“Is that what you want?”
Nothing from me.
“She’s gonna be fine, Jules,” Sam says. “Okay? You can’t name a more independent person. I mean, your mom teaches a class called Distorting Time. She literally does Pilates in other dimensions.”
“I know,” I say.
Sam takes my hand and our fingers lace. “Portland’s gonna be great,” he promises. “We’ll find a cool little apartment downtown … fix it up … look for coffee shops where I can play music and you can sit and write … it’ll be like we planned.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s see what this campus is all about,” he says.
“We really don’t have to,” I say. “I’m fine with what I see from the car. Really.”
“Fine.” He sighs. “Then I’ll drive the car onto the quad.” He pulls out his keys and stands.
“What? Sam—”
It’s something he would absolutely do. I grab him before he steps around the car. “Okay—I’ll go.”
Sam smiles as he takes both my hands and helps me out of the car as fog begins to rise around us. I follow Sam into it like walking through a wall of smoke, as strobe lights flash all around me and music begins to blare, growing louder until I realize I’ve gone somewhere else.
The smoke fades as Sam takes me down to a crowded basement in someone’s house while their parents are out of town. It’s my first high school party and I don’t know anybody here. There’s a Ping-Pong table littered with red and blue cups. People are not really dancing, but swaying to the music. Several guys are wearing sunglasses indoors. It looks like I came late.
“Did you want something to drink?” Sam asks through the music.
“Sure—what do they have?”
Sam looks at the bar against the wall. “Do you like beer?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I lie. I’m not planning to drink anything. I just wanted something to hold. I remember a trick my mother told me she used back in her day. “Dump it out and fill it with cranberry juice,” I hear her voice in my head.
Sam leads me through the crowd toward a red couch in the back where a girl in a white sweatshirt is sitting with her legs crossed.
“This is my cousin Mika,” Sam introduces us. “This is Julie. She just moved here.”
Mika stands to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says. “Where are you from again?”
“Seattle.”
“Right. I can tell.”
“You can?” I ask, unsure of what to make of that.
Sam looks at her then back at me. “So how do you like Ellensburg so far?” he asks. I can tell he’s already had something to drink.
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “There isn’t really a lot to do around here.”
Sam nods. “Yeah, I guess. You’re probably used to like, what, laser shows and holograms and 3D arcades and stuff like that.”
“She said she’s from Seattle, not the future, Sam,” Mika says.
“No, we have some of those things,” I say.
Sam looks at Mika. “See.”
Someone bumps into me, almost knocking over my drink, so I step out of the way.
“This is a senior party,” Sam says to impress me. “I had to ask Spence if you could come. He’s the one that lives here. It’s his older brother’s party.”
I can’t think of anything else to say but, “Cool.”
A minute passes without saying anything. Sam tries to make small talk.
“So, what do you like to do for fun?”
“Uh, I like to write,” I say.
“Like books?”
“I guess so. I mean, I haven’t written one yet. But someday.”
“What’s your favorite book?” he asks.
“I like The Buried Giant.”
“That’s my favorite too,” Sam says.
“He’s lying. He’s never read that,” Mika says.
Sam shoots her a look.
Mika mouths, “I’ll leave you two alone,” and disappears through the crowd.
“Okay—maybe I haven’t read that yet,” Sam admits. “But I know the author. He’s Japanese, right?”
“Yeah. Ishiguro.”
“I knew it.” Sam nods. “My mom has all his books in our living room.” The loud music slows down to something more palatable. The blues of an electric guitar with a Lennon-esque voice swaying through it. “It’s Mark Lanegan. Do you know him?”
“Of course,” I lie.
“He’s from here, you know. Ellensburg. My dad ran into him at the gas station once.”
“How cool,” I lie again.
“Yeah, see, exciting things happen here, too. Ellensburg is a great place. You’re really gonna like it,” he says with some confidence. “I’ve been to Seattle, and it sucks. You’re so lucky you left.”
“I love Seattle,” I say.
“Oh … yeah? I’ve heard good things.” He tries to smile.
“This is a good song,” I say.
“It’s ‘Strange Religion,’” Sam says, nodding to the melody. “One of my favorites.”
We listen to the song, nodding along, awkwardly looking at each other from time to time, while others in the basement have coupled together, slow-dancing. When Sam nearly stumbles, I catch his arm.
“You should sit down,” I say, and help him to the couch. Sam rests the back of his head against the wall, and I can’t tell if he’s about to fall asleep. He seemed fine a moment ago.
“You don’t drink often, do you?” I ask.