Every Last Word (22 page)

I try not to think about how much practice he had with Devon. I try not to think about the girls he kissed before Devon, or the ones before that. I employ Caroline’s baseball trick,
mentally swinging my bat, sending the negative thoughts flying into the distance. It works. Soon they’re gone and there’s nothing left but AJ and me, mouths and skin and water
and…I don’t want it to end. It feels so amazing to let go and lose myself this way.

He spots the ladder and slides me toward it, lifting me onto the top rung. I take his face in my hands and wrap my legs around his waist to keep him from drowning, and we go right back to
kissing again.

Each time one of us makes a move to leave, the other one plants a kiss somewhere—AJ on my back as I’m climbing the ladder, me on AJ’s neck just as he’s starting to pull
himself out of the water—and each time we slide back in, picking up where we left off. When we finally agree to get out, we make a deal and shake on it.

When we’re back near the locker rooms, I step into the outdoor shower.

“You coming in?” I ask him. I’m used to rinsing off next to my teammates out here, but this feels different. I stop at a showerhead and flip it on, and he finds one farther in
the back on the opposite wall.

I wash the chlorine out of my hair, stealing glances at him as I do. AJ doesn’t have a swimmer’s body; his arms and back aren’t as muscular, but he’s definitely not
skinny like I once thought he was. He’s balanced, solid and strong all over.

He catches me watching him. He cuts the water and I do the same. I grab my towel and wrap it around his shoulders, and then I ball the ends up in my hands and pull him in close, like I once
imagined Brandon doing to me. We kiss again for a long time. Then he wraps the towel around me. “I’ll meet you back out here,” I say as I head for the locker room.

I get dressed in the post-swim clothes I packed—yoga pants and a fitted sweater, a big step up from the baggy sweats and my faded hoodie I usually throw on when I get out of the
pool—and I dig through my bag until I find my makeup kit. I carry it over to the mirror, but it seems weird to put any of it on. He’s already seen me without it for the last hour.
What’s the point?

I gather my things and head for the bathroom door. AJ’s hair is still damp, but he’s dressed in the clothes he wore here. We walk through the gates and out to my car. He shivers and
I crank up the heat.

“Music?” he asks, reaching for my phone. I remind him of my password and he makes his selection so quickly, it’s as if he went straight to
Song for You
and pressed play.
He tosses my phone in the console and falls back into the headrest.

The first track is an acoustic version of “Your Body Is a Wonderland,” and he recognizes it right away. I can tell because his eyes fall shut and he starts plucking at invisible
strings.

“Where else do you play guitar?” I ask. “Are you in a band or anything?”

“Nope. I’ve never played anywhere but downstairs.”

“Really,” I ask. “Never?”

He opens his eyes and gives me an awkward grin. “Nah. I like playing downstairs. Small group. Extremely kind. Very forgiving.”

“You’re afraid?” On stage, he’s like a performer completely in his element, playing to the crowd, pointing and winking to cheese it up during his funnier songs. He loves
being up there. You can tell.

“I can’t imagine playing for total strangers. It’s not my thing anyway. I love writing songs, plucking at strings, trying to figure out how the words and the notes work
together.”

We’re both quiet, lost in our own thoughts, and neither one of us says another word until I’m at the bottom of his steep driveway. The odometer is on nine, so I tell him I want to
hear the rest of this song and drive around the block one time. Then I pretend to miss his driveway. When the digits are lined up correctly, I pull up to his garage door and put the car in
park.

His head falls to one side. “Can I ask you something?” I brace myself for a question about my tendency to overshoot driveways.

“Of course,” I say.

“When did you start making this playlist?”

Crap. He knows these songs are for him. Or does he? I start to say something flip, like “Oh, this old thing? Years ago,” but that doesn’t seem right. Besides, Caroline told me
to let my guard down tonight, and when I did, things turned out pretty well.

“After I heard you play the first time.”

“Really?”

I feel my face flush. I hope it’s too dark out here for him to tell.

“Remember when you came to my house that day?” he asks.

How could I forget?

“After you left, I wrote something for you.”

“Really?” I’m relieved to learn that he’s been thinking about me, too, and that what happened tonight wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing for him either. “Can I
hear it?” I ask, watching his mouth while I wait for him to reply. I can’t help myself.

His lips look so soft when he says, “Maybe.”

But inside, I can feel myself starting to panic. I didn’t plan any of this. Tonight has been amazing. Now it’s over, and I don’t know what comes next.

What happens tomorrow?

He twists in his seat and kisses me, and I try to focus on how incredible this feels, but my heart’s racing fast and not in the good way it was back at the pool. The thought spiral starts
to take control, and I try to ignore it, but it won’t let me.

He must be able to tell I’m not fully present, because he pulls away slightly and whispers, “What’s the matter?”

Talk to him.

I bite the inside of my lower lip three times. Then I take a deep breath. “What happens tomorrow?”

His hands are warm on the back of my neck. “What do you want to happen tomorrow?”

I want to be alone with you again. Exactly like this.

“I don’t know. Tonight has been so…unexpected. Perfect. But unexpected.”

“And you don’t want to tell your friends about me?”

They wouldn’t understand.

“It’s not that…I just…I’m not sure I’m ready to share…whatever this is…”

“‘Whatever this is’?” he says, laughing under his breath. He pulls me toward him. “Do you want this?” he asks in his candid way. “Whatever it
is?”

So much.

“Yeah.”

“So do I.” He kisses me slowly, softly, and I slip right back into him, wishing I could slow down time and savor this moment a little bit longer.

“Then let’s keep it to ourselves for a little while,” he says. “Until we figure it out.”

