And that’s when she kissed him. At first it felt like she was testing it out, brushing her lips against his to see what that might feel like. Then it was a slow, warming-up kiss that he wanted to dive all the way into. He kept his hand on her neck and pulled her to him with his free arm. When their bodies were touching, Sam pulled away.
“Okay, now I’m embarrassed. I have no idea why I did that and I need to go home.”
“Sam.” He pulled her into a hug and buried his face in her hair.
“No, really, I’m going to be so weird if I stay here. I’m sorry, I don’t know what my problem is.”
Wyatt smiled at her, feeling suddenly in control of things. “Sam, it’s nothing. Just text me tomorrow. I’ll be bored in the car.” She hugged him again and walked toward her house. It wasn’t nothing.
9
Sam
The next morning, Sam came back from swimming alone to find that Wyatt had texted her the minute his family started their drive back to Florida. It was basic chitchat, his wondering how the waves were, saying how boring the ride was. Sam felt a layered wave of relief, both that texting with Wyatt wasn’t disappearing with the summer and that her kissing him (like a total lunatic, she would have added if she had anyone to tell) wasn’t going to make things weird. Wyatt was a true friend and she wasn’t going to let her completely out-of-control body do anything to compromise that.
By the time they were both back in school, they were texting every day. It was a strange thing to bring her summer person back into the city in this way. She texted him on the subway and from the locker room at the YMCA. They no longer needed the surf report as an excuse to text, and it felt like the more they talked, the more there was to say. Wyatt told her about songs he was writing. He told her he’d play them for her next summer. He told her about how his parents didn’t speak directly to one another for the entirety of parents’ weekend. Sam told him about how her geometry teacher hated her and that the girls in her grade were sneaking into clubs. Sam’s favorite part of the day was getting into bed at night, because she usually heard from him then. She smiled at her phone every time the first text came in: What’s happening in the big city?
It was during winter break, when Wyatt was in Florida and Sam was in New York, that he came clean about his school. Travis was out, so Sam was taking advantage of being able to actually talk on the phone in their room.
“I need to tell you something.” He sounded really nervous. “I’ve been sort of lying.”
“What?” Sam said. He has a girlfriend. This thought landed with a thud. It had never occurred to her before. Why wouldn’t Wyatt have a girlfriend? One who could also play the guitar at his artsy school. The hand that held the phone to her ear felt shaky, and she braced it with her other hand while she waited.
“My school is for kids with learning differences. I have dyslexia. But I do play music there. I just felt weird that you didn’t know.”
Waves of relief. Like all the way through her body. Sam let out a breath.
“Does it bother you?” he asked.
“Why would it bother me?”
“Well, like, all you do is read. And it’s the thing I can’t do.”
“Yeah, because our whole friendship is based on books? Who cares?” He may have interpreted Sam’s light tone as compassion. But really she was just so happy he didn’t have a girlfriend.
* * *
One Friday night, Wyatt texted at midnight. Sam smiled when she saw it was him, that familiar but impossible feeling that he was in bed with her.
Wyatt: Hey
Sam: It’s late. What are you doing?
Wyatt: I was just down the hall drinking screwdrivers with some kids Sam: You could get in so much trouble Wyatt: I know. But it was fun
Sam: Okay, but be careful
Wyatt: Do you think you’ll ever kiss me again?
It was March by then. They’d talked about every other thing in the world, but never that kiss. Sam stared at her phone. She was taking too long to reply. Her heart was racing, and her mind was going blank. Her friends would have been able to think of the cool thing to say. She could only say the truth: I hope so.
Wyatt: Me too. Goodnight
10
Wyatt
Wyatt’s junior year of high school felt full. He was spending two hours a day in the music department, and he joined the swim team for the feel of the cold water on his skin. He was learning strategies for decoding words that made him a better, if slow, reader. Plus, he had a girlfriend. Well, not really, but he had Sam in his life nearly every day, and the whole thing had potential.
