Speechless(142)

                “He is a dreamboat,” Sam agrees, walking up. I’m not sure if                     he’s joking or if he’s just secure enough to comment on another guy’s objective                     attractiveness. Maybe some of both. He leans over with his palm right on top of                     my textbook and grins, his face close to mine, his voice low when he speaks.                     “You’ve been studying for over an hour. I’m on break. Come take a walk with                     me.”

                That’s all it takes. I abandon my books, grab my coat off the                     hook and follow Sam out the door. He offers his arm as we cross the icy parking                     lot, and I take it, and if I’m clutching the crook of his elbow a little too                     tightly, it’s only because I’m worried about slipping and cracking my head open                     on the pavement. Really.

                I don’t know where we’re going, or if Sam even has a                     destination in mind—I let him take the lead, enjoying the closeness. After a                     minute I realize he’s heading for the lake. We pick our way through the snow to                     sit on top of a picnic table not far from the water. My ass is freezing and even                     huddling next to Sam doesn’t protect me from the cold wind whipping off the                     lake, but I’m willing to endure it as long as Sam keeps holding on to my arm                     like this.

                “Can I ask you something?” he says. He’s looking straight into                     my eyes as he says it, and I can feel myself melting toward him. How did it take                     me so long to notice how cute he is? How did I spend so much of high school not                     noticing him at all? I was so busy mooning over Brendon Ryan. Brendon, who                     probably doesn’t even like me at all, and certainly doesn’t trust me. Brendon,                     who is taking Kristen to the dance, meaning he’s either a total idiot falling                     for her lies or more concerned with his image than anything. Either way, he’s                     not the guy I thought he was. It’s not his fault; it’s mine, for building up                     this fantasy version in my head, putting him on a pedestal, making assumptions                     about him the way I make assumptions about everyone, the same way people make                     assumptions about me now.

                I am trying so hard not to be that person anymore. I am trying                     to be the kind of person who deserves to be looked at the way Sam is looking at                     me now, like I’m someone worth caring about, someone worth knowing. I want to                     prove that the risk he’s taken in reaching out to me isn’t for nothing, but I                     don’t know how to do that.