What I Didn't Say (24 page)

I didn’t like the look that suddenly filled Sam’s perfect face.  I knew Sam and Norah had never been friends, but was there something more going on between them?

When Mr. Roy had his back turned to the class, Sam slid the notebook back onto my desk.  Tucking it next to my notes, I read Sam’s handwriting.

Norah’s never been exactly nice to me, but she’s been a total witch lately.  Always making comments about my worn out clothes and how I look.  She’s been spreading rumors that I have an eating disorder.

She’s a tramp though.  Just trying to ignore her.  She’ll get bored eventually.  Though if she keeps looking at you like you’re a freaking lollipop I may end up clawing her eyes out…

I chuckled as I read Sam’s words.  I instantly felt better.

No worries,
I wrote back. 
Norah the Whora’s got nothing on you.

Sam just glanced at the notebook to read my response.  A small smile worked its way back onto her face.  While Mr. Roy wrote on the whiteboard, she reached for my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

Norah’s approaches got more and more aggressive over the next few weeks.  And her clothes grew smaller and smaller.  It got to the point where it wasn’t attractive anymore.  I didn’t understand how she thought I’d leave Sam for that.  She looked like a freaking prostitute.  One day she was even sent home cause Principal Hill deemed she was wearing too little.  Her position as student body president was in serious danger.

And her jabs at Sam got worse.  The entire school soon believed Sam had a major eating disorder and Sam had even been called into the school guidance counselor’s office.  She’d nearly had a panic attack when the counselor wanted to meet with Sam’s mom.  Samantha did the only thing she could: lied and said her Mom was out of town again for three weeks.

I started stealing more food to bring to Sam.  I hoped Mom just suspected it was Kali or James, putting on some winter weight.

By the end of January, Sam couldn’t even walk through the halls without hearing people whisper about how ragged she was looking, about how she was starving herself.

It pissed me off.  I wanted to punch each and every one of them in the face for saying anything bad about Sam.  If only they knew what was really going on.

They deserved to feel horrible about what they were saying, for helping to spread the toxic rumors.  I wanted to tell them the truth, to make them feel guilty.  But I could never betray Sam’s secret.  And as soon as anyone found out, Sam would be gone.

8 weeks ‘til Sam’s birthday

“Now step up,” Sam directed.  I stubbed my toe on something hard and nearly landed on my face.  “Sorry,” she tried to hold back a laugh, her hands still fixed over my eyes.  “A bigger step up.  Just one more.”

I managed to step up without killing myself, a smile spreading on my face as I placed my hands over Sam’s.

“’K,” she said, sounding slightly nervous, which made me all the more curious about what was going on.  “Sit… here,” she directed me onto some surface.  “For just a second, and keep your eyes covered.  No peeking!  I’ll be back in just a minute.”

I squeezed my eyes closed and made a saluting motion.  I heard Sam scamper off.

I was in the motorhome, I knew that for sure.  Sam had walked over to my house a few hours after school.  For the first time in the history of our relationship, Sam had insisted on driving. 

“Keep your eyes covered,” Sam had said as we slid into the Bronco.  She had the Jake smile all over her face.  She leaned across the center console and pressed a kiss to my lips that made my entire body feel warm.  “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I had driven to the motorhome enough times to know the route, even if I couldn’t see.  I’d also recognized those rickety metal pull-out steps that led into it.

Something inside smelled… good.  Had Sam cooked?

“Okay,” I heard her say.  There was that nervous tone in her voice again.  “You can open your eyes.”

My eyes instantly locked in on Samantha.

She’d changed and done her hair different.  She’d teased it up or something toward the back and had placed a wide, white headband in her hair.  She was wearing a knee length baby blue dress that had white polka-dots on it.  She also wore these shiny white high heels.

She totally looked like a fifties housewife.

It was freaking hot.

She was cast in a soft glow from the dozen candles sitting on the dining table.  In one hand she balanced a small birthday cake I could tell she’d gotten from The Market.  It said
Happy 18
^th
Birthday, Jake!
in tiny red letters.  In the other hand, she held a hanger, from it hung a white button up shirt and suit jacket I recognized from my closet.  There was also a baby blue tie that matched her dress.

I let out a silent laugh.  Rising to my feet, I crossed the tiny space and kissed her.  I could tell she was still nervous about everything she’d set up, but she was beaming.

That for me to wear?
I asked by raising my eyebrows and pointing at the items on the hanger.

“You’d better believe it,” she said with a crooked smile and handed me the hanger.

I couldn’t help but smile back as I draped the shirt and jacket over the back of the dining seat.  Keeping Sam’s eyes the whole time, I slid my jacket off.  I then pulled my long sleeved t-shirt over my head.

“Umm,” Sam said, her eyes trailing over my bare chest.  “Must be my birthday too.”

Giving a silent chuckle, I pulled on the button up shirt and the jacket.  It took the two of us a minute, but somehow we got the tie on, even if it didn’t look quite right.

