You’ve Reached Sam: A Novel

A few days pass without any bad dreams, but I still wake up with the same empty feeling. Like there’s a hole in my chest. I don’t know what’s wrong or how to explain it. The feeling seems to come whenever I get off the phone with Sam and find myself alone again. It’s like this void inside me that I can’t seem to fill up. I wish I could send Sam a text, or see our call history on the phone, so I can remind myself it’s real. Because sometimes I’m still not sure. Maybe that’s where the hole is coming from.

Whenever this feeling comes, I reach for Sam’s things, because they’re the only things that seem to make sense. His shirt on the back of the chair, the other bookend on my desk, the other things in my drawer—I still have everything. But his smell on them is beginning to fade, and I’m finding it harder to distinguish this bookend from the one I threw out.

I wish I could talk to someone else about this, or even show them his things, so they can tell me I’m not out of my mind. But Sam said it might harm our connection, and I’m scared to risk that—losing him all over again. I can’t stop thinking about it, though. About the chance that nothing bad would happen at all if I tell someone about our calls, but I don’t want to bring this up to Sam again. At least, not right now.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Oliver, telling me to meet him outside in fifteen minutes. A second message from him says, Don’t forget. I cannot be late to Spanish again. I get ready quickly, but when I come outside, he isn’t even here yet. I check my phone. There’s another message from him. Omw. Someone was walking their dog. Had to stop for a pic. He even sends me the photo.

For the past few days, Oliver and I have been walking to school together. His house is a couple blocks from mine, so he usually sends me his estimated time of arrival, which I’m learning is never accurate. We’ve been spending a lot more time together, talking about films and musicals and Sam. I can’t believe it took three years and both of us losing someone we loved to get to this point. We made plans to visit his grave again soon. I’m going to bring flowers next time. White blossoms. Oliver has become a rock during a time when it feels like everything is blowing away from me. It makes me feel guilty about keeping secrets from him, especially knowing how much he loved Sam, too. I wish there was something else I could do for him. It takes me a while, but I finally think of something. A gesture to commemorate our new friendship.

Oliver tugs the straps of his backpack. “Ready to go?”

“One second,” I call from inside the house.

The front door is propped open. Oliver sticks his head in. “We’re gonna be late!”

“That’s because you stopped to take photos with a dog.”

“It was a beagle. His name was Arthur.”

A few seconds later, I’m outside, holding something behind my back.

There’s a pause between us.

Oliver arches a brow. “What do you have there?”

“Something I want to give you.”

“For what?”

“Just because.”

“Give it.”

I hand it over. Oliver blinks at me. “This is … Sam’s shirt…”

“Yes. And I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t fit me. And I figure it’ll look better on you.”

Oliver stares at the shirt for a long time. “I don’t think I can take this,” he says.

“What do you mean? Of course you can.”

He hands it back to me. “No, I can’t.”

I push his hands away. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a shirt.”

“It’s Sam’s shirt.”

“And I’m giving it to you.”

“I’m not taking this—” Oliver tries forcing the shirt back in my hands, but I push it away again. We do this back-and-forth game until I’m annoyed.

I slap his wrist. “Why are you being like this?”

Oliver sighs. “Because Sam obviously wanted you to have it,” he says. “Not me.”

“You don’t know that. So just take it, okay?”

Oliver stares at me, and then back at the shirt. “I don’t get it. Don’t you want to keep it?”

“I have plenty of his things. Don’t worry.”

Oliver runs a hand over the shirt. Then he holds it tight. “Thank you.”

I smile at him. “Just don’t lose it, okay?”

“You know I won’t.”

I slide my backpack on and head down the steps, ready to go. For some reason, Oliver remains on the porch, unmoving.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Not changing your mind, are you?”

“No,” he says, sliding off his letterman’s jacket. “I feel like I should give you something now.” He steps off the porch, and places it over my shoulders.

“You’re giving me your letterman’s jacket?”

“I’m letting you borrow it. Until graduation.”

“I’m honored.”

We begin our walk to school. There’s a slight chill this morning, so the jacket feels nice around me.

“Remind me, Oliver, what sport did you play again?”

“I never played one,” he says. “I bought it off a senior who graduated last year.”

“So it’s all for looks?”

“Precisely.”

“I admire that.”

I nudge him on the shoulder and we both laugh.

