Every Last Word (5 page)

Sue shifts in her chair and crosses one leg over the other, taking an authoritative pose. “You have to make decisions that are best for
you
, Sam. Not for Hailey or anyone
else,” she says in her straightforward way.

“Sarah made a decision that was best for her, and look what happened.”

I’m not about to be on the receiving end of what we all did to Sarah. Shooting her dirty looks as we passed her in the halls, talking about her from the other side of the cafeteria,
leaving her out of our plans for the weekend. I’m not proud of myself, but when she dumped us for her drama club friends, we made it feel like an act of disloyalty on her part.

“She’s probably quite happy,” Sue says.

“I’m sure she is. But being part of the Eights makes
me
happy.”

Their friendship might require weekly therapy, but I have fun with them. And I’d be
truly
crazy to say good-bye to parties every weekend, cute guys crowded around us at lunch, and
VIP tickets to every major concert that comes to town.

“Either way, this is a really positive step, Sam. I’m glad to see you making new friends.”

“Friend. Singular. One person.” I hold up a finger. “And no one can
ever
know about Caroline.”

“Why not?”

Before I even realize what’s happening, my chin begins to tremble. I take a deep breath to steady myself and stare at the carpet.

“Why can’t they know about her, Sam?” Sue repeats softly.

“Because.” The word comes out all wobbly. “If they kick me out—” I can’t finish my thought. I squeeze the back of my neck three times, as hard as I can, but
it doesn’t help. “I don’t have anyplace else to go.”

The tears start to well up, but I fight them off, biting the inside of my lower lip, forcing my gaze toward the ceiling. Sue must be able to tell how uncomfortable I am, because she jumps in and
says, “Hey, let’s change the subject.”

“Please,” I whisper.

“Did you have a chance to print out those pictures?”

“Yeah.” I blow out a breath and reach into my bag.

Dad took a bunch of photos during the county championship meet and sent them to me. Last week, I showed them to Sue. She spent twenty minutes sliding her fingertip across the screen of my phone,
carefully taking in each photo. Then she asked me to pick my three favorites, print them out, and bring them with me today.

“These are great,” she says, taking her time to examine each one. “Tell me, why did you choose these three?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I guess because I look happy.”

Her expression tells me that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “What word comes to mind when you see this?” she asks, holding one of the pictures up in front of me.
“One word.”

Cassidy is squeezing me hard; her nose is all scrunched up and her mouth is open, like she’s screaming. Dad took it right after I beat her time by a tenth of a second, breaking her record
in girls’ butterfly. I was afraid she’d be upset, but she wasn’t. “Friendship.”

She holds the next one up. My stomach feels all light and fluttery when I see Brandon resting one hand on my shoulder and pointing at the first-place medal around my neck with the other. He kept
high-fiving me. And hugging me. All day.

Sue wouldn’t approve of the word “love,” even though it’s the first one that pops into my mind, so I fix my gaze on the medal, thinking about the way he made me push
myself all summer, making me believe I could be faster, stronger. “Inspiration.”

I feel my face heat up and I’m relieved when Sue moves on to the next picture and says, “I was really hoping you’d print this one.”

Dad took it with a long lens and you can see every detail in my face. I’m standing on the block in my stance, seconds away from diving in, and even though my goggles are covering my eyes,
you can see them clearly. I stare at the picture for a long time, trying to think of a single word to describe what I like so much about it. I look strong. Determined. Like a girl who speaks her
mind, not someone who cowers in the dark every time she gets her feelings hurt.

“Confidence,” I finally say.

Sue’s nod is proud and purposeful, and I can tell my word was spot-on.

“Here’s what I’d like you to do. Bring these to school tomorrow and tape them on the inside of your locker door.” She taps the last one with her perfectly manicured
fingernail. “Put this one right at eye level. Look at it off and on all day to remind you of your goal this year. Which is?” she prompts.

“I’m going to make swimming a priority, so I can get a scholarship and go to the college of my choice. Even if it’s far away.”

The “far away” part makes me start hyperventilating. I feel nauseous when I think about moving away from here, leaving my mom, leaving Sue. But I force myself to stare at the
picture, locking in on that strong, determined expression.

A swim scholarship. Competing at a college level. A chance to reinvent myself.

This girl looks like someone who could do all those things.

“And don’t forget,” Sue says. “This isn’t Summer Sam, who shows up in June and disappears when school starts. This is
you
.”

“Is it?” I ask, staring at the photo. It was only two weeks ago, but I already feel like a completely different person.

Sue rests her elbows on her knees, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Yes, it is. And she’s in there all year long. I promise. You just have to find a way to pull her out.”

O
n Thursday morning after first bell, I linger, taking my time at my locker. I keep peering toward the end of the row, looking for Caroline,
but she hasn’t shown up. I haven’t seen her once since we sat together in the theater on Monday. Finally, I give up and race to class.

The last few days have been brutal, with Caroline’s words running through my head in an endless loop. I can’t imagine what she wants to show me today or how it could possibly change
my whole life. And if she’s
right
about me? What does that even mean?

Lunch can’t come soon enough. As soon as the fourth period bell sounds, I stand up and race past the rest of my U.S. History classmates, bolting for the door. Everyone heads for the
cafeteria and the quad, but I take off in the opposite direction.

When I arrive at the double doors that lead into the theater, I take a quick look around. Then I slip inside and go straight to the piano, hiding from view like Caroline told me to.

