Suffer Love (21 page)

I pull her closer and press my face to the top of her head. She smells like grass and sugar. Her arms come around my back so that we're a just a tangle of chocolate and cotton and skin.

“Sam?” she asks after a few minutes, her voice muffled in my jacket.

“Hmm?”

“I want this.”

I pull back so I can look at her. My stomach roils with the need to sit her down and tell her the truth, but the words jumble together in my head. My heart balls up like tinfoil, because I know this isn't about Livy anymore, if it ever was. It's not about our parents or those notes or who screwed who more than six months ago. I've kept my mouth shut because I want to hold on to this girl standing in front of me.

Hold on and run like hell.

So I tell her the only true thing I can.

“Me too.”

Kat slides into the seat next to me, startling me from the world of ridiculous misunderstandings in
Much Ado About Nothing.
My pen pops out of my hand and lands on the filthy cafeteria floor, which is stained with a couple decades' worth of mac and cheese and taco sauce.

“Oops.” She crawls on all fours to get my rogue pen. “Sorry.”

“Kat, gross. Just leave it.”

“No, I got it.” She hands me the pen, which I take gingerly between my thumb and forefinger.

“Blech.” I drop it onto the table and retrieve one not coated in MRSA from my bag.

“You are such an old lady sometimes.” Kat's mouth quirks into a diffident half smile. She's tried to talk to me several times in the past two weeks, but I've been unresponsive. I've got enough to think about without her making me feel like crap about Sam.

“Mm.” I turn away from her, munching on a french fry. My eyes wander through the crowd, past the blue and gold spirit banners for tonight's football game, and find Sam across the room, tray piled with three grilled cheese sandwiches and two oranges. He weaves through the sea of tables toward me, but when he spots Kat and me sitting in a bubble of discomfort, he halts. I catch his eye, imploring him to come and mediate, but he shakes his head and mouths,
Talk to her,
before sitting down with Josh-freaking-Ellison.

“How are your parents?” Kat asks.

I take a deep breath without looking at her. The last two weeks have gone by in a blur of school, constant wondering about my mother, and avoiding Kat and my father. Only Sam has kept me from bludgeoning my head against a wall, and I've spent nearly every free minute with him. I've talked to Mom on the phone every day, but the conversation is strained and alternates between long silences and a barrage of meaningless questions like what sweater I'm wearing or whether or not I think the school's football team will make the playoffs.

Dad is a whole other ball of weird. We've barely spoken since our fight the day Mom left. He doesn't call when I miss dinner and hide out at Sam's. He doesn't insist on sushi Thursdays. He doesn't ask me about the Kite Festival. He doesn't tell me whether or not he and Mom talk, and I don't ask. I thought I'd be relieved on the day he finally backed off a little—instead I just feel hollow.

“Hadley,” Kat says when I don't answer her.

I look down at my book, eyes scanning but seeing nothing.

“Listen, I'm sorry.”

“Kat, do you even know what you're apologizing for?”

She frowns and looks away. Her cheeks twitch the way they do when she's about to cry.

“Yeah. I didn't think so.” I turn back to
Much Ado,
but she covers the book with her hand.

“Hadley, stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Just . . .
stop.
Stop acting like I'm a bitch who isn't on your side. Because I am. You just . . .” She exhales, deflating. “Look, I miss you, okay?”

“Right. You weren't too fond of me last time we talked. Besides, it's only been two weeks since—”

“No. It's been six months.”

I stare at her, speechless.

She sighs, squirming in her seat as she tucks her hair behind both ears. “Listen, I know the circumstances sucked, but I was still excited when you moved here. Finally, we got to live in the same town. But you haven't been the same since all that stuff with your parents happened. I know that's expected, but sometimes I just wish . . .”

“What?”

“You're still you, but you're not. You quit swimming and started disappearing with guys like it was no big deal, which if that's really what you want to do, fine, but yeah, it sort of made me mad. People talked about you all the time and I felt like a little kid next to you. I don't even know what you're doing with these guys. Not that I want all the details, but how do I know you haven't had—”

“I haven't.”

