Where are you, Sam? Why can’t I reach you?
Something pulses in my pocket. When I feel a warmth, I reach inside to check. The selenite. The crystal Yuki gave me that I carry everywhere. It’s glowing! I hold it out in front of me and let its light illuminate my path, banishing the darkness. I can feel its energy radiating through me and into the air. I raise the crystal to the sky and see the moon lower itself toward me, granting me more light. I see everything now. The fields have never looked clearer than they do in this moment. And then it starts snowing. In the middle of May? I look around, wondering what’s going on. As the snow falls on my hair and shoulders, I realize it isn’t snow at all. It’s petals. It’s raining cherry blossom petals?
This must mean he’s close.
I know you’re here, Sam. I can feel you. Because you’re everywhere. You were back in the coffee shop, there at the lake, somewhere waiting in these fields. All this time I’ve been wondering why we’ve been given this second chance. But maybe we’re always connected, even after you’re gone. Because I can never completely lose you. You’re a part of me now. You’re everywhere I look, falling from the sky like petals.
I reach the fields, and wade through the barley, calling out his name, searching for him. I think I spot the top of his head and rush toward it, but nothing’s there. I think I catch his scent—of pine, of cologne, but I can’t grab ahold of it. I keep running, up and down and through the fields, until my legs are trembling. I run until I’m so exhausted, the next thing I know I’ve collapsed in the grass, trying to catch my breath.
I don’t think Sam’s here anymore. I’m beginning to doubt he ever was. What’s wrong with me? Why did I come here? I check the time again. 12:35 a.m. Already past midnight. My heart stops. It’s too late now. I lost him again. The petals have vanished.
After everything Sam’s done for me, I broke our promise. He asked me to call him one last time to say good-bye, and I let him down. What if he waits for me forever? What if he needed me to say good-bye to move on? I take out my broken phone and try to turn it on. Nothing. I’m so devastated, and disappointed with myself, and terrified of what I’ve done, I hold my phone up and talk to him anyway. If we’re always connected, maybe there’s still a chance …
“Sam—” I start. “I can’t hear you … but maybe you can still hear me. I’m sorry! I couldn’t get to you in time. I know you wanted us to say good-bye. I’m sorry I ruined everything again. Please don’t wait for me, okay? You can go. You don’t have to wait. You can move on now!” My voice cracks. “I’m going to miss you so much. But I want to tell you one last thing…” I take a deep breath, fighting back tears. “You’re wrong about something. You did leave your mark on the world, Sam. You left a mark on me. You changed my life. And I’ll never forget you, okay? We’re a part of each other. Do you hear me? Sam—” My voice gives out.
Why can’t I call you with another phone? Why is it only through mine?
I hear his voice again. It echoes in my head.
Only our phones are connected.
I think about this. About our connection. About it being between the two of us. Only our phones. I repeat the words over and over in my head until it hits me like a bolt of lightning. My heart jolts. Of course. Why didn’t I think of this before?
As soon as it hits me, I get up and leave the fields, hurrying back to my car. The drive back is a blur in my mind. The next thing I know I’m parked in front of Sam’s driveway, racing toward his house. The key under the mailbox is still there. I unlock the door and hurry inside. Thank god no one else is home. His family is spending the week with his grandparents, so I don’t have to be quiet as I rush into his room and go through his things. I rummage through a dozen boxes, tearing through plastic bags, until I find it. The box of Sam’s things they found at the crash site that night.
Inside the box are his wallet, ID, key chain, and cell phone. Exactly what I was looking for. I take his phone, switch out our SIM cards, and turn it on. The light from the screen blinds me for a few seconds. It’s 1:43 a.m. There is just enough battery life left to make a call. So I dial his number.
Only our phones are connected. Maybe that means his, too. I take a deep breath and hold it in.
The ringing sends shivers through my body. I sit down on his bed and try not to freak out. It keeps ringing, until a voice comes on the line.
“Julie—”
“Sam!” I gasp. I hold back a cry as my entire body bursts with relief. “I didn’t think you’d pick up!”
“I don’t have a lot of time,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I almost shout, trying hard not to cry. “I just needed you to know that I didn’t forget you.”
“What took you so long to call?” he asks.
“I broke my phone. I’m sorry—”
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I was starting to worry.”