You’ve Reached Sam: A Novel

There is this song I listen to whenever I sit down to write. It’s called “Fields of Gold,” the beautiful live version by the singer Eva Cassidy. The song opens with a distant guitar and a sad voice that sounds like a wolf whimpering or a songbird crying. Every time it plays, I close my eyes and see myself there, standing in a field of golden barley, a cool breeze blowing my hair, and the warm sun setting against my back. No one is ever with me, only the endless rolling fields and the sound of a guitar coming from somewhere I can’t see.

Sam learned to play the song for me after he tapped my shoulder in class and asked what I was listening to. I remember one day while we were lying out on the grass, I asked him to sing it for me, even though I knew he was sometimes embarrassed of his voice, and he said “Someday.” I’ve asked him many times after, and he always had an excuse, like he hadn’t warmed up yet, or he was feeling a bit hoarse, or he needed some more practice. Maybe he was afraid he would ruin the song for me, because he knew how much I loved it. He’s only hummed it to me on a few rare occasions, like the night he sat with me on the porch after I helped my father move his things out of the house and watched him drive away.

As I listen to the song alone in my room, I suddenly realize I will never hear Sam sing it for me, and that “Someday” never came.

The next morning is filled with Sam’s music. I find one of his old CDs in my mom’s car and sit alone in the parking lot, listening to it before school. It’s a playlist Sam made me of live recordings he mixed in his bedroom, each song tugging me with beautiful acoustic guitar riffs he played over popular ballads that he made his own. He has an old taste in music he gets from his dad. Elton John, Air Supply, Hall & Oates. Even though no one really listens to CDs anymore, Sam always made them for me anyway, because he knows I prefer physical copies over digital counterparts. Just like with books, I like something real to hold in my hands. Sam recorded dozens of them over the years, each one longer and more thoughtful than the last, personalized to how he felt about me at the time—something I learned later. He loved a good slow song, something we had in common. One of his favorites was Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.” It was one of his go-tos when someone asked him to play something on the guitar. The music scene in Ellensburg isn’t the best, but he made the most of it. He performed at school talent shows, weddings, in a few coffee shops that allowed him to, and a hundred times only for us. I always told him this place wasn’t big enough for him. He told me the same thing.

I realize this is the only CD I have left from him after I threw everything out. On the front, written in blue ink, is my name in his handwriting. Before I get out of the car, I put the CD carefully back in its sleeve and keep it inside my bag.

School hasn’t changed since I returned. Heads turn the other way and no one says a word to me. I really don’t mind being ignored anymore. There’s some peace in being left alone. I was looking forward to art history class today, because it’s the only class Mika and I have together. But she didn’t show up again. I haven’t seen her in a while. I finally texted her this morning but she hasn’t responded yet. I’m not sure if I should be worried. I hope everything’s okay. Maybe she’s not getting my texts?

I find Jay waiting for me when I get out of third period. He’s wearing a sky-blue dress shirt, casually unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up. He styled his hair differently today, letting soft wisps fall above his brows, making him look like a pop star. It’s almost criminal how this school doesn’t appreciate his style. When I compliment him on it, he smiles, bringing out his cheekbones.

“Remind me, did you model back home in Thailand?” I ask.

Jay angles his face toward the ceiling light, eyes smoldering. “Is it obvious?”

“Your cheekbones.”

We planned to meet Yuki outside for lunch today. Rachel won’t be joining us. She’s been trying to help start an Asian Student Club with some friends, and they need twenty-five signatures by next week. Jay told me they’re having a tough time getting people to join.

There’s a table set up at the end of the hallway. Rachel is sitting with her friend Konomi, talking with a few seniors who have crowded around them. When I notice Taylor and Liam are there, my skin prickles.

Liam picks up one of the flyers. “So none of us can sign up? Says here Asian students only.”

“It doesn’t say that,” Rachel says.

Taylor tilts her head a little, pretending to look interested. “So what are the requirements?”

“We don’t have requirements,” Rachel answers. “Anyone can join.”

“Then why call it the Asian Student Club?” Taylor says, pointing at the table sign. “That doesn’t sound very inclusive. What do you guys even do?”

“Probably wasting school money to watch anime.” Liam laughs.

My cheeks burn. Sam would speak up if he was around. But he isn’t anymore. Would he want me to say something? Stand up for Rachel? As I stand there, wondering what to do, Jay walks right up to the table.

“What’s the problem?”

Liam shoots him a look. “Who said we had a problem?”

