I smile, but it's a wistful smile, because I could never be Sam's friend, even if something in my bones really wishes otherwise. But I no longer believe that guys and girls can really bejust friends, and I'm too attracted to him to even try. I could never fully trust him, not really, and I could never trust myself with him.
"Why would you even want to be my friend?" I ask. Because really, if I were him I'd have fled screaming in the opposite direction.
He considers me a moment. "I don't know, Ror, you just seem...real." He shrugs. Something about the way he says "Ror" reminds me of Cam, and the memory of our friendship cuts me so deeply I wince.
"I wish I could be your friend, Sam," I murmur.
His eyes are full of some unfathomable emotion, and I wonder how this conversation has grown so intimate. We barely know each other. When Sam speaks again his voice is so low it's practically a whisper. "Who hurt you, Rory?"
I tell him the truth, matching his tone - barely audible. "Everyone."
He looks back at me, bemused. In my peripheral I catch a girl stalking over to where we're standing. Belatedly I realize it'sthatgirl - Queen Bee - Chelsea. Sam follows my gaze and notices her too, and I can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed by her arrival. But either way the spell is broken, and suddenly it feels like we're standing too close, so I take a step back.
"There you are!" Chelsea says to Sam, like she's been searching all over for him.
"Here I am," he agrees. He takes her cup and gulps down a healthy sip of beer.
"So I wanted to ask if you're coming Sunday?" Chelsea asks excitedly. It's like I'm not even here, which would be fine if we were with a group of people, but since it's just the three of us, her not acknowledging my existence is just beyond awkward. I'm invisible again.
"Coming...?" Sam's expression remains blank.
"To brunch, silly. Your mom didn't tell you?"
Sam groans like this is an old argument. "Come on, Chel-"
"Cap! Come on, it'll be fun," she whines.
Sam shoots her a skeptical look. "I think you and I have different ideas of what constitutesfun."
Chelsea glares at him a moment before changing tact and smiling again. "Your mom's coming. If you come I'm sure Bits will, too. You know how much she needs to get out, Cap-"
"Alright, Chel, fine, whatever," Sam cuts her off.
"It'll be good for-"
"Have you met Rory?" Sam interrupts again and I don't know if he's saving me from being ignored, or using me as an excuse for a subject change.
Chelsea turns, finally acknowledging that I do, in fact, exist. She looks me up and down before plastering on the fakest smile I have ever witnessed.
"No, I don't believe we've met. New girl, right?" Chelsea says through overly whitened, perfectly straight teeth framed by unnaturally glossy, red lips.
I just nod. She reminds me so much of Lacey with her false enthusiasm.
"So nice to meet you."
I don't say it back. I just say "thanks". Chelsea takes a step closer to Sam and casually slips a hand over his bicep. It's a possessive gesture and he doesn't stop her. Idly I wonder if Carl and Tina were right about their relationship - or lack thereof.
"So, how do you know Cap?" she asks. She angles her body so she's beside Sam, facing me - as if they're a united front - a unit- facing off against me - the outsider. I doubt he notices, but she's making a point, and I read it loud and clear.
"I, uh, don't really," I murmur, because it's true. I don't know Sam, and I have no intention of battling Miss Possessive over a boy I can't even be friends with, and I'm a little surprised when his brow furrows considering I've just told him as much. "Um, excuse me." I spot Carl with Tina over on the deck, and head straight for them without turning back, leaving Chelsea and Sam to their private conversation.
Sam doesn't seek me out again, and other than accidentally locking eyes with him once later in the evening for barely a moment, I have no other interaction with him. I don't know why he unnerves me. And not in the way other people unnerve me. Other guys. There's no fear. But there's something.
I ask Carl to drive me home around eleven and go right to bed. I pray for a dreamless slumber, but I know instead it will be fitful and riddled with nightmares. it always is.
****
The weekend is slow and uneventful. I mostly read and hang out with my mom. On Sunday afternoon I turn down a shopping trip with Carl in favor of therapy. I can't reschedule. I've tried that before as an excuse to avoid the sessions altogether, and they know my maneuvers by now. Though lately I've been more receptive of Dr. Schall, whom my doctor down in Florida referred, I've only been in New York a few weeks and we don't really trust each other just yet. Instead, I show up to my appointment and make arrangements to move my sessions to Thursday evenings so my weekends can be free to spend time with my new friends. Dr. Schall is happy to oblige me, pleased that I'm working my way back into social situations. The road back to normal. Even though Dr. Schall hates that expression. He doesn't believe innormalandhe hates when I use the word.
