I have no idea what that means, but the thing about Samson is, he doesn’t seem to be the type to want attention or manufacture drama. So by saying something like this, it makes me think it’s even worse than how he’s presenting it.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” I ask him.
He brings his eyes back to mine with another predictable shake of his head.
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s bad.”
“Worse than what I did with Dakota?”
Samson presses his lips into a thin, irritated line, and then dips his head, looking at me with intensity. “There are two different kinds of wrong. The wrong that stems from weakness and the wrong that stems from strength. You made that choice because you were strong and needed to survive. You didn’t make that choice because you were weak.”
I grasp on to every word of that because I want to make it my truth.
“Will you just answer one question for me?” I ask. He doesn’t say yes but he doesn’t say no. He just waits for my question. “Was it an assault of any kind?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
I’m relieved by that. He can tell. He brushes my hair over my shoulders with both hands and then presses his mouth against my forehead. He kisses me there, then leans his head against mine. “I’ll tell you the day before you leave for college.”
“If you’re eventually going to tell me, why can’t you just tell me right now?”
“Because I want to spend the rest of the summer with you. And if I tell you, I don’t think you’ll want that.”
I’m not sure what he could possibly tell me that would make me not want to speak to him, but I know if I dwell on it, I’m just going to stress over it.
I’ll wait.
At the rate our conversations have been going, I’ll get it out of him before August.
But for now, I just nod because it’s nothing he wants to tell me tonight. And if there’s one thing I can do right now, it’s show him the same patience he showed me last night.
He kisses me again. It’s a quick kiss. A goodnight kiss.
I don’t say anything as I pull away from him and walk toward the door because all my words feel too big for my voice. It’s hard just walking out his door right now. I can’t imagine what August third will feel like.
P.J. is waiting outside the door when I close it. He follows me loyally down the stairs and to the house. When I reach the top of the stairs to the house, he walks to his dog bed and lies down.
Thankfully, no one is in the living room when I enter the house. I lock the door and sneak up the stairs. Before I open my door, I glance at Sara’s bedroom door.
I think I want to tell her we kissed. It’s a weird feeling, wanting to open up to another girl. I never even told Natalie about the thing between Dakota and me. I was too ashamed to tell her.
I knock softly on Sara’s door, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. Sara doesn’t say anything. She’s probably still at the beach.
I push her door open to check and see if she’s in her bed, but as soon as I peek my head inside, I pull the door shut.
Marcos was on top of her. He was clothed, but still. I wasn’t expecting that.
I walk to my room, but then remember what Sara said at the beach about just giving her a silent sign.
I walk back into her room. She and Marcos stop kissing and look at me. I reach the bed and hold up a hand to get a high five from her.
She laughs and high-fives me. “Hell yes!” she whispers as I leave her room.
SEVENTEEN
The last few days have been the least stressful days of my life. It’s like spending time with Samson releases some kind of hormone from my brain that’s been missing for nineteen years. I feel happier. I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of breaking all the time.
I’m sure it’s more than just Samson. It’s a combination of all the things I’ve never had before. Decent shelter that isn’t rotting from the inside by termites. Three meals a day. A constant friend who lives right across the hall. The ocean. The sunrise.
It’s almost too much good happening at once. I’m overdosing on good things, which only means I’ll eventually have to go through the withdrawal when summer ends. But like Sara said, summers are for focusing on today and today only. I’ll worry about the painful part of summer on August third.
Samson decided a ladder would be safer and easier to reach my balcony in the mornings than jumping proved to be. I’m sitting in my usual seat on my balcony eating grapes I just took from the refrigerator when I hear him raising the ladder. My favorite part of our morning routine is when he reaches the top of the ladder and smiles at me. Although last night might have been better than our mornings together. He talked me into getting back in the ocean and we kissed without that kiss being interrupted by a searing pain.