I shake my head.
"Can I sit?" he asks, nodding at the step I've claimed.
I laugh. He's asking my permission to sit outside at a party at his own friend's house. "Sure, if you want," I shrug, and he folds his long frame to sit on the opposite end of the step, facing me. "Your friends sure are somethin'," I mutter.
"Dave has a, uh, special sense of humor, but he's just flirting. You don't need to worry about him," he offers. I don't reply. Sam sighs. "They're not gonna stop, you know. You're the shiny, pretty, new girl, and they're all interested."
"Great,"I say sarcastically, but inwardly I'm dwelling on the fact that Sam just called mepretty, and I'm surprised it actually pleases me.
"It might help if they knew your deal. I mean, after last week I mentioned that you're not looking for a hookup, but, you know... they're guys, and you're hot."
I don't point out that Sam, too, is a guy, or ask why he's not included in the group he's mentioning. I do, however, blush at the fact that he's now called mehot,and for some reason - maybe because we've already discussed just being friends - this doesn't bother me, either. In fact, it just about the opposite of bothers me.
"What do you mean mydeal?" I ask, and he shrugs again.
"Like if you're seeing anyone, or if you have a boyfriend back home," he murmurs.
"Would it help if I did?"
Sam chuckles. "Dave would probably just see it as a challenge."
"I don't have anyone back home," I admit. "No boyfriend, no one at all."
Sam frowns. "You must have friends," he hedges, but I shake my head.
I look down, staring at the fingers I twist in my lap. I really don't. In fact, next to Carl and Tina, Sam - who I've only just accepted as a friend a matter of hours ago - is my closest friend. I don't know why I've chosen to confide this; frankly it's very embarrassing.
There's a long pause, but for some reason it isn't awkward. At least not for me. "You never said why you were homeschooled," Sam observes.
No, he's right, I didn't. "Same as your sister. Bad breakup," I murmur, stealing Beth's excuse. It's not really a lie, just not nearly the whole story. When I peek over at Sam, he looks distressed, and I blink at him, wondering what I've said wrong.
He rakes his fingers roughly through his hair as if deciding something. "Rory, my sister didn't just have bad breakup." He stares at me meaningfully, and somehow I know whatever he's about to confide- it's momentous. "She's been having a tough time for a while now. She was just a kid when my dad left, and this guy she was seeing was older, he graduated last year. When he dumped her she… kind of lost it.”
I don't break eye contact, I'm stunned by how open he's being right now, and I want to be worthy of his confidence.
"She took a bunch of pills last summer. She almost died..." His eyes close. "She did it on purpose," he whispers.
I blink at him for a moment. He stares intently down at me, searching my eyes for something unfathomable. I don't know what he finds, but it isn't pity, and it isn't judgment. The least I can do is return that gift. "That must have been tough on you," I say when I finally find my voice.
It isn't the response Sam expected, and he lets out a short, ironic laugh. "It was tougher on her."
I reach over and place my hand on his arm before I even realize I've moved. He's surprised by my touch, that much is obvious, but he doesn't pull away. "Still, you obviously care about her. It must've been hard on you, too."
We sit there for several moments, eyes locked, silent, until finally, Sam sighs. "Yeah," is all he says.
I pull my arm back and start yanking on a loose thread from my oversized sweater.
"So, a bad breakup, huh?" he prompts.
I nod.
"Bad like Beth's?"
I'm not sure exactly what he's asking. I nod again. "Bad. But I didn't do anything like that." Though there were times I'd considered it.
"Did you love him?" Sam asks.
"Who?"