“Well look at us,” Sam said, beaming as she held my tie in one hand, pulling me a step closer to her.  “All couple-like and matching.”

Pulling my phone out of the pocket of my jeans, I wrapped my arm around Sam’s shoulders.  Extending my other arm as far away from us as I could, I snapped a picture.

“I hope you’re hungry, Mr. Hayes,” Sam said when I was done, turning toward the tiny oven.  She pulled it open, and with some pot holders, pulled out a casserole dish that took up the entire space.  “I’ve been working on this since lunch time.”

I wondered where you disappeared to,
I wrote in our notebook, which I found on the dining table.  Yet again I noticed another torn out page.  I’d forgotten about the others, but wasn’t going to ruin Sam’s plans by asking her about them.

“So it had better be good.”  Sam’s face suddenly didn’t look so sure.

She pulled back the aluminum foil that covered the dish and I knew without a doubt that I’d love her forever.

She’d made a perfect pot roast, covered in potatoes, carrots, and onions.  Next she pulled out a bag of rolls.

“Your mom said it was your favorite meal,” Sam said as she checked the center of the meat.  “I drilled her with questions on how to make it, and then made her write it all out for me.”  She nodded at a piece of lined, yellow paper on the tiny counter.

I placed my hands on Sam’s hips, hugging my body to hers.  She paused, placing her hands over mine.  Letting her eyes slide closed, she leaned back into me.

I didn’t think about the distant future too often, didn’t fantasize about Sam and me in five or ten years.  But I did then.  I imagined us in a tiny, crappy apartment, poor as dirt, struggling to scrape by as we worked our way through college, married and in love.  No matter what life brought us, we’d always have each other.

I suddenly wanted to hold onto the hope of that future.

I pressed a kiss to her cheek and she instructed me to sit down and let her work.

Where did you get that dress?
I wrote as I watched her.

“It was my mom’s,” she said.  “Some old costume from before I was even born.”

The food was perfect.  The entire night was perfect as we sat at Sam’s crappy dining table in her crappy motorhome.  We turned out all the lights and just ate by candlelight, not saying a word, only writing in the notebook occasionally.

Just before we cut the cake, Sam wrote HAPPY 18
^th
BIRTHDAY, WITH MANY MORE TO COME, in big bold letters over two entire pages.

I hoped maybe Sam had thought about being there for every one of those birthdays to come.
 

8 weeks ‘til Sam’s birthday

5 months ‘til graduation

I sat watching TV the night after my birthday, some show about vampires Jordan had convinced me to watch with her, though she’d fallen asleep half way through it. 

“Jake,” Mom said as she walked into the room.  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

I glanced down at Jordan whose head was resting on my thigh and managed to wiggle out from under her without waking her up.  Thankfully Jordan slept like the dead.  Following Mom into the kitchen, I suddenly felt nervous.  When a mom asks if they can talk to you like that, it usually isn’t about something good.

She rested her elbows on the bar, cupping her chin in her palm, and I settled onto a stool.  It kind of felt like I was stepping into Mom’s office.

“I’m a little worried about Sam,” she said, her eyes concerned.  “The whole island’s been talking about her.  Is she okay?”

I grabbed a notebook that was sitting on the counter. 
You’re not going to fall for island gossip, are you?

“I don’t want to,” she said, her face serious.  “I see Sam eat all the time when she’s at our house.  I try to fatten her up as best I can when she’s here.  But Jake, everyone’s saying she has an eating disorder, and I can’t help but wonder.  Just look at how skinny she is this year.”

I was about to write “she’s fine.”  But I had to think about it.  Sam had maybe gained back five pounds since we’d got together, but she was still probably right around one hundred pounds.  The lifestyle Sam was living really wasn’t healthy for her.

She doesn’t have an eating disorder,
I wrote. 
Trust me.  I see her eat all the time.  And she’s not throwing it all back up.  I’d notice…

Mom chuckled, her eyes lightening somewhat.  “Well, I’m glad to hear it.  Eating disorders are scary.  Is she doing okay, other than that?  She always looks so tired.  And she doesn’t exactly dress great.  Did… did her mom lose her job?  Do they need some financial help?”

My heart started beating faster as the subject of Sam’s mom surfaced.  It was nice that Mom was asking if they needed help with money, yet I knew my parents couldn’t really give it.

They’re going through a hard time,
I wrote.  Lie. 
Things will be okay.

Seeming to have satisfied Mom, she let me go back to watching TV.  But I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I settled back into the couch.  Was that another lie, saying that things would be okay?  Sam’s life could crumble at any moment.  Sam only had a few pieces of her life left.  She couldn’t afford for those few pieces to fall apart.

There were only eight weeks left.  We just had to keep everything quiet and under the rug for eight more weeks.  Somehow I was going to have to find a way to help Sam more.  She couldn’t keep being so skinny and ragged looking.  For her health, and to keep the ugly truth hidden.

8 weeks ‘til Sam’s birthday