“If you’re not interested in the club, you don’t have to join,” Jay says. “No need to make fun of it.”

Taylor folds her arms. “Ever heard of a joke?”

“No one was even talking to you,” Liam says. He straightens himself, as if to intimidate Jay into backing up. But Jay just stands there, keeping his cool. Before this can escalate further, I finally appear between them, hoping to defuse this.

“You know, your jokes aren’t that funny,” I say to Liam. “Why don’t you guys leave them alone? Stop wasting everyone’s time.”

Liam exchanges a look with Taylor before he turns back to me. “Are we bothering your friends? The only ones at school who talk to you? At least they speak English, so that’s something.”

“You’re an asshole,” I nearly shout.

His eyes narrow at me. “At least I showed up to my friend’s funeral. Then again, I didn’t have anything to do with his death.”

A chill goes through me. I don’t even know what to say back. I just stand there, trying not to let the shock show on my face. Taylor shakes her head before turning away. Before they walk off, Liam grabs a handful of candy from a bowl on the table and stuffs it in his pocket.

“Later.”

Once they’re down the hall I let out a heavy breath and turn to the table.

“You alright, Rachel?” I ask.

“No worries.” Rachel smiles as if nothing’s really wrong, as if what they said didn’t bother her. It’s a smile I’ll never be able to understand. “What about you?” she asks me back. “Are you alright?”

I don’t have an answer for her. I take the signup sheet and write my name down.

The day doesn’t get better. I can’t seem to pay attention in any of my classes. Every time I stare at the clock, I think it stops, making the day feel longer. I scribble on notebook paper and stare out the window to get time moving again but it doesn’t work. Nobody takes the seat beside me. I pretend not to notice. My teachers drone on, and I don’t hear a word they’re saying. All I can think about is Sam. I wish I could talk to him right now. But we made plans not to call until later tonight, so I’ll have to wait. As I’m sitting in the back of English class, something occurs to me. I wonder why I haven’t thought of it before. I take my phone out and send him a text, telling him I miss him.

The message fails.

I try to send another one, which also can’t be delivered. That’s strange. I’ll have to ask him about this later.

The bell rings, relieving me from a long lecture on Oliver Twist. As the class begins packing up, Mr. Gill, our English teacher, says something that makes my body jolt.

“… and remember, if you haven’t already—make sure you hand in your papers to me before you leave.”

Papers? A cold douse of shock pours over me as I remember the comparative assignment between Hamlet and Gatsby that I haven’t thought about in weeks. It was due last Wednesday, but Mr. Gill gave the class extra time to get it done because of what happened. Because of Sam. He sent us several email reminders about it, yet somehow I still forgot. To Mr. Gill, turning in late work is an offensive crime that could lead to failing the class.

As everybody files out, I don’t know what to do but approach his desk, even though I have no words prepared. So I cut out the small talk and jump to the point.

“Mr. Gill, I’m so sorry, I actually don’t have the paper right now,” I say.

“And why is that?”

“I don’t really have an excuse. I’ve just been distracted with everything.”

He picks up the stack of papers and evens it out on the desk in front of me. “You’re right. That isn’t an excuse.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m behind on a lot of things.” I don’t know what else to say. “Is it possible for me to give it to you tomorrow or something?”

“Julie, I already gave you extra time on this.” Mr. Gill rises from his seat, carrying the stack of papers.

“I know … I’ve been having a real tough couple of weeks,” I say, following him around the desk. “I haven’t really been able to think straight.”

“And I understand. Which is why I gave everybody an extension,” he repeats as if that’s enough, as if I should be grateful or something. “I can’t simply give you an extra day, because that would be unfair to the rest of the class.”

“Please, Mr. Gill…” I say more desperately. “Can’t I just turn it in late and get marked down?”

“I’m sorry, Julie. I can’t accept a late paper. It’s in the syllabus.”

“But why not? Why can’t you mark me down or something?” We only have four papers for the semester. One zero could bring me close to failing, and I won’t be able to graduate. And if I can’t graduate, then I won’t be able to leave this stupid town and move to Portland to go to Reed College and get into their writing program, even though I haven’t heard back from them yet.

“Because I’m preparing you for the real world.” Mr. Gill points vaguely out the window. “And out there, life doesn’t give you extensions. Even during the hardest times. So let this be a valuable lesson for you. You’ll thank me later.”

He puts a hand up to end our conversation. This isn’t the first time he’s said something like this. He truly believes he’s doing me a great favor by being strict. But this isn’t the real world, I want to tell him. It’s high school. And as much as I don’t want to care about it, failing this stupid class might affect the rest of my life.