It’s like the knot in my chest is unraveling, and now it’s a lot easier to breathe. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Besides,” he says, “it might be kind of fun to have a secret.”

Can I handle another secret? I’m already keeping Caroline from the Crazy Eights, my OCD from everyone but Caroline, and Poet’s Corner from Shrink-Sue.

Sue.

I can’t keep him a secret from Sue. I’m going to have to tell her about AJ and me, and what happened at the pool tonight. But she’d see this as healthy, right? I slip my
fingers under the hem of his T-shirt and touch his skin. He sure doesn’t feel unhealthy.

The song changes to one of my favorites, Led Zeppelin’s classic “Bron-Yr-Aur,” and AJ lets out a sigh as he turns up the volume. “Wow. You know this?” His fingers
brush against my waist and he hums along with the tune. “I haven’t thought about this song in ages. I’ll have to learn to play it for you.”

I’m not in any hurry to see his ex-girlfriend-filled bedroom, but I am eager to hear him again. I’d cross the room and kiss him while he played, for real this time.

He grabs his swimsuit from the backseat. “Thanks for showing me where you write.”

“Thanks for not laughing at my poem.”

“I’d never laugh at you,” he says. “Well, not unless you said something funny.” He kisses me. And then he opens the door and steps out of the car. “Good
night, Sam.”

“Good night, AJ.”

He gives me a wave before he disappears inside the house, and I sit there for a moment, collecting myself. Then I reach for my phone, set “Bron-Yr-Aur” on repeat, and listen to it
all the way home, imagining him sitting on his bed, playing for me.

I
’m scanning the corridors for AJ while trying not to look like I’m scanning the corridors for anyone. I’m also trying to
keep a straight face, but when I think about what happened at the pool last night, I just…can’t.

AJ’s lips were as soft as I thought they’d be, and they were so warm, so wet from the water, and the way his hands moved so fluidly over my body…No one has ever touched me like
that before…and I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day. And he likes me. Too much. How am I supposed to keep him a secret? I swear if I turn this corner and see him standing
at my locker, I’m going to press my whole body against his and kiss him hard before he even knows what’s happening.

I turn the corner and my stomach drops instead. He’s not there, but the Eights are, each one demonstrating her dissatisfaction in her own unique way: a hip popped to one side, a head
cocked knowingly, an eyebrow raised. Hailey’s posture is less confrontational, but the nervous look on her face makes me question if she knows which side she’s on.

“Hey. What’s up?” My voice cracks.

“We need to talk to you.” As soon as the words leave Alexis’s mouth, the adrenaline kicks in. My armpits already feel sweaty, and my fingers are tingling. As usual, she has
taken the role of group representative. The one who will “start the conversation.”

“Where have you been?” she asks.

I look around me. “Home. The parking lot. What are you talking about?”

“Not today.” It comes out in a huff, and she doesn’t add the word “idiot” but she says it with her eyes. She rests her hands on her hips and takes a deep breath.
“Samantha, we need to talk to you about the way you’ve been lying to us.”

I start to interject, but she puts her finger to her lips.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, please. You’ve been lying to us. We just want to know why, because we”—she waves her hands around, indicating the rest of
the group—“are your best friends. At least, we thought we were.”

This might be a new record. We’re barely twenty-four hours away from “Itty-bitty-titty-gate” and it’s already a distant memory. They’ve found a reason to move on.
To me.

My hands are shaking, my pulse is racing, and a big part of me wants to take off running right now, bound for the theater or some other dark location where I can sit and breathe and think and
prepare for this. I’m no good in an ambush.

Alexis looks over at Kaitlyn. This is the point at which they’ve agreed to pass the baton to the next person. It’s the biggest job, the one with all the heavy lifting. “You
told us you were going to start swimming during lunch, but we know you haven’t been.”

“Your hair is never wet when you get to fifth period,” Olivia interjects.

“I wear a cap,” I say under my breath.

“We’ve tried to find you at the pool,” Hailey adds. “You haven’t been there.”

I look at her. This would have been good information to know yesterday. I have a feeling she knew this was coming, and I feel even more betrayed.

I stuck up for her.

“So you’ve been spying on me?” I ask them.

“No,” Kaitlyn says plainly.

“Yes,” I say.

Alexis steps forward. “Fine. We were spying on you, but you lied to us and that’s so much worse.” Her voice pierces the air. Everyone within earshot has stopped collecting
their books from their respective lockers and they’re all frozen in place, watching the drama unfold, waiting to see what’s going to happen next.

Over Olivia’s shoulder, I spot Caroline, watching the scene from behind her locker door, and I can read the expression on her face: she’s worried I’ll tell them about
Poet’s Corner.

I give her the slightest nod and hope she knows what it means: I have this under control.

“Friends don’t lie to each other, Samantha,” Kaitlyn says. “Not
ever
.”

No. Never.

Not even when they don’t like the outfit you’re wearing or your new haircut or the new song you like or the guy you think is cute. My friends—especially
Kaitlyn—don’t lie to each other, not ever, even when it’s a kindness designed to spare someone’s feelings.

“We’re giving you a chance to come clean,” Olivia says. “Where have you been going during lunch?”

I start to panic, but instead, I think about my conversation with Shrink-Sue last week, when I told her I care a lot less about what my friends think of me these days. I try to reconnect with
the part of me that said and truly meant those words. I blow out a breath and lift my shoulders, standing a little taller.

“Honestly?” I say, and they all unconsciously lean in, step forward, move closer toward me. “It’s personal.”

“Personal?” Alexis asks. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means it’s none of your business, Alexis.”

My voice is clear, my words direct, and my hands are already shaking less. Their eyes say everything they’re feeling: confused, shocked, humbled, hurt.

This sucks. And it feels good at the same time.