“But you never talk to me. Not about anything that matters.”

I close my eyes. “I haven't done that.”

She looks at me with eyebrows raised, like she's waiting for me to go on, but then nods. “See? That. Right there. No explanation. Just
yes
and
no
and
I don't know.
”

“Kat, come on—”

“And you're so pissed off. All. The. Time. And you like being that way. I feel . . . I don't know. Like you don't need me anymore.”

I sigh, anger seeping out of me in a slow leak. “Kat, you're the only reason I haven't lost my sanity in all this. You know that, right?”

She shakes her head and shrugs. “I just miss you.”

I reach over and wrap my arms around her. I don't know what else to do. “I'm right here,” I say, but I'm not exactly sure what I mean by that. Who's here? The old Hadley, a girl who smiled easily and believed in trust and love and possibility? Or the new Hadley, this conflicted, angry girl I didn't even realize had infiltrated my body?

I pull back and try to smile. I know I should apologize too—for hanging up on her the day Mom left, for ignoring her for nearly two weeks. But something pulls the apology in deeper, yanking it into a complicated knot in my chest. One I'm not ready to try to unravel. Instead, I let the smile take over and change the subject. “You don't have to worry about me kissing a bunch of different guys anymore.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up in a way that almost feels insulting. “Why not?”

She wanted me to talk to her, right? I take and deep breath and I tell her about Sam.

“Oh. My. God. Hadley!” Kat squeals, then her expression takes a plunge. “Oh, my God, Hadley. I'm the worst friend ever. Last time we talked. I gave you all that crap about him. I just figured—”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I'm so sorry. You really like him?”

I shrug and bite my lip. I could sear a steak on my face right now.

“You do! You really like him!”

“Sheesh, keep it down. It's not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You, Hadley St. Clair, are blushing about a boy, and that's not a big deal?”

I press my hands to my cheeks. “Kat, I'm begging you.”

“Is he a good kisser? He looks like he'd be a good kisser.”

More heat creeps up my neck, and I smile but keep my mouth firmly shut.

“Wow.” She grins broadly. “I mean, I-think-the-sky-is-falling wow.”

“Wow what?” Sam asks from behind me.

We both jump and Kat emits a cute little yelp.

“Um . . .” I stammer as he brushes my hair back from my neck and sits down, tossing an orange between his hands. “Wow . . . that Rob . . . talked to Kat today.”

Kat's eyes widen, but she nods, going with it.

“Rob Graham?” Sam asks, eyebrows low.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“He's in my gym class.” He glances at Kat, clearly wary. “He's kind of a dick.”

“Is he?” I ask. Kat's mouth drops open.

Sam steals a cold fry off my plate. “A locker room is a litmus test for douches. Rob's strip is acidic red. Trust me.”

“What did he do?” I'm totally intrigued. Neither Kat nor I know Rob all that well. He and Kat have always gone to school together and he's on the swim team with her, but they've exchanged all of five words in the past five years.

Sam shrugs again, breaking the orange's skin with his thumbnail. “Nothing that I've witnessed. It's just his whole attitude, toward girls in particular. The other day I heard him telling some of the guys about a date with Rebecca Vansant. He told her that more than a handful is a waste. I mean, what guy actually says that to a girl? What an ass.”

Given the fact that Rebecca has to wrangle on
two
sports bras during our own gym class, I decipher Rob's meaning pretty quickly. Kat's eyes widen and I wrinkle my nose in disgust while Sam winces apologetically.

“Forget Rob,” I say. “He's not even real, remember? What about Ajay?” I waggle my eyebrows at Kat and she flushes pink.

“Um. I don't know. He hasn't called me.”

Sam becomes extremely interested in his orange, peeling it like he's handling a newborn baby.

“Did you call him?” I ask Kat.

She just blinks at me.

“Sam?” I ask, drawing out his name and leaning toward him.

“What?”

“What's up with Ajay?”

