“I don’t think Sam is as sanctimonious as you think.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not slamming him. What I mean is, he’s a fucking human being, you know?” he says. “He’s just as pissed about what happened. And Noah… Noah is his best friend. Yeah, so maybe he could’ve handled some things better.” He falls silent for a long moment. “We all could’ve handled things better.”
Isn’t that the truth.
* * *
I take off from Rosie’s before Sam or Asha can get there, Eminem blasting at full volume. I sing to all of the lyrics as I drive toward home. I could’ve waited for them before I left. I could’ve just stayed at Rosie’s and picked up a shift for tonight. But I didn’t want to. I don’t want to think about what I’m going to say to Asha, or to Sam, God, Sam, because things are different now. I’m talking again. But not just again—because I’ve never talked with Asha, or Sam, or Dex or Lou. Not for real.
I go home and straight to my bedroom, where I lie on my bed, clutching a pillow to my chest. I stare at my ceiling and practice what to say to Sam when I see him.
“Hello, Sam,” I say to the plastic star in my direct line of vision. “This is what my voice sounds like, Sam. Sam, I hope you don’t think I’m a total freak, even though I can’t stop thinking about your stupid sexy face, Sam.” I say his name, over and over, testing it out. “Sam. Sam. Sam.”
“Is this like a meditation thing? Should I come back later?”
Asha’s in the doorway. I bolt upright, flushing bright red.
“You could’ve knocked,” I point out. My heart is beating fast in, like, my ears.
“Sorry,” she says without sounding apologetic at all. “Your dad let me in.” She bounces onto my bed and sprawls next to me. “Wow, your ceiling is awesome. Is that supposed to be the Big Dipper?”
I sit up on my elbow to look at her. “That’s all you have to say? Really?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “What did you expect?”