And it's not like I cansay anything about it.Surely I'd just come across like the jealousgirl who's still pining over Sam herself.Or like I'm annoyed Samaccepted Chelsea's olive branch because I'm still holding a grudgeover the bathroom incident.
I'm both, of course.Butneither are the reason for my perception of the situation.It'ssimply the situation.And Chelsea's pretense of beingoverSam, is just that,an obvious and utterly transparent pretense.
But Sam seems to haveaccepted her story without question.And just as he's done with me,he's managed to act as if nothing disruptive to their friendshipever even occurred and gone back to being justthat—friends.
I don't know why thisfacade is so much harder for me than it is for everyone else.Itseems as if wearing a mask of some kind or another is par for thecourse in high school, I just hadn't noticed it until I'd had tostart wearing one myself.And for the hundredth time, I doubt thewisdom in attending this party when the person I wear the mask formost of all can read every thought or emotion I might possess rightthere on my face.
I fix my expression intowhat I hope passes for inscrutable before I finally manage toanswer Sam's generic,friendlyquestion about my weekend plans.
"I have an, uh,appointment tomorrow," I murmur, fully aware that Sam knowsprecisely with whom my appointment is scheduled.He nods vaguely tosignal as much, as if it makes perfect sense that a shrink's officeis where I spend my Saturday afternoons.
"And Sunday?"he asks, andI shrug again.I thought I might possibly consider some studying inthe afternoon, but that's all I'd had planned.
"Cap!"someone—Marshall Ithink—calls from across the room.
"My mom's doing a brunchat my house.You should come.Tucker and Carl will be there, andChel, and my cousins, Thea and Danny.And Bits would love to seeyou.And my mom, too," Sam rambles adorably.
The truth is any excuse tosee him sounds good as hell to me.But if I can barely act like I'mokay when were at a crowded party where I only run into him for acouple of minutes, how could going to his house possibly be a goodidea?
"Cap!"Marshall shoutsagain."Come on, beer pong.Today, bro!"
Sam shakes his head androlls his eyes before letting out a exasperated sigh."I should godeal with Marshall's new obsession with what he thinks are thingspeople do in college.Never mind that we used to play beer pong assophomores."
I smile, gradually growingmore at ease despite myself.Sam has his way of doing that tome.
"I bet less so inColumbia, though," I hedge.
Sam's smile grows, and hisdimple deepens, and just as quickly as he put me at ease, he has meon edge again, sending butterflies aflight in my stomach."You'd besurprised."
"Cap!"
I'm both furious withMarshall and indebted to him.The mask is slipping, and right nowall I can think is how much I miss Sam.I'm standing right next tohim, again, and Imisshim,again.And in this moment, I feel that newfound selfless strength fading.The ache in my chest is consuming, and I fear I might say or dosomething extraordinarily stupid.
But in the end, it isn'tMarshall and his drunken antics that rescue me from myself.Of allpeople, it is Chelsea.
She approaches Sam and meas if we're all old friends, and she didn't just basically attackme in the girls bathroom less than a month ago.
"Hi," she says casually.Sam returns her greeting as if it's the most normal thing in theworld, but I just blink at her.
I can sense Sam'sencouragement, feel him silently urging me to be friendly.Or atleast cordial.But neutral is all I can muster.
I don't say anythingpolite, but I don't say anything I'm thinking either.And thosethings wouldn't be very cordial.So instead, I barely nod at herbefore making an excuse to get the hell out of there.I say I'mgoing to go find Dave to bum a cigarette, and I don't know if Sam'sreproachful glare is for my rudeness, or my smoking—neither ofwhich he especially approves of, clearly.But neither of whichhe'll call me out on either, and so I make my hastyretreat.
I find Dave and ask for asmoke.He, of course, obliges, and says he'll come outside and haveone with me, which he's been doing pretty often lately.I tell himhe doesn't have to, like I always do, and he insists, every time.Iwonder if my being attacked in Miami has made him paranoid for me.It's humiliating, but considering it's Dave, it's also kind ofsweet.
As I lead him outside,anxious to get out of that stuffy room and into some fresh air, Inotice him peek over to where Sam chats with Chelsea, and vaguely Ithink they've exchanged some cryptic glance, but Sam is alreadylooking away.
I'm riddled with nerves allevening, for so many different reasons I'm not sure I couldpossibly even identify them all.There are so few people I'mcomfortable around—and one of those people makes me just as nervousas he puts me at ease.And the truth is, most of these people arevirtually strangers to me, whether I know them or not.Carl andTina both make efforts to include me in conversation, but it'sobvious they're preoccupied with their guys.
And why wouldn't they be?They'rehappy.Something I can't really understand, something I only barely had aday-long glimpse of in Miami.And besides them, and perhaps Lily,and Dave, I have no one to socialize with.
When I wind up in a groupconversation with Chelsea again not forty five minutes later, Idecide I've put in enough hours for the night.When Sam's friendLuke accidentally shoulders me as he pushes past where I'm standingto get to the fridge, I have to hold my breath, close my eyes, andcount backwards from ten before I'm confident I'm not actuallygoing to plummet into panic in front of everyone.When I open myeyes again and half of them are staring at me like I'm crazy—andrightfully so—I mutter an excuse about being tired and flee to theback porch.
Now that spring has arrivedin earnest the backyard is full of party stragglers, just as it wasthe first time I'd come to one of Andrew's parties.It had beenunseasonably warm for February that night, and since then the backporch had usually been fairly empty, save for the random smoker.Ithad become something of an escape for me when I'd feltuncomfortable—so pretty damn often—until recently.
I'm about to march aroundthe house to my car when I remember I didn't even drive.Trying tofunction on little more than a couple hours of sleep a night isstarting to really mess with my head.
Great.As if I didn't already have the advantage when it comes tocrazy.
