9
Sam
The next morning, Sam came back from swimming alone to find that Wyatt had texted her the minute his family started their drive back to Florida. It was basic chitchat, his wondering how the waves were, saying how boring the ride was. Sam felt a layered wave of relief, both that texting with Wyatt wasn’t disappearing with the summer and that her kissing him (like a total lunatic, she would have added if she had anyone to tell) wasn’t going to make things weird. Wyatt was a true friend and she wasn’t going to let her completely out-of-control body do anything to compromise that.
By the time they were both back in school, they were texting every day. It was a strange thing to bring her summer person back into the city in this way. She texted him on the subway and from the locker room at the YMCA. They no longer needed the surf report as an excuse to text, and it felt like the more they talked, the more there was to say. Wyatt told her about songs he was writing. He told her he’d play them for her next summer. He told her about how his parents didn’t speak directly to one another for the entirety of parents’ weekend. Sam told him about how her geometry teacher hated her and that the girls in her grade were sneaking into clubs. Sam’s favorite part of the day was getting into bed at night, because she usually heard from him then. She smiled at her phone every time the first text came in: What’s happening in the big city?
It was during winter break, when Wyatt was in Florida and Sam was in New York, that he came clean about his school. Travis was out, so Sam was taking advantage of being able to actually talk on the phone in their room.
“I need to tell you something.” He sounded really nervous. “I’ve been sort of lying.”
“What?” Sam said. He has a girlfriend. This thought landed with a thud. It had never occurred to her before. Why wouldn’t Wyatt have a girlfriend? One who could also play the guitar at his artsy school. The hand that held the phone to her ear felt shaky, and she braced it with her other hand while she waited.
“My school is for kids with learning differences. I have dyslexia. But I do play music there. I just felt weird that you didn’t know.”
Waves of relief. Like all the way through her body. Sam let out a breath.
“Does it bother you?” he asked.
“Why would it bother me?”
“Well, like, all you do is read. And it’s the thing I can’t do.”
“Yeah, because our whole friendship is based on books? Who cares?” He may have interpreted Sam’s light tone as compassion. But really she was just so happy he didn’t have a girlfriend.
One Friday night, Wyatt texted at midnight. Sam smiled when she saw it was him, that familiar but impossible feeling that he was in bed with her.
Wyatt: Hey
Sam: It’s late. What are you doing?
Wyatt: I was just down the hall drinking screwdrivers with some kids
Sam: You could get in so much trouble
Wyatt: I know. But it was fun
Sam: Okay, but be careful
Wyatt: Do you think you’ll ever kiss me again?
It was March by then. They’d talked about every other thing in the world, but never that kiss. Sam stared at her phone. She was taking too long to reply. Her heart was racing, and her mind was going blank. Her friends would have been able to think of the cool thing to say. She could only say the truth: I hope so.
Wyatt: Me too. Goodnight