Columns of red and white balloons are pillared along the walls, and aluminum stars hang from the ceiling as I enter the hallway. Things are returning to normal at school again. People are wearing bright colored T-shirts, playing music in the bathrooms, and throwing paper balls across the lockers. Any lingering sentiments of Sam’s death have been replaced with school spirit. There used to be a picture of him on the wall by the bulletin board. I don’t know if it fell down, or if someone removed it, but it’s gone now. There’s a stack of student newspapers in each class, and for the first time in weeks, Sam isn’t mentioned. It’s like everyone has moved on from him. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. I see pep rallies, soccer games, and graduation are what’s trending.

My French test goes better than I expected. I spent all night studying for it, so I’m glad it paid off. I surprise myself on the oral portion of the test. According to Madame Lia, I’ve always been a natural at pronunciation. In English, Mr. Gill is out sick for the day (an answered prayer), so our substitute, a squat gray-haired man who squints when someone asks a question, tells us to read Animal Farm silently to ourselves. I work on my essay instead because I left my copy of the book at home. I love the topic I chose. How Octavia E. Butler’s sci-fi novels are better at teaching history because of their emotional appeal to the readers. It’s about the power of storytelling that humans have been primed for since the Stone Age when they carved pictures on cave walls. I draft three pages before the bell rings. I’ve been much more focused this week. I think it’s the crystal. I make sure to carry it with me for peace and luck.

“How did your test go?” Jay asks me at lunch.

“Pretty good, I think. Did you finish your group project?”

“My group has two lacrosse players…” he says, ripping a sandwich in half. “So no.”

“It could be worse.”

“How?”

“Three lacrosse players.”

We laugh as Jay hands me half the sandwich. A second later, Oliver shows up. He places his tray on the table, and squeezes a chair right next to me, forcing Jay to move over.

“Love the earth shirt, Jay,” Oliver says, stealing one of his fries.

Jay is wearing one of the shirts he designed for his environmental club, the one of a sick globe with a thermometer sticking out of its mouth. “Thanks. I made it myself.”

“And how come I never got one?”

“Well, if you actually came to our meetings, you would have.”

“I came to the first one,” Oliver reminds him, then whispers to the rest of us, “and it was a long one.”

Jay gives him a look. “You know I can hear you.”

“What—we didn’t say anything,” Oliver says, then winks at me and the others.

“Enough, guys—” Rachel interrupts them, and rises from her chair. “There’s a club emergency. The form is due tomorrow, and we still need five more signatures.”

“Can’t you just, you know, make them up?” Oliver suggests.

Rachel’s eyes widen with hope. “Will that work?” she whispers.

“No,” I say.

We all glance at each other, trying to think of ideas that won’t get us into trouble.

“Do you really need a school club to host a movie?” Yuki asks. “We can always get together informally.”

“No, but if we get approval, the school gives us a hundred-dollar budget for snacks,” Rachel explains.

Oliver smacks the table. “Then we need these signatures!” he says, and everyone laughs.

“Since you’re popular, Oliver, do you think you can help us?” Rachel asks, handing him the form again.

“On the condition I get final say on what we eat.”

“Deal.”

Oliver holds up his hand. They high-five each other.

“Hey, it’s Mika—” Jay points behind me.

I look up and see her walking this way. She hasn’t made an appearance at lunch in a while. “Mika!” I call her name but she hurries pasts us without looking at me, and disappears through hallway doors.

Yuki frowns. “Is she okay?”

“She doesn’t look too good,” Oliver notes. He turns to me. “Have you spoken to her lately?”

“I’ve tried to … But she keeps avoiding me.”

“Is she mad at you?”

“I guess so.” I look down at my tray, feeling guilty for letting things get this way. “I missed the vigil after I promised her I’d go. I missed a lot of things. So she doesn’t think much of me right now.”

“I ran into her in the restroom yesterday,” Rachel says. “She was crying.”

Oliver leans back in his chair. “That’s rough. I wish there was something we could do.”

“Me, too,” I say.

The table goes quiet for a while. No one really touches their food. Especially me. I can’t seem to eat at all. How can I after promising Sam I’d make sure Mika’s okay? I could have reached out to her more. It’s like I’m failing him. Failing the three of us. After all, it’s my fault she isn’t talking to me. I wish I could just tell her about Sam. Maybe it would fix everything, and we would understand each other again.

After a long silence, Rachel looks up at us. “I have an idea. We should invite her to release the lanterns with us. It might help her, too.”

I look at her. “Lanterns?”

“It’s the idea we came up with,” Yuki says, nodding. “To honor Sam, we’re going to release lanterns for him. They’re called memory lanterns. It lets you whisper something to a person you lost, and the lantern will carry the message to them in the sky.”

