“That’s not true. ‘There are just a lot of different sides to me. If there was just one, it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn’t be half so interesting.’”
“Are you serious?” Hannah stared at me. “Sam, you gave me the book, and that’s what you inscribed in the cover.”
“Stop pushing me!” I cried. I didn’t remember having given herAnne of Green Gables.
To her credit, Hannah backed off.
“What color are Dan’s eyes?” she asked so softly that I almost missed it.
I stared at her. I couldn’t see the point of her question, and I certainly didn’t know the answer.
“Oh, Sam. You never even saw him.” She sounded disappointed. I remembered the tone from when she told me about her tae kwon do. It formed a connection between Hannah and Dan—an uncomfortable one.
I did then what I always do when I feel pulled outside myself. I ran. Literally. I grabbed my shoes and left Hannah sitting in my cottage. Kyle was outside Buckhorn as I dashed out, so I invited him to come along. We knocked out five miles. He didn’t talk. Maybe he’ll never talk. But perhaps that’s for the best. I’d only let him down.
After that, I was calm enough to call Dan and apologize—a new and highly uncomfortable habit for me. I tried three times, but he never picked up. I left a message, but I don’t expect him to call me back. I blew it. Someone was right in front of me, liked me, and I lost him. I’d like another chance. I’d like more chances with so many people. Do I get more chances?
Well, Mr. Knightley, here ends my chance with you. It’s time to mail this. I’m glad you don’t have a real name and this isn’t a real friendship, because I would just mess it up. Clearly my comfort zone doesn’t stretch far, because I’ve enjoyed these letters more than anything, and I will never know you or the color of your eyes.
Farewell, friend . . .
Sam
AUGUST 29
Dear Mr. Knightley,
It’s been over two months, and I know you never expected to hear from me again. I never expected to write. But Medill’s admissions director called—I got in!
Someone backed out and I was next on the wait list. I asked her to hold my spot while I checked on my grant, and she gave me two days. Father John is probably calling your foundation right now, so this will be redundant soon—but I felt it worth a letter regardless.
I want to go to Medill, Mr. Knightley. And if given this chance, I promise I won’t fail.
Sincerely,
Samantha Moore
SEPTEMBER 3
Dear Ms. Moore,
As I am sure Father John has told you—the grant is yours. Mr. Knightley instructed me to wire your tuition directly to Northwestern University. You are enrolled. Medill will contact you directly with all further details.
Sincerely,
Laura Temper
Personal Assistant to
G. Knightley
SEPTEMBER 7
Dear Mr. Knightley,
Thank you. Thank you. Online registration begins tomorrow at seven a.m. Wish me luck. I don’t know how hard it is to get classes. It took me a few semesters to get some at Roosevelt, and I only have four quarters at Medill. Did you know it’s a fifteen-month program? I decided to specialize in long feature and magazine writing, so those courses are first on my list. I’ll keep you posted.
I should also tell you I’m moving back to Grace House. I don’t want to, but I must. I like my little apartment and my sense of freedom, but school will suffer if I work two jobs. I already learned that lesson. This time I will take Hannah’s advice immediately and move back to Grace House where I can live for free.
