Corey is a good friend, once you get to know him. He will share his lunch, his math homework, his money, just about anything. His downfall is rules. That is his tragic flaw. Mostly he ignores them. Also, deadlines. He does not worry about them. By the end of ninth grade he is on probation.
The best thing about Corey is he has no fear. He is not afraid of people looking at him. He is not afraid of failing. He’s not afraid of getting hurt. If he sees a bike lying around, he’ll ride it. If he sees a piece of fruit, he’ll juggle it. If he sees a drink, he’ll chug it. He keeps busy. His mom and dad share custody, so he is always moving. He has two of everything—two houses, two bedrooms, two computers, two sets of clothes, two toothbrushes, and sometimes even two allowances when one parent loses track of what the other one is doing.
The worst thing is Corey wants to be Sam’s boyfriend. When he tries to drape his arm around her, she feels weighted down, and hot. When he tries to kiss her, it’s weird, because his eyes come so close together. She tries closing hers, but it doesn’t help. She doesn’t feel anything. Kissing is just wet.
She would ask Halle if she were around. She would talk to Halle for two hours, if she were still telling her anything. At school, kids are always making out in stairwells, but Sam can’t figure out the point of kissing. Either she’s gay, or the chemicals are wrong, or Corey is too weird, even for her.
Corey thinks she should get high first, and she tries that too, but no. Even after his blue pills, when she’s half dreaming on the black leather couch in his dad’s basement, she doesn’t want to kiss him. She doesn’t want to get undressed either. He’s always licking and pawing her. It kind of tickles and it’s embarrassing. Why does he want to? Her body is thin; her breasts are small, not like the ones you see online. She barely likes to look at herself, so why would he? She would rather let him touch her through her clothes and then sleep in all her layers, sweatshirt zipped up to her chin, legs curled under her, not a person, not a girl at all.
She does not want to be his actual girlfriend. She admits it to her mom, and Courtney says, “Then don’t be!” She tells Sam, If you like him it’s one thing, but if you don’t, forget it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
Sam thinks, But what if you aren’t sure? She doesn’t want to be Corey’s girlfriend, but she likes him. She doesn’t want to kiss him, but sometimes she does—and she is always with him. She is in his dad’s basement or at his mom’s place in North Beverly. His mom is working, and his dad is out of town. His dad is a serial entrepreneur, which sounds criminal but no, he’s just starting companies. Corey’s only chore is feeding the fish in his dad’s giant aquarium. Sam does it with him and it’s her favorite thing. All the fish swim up to the surface; they are so excited.
“They have a good life,” Corey says, which makes Sam laugh. She doesn’t even know why she thinks he is so funny. He is so obvious and weird at the same time. He kisses her and she kisses him back, and it’s okay. She almost likes it. When he lifts her shirt, she feels curious—but then he starts rushing, pulling off her clothes.
She says, “Wait, what if your dad comes home?”
He says, “My parents trust me.”
Sam’s mom is a little different. She says, “Let’s be real here.”
She takes Sam to Planned Parenthood to get a prescription for the pill. This is because Sam was a surprise, and Courtney never finished her degree. She started at Dean College, but she dropped out when she had Sam in sophomore year.
“But then you were glad you had me,” Sam reminds her.
“I was glad, but I should have waited.”
Sam points out, “Then it wouldn’t have been me.”
Her mom says, “Can you listen to what I’m saying? You go to college and you get a job and then you can decide everything.”
In the clinic, Sam and her mom sit in the waiting room and Sam tells herself it’s no big deal. It’s like the dentist. When the RN talks to Sam alone, Sam acts very quiet and calm, but then the nurse puts on her stethoscope, and it’s unfair, almost like spying, listening to Sam’s pounding heart.
“Look,” her mom says on the way home. “Better safe than sorry.”
“I don’t even like sex!” Sam blurts out.
Her mom is laughing.
“What?” Sam demands.
“Nothing!”
The most fun Sam has with Corey is outside. In the spring they work at North Beverly Car Wash. In the summer they climb trees.
They climb the oak behind the public library. Sam leads the way and Corey follows. Then they perch up in the leaves and look down at the hot bricks and the people carrying their books below.
There is a tree on Washington Street that’s even better. When you climb high enough, you can see the ocean. Sometimes the water is choppy. Sometimes it’s so smooth you can’t tell where ocean turns into the sky. On sunny days you can see boats, islands, and buoys, but if you climb up on a gray morning, it’s just mist. Then it’s like sailing in a cloud.
Corey asks, “Do you feel like you’re in a ship?”
She is startled. “That’s what I was going to say.”
“Cool.” They are leaning against a big heavy branch. Her feet are braced in the crook of the tree; his feet are braced against hers. “I can read your mind.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I can.”
“Okay, what am I thinking?”
“How you don’t want me to guess.”
That’s true, but she won’t admit it.
“So, you’re annoyed.”
That’s true too, but she says, No, you’re wrong, as she starts climbing down.
“Wait!” He tries to follow, but she’s too fast, and he crashes through some smaller branches.
“Hey, don’t fall.” She is already standing on the sidewalk. The fog is burning off and it’s getting hot. “Just back yourself down. Left foot first.”
“Let’s go swimming,” Corey says, once he makes it to the ground, but she has work.
That summer before tenth grade, Sam works at Family Dollar where she slits boxes and pulls out beach chairs and daydreams about Declan.
She waits all week for practice, and the ride home. They talk about strength training and stretching and debate when you should push yourself harder and when you should let up. Should you try a shortcut that’s more elegant, saving time and energy? How do you decide?
He says, “Climbing is half knowledge and half instinct—and a little bit experience.”
She knows two halves make a whole, so experience doesn’t fit, but she doesn’t want to argue about math. Her instinct is to kiss him. Her instinct is to swim with him. There is no AC and her bare legs burn where they touch the seat. By the time they turn off 128, her shirt is sticking to her body. She is drenched in sweat.
He watches her push her hair off her neck and she half imagines what he does next. Half imagines and half knows this is his finger tracing her neck down to her collarbone down over her breast. She can’t even breathe, but then his touch is gone, and his hands are on the wheel again.
Was that real?
She is shaky when she gets out of the car, because what just happened? She walks to the Garden Center instead of heading home.
On the lot, leaves shimmer in the heat. She follows the sound of running water. “Dad?”
He is spraying potted trees with water.
“What’s wrong?”
She spreads her arms and he hoses her down. Cool water runs in rivulets over her hair, her shirt and shorts, her scorched legs. “Better?”
She nods yes.
He says, “You’re okay, monkey.”
They sit together on a redwood bench. They just sit until customers come, and then after her dad rings up their plants, they sit some more. Her dad can be very quiet. He is so quiet that talking is like thinking aloud. She asks, “Were you ever in love with the wrong person?”
Mitchell looks surprised. “Sam, what’s going on?”
“Nothing!”
“Is no news bad news?”
“Dad, stop!”
No one else comes in. They sit alone there in the sun. “Usually I was the wrong person,” her dad says.