I made the best of a sucky situation by heading straight to Sam Goody.
Now that we’d done it, I thought it would be kind of fun for him to see me dressed like a Cosmo cover model. Like, maybe I could lure him away from the sales floor to try out some sexy role play or something. Just a few minutes alone in the stockroom would be sufficient to erase what had just gone down at Bellarosa.
I was ecstatic to see him stacking cassettes near the cash registers. I sauntered over to the counter and elbow pressed my boobs together until my cups nearly runneth over. It was one of Drea’s classic moves.
“Did you miss me?” I purred.
“Bellarosa!” Sam Goody gaped at my cleavage for a few seconds. “Whoa!”
“Do you like my new look?”
“I like you,” he answered.
He propped himself up over the counter and kissed me. For a few idyllic seconds, all ill feelings toward my ex–best friend melted into dreamy oblivion. Sam pulled away before I did, his mouth smudged purple.
“Well, I’m glad you like me,” I said, wiping the wayward gloss from his lips with my thumb. “Because Drea hates my guts…”
I wanted to sound like I couldn’t care less. Unfortunately, I failed hard at flippancy. The analgesic effects of Sam’s kiss had already worn off, and I felt as hurt by Drea as I had when I stormed out of the boutique. Before I could stop myself, my eyes were welling up.
“Hey, there,” Sam said with alarm. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I brushed away my tears and pretended Drea’s dismissal had no effect on me.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I croaked. “I’m fine.”
I was relieved when Sam silently took my hand and led me to the stockroom. Less crying, more kissing. Yes! That was exactly what I needed! I wrapped my arms around him, but he limply returned the hug. This was a crueler rejection than a stiff-armed rebuff.
“I like you,” he repeated.
It sure didn’t feel like he liked me.
“I like you too,” I said.
“But this”—he broke from me and swiped a hand in the space that separated us—“is weird.”
“It’s just hairspray and about ten pounds of bronzer!” I insisted. “I can take it off if you want.” Then I lowered my voice to my best approximation of a sultry rasp. “I can take it all off if you want.”
I didn’t wait for an answer before launching myself at him for a lusty kiss. But without my glasses, I misjudged the blurry inches between us and clocked Sam in the chin with my forehead instead.
“Whoa!” he cried out. “Let’s slow down here!”
“Slow down?” I objected. “We don’t have time to slow down!”
“Seriously,” Sam said in a watchful tone, “before one of us gets hurt.”
He was rubbing his jaw, but that wasn’t the pain he was referring to. This stockroom seduction was not going at all the way I had planned.
“You sure know how to ruin a mood,” I griped.
Sam took off his glasses, wiped the lenses on the bottom of his T-shirt, then put them back on again, as if to double-check that the girl he was talking to was really me.
“Look, I don’t know what sex means to you, but it’s special to me,” he said. “Before you, I’d only ever done it with my ex, and we dated for two years first.”
This speech was all very sweet and sensitive and wholly unnecessary.
“But the hatchback was fun, right?” I asked. “We had fun.”
Sam blushed and nodded in agreement.
“I’m leaving in six days,” I argued. “What’s wrong with having the most fun right now?”
“I guess I’m not a right now kind of guy.”
He spoke in such a low voice, I had trouble hearing him over the snarling guitars playing over the store’s sound system. It wasn’t Nirvana, but similar. The mumbly singer was crystal clear on the chorus: “Why go home? Why go home? Why go home?”
“I can’t be with you right now without thinking about a week from right now when you’re at school and I’m here,” he continued. “Or a year from right now when you’re in New York and I’m in Portland or Seattle.”
Portland—home to his hippie cousin and countless rocks to climb—was understandable. But Seattle? Why would Sam or anyone move to Seattle?
“Isn’t Seattle the rainiest, most depressing city in the world?” I asked.
“There’s a whole progressive scene happening in Seattle right now—politics and art and music.” He pointed to the air, filled with the mumbly singer’s moans. “Pearl Jam is from Seattle. Nirvana is from Seattle. Well, Aberdeen, actually, but…”
Now I was the one who was totally confused.
“You’re moving to Seattle to follow bands?”
“No, no, no,” he said. “And this isn’t about Seattle, specifically. It’s about the future, generally.”
“What about the future?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “What about the future? Exactly!”
He plowed his hands through his hair, making it poofier than I’d ever seen it before.
What about the future?
I didn’t have an answer for him. I’d had fun with Sam Goody—more fun than I thought I was capable of having—and that was enough.
For me.
For right now.
“I’ve planned too much of my life, and it hasn’t worked out that well,” I said. “I don’t want to make more plans I can’t keep. So, why can’t we just keep having fun while we can…?”
I placed my hand on top of his. Sam shook me off.
“That’s not my idea of fun.”
Sam was refusing me as I had refused Troy, as Troy had refused me. I thought I’d avoided the vicious cycle of romantic mistakes, but I was no better off now than I was at the start of the summer: rejected and dejected. How could such a smart girl be so dumb?
“Good luck, Bellarosa,” he said, walking away.
What Sam Goody really meant was: “Goodbye.”