I watch the screen. Stuart is typing. Shit. Maybe I pushed him too far. Why can’t I just be casual and cool and whatever? Because I’m not casual and cool and whatever, that’s why. And I have been waiting on him for two years. I don’t want to waste another minute. I put my phone under a throw pillow and decide to never check it again.
Squidward gets a bucket of water dumped on his head at the Krusty Krab.
SpongeBob tries to get the bucket off, and ends up pulling so hard he lodges it on Patrick’s head.
I check my phone.
Stuart: Short answer? Yes.
THE CLOCK HANGS IN THE JUNGLE
My tongue was heavy yesterday, Future Sam. Numb, like I had just gotten a dose of Novocain from the dentist. I noticed it when I was brushing my teeth. It was like having a huge piece of meat in my mouth that I couldn’t chew or spit out. A shot of fear ran through me, and I started to cry.
I was just going to stay in bed and let it pass, grateful it was a Sunday and I didn’t have to talk, but the goddamn NPC Task Force of Feminist Icons practically winked over on the wall above my desk. I recalled that I had promised myself that, in the spirit of Elizabeth Warren, I would find out everything I could about the disease, and approach it with nothing but straight talk. Even if straight talk was impossible because I had a steak for a tongue.
So I took the day off from school today, and Mom was going to go in late for her shift at the medical center so that she could bring me to Dr. Clarkington’s office.
“Did you talk to her on the phone?” I asked Mom.
“Yes.”
“There’s medicine for this, right?” My heart hadn’t stopped beating hard since it happened, thinking about having to cancel my speech. Or worse, pushing through it, leaving my classmates with the impression that I had guzzled a slushie before graduation and couldn’t get rid of my brain-freeze.
“Yes, there’s medicine for it.”
“Do I sound like a dog who suddenly started talking?”
Mom laughed. “No, you don’t sound like a dog who suddenly started talking.”
“That’s how I feel.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom said. “You sound much better this morning. And hey, I’m glad you told me. You can always tell me when you’re feeling bad.”
“What about when I’m feeling good?” I asked, thinking of Stuart’s text Saturday night.
“That, too.”
We sat in silence for a bit, watching a toddler bang two blocks together on the floor. Stuart and I emailed back and forth all day yesterday, about our romantic pasts (or rather his past), about our impressions of boyfriends and girlfriends and what we thought they were supposed to do, about our fears.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Mm?”
“Guess what.”
“What.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
She turned to look at me, eyes wide. “The same guy you went to the Canoe Club with?”
“Stuart Shah.”
Mom gasped, a sly smile growing on her face, though I could tell she was fighting with her is-this-a-good-idea instincts. “You have had such a crush on him forever!”
I smiled with her. “How did you know that?”
“Honey, you made us go to Hamlet three times. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laughed, thinking of my poor family three years ago, suffering through Alex Conway putting on a fake British accent as Ophelia. Maddie was fantastic as Hamlet’s mother. You would have never known she was only fifteen. “Time is passing so quickly.”
Mom put her hand on my knee and squeezed. “Tell me about it.”
“So, in that case…” I began, trying to swallow so I could speak as clearly as possible. “I would like to, you know, be able to spend time with him without you worrying…”
Mom made her sound. “Mmhmm. Hm.”
“Mom?”
“I’m thinking,” she said. Then, “Does he know?”
She meant about NPC. “No. But he will.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be so careful,” I offered.
“Mmhmm.” Mom laid her head back and closed her eyes. She had been up way too late the night before, helping Harrison finish a science project.
“He’s a good person.”
“I’m sure he is,” Mom said, eyes still closed. “I’m going to worry about you either way, Sammie. Just be careful. Don’t go anywhere without telling me, or without thinking about the possible medical repercussions.” She smiled to herself. “Guard your heart, too. This is your first real romance. Don’t jump in too quickly. Then again, you probably don’t have to worry about that. You have never been much of an impulsive one. Too much of a planner.”
I thought about the night of Ross Nervig’s party, of speaking my mind to Stuart without planning to, and grabbing him suddenly and kissing him. Maybe there was a part of me Mom didn’t know. There was a part of me I didn’t know myself.
“I don’t know, Mom. Now that I’m about to graduate, I plan on being more spontaneous.”