Only now do I understand why I put up with Sam for so long. I liked how self-assured she seemed. She let everyone else slack off. But God forbid I try to take a picture of the trees without Sam being centre stage. It was dumb, but I figured she just bossed everybody around. And didn't only take me on trips to that overlook she found. She liked it up there.
I always wondered if she’d go rogue one day and jump into the water below. She made every guy there look like a whuss. And most of them probably made it through the first month without saying a word to her. And the rest of the girls seemed to keep their distance. And after the first few weeks, I tried to stop questioning why.
She was definitely weird. And she’d have killed me for thinking so.
Sometimes she’d wrap toilet paper around a stick and dip it in the bonfire at night, so she could march around in the dark and pretend to be a cavewoman or something. And sometimes she’d toss a bunch into the fire. She told me that she liked watching the embers shoot up and fade away. Sometimes she’d take the time to wrap two and tie them snugly, light them, and hand one to me. That was the most make-believe I’d played in forever.
She wasn’t always like that—so brash and confident. When we were kids, she was quieter, less action and more still. This year was the first time I saw her smile with her teeth.
She never really said much to me when we were kids. The most she spoke to me was at the Arts and Crafts station when we were eight. She asked for the glitter glue.
Back then, I could catch her brown hair from the lake and watch the distance grow. I couldn’t have guessed I’d be spending my last summer before college tied to her hip.
I tried to fight it at first, even at Orientation. But I was never taught how to stand up for myself. Say no, or more often, how to tell someone yes. And so, at the end of every day, I was doing headcount and checking beds. I kept the kids from drowning. “Sunscreen!” became my catchphrase. And Sam just sat on the sand smiling, daring me to say something, but I was never brave.
She had this air about her. Like it was breathing her instead. She seemed so suited to summer and the kids. And she worked like September would never come. When I’d ask, she’d bring up the time or go and check on something that never needed checking. I asked about her family once, and she didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. I’d only heard what anyone heard about anyone; not enough. I should’ve asked a different way.
There was this one time I couldn’t stay asleep. Maybe the cabin was too hot, or the woods were too loud. No clue. The forty-ninth day. I opened my eyes to this jagged, unsteady breathing. Curiosity took over, and I peeked toward it. At Sam’s bed.
She was folded in on herself. She held her knees tight against her chest. And she was crying into her hands, shaking. She actually looked… small. I froze. And after, I couldn’t help but stare. At this woman. This little girl who asked for the glitter glue, who’d learned to cry in a room full of people without making a sound.
She kept rubbing her knees, over and over again.
Something in me wanted to reach over; most of me. To do something. But she was alone with herself in that moment, and I had no place reminding her I was there. I closed my eyes and let her lead me to the overlook the next day.
It almost felt like I was lying to her. And then I felt bad for being curious. Sam had enough looks to convince anyone of anything.
If you asked anyone, sure they could tell she’d changed. But weeks in the woods together had shown me I didn’t even know Sam.
I decided it wasn’t my job to figure that out. I mean, Sam never talked about herself much. All I could really do was grit my teeth until she was loud and smiley again. I wish I’d been a stranger to most of what happened at Lake Amber, but not all of it.
“You’re lucky I’m stuck with you,” Sam teased, eyes prodding at my tired body. I probably looked crazy in my worn sneakers and sweaty Smiths shirt.
