“Well,” he says after a while, like the beginning of a thought, except then he just stops. We look at each other, each waiting for something. Finally I take out my whiteboard.
What is the deal with Asha’s mother? She told me she was sick.
Sam looks at the board and then at me. “I think you should ask her if you want to know,” he says.
So you know?
“Asha talks to me,” he says. “We’re friends. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.” He shoots me a pointed look. “You really don’t understand the concept of secrets, do you?”
Old habits die hard.
He snorts. “Apparently.”
Don’t look at me like that. I was just curious.
“There’s a difference between curiosity and nosiness,” he says. “Don’t you have any secrets? Something private you wouldn’t share with just anyone?”
I write, My dad lost his job yesterday, in tiny cramped letters.
Sam stares at it for a minute, and then at me. “Man. That’s really… I’d ask if you’re okay, but that sounds like a really stupid question.”
I smile a little, because he’s right, it would be kind of stupid.
“What did he do?” he asks.
Sales.
Sam nods. “My stepdad owns a car dealership in Westfield,” he says. Westfield is the next town over. “He might need a sales guy. Do you want me to talk to him?”
Okay, this is bordering on unreal. There is no way Sam is just that good of a guy. No one is. Not without strings attached.
Don’t you hate me?
“No.” His brow furrows. “You think I hate you?”
Do I really have to point out the proverbial elephant in the room? Apparently so, because he just sits there, waiting for an answer.
Why wouldn’t you? You know what I did to Noah.
Noah, his best friend. Noah, who makes out with guys. Noah, who almost died.