“Like little hot-air balloons,” Rachel explains. She uses her hands to cup something invisible. “You put a candle inside and watch them float away.” She raises her hands, as if releasing something.

“It’s a long tradition across different many cultures,” Yuki goes on. “People have been doing it for thousands of years. All over the world, for many kinds of ceremonies. It brings peace and good luck.”

The image of lanterns skimming the air floats across my mind. “It sounds beautiful…” I say.

Rachel leans forward. “That means you like our idea?”

I can’t help smiling. “It’s perfect.”

She claps her hands together. “I’m so excited. I’ve seen it in movies. And I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“There is one problem,” Yuki says, sharing a look with Jay. “We are having some trouble finding a place to release them. It has to be away from town, somewhere like an open field.”

I think about this. “I know a place. A field, I mean. I can bring us there.”

“Perfect!” Rachel says.

Smiles are exchanged around the table as we continue our conversation about the lanterns. A few days ago, I wasn’t sure if anything would ever come to fruition. But listening to everyone sharing ideas to make this happen brings me a sense of joy. I realize this isn’t about me anymore. Especially if Mika and Oliver are there, too. This is something beautiful for us to share together. And it will all be for Sam.

At the end of lunch, before we all pack up to go, I say one last thing to the table. “Thanks again for all of this. I think Sam would truly love your idea if he was here.”

Yuki touches my shoulder. “We’ll let you know when we have it ready. It’s going to be something special. We promise.”

The school day goes by quickly. Oliver and I are supposed to walk home together, but he texted me last period, saying he has to stay after class to discuss his grade. I left his jacket in my locker, so I go to grab it along with some books. The hallway is packed as I’m heading out. I bump into someone’s trombone case and drop my things. As I bend down to pick them up, someone murmurs something.

“Nice jacket.”

I look up to find the voice.

Taylor stares down at me as I gather the rest of my things and straighten up. A group of her friends stand beside her, watching. “Is that Oliver’s?” she asks.

Of course it is. She knows this. What does she expect me to say? “He’s just letting me borrow it.”

“When did you two become so close?”

“What do you mean? We’ve always been friends.”

She gives me a look. “You know that isn’t true. Oliver doesn’t even like you. We used to talk about you behind your back. He didn’t mention that?”

I clench the jacket tight, unsure of how to respond to this. I should walk away. Who cares what Oliver used to say? Things are different now. Why does she want to ruin it? “Why are you telling me this?”

Out of nowhere, Taylor rips the jacket from my hands. “You think we all just forgot what you did? Just because Oliver’s being friendly to you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” I shout, my cheeks burning. I reach for the jacket. “Give me that back—”

Taylor throws out her arm, almost hitting me. “What’s wrong with us?” she says back. “We’re not the ones who moved here to ruin everyone’s life.”

“What are you talking about?”

Taylor’s eyes narrow at me. Her voice sharpens. “Don’t play stupid, Julie. It’s your fault he’s dead.”

A chill goes through me as people around us stop to listen. I knew she would confront me with this one day. But I didn’t expect it to be in front of everyone at school. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don’t you blame me for that. You don’t—”

“Don’t you pin this on anyone else,” Taylor cuts me off. She presses her finger to my collarbone, forcing me to step back. “You made him drive an hour away to pick you up. Sam was only trying to spend time with his friends. It was the first night all of us were together since you came here. But you wouldn’t even let him have that. We were all there, Julie. You made him leave and ruined everything.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “He was the one texting me. I told him he didn’t have to go. I said I would walk home.”

Taylor shoves another finger at my chest. “You’re such a liar. I was talking to him before he left. He told me everything you were saying. And you guilted him into leaving. And that killed him. Because of you.”

My stomach hardens. “You’re wrong. You don’t know the whole conversation. Sam wouldn’t—”

“You don’t know what Sam thinks,” Taylor cuts me off again.

“And you don’t know what happened. You didn’t read our texts.”

“Then show me them.”

“I can’t…”

“Why not?”

“Because I deleted them.”

“That’s what I thought.”

This is the last conversation I want to have. I want to run away, but too many people have stopped to listen, so I have to defuse this before it turns into something worse. I take a deep breath and force myself to say something. “Even if I made him go, it wasn’t me who was driving the truck. It wasn’t me who swerved into his car. How can you seriously blame me for that? I’m about as responsible for his death as whoever planned the bonfire, which was you.”

Taylor presses another finger into my chest, even harder this time. “So you’re trying to blame this on me now?”

I clench my fists. “I’m not blaming anyone. It’s you who’s blaming me.”

“If this isn’t your fault, why didn’t you show up to his funeral?” Taylor asks me. “Was it because you felt guilty or you just didn’t give a shit?”

