biting her lip and furrowing her brow.
“If you were me, who would you call?”
Libby.
“Sawyer,” I said. “You already know what Xander wants.”
“I do?” she asked. I tipped my head at her and gave her my best are-you-kidding-me expression, and she said, “Okay, okay. I guess I do.”
She laughed before leaning in for a hug.
“Thanks, Claude. And seriously, if you want to talk, I’m here. You know that, right?”
“I do.”
Chapter 9
Eggs
Sunny
Thanksgiving Day
I loved being home.
Some of my friends dreaded holidays with their families. Their parents were strict, they couldn’t go out when they wanted, blah blah blah. Unlike them, I loved it—I loved the smell of home. The aroma of Mom’s apple pie, the way the kitchen seemed to always smell like cinnamon…it was comforting. And so was being home with my parents and sisters.
I had two sisters. One younger and one older, which made me the middle child, but hopefully I managed to avoid that syndrome. My older sister, Sheryl, was a lot older than me. She was from my mom’s first marriage, and was already married with two kids of her own. Then there was Sophie. Sophie was in high school and was completely wrapped up in high school dramatics, her volleyball team, and her senior boyfriend. We weren’t exactly tight. Maybe that was why I’d gotten so attached to Claudia and Grace. They were like sister stand-ins or something. That didn’t mean I didn’t love my sisters, of course I did. But our relationships, at least at this point, were pretty basic, pretty surface. Maybe one day I’d feel differently.
My parents named me after my uncle Sonny who passed away just a few weeks before I was born. He and my dad were like best friends, and so Dad wanted to honor his brother. Even though they’d already decided on the name Samantha, they changed their minds the day Sonny was laid to rest.
>
I liked my name, but it was one of those names that people questioned. All. The. Time. And I got it, it wasn’t exactly common, yet I’d come to really like it over the years. Especially since it matched my personality. Life was too short to constantly see the negative, so I tried to always find that silver lining whenever possible.
“Sunshine daydream,” my mom sang from the kitchen. Obviously my parents were Dead Heads.
“Yes, madre,” I said.
“I need you to do me the biggest favor, honey. We’re out of butter. And I need at least a pound. Will you run to the store for me?”
“Is anything open?”
“Martin’s should be. I think till six.”
“Sure, I’ll go now.”
“Thanks, honey bun. You’re saving my tush.”
“Remember that later when it’s time to do the dishes,” I said with a chuckle as I grabbed her keys from the counter.
“Will do,” she said through the bobby pin clenched between her teeth as she wrapped her long blonde curls into a bun. One lonely tendril spilled past her ear as she tied a burlap apron around her waist. Mom always managed to look lovely in such an effortless way. She called her look “organic.” Whatever. To me, she was just beautiful.
“Don’t change the radio station,” she called after me.
“Seriously?” I popped my head back in. “I’m not in the mood for Jerry, Mom.”
“Suffer through it, honey. My dials are acting up and I don’t want to lose my station.”
“Ugh, okay.”
Martin’s was a small grocery store just a few blocks away. I wouldn’t have to listen to much hippy goodness during my drive.
While driving to the store, my mind drifted to Sawyer and the conversation we’d had a few days ago when I finally had the guts to call him back.
Deep breaths, deep breaths.
“This is ridiculous. Why am I so nervous?” I had asked Grace, who had been sitting on the edge of my bed giving me moral support.
“Because you like him. You like him a lot.”
“I know.”
“See what he has to say,” she’d insisted. She must have sensed that I was getting cold feet.
Sorority of Three: Freshman 101 Page 7