Sam and I were different in class now. The time we’d spent together at the party had changed us. Or maybe it had just changed me by teaching me to relax a little and not judge him so harshly. In any case, we chatted easily before first period, and in sixth period, we worked together on an assignment, and he even showed me the picture he’d been doodling while Mr. Henchey droned on during the first ten minutes of class. In the time it had taken our teacher to explain our assignment, Sam had sketched him in pencil, only he had given him a Colonial soldier’s uniform instead of normal clothes. I couldn’t believe how good the drawing was.
“What, this?” Sam asked dismissively. He crumpled it up and looked embarrassed. “This is nothing. I draw a million of these a day.”
By lunchtime on Tuesday, I was practically bubbling over with excited nerves about the meeting after school. Cody had nodded at me as we passed each other in the hall, and Kelsi had shot me a small smile.
“So can you help me with trig after school today?” Jennica asked as she and Brian plopped down across from me in the cafeteria.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got that meeting after school today. Remember?” I’d told her about it on Saturday night when we went to the movies. I couldn’t believe she’d forgotten.
Jennica looked at me blankly. “What?” she asked. “Oh, that death-group thing you’re doing?”
“It’s not a death group,” I said. “It’s just some people getting together to support each other. And Kelsi.”
Jennica nodded, and I could tell she was trying to look interested. “Yeah, sounds great,” she said.
I tried not to let her forced enthusiasm bother me.
“It is going to be great,” I said firmly.
“So who’s going?”
I ticked off the short list.
“Pretty sad, huh?” she asked. “That there are that many kids whose parents have died?”
“Actually, in a school this size, I would have thought it would be more, you know?” I said.
Brian looped his arm around Jennica’s shoulder and pulled her close. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. It was like they’d both forgotten I was there.
As I dumped my tray and made my way alone toward the doors of the cafeteria, I looked up and saw Sam midway across the room, eating lunch with a small group of popular seniors. Summer was gazing at him from two seats away. But his attention wasn’t on her. He was watching me.
Startled, I stopped for an instant longer than I should have. He raised his hand in a wave and smiled. Summer and a few of the others looked to see who he was waving at, then, apparently satisfied that it was no one important, they returned to their conversation.
? ? ?
As I walked down the street after school to the Plymouth Diner—about a half mile away—my heart was thudding so loudly that I was afraid everyone passing by would be able to hear it.
The restaurant was mostly empty, save for an elderly couple who were sitting on the same side of a booth, sharing an order of spaghetti and meatballs. I stood in the doorway for a moment, memories washing over me.
There was the booth in the back where we used to sit almost every Saturday; the waitresses knew to reserve it for us. I blinked a few times, images playing like a movie across the backs of my eyelids. Dad making airplane sounds and flying a spoon of oatmeal toward Tanner when he was little. Logan and Dad laughing and flinging whipped cream at each other from their strawberry pancakes, until a giant glob of white landed right on the tip of Dad’s nose. Dad cutting Tanner’s fried eggs into bite-sized pieces. Dad putting his arm around me and giving me an affectionate noogie with his other hand while I complained, pretending to hate it, even though I couldn’t hide my grin.
“Can I help you?” The hostess had appeared out of nowhere, someone I didn’t recognize. But it had been almost a year since we’d last been here. I didn’t know why I’d expected that the diner would be frozen in time, the way the memory of my dad was.
I asked for a table for five—just in case Logan and Mindy decided to show—and then waited nervously at the table.
The next seven minutes felt like an eternity. Finally a tiny girl with a mass of jet-black curls walked through the door and looked around, her eyes wide and unblinking. I recognized her immediately from her Facebook profile.
“Hi!” I exclaimed, hopping up. “Mindy?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Hey,” I said. A tidal wave of relief washed over me as she stepped closer. “I’m Lacey Mann. I’m the one who organized this.” I felt proud to say those words.
“Where is everyone?”
“You’re the first one here.”
“Oh.” She hesitated.
“Here, sit down,” I said before she could change her mind and bolt for the door. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Not without everyone else here. I didn’t want to get into anyone’s stories without the whole group present.
“So you’re a freshman, right?” I asked finally. The seconds ticked by.
“Yeah,” Mindy said.