When the Popes pulled into their driveway on Saltaire Lane at the end of May, Sam was in the front yard. She was sixteen, in cut-off shorts and a tank top and no shoes. Her hair was longer and was pulled back in a ponytail. Just that one strand hung loose in the front, and Wyatt wondered if it was on purpose.
“Hi.” She waved as Marion and Frank, Michael, and finally Wyatt got out of the car.
“Well, you look all grown up, Sam,” said Frank.
“It’s creepy,” said Michael, grabbing two suitcases and heading to the house.
Marion gave her a hug. “Don’t listen to him. I’m so happy to be here, we’ll have a great summer.”
When Marion had gone into the house, it was just Wyatt and Sam on the front lawn, six feet between them, which might as well have been a thousand.
“So hey,” Sam started. “Why is this awkward?”
Wyatt laughed. He could always count on Sam to just say it. “I don’t know, because we’re not used to being in real life? You look different.”
Sam looked down at herself and back at Wyatt. “You do too, but in a good way.”
“I mean it in a good way too, Sam,” Wyatt said. Frank called from inside, something about taking the pool cover off. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and hoped it sounded cool.
* * *
The Holloways invited the Popes for a barbecue on the back porch. Wyatt had eaten there dozens of times before, and there was a formula for it. Bill grilled some kind of protein, and Laurel served some kind of creamy carbohydrate and a salad. There was always a basket of bread on the table and a room-temperature stick of butter, to make it easier to spread. Over Wyatt’s entire childhood he’d marveled at how easy things were at the Holloways’ house. Who thinks to leave the butter out to soften? Wyatt’s mom didn’t like to cook and mostly heated things up, things that Frank found too salty and unevenly heated. There were entire dinners devoted to this line of conversation, just how bad the food was.
This night, the official first night of summer because they were all together, the table twinkled with candlelight. The meal was steaks, macaroni and cheese, and an arugula salad. As always, the kids sat at one end of the table, but this year it felt more like they were almost all adults. Travis and Michael were nineteen, Travis having just finished his first year at Trinity College; Michael was at the University of Miami. Wyatt was seventeen, and Bill offered him a glass of wine. He’d never forget it, this rite of a passage, or anything about this night.
Sam and Wyatt sat next to each other at the table, comfortable in the fact that they didn’t really have to look at one another unless they did so deliberately. When they did turn to face one another they were so close that they quickly looked away. Wyatt’s shoulder occasionally brushed up against Sam’s, and eventually he just let it rest there against hers. Bill asked questions up and down the table—how was Frank’s golf game this winter? What was Marion going to do about the Asian shore crabs that were moving toward her yard? What did Michael think about the Dolphins? When he got to Wyatt, it was about college, of course.
“I’m not really sure,” he said. “I want to go out to Los Angeles and work in music.”
“So like USC? UCLA?” Bill asked. It was an innocent question, but Wyatt knew for sure at that moment that his parents hadn’t told their best friends about his learning situation.
“Someplace around there.” Wyatt smiled generally at the table, in the way he did when he wanted to smooth things over.
Marion jumped in to change the subject. “Well, you’re not going anywhere until you get that treehouse cleaned out or just take the whole eyesore down.”
“Over my dead body,” said Frank. “Taking it down, I mean.”
* * *
After dinner, the four kids ran down to the ocean for a night swim. The moon was low and cast a long white stripe on the water. Wyatt was torn between enjoying the exquisite chill of the water rising up his legs and trying not to look at Sam in her red bikini. She’d worn bikinis last summer, but they had been sportier somehow. This one had actual strings on her hips and on her back. He was mesmerized by them dangling in the water, the invitation to pull one and watch all that fabric float away.
When they got out of the ocean, Michael and Travis went down the beach to smoke a joint. Wyatt wondered if this was the progression of things, if next summer he and Sam would be smoking pot too. He didn’t like the idea of Sam smoking pot.
Wyatt and Sam sat on the sand wrapped in their towels, watching them walk away. “Losers,” Sam said.