mine, and the cabinet next to the stove without a handle, also mine.â As he talked he grabbed clothes and a towel and left the room.
Sam realized his boxers had formed a tent over his dick andhe batted it down out of embarrassment. Obviously that was the reason for Michaelâs annoyance. Well, nothing he could do about it now. He closed his eyes, remembering Bella Spade that night. They had gone to the high school winter dance in their usual group, attending mostly as a joke. They had made screwdrivers in Peterâs basement before they left, and they were buzzed but not drunk, as they walked through the streets. The houses were already lit up for Christmas even though it was only the first week of December. Sam had been surprised when Bella caught up to him and slipped her hand into his jacket pocket, curling her cold fingers around his. There had been something so innocent about that gesture, reminding Sam of the games they used to play in the closet during sixth grade. Her breath had smelled like the licorice they had been eating moments before. He had kissed her on the cheek and they had held hands for the remaining minutes in silence, letting everyone think what they wanted when they emerged from the closet.
What happened after the dance was unexpected, but also somehow not at all. Sam was attracted to Bella for sure, and she was always so nice to him. He noticed her sometimes in the library writing in a marbled composition book that she carried with her everywhere. But she had also been Suzieâs best friend. It was hard for him to see her and not think of Suzie. As far as he knew, none of them had heard from her. In the beginning the girls still talked about her like she was still around, but that eventually stopped. He hadnât bothered writing Suzie even though he really wanted to ask her why she had given him the photographs like she did. Sam realized he already knew the answer: Suzie hadnât cared for him at all. The private humiliation was enough. He didnât need written confirmation.
Still, that night after the dance, it had seemed stupid for Sam tostay away from Bella because of what had happened the summer he was fifteen years old. No one even knew about it; it was like it had never happened. Certainly Bella would never have to know.
Sam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. If he gave any thought at all to Bella Spadeâs mouth and hands he was a goner. He needed to get up, get dressed, eat, and then go find the fucking library and admissions office. It was the least he could do for his father.
Almost everyone in the tour group was with one or, in most cases, both of their parents. From where Sam was standing, alone, the parents seemed to want to go to Brown way more than the kids. The tour guide, Carrie, a junior English major, did her best to answer every one of the parentsâ questions, and made it seem like she hadnât answered these same exact questions a million times before.
The last part of the tour was cookies and coffee and informal discussion with some other Brown students. Carrie caught Sam at the cookie tray, his hand hovering over the Milanos. âOnly one per prospective student,â she said from behind his left shoulder just as Sam snatched up a handful of cookies.
Sam dropped the cookies back onto the tray before he heard her laugh. âOh man, that was way too easy.â He felt his face go red and then she nudged his shoulder like they were old friends. âIâm sorry. I am so tired of doing tours today.â She wriggled her jaw from side to side. âMy mouth hurts.â Sam gave her a sidelong glance and picked the cookies back up. She laughed again. âWhere are you from?â
âNew York.â
âIs your lifelong dream to come to Brown?â
Sam paused, trying to figure out how not to sound like heâdnever get in, not in a million years, and she said, âIâm teasing again.â She picked
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