It’s like the wind gets knocked out of me. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. But suddenly I don’t need to. Because Mika appears from nowhere, stepping in front of me.

“This is none of your business,” Mika says to Taylor. “She doesn’t have to explain anything to you.”

“Why don’t you—” Taylor starts.

But Mika doesn’t let her finish that sentence.

I hear the slap across Taylor’s face before the scene processes. The hallway echoes with a collective gasp and then falls silent again. I cover my mouth, unsure of what’s about to play out. Only a few people know about Mika’s self-defense classes, or the story about her fight at the bar in Spokane. When Taylor tries to strike back, I know she isn’t one of them. Mika swiftly smacks away her arm and throws Taylor against the locker! A crowd swarms around them, some pulling out their phones. Suddenly Liam breaks through the crowd. He grabs Mika by the back of the shirt like he’s about to fling her across the room.

“Hey—” Liam shouts.

But Mika elbows him right in the gut, and he falls to the floor, wheezing.

The crowd erupts. The noise attracts more people into the hall, including a few teachers who arrive to break up the fight. One of them, Mr. Lang from biology, brings two fingers to his lips and blows them like a whistle. Everyone glances around before the crowd quickly disperses.

Someone touches my arm.

“Julie—we should go.”

Yuki appears at my side, beckoning me to follow the crowd outside.

“What about Mika?” I say, searching through the crowd for her. There she is with Mr. Lang. He has one hand on her shoulder, and the other clenching Liam’s arm.

“I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do,” Yuki says. And as much as I want to do something, I know she’s right.

I’ve been waiting outside school for more than an hour. Yuki stayed with me for a while, but they were taking so long in there, I told her she should go home without me. I think Mr. Lang took everyone into his office. What’s going on in there? I hope Mika isn’t in too much trouble.

A half hour later, Mika finally comes out the front doors. She holds an ice pack over her left eye.

“Mika—are you okay?” I reach out to inspect it, but Mika turns the other way.

“It’s nothing,” she says.

“What happened in there?”

“I’m suspended.”

“That’s terrible. This is all my fault. Let me go in and tell Mr. Lang—”

“Just forget it. I have to go—” she says abruptly, then hurries off, leaving me standing there.

“Mika! Wait!” I call after her a few times, but she doesn’t look back.

I almost run after her. But something inside me says she wants to be left alone. At least, for now. So I just stand there, watching her disappear down the block. I wish she would let me help her, after everything she’s done for me. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to get through to her. I stare down at the pavement, wondering how I’m going to fix this …

When I get home, I call Sam right away and tell him everything. I tell him about Oliver, his jacket, and the things Taylor said. Then I tell him about Mika and the fight that broke out between them.

“She won’t talk to me,” I say. “I’m don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried texting her?” Sam asks.

I check my phone again. “I asked her if she made it home earlier. But she never responded. I feel terrible.”

“Taylor should feel terrible,” Sam says, a strain in his voice. “I can’t believe she said those things to you. I’m sorry, Julie. I wish I was there. I wish I could do something about all this.”

“I wish you were here, too.”

He lets out a long breath. “It feels like this is all my fault.”

“Sam—you can’t blame yourself for any of this.”

“But it’s hard not to,” he says, sounding frustrated. “Mika wouldn’t be feeling this way, and getting into fights, and no one would be saying those things about you if I hadn’t … If only…” His voice trails off.

“Stop it,” I say. “That isn’t your fault, Sam. None of this is. And I don’t care what people say about me, okay?”

A long silence.

“I feel so useless, though. Not being able to do anything,” he says. “Not even for Mika. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I lost her, you know? At least you can talk to her, though. Maybe you can go over there, see her in person.”

“I don’t know if she would even listen,” I say.

“You think you could you try again?”

“You know I want to,” I say. “But every time we talk, I always have to hide something from her, and I think she can sense it.… It’s like this wall between us now.”

“So what are you thinking?”

I hesitate to answer this. I’m afraid of what he’ll say. “I want to tell her about you. I think it would fix things between us. I think she’d understand.”

Sam goes quiet.

“Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“I don’t know, Jules,” he says. “I don’t want something bad to happen to our connection.”

“But you said there’s also a chance nothing will happen,” I remind him.

“I mean, maybe nothing will. It’s still a big risk, you know?”

“So you’re saying this is a bad idea?”

Sam goes quiet again, considering this. “I’ll let this be your call.”

I stare out the window, wondering what to do. “I wish you gave me clearer answers sometimes.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I had them.”