I don’t say anything else because there’s no point. I storm out of his class before I say something I’ll regret. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe he’s right. I should prepare myself for a world where nobody is on your side or willing to help you out even when it costs them nothing at all.

I need to go home and talk to Sam. He’ll understand me. I rush to my locker to grab a few things before I head out. But there’s someone waiting in front of it.

“Oh—Mika.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me. Her face is pale and there are dark rings under her eyes. I wonder if she’s sick.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I haven’t seen you around. I texted you a few times.”

“I’ve been at home.”

Her hair is a bit of a mess. I move some of it out of her face. I whisper, “You seem tired.”

“I get it, I look terrible,” she says, leaning back against the lockers.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’ve had a lot of stuff to deal with.” She looks around us. “And I don’t like being back here.”

“You mean, at school?”

She lowers her gaze.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Mika looks at me. “There’s a vigil tonight. It would be nice if you came, too.”

“There’s another one?”

“It’s a candlelight vigil,” she says. “The school asked my family to put it together. Everyone is supposed to meet in town later tonight. I could really use some help.”

Sam and I have another call planned tonight. I don’t want to keep him waiting on me, wondering where I am. But I can’t tell Mika this. What should I say to her? “I don’t know if I can yet…”

Mika gives me a look. “So you’re gonna miss this one, too?”

“Mika—” I start.

“I don’t know why I asked,” she says, picking her bag up from the floor. “I knew you wouldn’t go. I’ll see you later.”

A pang of guilt stabs me as I stand there, unsure of what to say. If only she knew my reasons. I can’t leave things like this between us. As Mika walks off, I grab her arm.

“I’ll come! I’ll come to the vigil.”

“You don’t have to,” she says, taking her arm back.

“I want to. I mean it. I want to be there this time.”

Mika studies my face, reading me like she always does. “It’s at eight o’clock, if you want to meet at my house. We can go together.”

I’m supposed to call Sam around that time. But I’m sure I can call him right after. He’ll understand. I don’t want to disappoint Mika again. I hate seeing her this way.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

“Tonight,” she says to make sure.

“Tonight.”

I throw my bag on the floor the second I get home. The house is quiet—my mother must still be at work. As I open the door to my room, a breeze blows through the window, sending papers flying off my desk. I hurry over to shut it, but the frame is stuck again. I give it a few good hits but it doesn’t budge, so I leave it alone. I don’t even bother to pick up the papers. I just walk around them, leaving them where they are. I was planning to write in my new journal once I got home, work on my writing sample, but I’ve lost the motivation. Today was draining. There’s an ache in my left temple that’s hard to ignore. I keep thinking about Liam and Taylor and Mr. Gill and that stupid paper I forgot to turn in.

I wish I could talk to Sam right now. I miss having him around. I miss being in the same room with him, my head on his chest, talking through whatever was bothering me. He was always there to listen. Even when he didn’t know what to say back. I check my phone. Our next call isn’t until later tonight. I know I should wait, but I’ve had such a terrible day, and am so desperate to hear from him. His shirt still hangs on the back of the chair. I stare at it for a long time before I decide to take the chance and call him anyway.

The phone rings longer than usual. But eventually he answers. His voice is warm in my ear. “Hey…”

“Sam.”

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon,” he says. “Is everything’s alright?”

“I couldn’t wait to call you,” I say. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. You can always call me, Jules. Whenever you need.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay. That’s good to know.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You sound a bit tense.” He could always read my voice. It was one of the things I loved most about him. I could never hide what I was feeling.

“I had a rough day. That’s all.”

“What happened?”

“Just some school stuff,” I say, sparing him the details. “It’s nothing really.” I sit on the edge of the bed and let out a deep breath to release some tension. Now that I have Sam on the line, I don’t want to ruin our call with talks of an English paper I forgot to turn in. “We don’t have to talk about it…”

Sam laughs a little. “Is this the real Julie?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you once complained to me for four hours about an overdue library book, remember?” he says. “You can tell me anything. Pretend it’s just like before. Let me know what’s wrong.”

I sigh. “I’m just behind on everything. And I forgot to turn in a paper.”

“For Mr. Gill’s class?”

“Yes, but it’s not that big of a deal,” I say. “We have one more coming up, and if I get a good score on that, I should be okay.” I glance up at the calendar that’s pinned above my desk. “And graduation isn’t too far away. I just have to push through a little longer, you know? I’ll be fine.” For the first time, I want Sam to know I’ll be okay. Even if I’m not so sure.

