“Yeah, well,” I said. “I guess I don’t.”
After I walked away from my brother and Sydney, I looked for Jennica and Brian, but I didn’t see them anywhere. Amy Tan, from my trig class, told me she’d spotted them walking upstairs.
“To make out,” she added unnecessarily. “Lots of people make out up there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
I felt more out of place than ever. I walked through the backyard, past the beer keg, past the handful of couples making out near the deck. The backyard was larger than I would have thought, and there was a small lake at the end of the lawn. I made my way down to the old wooden dock, pulling Jennica’s cardigan more tightly around me as the wind whipped in stronger now that I wasn’t shielded by the trees in the backyard anymore. I shivered, but I liked the feel of the breeze against my face.
I sat down on the edge of the dock, took off my strappy heels, and dangled my feet over.
The night was cold around me, and I was surprised at just how far away the sounds of the party seemed. It was quiet enough that I could hear crickets chirping and the occasional splash of a fish or a bird in the water. Across the lake, the darkness was punctuated by porch lights of houses, which looked much farther away than they did during the day
I was so tuned in to the sounds of the water that I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I heard a voice just behind me.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I jumped about a mile in the air and whipped my head around, my heart pounding double time.
It was Sam, standing there, looking down at me. He was backlit by the lights from the Newell house far behind us, and he seemed to almost glow in the shadows. I blinked a few times and tried to slow my racing heart. By the time my eyes adjusted, I noticed he had two cups, one of which he was holding out to me. “No thanks,” I mumbled. “I don’t drink.”
Sam looked amused. “Me neither,” he said. “All you need to do is take a walk through the party back there, and you realize how stupid it makes people act.”
I looked at the cup again and raised an eyebrow.
He laughed. “It’s not beer. It’s Coke. I had a few cans in my Jeep.”
I didn’t know what to say. I took the plastic cup from his hand. “Oh. Thank you.”
Sam sat down beside me, close enough that our thighs were almost touching. I could feel the heat from him. It made me shiver.
“So what are you doing down here?” he asked.
I shrugged and looked out at the water. “I don’t know. I just wanted to be alone, I guess.”
He seemed to consider this for a second. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” I said, surprising myself with how quickly the word came out of my mouth. “I mean, that’s okay. I don’t care what you do.”
“Why are you mad at me?” he asked.
“I’m not mad,” I said.
“Was it something I said the other day?” he persisted. “When I drove you home?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I am worried about it. You’ve been avoiding me since then. And I don’t know what I did.”
I squinted, wishing I didn’t have to explain it to him. He’d never understand. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t need another friend like you,” I said.
He stared. “What do you mean?”
I gazed out at the lake without answering. After a moment, I felt his hand close over mine. It was big and warm and reminded me a little bit of the way my father’s hand had fit around mine when I was little. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.
“Please,” he said. “Tell me what I did wrong.”
I hesitated. His hand didn’t move. And strangely, I realized I didn’t want it to. “Look, I know I’m being dumb,” I said. “But I didn’t want to talk about my dad with you. I’m sick of having to explain it to people who have no idea what it feels like. Okay? Can you just drop it?”
He looked surprised and withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m just tired of people feeling sorry for me,” I added.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Sam said.
“Whatever,” I muttered. I paused. “And I hate it when people say they know how I feel. Okay? Because you don’t know how I feel.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know.” He paused. “But I do understand, Lacey. Better than you think.”
Our eyes met in the darkness, and he held my gaze. I blinked a few times. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “So how come you don’t drink?”
He gave me a half-smile. “First of all, I hate the taste of beer. Why would I drink something I don’t like?”
“True,” I said. I’d never had it, but it smelled terrible.
“It tastes like socks,” Sam said, reading my mind. “Dirty socks.”
I giggled.
“Plus, it makes people act like idiots.” I laughed. “True again.”