On the first day of class, she handed out pastel-colored workbooks that were to serve as our journals. She told us journals were sacred, that she wouldn’t judge their contents. Our first assignment was to write about our most memorable experience from the summer. Delilah looked at me and mouthed the words Charlie shirtless. Holding back a giggle, I opened the pale yellow book and began to describe the jumping rock.
Writing in the journal quickly became my favorite part of ninth grade—sometimes Ms. George gave us a theme to explore; other times she left it up to us. It felt good to give shape and order to my thoughts, and I liked using words to paint pictures of the lake and the bush. I wrote a full page about Sue’s pierogies, but I also imagined terrifying tales of vengeful ghosts and medical experiments gone wrong.
Four weeks into the school year, Ms. George asked me to stay after class. Once the other students had filed out, she told me I had a natural talent for creative writing and encouraged me to enter a short-story competition being held across the school board. Finalists would attend a three-day writers’ workshop at a local college during March break.
“Polish up one of your horror narratives, dear,” she said, then shooed me out the door.
I took the journal to the cottage Thanksgiving weekend so Sam could help me decide which idea to work on. We sat on my bed with the Hudson’s Bay blanket pulled over our legs, Sam flipping through the pages and my eyes stuck to him like a tongue to a metal pole in winter. Ever since Sam had told me he hadn’t kissed anyone, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wanted to put my mouth on his before someone else got there.
“These are really good, Percy,” he said. His face turned serious, and he gave me a there, there pat on my leg. “You’re such a sweet, pretty girl on the outside, but really you’re a total freak.” I grabbed the workbook from his hands and swatted him with it, but my brain had jammed on the word pretty.
“I mean it as a compliment,” he laughed, holding his hands up to shield himself. I raised my arm to whack him again, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward so that I tumbled on top of him. We both went still. My eyes moved to the little crease in his bottom lip. But then I heard footsteps coming upstairs and I scrambled off him. Mom appeared in the doorway, frowning behind her oversized red frames.
“Everything okay up here, Persephone?”
“I think you should go with the brain blood one,” Sam croaked after she left.
* * *
MOM AND DAD said we could spend March break in Barry’s Bay if I didn’t get into the workshop, and for a second I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t bother entering. I floated the idea to Delilah as we were walking home from school, and she pinched my arm.
“You’ve got better things to worry about than the Summer Boys,” she said.
I clutched her arm. “Who are you and what have you done with Delilah Mason?” I wailed.
She poked her tongue out. “I’m serious. Boys are for fun. Lots of fun. But don’t let one stand in the way of your greatness.”
It took every ounce of my self-control not to double over with laughter. But that was that.
I worked on the story throughout the fall. It was about an idyllic-seeming suburb where the smartest, most attractive teenagers were sent away to an elite academy. Except that the school was actually a nightmarish institution where their brain blood was harvested to formulate a youth-giving serum. Sam helped me work through the details over email. He poked holes in the plot and the science and then brainstormed solutions with me.
Once I finished, I mailed him a copy with a signed cover page and a dedication to him “for always knowing just the right amount of blood.” I called it “Young Blood.”
Five days later, he phoned the house after suppertime. “I’m going to stop thinking about what we can do over March break,” he said. “There’s no way you aren’t going to win.”
* * *
WE DROVE TO Barry’s Bay on Boxing Day. The bush seemed like a different world than it was in summer—the birches and maples were bare and a foot of snow covered the ground, the sun bouncing off the crystals in tiny glittering specks. The pine boughs looked as if they were coated in diamond dust. One of the year-round residents had plowed our driveway and lit the fire, and the smoke billowed from the cottage’s chimney. It looked like a scene on a Christmas card.
As soon as we unpacked, I bundled up in my red wool peacoat and put on my white boots with the furry pom-poms and a knit hat and matching mittens. I grabbed the parcel I’d carefully wrapped for Sam and headed out the door. My breath hit the air in silvery puffs, and the wind bit my fingers through my mittens. I was shivering when I climbed up the Floreks’ porch.
Sue opened the door, surprised to see me.
“Percy! It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said, giving me a hug. “Come in, come in—it’s freezing!” The house smelled like it did at Thanksgiving—of turkey and woodsmoke and vanilla candles.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Florek. I hope you don’t mind me coming over without calling. I have a present for Sam and wanted to surprise him. I figured he’d be home?”
“I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome here anytime—you know that. He’s . . .” She was interrupted by a chorus of agonized groans and then laughter. “He’s in the basement playing video games with a couple of friends. Take your things off and head down.” I stared at her blankly. In theory, I knew Sam had other friends. He’d begun mentioning them more than when we first met, and I’d been encouraging him to put the homework aside and hang out with them. I’d just never met them.
Do I want to meet them? Do they want to meet me? Do they even know I exist?
“Percy?” Sue gave me an encouraging smile. “Hang your coat up, okay? They’re nice kids, don’t worry.”
I walked down the stairs in my socked feet, and when I got to the bottom, I was met with three sets of surprised eyes.
“Percy!” Sam said, standing up. “I didn’t think you were here yet.”
“Ta-da!” I replied, dipping into a half curtsy as the other two boys put their controllers down and got to their feet. Sam gave me a tight hug, just like he would if it were only the two of us. I closed my eyes briefly—he smelled like fabric softener and fresh air. He felt thicker, more solid.
“Oh man, you’re cold,” he said, pulling away. “Your nose is bright red.”
“Yeah, I don’t think my stuff is warm enough for up north.”
“Let me grab you a blanket,” he offered, then left me standing in the middle of the room while he dug around in a chest.
“Hi,” I said, waving to Sam’s friends. “Since Sam clearly doesn’t know how to make introductions, I’m Percy.”
“Oh, sorry,” Sam said, handing me a multicolored patchwork afghan. “This is Finn,” he said, pointing to the one with unkempt black hair and round glasses. Finn was almost as tall as Sam. “And this is Jordie.” Jordie had dark skin and close-cropped hair. He was shorter than the other two but not as wiry. All three wore jeans and sweatshirts.
“The famous Percy. Nice to meet you,” said Finn, smiling.
So they do know about me.
“Bracelet Girl,” said Jordie with a smirk. “Now we can finally see why Sam never hangs out with us in the summer.”
“Because I’m clearly more interesting?” I joked and curled up in the leather armchair while Finn and Jordie plunked back down on the couch and picked up the controllers. Sam sat down on the arm of the chair.
“Exactly,” he said.
“Three updates?” I asked.
He pushed his hair back and gestured to the TV. “New video game.” And his shirt. “New hoodie.” He pointed to a pile of hockey skates. “We made a rink on the lake. You’re going to love it.” He paused and adjusted the blanket on my lap. “We’ve got extra winter gear you can borrow. Your turn.”
“Umm,” I began, like I hadn’t planned what I’d tell him. “I got a laptop for Christmas. Mom brought an espresso machine up with us, so if you want to get into latte art, we’ve got you covered. And”—I held back a smile—“I got into the writers’ workshop.”
His face lit up, an explosion of blue eyes and white teeth. “That’s amazing! Not that I’m surprised, but still. It’s a huge deal! I bet it was really competitive.” I grinned up at him.