I keep checking the time on my phone, and I’m starting to wonder if this is all a joke, when I hear voices, quiet but audible, coming toward me. I’m tempted to take a step forward so
I can get a look at their faces, but I press my back flat against the curtain and tell myself not to move.

The voices fade away and Caroline pokes her head around the curtain, curls her finger toward herself, and whispers, “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, and she brings her finger to her lips, shushing me. We disappear backstage, and about twenty feet away, I see a door closing. We wait for it to shut
completely, and then we creep forward.

“Open it,” she says, and then adds the word “quietly.” She rests her hands on her hips and I read her T-shirt:
EVERYONE HATES ME BECAUSE
I
’
M PARANOID
.

I turn the knob as gently as I can, and soon I’m staring at a steep, narrow staircase. My first instinct is to close the door and turn back the way we came. I shoot Caroline a questioning
look and she gestures toward the stairs. “Go ahead. Go down.”

“Down?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well they don’t go up, now do they?”

No. They don’t.

“Here,” she says. “I’ll go first.” And before I can say another word, she pushes past me and starts down the stairs, and because I can’t imagine doing
anything else at this point, I close the door behind us and follow her.

The narrow hallway is painted dark gray, and I look up at the ceiling lights, wondering why they’re so dim. Caroline and I turn down another hallway just in time to see the door at the far
end swinging shut. I stay on her heels until we’re standing in front of it.

This is beyond creepy. “What is this place?”

She ignores my question and points to the doorknob. “Okay, I’m going to be by your side the entire time, but this is all up to you from here. You have to do all the
talking.”

“Talking? To whom? What do you mean, it’s up to me?”

“You’ll see.”

I don’t want to see. I want to leave. Now.

“This is bizarre, Caroline. There’s no one down here.” I try not to look like I’m rattled, but I am. And I can’t imagine how anything in a freaky basement
underneath the school theater could possibly change my life. My mind’s operating on overload now, my thoughts racing, and I feel a panic attack coming on.

What was I thinking? I don’t even know her.

I turn away and start heading back the way I came.

“Sam,” she says, and I stop, just like that. Caroline grips my forearm and looks right into my eyes. “Please, check it out.”

There’s something about the look on her face that makes me want to trust her, like I’ve known her all my life. And as nervous as I am, I’m even more curious to see what’s
on the other side of that door.

“Fine,” I say, clenching my teeth. I reach for the knob and turn.

The room on the other side is small and painted completely black. Black ceiling. Black floor. Metal shelving units stocked with cleaning supplies line three of the walls, and the other one is
covered with hanging mops and brooms.

Caroline points to a section of mop heads gently swaying back and forth against the wall, as if they’d recently been touched. I pull them to one side, exposing a seam that runs all the way
up the wall until it meets another one at the top. It’s a door. The hinges are painted black and so is the dead bolt, camouflaging everything perfectly.

“Knock,” Caroline commands from behind me. I do what I’m told without questioning or arguing or second-guessing.

First there’s a click, and then the door swings toward me and I see a pair of eyes in the narrow opening. “Who are you?” a girl’s voice whispers.

I glance over at Caroline, but she just gives me this
Say something!
look, so I return to the girl in the doorway.

“I’m Samantha.” I hold my hand up. “I mean, Sam.” Why not, I figure, as long as I’m making introductions and all. “I was hoping I could come
in.”

She looks past me, over my shoulder, and Caroline whispers, “She’s with me.”

The girl makes a face but pushes the door open anyway, giving us enough room to step inside. Then she scans the janitor’s closet, like she’s checking to be sure the two of us are
alone, and I hear the dead bolt snap closed again.

I don’t even have time to take in the surroundings because now there’s a guy standing in front of me. He’s tall and thin, with broad shoulders and a headful of sandy blond
hair. He looks a little bit familiar, and I’m still trying to place him when he narrows his eyes at me and says, “What are you doing here?”

I look at Caroline for help again, but she runs her finger across her lips like she’s zipping them shut, and I kind of want to punch her right now.

“I’m Sam—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I know who you are, Samantha.” I study his face again. He knows my name. I don’t know his.

“I’m sorry.” I’m not really sure why I’m apologizing, but it seems like the right thing to do. I step backward toward the door, feeling for a knob, but there
isn’t one.

The girl who let me in hands him a thick braided cord and he slips it over his head. A gold key bounces against his chest.

“How did you find this room?”

“My friend…” I say, gesturing toward Caroline. He glances over at her and she nods at him. He quickly returns his attention to me.

“Your friend what?”

Caroline’s made it pretty clear that she isn’t going to do anything to help me at this point, but that doesn’t mean her words can’t get me the rest of the way into the
room. “I heard that this place might change my life, and, well…I guess my life could use some serious changing, so I thought…” I trail off, watching him, waiting for his
face to relax, but it doesn’t.

He stares at me for what feels like a full minute. I stare back, refusing to give in. Caroline must be getting worried, because she wraps both hands around my arm and pulls herself in closer,
showing him she’s on my side. He crosses his arms and never takes his eyes off me.

“Fine,” he says. “You can stay today, this one time, but that’s it. After this, you have to forget all about this place, got it? One time, Samantha.”

“Got it,” I say. Then I add, “And it’s Sam.”

His forehead creases. “Fine. But it’s not like this makes us friends or anything.”

Friends? My friends don’t call me Sam. “Why would I think we’re friends? I don’t even know you.”

He smiles, revealing a dimple on the left side of his mouth. “No,” he says, as if it’s funny. “Of course you don’t know me.” He walks away, shaking his head,
leaving Caroline and me standing alone at the back of the room.