“Graduation…” Sam repeats the word, almost to himself. “I forget about that for a second. Must be really nice to have something to look forward to…”

My throat thickens at this. I’m not sure what to say back. “I guess so…” I say. Suddenly the image of me walking in a cap and gown doesn’t seem appealing anymore. Especially if Sam won’t be there. Maybe I should skip it altogether …

“Have you figured out what your plan is? After graduation, I mean.”

“Uh—” I go quiet, unsure of how to answer him. Because Sam and I used to stay up all night, thinking about this. Mapping out a future together. Where we would live, the jobs we wished for, things we wanted to do. Now he’s gone and I’m left with a bunch of plans that have been ripped in half. “I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring it out.”

“You haven’t heard from Reed yet?” Sam asks.

“No … not yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll get in. Things will work out.”

“I hope so.”

Truth is I should have heard back by now. I’ve been checking the mail every morning for a letter from them. Reed is a realistic choice for me, given my grades. Honestly, I’m tired of reading books where the protagonists only apply to Ivy League colleges, and somehow always get in. I don’t quite have the résumé for that. I like Reed’s quieter reputation that goes under the radar.

But I don’t feel like talking about the future right now. Not like this. Not when Sam doesn’t have a future of his own to plan out. So I change the subject. “I saw Mika today at school,” I say. “They’re holding a candlelight vigil for you tonight. She asked me to go with her. I think a lot of people will be there.”

“Mika…” Sam’s voice brightens at her name. “How is she?”

“She’s been better. She really misses you.”

“I really miss her, too,” Sam says. “I think about her a lot. Sometimes, I wish I could talk to her, you know?”

I move the phone to the other ear. “Why don’t you? That would mean so much to her.” Sam and Mika grew up in the same house together. You would guess they were siblings from how close they were.

Sam lets out a sigh. “If I could, I would, Jules.”

From the open window, the sound of a car coming up the driveway lets me know my mother’s home. I go to make sure my door’s locked in case she tries to come in, which she does occasionally.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam asks after some silence.

“Of course. Anything.”

“Since I’m not there anymore, can you look out for Mika for me? Make sure she’s okay and everything, I mean.”

“Of course I will, Sam.” I feel a pang of guilt that he needed to ask me this. I make a mental note to reach out to her as soon as we end the call. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Sam says. “I’m sure she could use a friend right now. Even if she won’t say it. So please don’t forget, okay?”

“I won’t forget. So don’t worry.”

“I know you won’t. Because you always remember. And that means a lot to me.” We don’t say much more about this. The conversation continues for a little longer until my mother comes up the stairs, calling me to help bring in groceries. “Anyway, I should probably let you go now,” Sam says. “I’m sure you have a lot of work to catch up on. Don’t want to distract you from the world.”

“You’ve never been a distraction.”

Sam laughs. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Wait…” I say before he hangs up. “One last thing.” There’s something I’ve been afraid to bring up. It’s been burning in the back of my mind since I returned to school. But I don’t even know how to ask him this. It takes a while for the words to come out.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

I hesitate. “Are you … mad at me?”

“Mad about what?”

“About what happened that night.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Julie…”

I swallow hard, wondering how to say this. “I mean, what I’m asking is … do you blame me for it? Do you blame me for what happened to you?”

A long silence.

“Oh…” Sam’s voice deepens, finally understanding. “Julie—why would you even ask me that? Of course I don’t blame you. I could never blame you for what happened,” he says. “None of it’s your fault, alright? But…” He stops there.

“But what?”

Sam takes some time to answer. “To be honest, I don’t know what else to say … I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question. I don’t really wanna blame anyone. Because it won’t change anything, you know? Nothing can change what happened. It’s hard enough to accept that…” For the first time, there’s pain in his voice, like something sharp is caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—” I start.

“It’s okay, Jules. Really,” he says to ease me. “Where did the question come from anyway? I hope that’s not what you’ve been thinking.”

“I didn’t at first. But I’ve heard some people talking at school.”

Sam’s voice sharpens. “Forget them. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They weren’t there when it happened, okay? Don’t let them get into your head.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all this right now,” he says.

“And I’m sorry you died.”

