At school Sam’s first class is gym, at 7:50. It’s called conditioning, but all that means is sit-ups, pull-ups, and sprints between orange traffic cones. Sometimes Sam runs; sometimes she is too sleepy.
The teacher is a pregnant lady named Mrs. Keith, who stands and watches everybody. Her last baby was premature, so she waves her hands and blows her whistle, but she can’t actually do anything. On the day they take turns climbing ropes, Sam watches Mrs. Keith’s round astonished face below. She can’t believe how fast Sam climbs to the gym ceiling.
Sam hangs out there, swinging a little.
“Okay, come down now,” Mrs. Keith calls nervously.
Sam pretends that she can’t hear. Down below, the other kids don’t want to climb, so they are happy for Sam to run out the clock.
“Come on down. Safely.”
The rafters are covered with thick dust. Sam writes with her finger. SCHOOL SUCKS. Also, CLEAN ME.
Her class sits on the polished floor like kindergartners, and Sam is nicely balanced, gripping with her hands, clamping with her legs and knees.
“Sam!” Mrs. Keith is starting to freak out a little bit. Sam knows how teachers think. What if something happens? What if there’s an incident? It’s not like Mrs. Keith can climb up after her.
The bell is ringing, and Sam is on the floor in just an instant, jumping the last few feet. Mrs. Keith almost laughs with relief. Everyone is staring.
Too bad her other classes are so hard. English is terrible, especially The Scarlet Letter.
“Just try!” her mom says. Also, “Enjoy school, because real life is so much harder.”
Sam already knows life is hard, but Courtney’s new thing is letting go of anger. She thinks it would be good for Sam to see Mitchell on her birthday. Her mom says, “Seventeen is big.”
Sam points out, “You say that every year.”
“But your dad’s here now. He’s here for it! We could celebrate together.”
Sam just shakes her head, and so she turns seventeen without him.
But even after that, her mom will not give up. She says, “How about in a week—or when you’re ready—you just call him?”
Sam chooses the second option—when she’s ready—which is never.
Her mom says, It’s not good for you. It’s not good to carry so much sadness and so much pain.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m not calling him,” Sam tells her. It’s not like she holds a grudge. It’s self-defense, because the sadness and the pain come from seeing him.
Courtney says, “It’s hard to be so unforgiving.”
Not true. It’s easier. And anyway, Sam does forgive her father. She gets it: He is sick, he can’t help screwing up. She just doesn’t want to watch it happen anymore.
What’s hard is going to school each day and sitting there, then going to the gym and climbing in Toby’s group where Declan can’t even see her.
Sometimes Declan drives her home, sometimes he doesn’t. When he does, she wants to ask him why she’s in the lower group, but she knows what he will say. There is no lower group. He’ll talk like any other teacher.
In December Toby is out of town, so Declan coaches both groups together. He says, “Okay, let’s see what you can do.”
Like you care, Sam thinks, but on the wall, she feels alert and smart and curious. What will I do? What will I try? I’ll show you.
There are three separate bouldering problems set up, and the girls rotate between them. Sam tries the first and solves it fast. She attacks the second, and it’s harder. She has to work at it, but she knows what to do. Wedge yourself in. Leverage yourself, so you’re like one side of a triangle.
“Okay!” Declan compliments her.
But the third problem kills. It’s weirdly tricky, because the holds you think will work don’t work at all. Your route looks right but then you’re stranded, and there’s nowhere to go.
“Think,” Declan says, when she falls. “No,” he tells her when she falls again, and then she has to stop because other girls are waiting, but she can’t give up. She almost sees the answer, but he yells, “Hey! Get down.”
She reaches anyway. She lunges, and she’s swinging by one hand.
He isn’t interested. She is taking time from everybody else. “I said get down!”
She drops to the mat and her face burns.
“Over there.” He points her to the sidelines. The other girls are watching, hushed, as she draws her knees up to her chest. “Which part of that don’t you understand?” he says. “Over. There.”
She will not move.
He takes her by the arm and slides her off. He actually yanks her off the mat, and she thinks, What’s happening?
She glares at him. He just turns his back.
The other girls pretend they are not looking at her, and she pretends she doesn’t see them pretending not to look. They think she is about to cry—because they don’t know her.
She zips up her jacket and pulls her hood up and runs all the way to the bus stop.
Cold cramps her toes inside her shoes. She stamps her feet. She stuffs her gloved hands into her pockets. She could call her mom, but then she would have to talk to her.
She looks far down the road, watching. It’s been an hour, but the bus doesn’t come. A white car pulls up instead. It’s Declan.
Slowly she opens the door and feels a blast of warm air.
They sit there in the car by the side of the road and she knows he feels bad, even though he won’t apologize. He looks at her almost softly. “Are you okay?” He takes her hands and blows on them.
She is afraid he’ll hear her pounding heart. He is so close. The ice inside her melts away. The windows fog over. He unzips her jacket, and she feels him under her shirt, against her skin, inside her pants. His palm, his fingers, the heat radiating from his hands.
She can’t see anything outside. She can’t feel anything but his hand against her. He is pressing, and she is coming to meet him, throbbing harder and harder until she breaks apart like hard candy smashing into the tiniest sweetest pieces.
Again, again, her body pleads, even as he wipes mist from the windows and the world shines in.
He avoids her eyes as he starts driving. He doesn’t speak; he doesn’t look at her. Together they watch the stripy road. White black white. Sun trees sun.