God, it’s cold outside. I slip out the front door as quietly as I can so Dad won’t hear over the television and run barefoot over the freezing sidewalk, all the way to the side of the house.
“Sam, why are you out here?” I demand. I hop from foot to foot over the snow patches.
“It is true,” he says, softer.
I stop in my tracks. The ice bites into the bottom of my quickly numbing feet. “Yeah,” I say, and open my mouth to say more, but I’m not sure what. So I just stand there, shivering, looking at him.
“Who else knows?” he asks. I don’t know why he’s being so quiet. It’s not like anyone else is around.
“Um, well, let’s see. Lowell was the first—”
“Lowell?”
“Yeah, I know. That’s a story I don’t want to get into right now,” I say. “There’s also Asha. Andy. Lou, I’m pretty sure.” I press my lips together. “And…you. Think that’s the running tally.”
“Oh,” he says. I don’t know what that “oh” is supposed to mean. Like, is he disappointed I didn’t speak to him first? Or that other people knew before he did?
I look from him to my window and back. “How did you even know that’s my room?”
“I saw you through the window.” As if he’s reading my thoughts, he cringes and says, “That wasn’t supposed to make me sound like such a stalker, I swear.”
“What are you doing here, Sam?” I ask. Again. Around chattering teeth, this time.
“The art project…” he starts, and then ruffles a hand through his hair, the way he always does. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“And you couldn’t use the front door?”
“I don’t know…it’s kind of late! I didn’t want to piss off your parents. Besides, it was pretty cool, right? Very John Cusack, minus the radio playing Peter Gabriel.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “John Cusack? Wait, isn’t that the guy from Serendipity?”