Neither of us says anything else. After we hang up the phone, I pick the papers up from the floor and sit down at my desk. It’s hard to focus after that conversation. I spend more than an hour trying to start a history paper, but barely get two sentences down. I keep thinking about calling Sam back, but I need to get some work done. The words inside the textbook blur and rearrange themselves, and I forget what it is I’m reading about. I must have dozed off at some point, because when I open my eyes, I’m no longer in my room.

A fog moves across my shoes, and when I look up, I find myself standing at a bus station. It’s dark out. I can’t see anything past the curtain of fog, not even the sky. I glance around to find someone but it’s only me out here. The only thing is the suitcase I borrowed from my dad when I last visited him. There’s a buzzing in my pocket. I reach inside and pull out my phone.

I turn on the screen.

Nine missed calls from Sam. Twelve texts I haven’t opened.

It’s 11:48 p.m.

Out of nowhere, the sound of a truck rumbles like thunder, but I can’t see it. It is this sound, and the exact time of the clock, that brings me back to that night from nearly two weeks ago.

This is the night Sam died. And this is where I stood.

The phone rings again, even louder this time.

It’s Sam. I didn’t bother to pick up last time because how could I know? This time I do, just to see if the ending changes.

The line crackles in my ear but I don’t hear anything.

“Sam! Sam—are you there?”

Nothing but white noise, like someone crinkling paper. I angle the phone, and turn in circles, until a voice finally comes through the line. But I can barely understand it.

“Julie? Who’s there? Hello?”

“Sam, it’s me! It’s Julie!”

“Where are you? I can’t find you. Julie?”

The phone keeps crackling. I don’t think he can hear me.

“Sam—I’m coming! Don’t worry—just wait right there!”

“Julie? Where are you—”

The phone crackles again before it sparks in my hand, and I yank it from my ear. Smoke pours from the screen as I’m shouting Sam’s name, filling the air like fog until I can no longer see what’s in front of me except vanishing streaks of red and white sparks.

A horn goes off, followed by the sound of guitar strings breaking, and I wake up at my desk. The smoke is gone.

I don’t bother to check the time or see if it’s dark out. Instead I hurry downstairs, grab the car keys, and head out the door. I back the car out of the driveway before my mother comes out, and head up route 10, following the railway, leaving Ellensburg.

This might sound ridiculous, but Sam might be out there waiting for me. I have to go find him. My headlights are the only things shining on the barren highway for miles. I keep looking out the window to see if Sam’s walking along the side of the road. I can’t help thinking back to that night.

Sam was at a bonfire by the river with some friends. It was the same night I was returning from my trip to Seattle to visit my dad. Sam had promised to pick me up, like he always did. But when I called him from outside of the station, he was still at the bonfire, more than an hour away. He kept apologizing, but I was so upset he forgot, I hung up and stopped answering his calls. I told him I would walk home. How could I know that would be the last thing I ever said to him?

I guess Sam thought I must have been testing him, which in hindsight, maybe I was. Because he left the bonfire to find me. It was somewhere between eleven thirty and midnight while Sam was driving down route 10 when a truck swerved into his lane. I imagine Sam must have honked for his life. I wonder if he tried to dodge out of the way.

But Sam didn’t die in the wreck that flipped his car. Not only did he manage to stay conscious, he freed himself from the seat, crawled out onto the road, and began walking. Somehow, he made it more than a mile down the road before collapsing. An officer said it was a testament to how strong he was. I think it was a testament to how much he wanted to live. It took hours before someone finally found him. It was too late by then. Sam had lost too much blood and died from exhaustion. No one likes to say it, but maybe it would have been easier for him if he’d died there in the crash. But his will to live on was too stubborn. Just like him.

They found Sam’s phone near the crash site, covered in glass and dirt. Maybe if I had called at just the right time, he might have heard it and picked up, and I could have sent for help. Maybe if I hadn’t been so angry with him, he might not have left the bonfire so quickly and might have missed the truck entirely. Maybe if the stars were aligned differently, or the wind blew the other direction, or it suddenly started raining, or something else, Sam would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be driving out here in the middle of the night looking for him.

There’s something up ahead. My headlights illuminate the dark road in front of me as I slow the car. Along the side of the road, the rails have been tied up with dozens of white ribbons. I put the car in park and get out. I follow the line of ribbons until I reach it. There beside a wreath of flowers and burnt candles is a portrait of Sam nailed to the rail. I kneel down in the dirt beside it. He’s wearing his denim jacket, the one I threw out the other day. A breeze sends some ribbons fluttering. I touch the picture frame with my fingers.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” I whisper.

After all this time, I finally found him. But I’m too late.