He shrugs, shoving half the orange in his mouth.

“Sam Bennett.” I pinch his thigh under the table.

“Hey, now.” He grabs my fingers and pulls my arm around his neck. “If I did know something—and I'm not saying that I do—I couldn't tell you. Bros before—”

“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.” I yank my arm back.

“I was going to say ‘beautiful girls,' but you didn't let me finish.”

“Right.”

Kat looks stricken. Her eyebrows bunch together. I elbow Sam and motion toward her with my chin. He splays his hands in helplessness.

“I'm sure you'll hear from him soon,” he finally says, but Kat nods and tries to shrug like she doesn't care.

“I've gotta go meet with Coach Torrenti. He wants to talk to Josh and me about some co-captain thing.” He twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing. Why?” I respond vaguely, distracted by Josh waving at Sam from across the cafeteria. Next to Jenny Kalinski. A slow cold coats my stomach.

Sam tips my chin toward his face, forcing my eyes on his. “We need to go on a real date.”

“A date?”

“You've heard of them, right? Two people, soft music, romantic atmosphere.”

“Are we going on a date or ballroom dancing?”

He pokes me in the ribs. “Maybe both. Tonight. You and me.”

I blink at him and feel my face go slack. How did I end up as one half of a
you and me
? But he's smiling, studying my face with such care that all my questions dissolve.

“Okay,” I say. “You and me.”

“Wear something comfortable,” he says, standing. “No skirts or jeans.”

“Wait. Like sweatpants?”

“Just something . . . you know, comfy but not too loose.”

“She has these really tight, stretchy yoga pants,” Kat suggests, pointing at me with a baby carrot. “Although those pants have never experienced a downward-facing dog.”

My face heats up as Sam presses his tongue to his top lip, clearly trying not to laugh. Kat crunches her carrot, oblivious that her words came out sounding vaguely dirty.

“Those sound like a great choice,” Sam finally says, lifting his eyebrows at me.

“What are you up to?”

He grins and leans down to kiss me, citrus-scented fingers curling into my hair. “You'll have to wait and see.”

“Yo, Bennett!” Josh calls. I swivel my head toward his voice and narrow my eyes into a glare. Unfortunately, Josh has mastered the art of avoiding my gaze, but Jenny's eyes find mine and for a split second we stare at each other. Her expression is hard to read, but it's not angry or even sad. It's just . . . curious.

Sam gives me a half smile and strolls off toward Josh and Jenny. My stomach finally freezes over. Sam told me about his conversation with Josh a couple weeks ago. When I see Josh in class and in the hallways, he has looked fairly miserable. Aside from nasty glares, Sloane has finally grown tired of her crusade against me, but I can't seem to release my anger. So he had a fight with his girlfriend. Big freaking deal. But I can tell there's something about Josh that Sam just understands or at least tries to understand. They're not exactly friends, but they're not
not
friends either. Honestly, it irritates me like sand in my swimsuit.

When I look up, Kat is staring at me. “What?” I start packing up my book and wrapping up the crusts from my sandwich.

“Nothing. It's just . . .” She shakes her head. “I just never thought I'd see you with a boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend.”

“Right. Because that whole starry-eyed, red-cheeked thing is the same way you look at Josh Ellison.”

“No, I save that for you,” I say, batting my lashes.

Kat ignores me. “If he's not your boyfriend, what is he?”

I sit back, the cold from the cheap aluminum chair piercing through my shirt. I grab for the right words, but there are too many and not enough to choose from.

“Sam and me . . . we're . . . he's . . .” Oh, who am I kidding? I have no idea what I'm doing or what's really happening between us. At first it was scary, letting Sam in my life like this, but now . . . I don't know. Sam and me—we just
are.
Being together is terrifying and easy all at once.

“He's just
Sam.
”

“Yeah, I know who he is. The weird thing is who you are when you're around him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I can tell you're nervous and scared about liking him, but at the same time, you're not. You're
happy.
It's totally bizarre.”