“She needs to have a friend, Diane,” he replied, to complete my mortification. Letting my hair fall across my face, I grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled him toward the stairs.
It took five minutes for Mom to check on us, holding a plate of Oreos like she did when I was six. I was surprised she didn’t bring glasses of milk. We were munching on the cookies, chests speckled with dark crumbs, when Sam asked about my name.
“It’s from Greek mythology,” I told him. “My parents are total geeks. Persephone is the goddess of the underworld. It doesn’t really suit me.”
He studied the Creature from the Black Lagoon poster and the stack of horror paperbacks on my bedside table, then fixed his gaze on me, one eyebrow raised.
“I dunno. Goddess of the underworld? Seems like it suits you. Sounds pretty cool to me . . .” He trailed off, his expression turning serious. “Persephone, Persephone . . .” He rolled my name around in his mouth like he was trying to figure out how it tasted. “I like it.”
“What’s Sam short for?” I asked, my hands and neck heating. “Samuel?”
“Nope.” He smirked.
“Samson? Samwise?”
He jerked his head back like I’d surprised him.
“Lord of the Rings, nice.” His voice cracked over the nice, and he gave me an off-kilter grin that sent another thrill zipping through my chest. “But, nope. It’s just Sam. My mom likes one-syllable names for boys—like Sam and Charles. She says they’re stronger when they’re short. But sometimes, when she’s really pissed, she calls me Samuel. She says it gives her more to work with.”
I laughed at this, and his grin turned into a full-blown smile, one side slightly higher than the other. He had this easy way about him, like he wasn’t trying to please anyone. I liked it. I wanted to be just like that.
I was polishing off a cookie when Sam spoke again. “So what did your dad mean downstairs?”
I feigned confusion. I’d been hoping he somehow hadn’t heard. Sam squinted and added quietly, “About you needing to have a friend?”
I winced, then swallowed, not sure of what to say or how much to tell him.
“I had some”—I made air quotes with my fingers—“?‘issues’ with a few of the girls at school this year. They don’t like me anymore.” I fidgeted with the bracelet on my wrist while Sam pondered this. When I peered up at him, he was looking right at me, brows drawn like he was working out a math problem.
“Two girls in my class were suspended for bullying last year,” he finally said. “They were getting the boys to ask this one girl out as a prank, and then they’d tease her for believing it.”
As much as she despised me, I don’t think Delilah would have gone that far. I wondered if Sam was part of the prank, and as if he could see my mind churning, he said, “They wanted me to get in on it, but I wouldn’t. It seemed mean and kind of messed up.”
“It’s totally messed up,” I said, relieved.
Keeping his blue eyes trained on me, he changed the subject. “Tell me about this bracelet you keep playing with.” He pointed to my wrist.
“This is my friendship bracelet!”
Before I was a social outcast, I was known for two things at school: my love of horror and my friendship bracelets. I wove them in elaborate patterns, but that was secondary to picking just the right colors. I carefully chose each palette to reflect the wearer’s personality. Delilah’s was pinks and deep reds—feminine and powerful. My own was a trendy mix of neon orange, neon pink, peach, white, and gray. Delilah had always been the prettiest, most popular girl in our class, and even though the other kids liked me, I knew my status was due to my proximity to her. When I got requests for bracelets from every girl in our class and even a few of the eighth graders, I felt like I finally had my own thing aside from being Delilah’s funny sidekick. I felt creative and cool and interesting. But then one day, I found the bracelets I’d made for my three best friends cut up in little pieces in my desk.
“Who gave it to you?” Sam asked.
“Oh . . . well, no one did. I made it myself.”
“The pattern is really cool.”
“Thanks!” I perked up. “I’ve been practicing all year! I thought the neons and the peach were kind of funky together.”
“Definitely,” he said, leaning closer. “Could you make me one?” he asked, looking back up at me. He wasn’t kidding. I hopped up and dug out the embroidery floss kit from my desk. I placed the small wooden box with my initials carved on top on the floor between us.
“I’ve got a bunch of different colors, but I’m not sure if I have anything you’ll like,” I said, pulling out the rainbow loops of thread. I’d never done one for a boy before. “But tell me what you’re into, and if I don’t have it, I can get Mom to take me into town to see if we can find it. Usually I know people a little better before I make them. It might sound silly, but I try to match the colors to their personality.”
“That doesn’t sound silly,” he said. “So what do those colors say about you?” He reached out and tugged on one of the strings dangling from my wrist. His hands were like his feet, too big for his body. They reminded me of the oversized paws of a German shepherd puppy.
“Well . . . these don’t really mean anything,” I stammered. “I just thought it was a sophisticated palette.” I returned to organizing the embroidery floss, lining them up in a tidy row from light to dark on the wood floor between us. “Maybe I could make it in blues to match your eyes?” I said, thinking aloud. “I don’t have a ton of blue, so I’ll just need to get a few more shades.” I glanced at Sam to see what he thought, except he wasn’t looking at the floss; he was staring right at me.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I want it to be just like yours.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING I scarfed down breakfast, then raced to the water with my kit. I sat cross-legged on the dock and fastened the bracelet to my shorts with a safety pin to work on it while I waited for Sam.
When his footsteps tramped across the dock next door, it was almost like they were right beside me. He was wearing the same navy shorts as yesterday; it looked like they might fall off his narrow hips at any moment. I waved at him, and he raised his hand and then dove off the end of the dock and paddled toward me. He was in the water in front of me in under a minute.
“You’re fast,” I said, impressed. “I’ve taken swimming lessons, but I’m nowhere near as good as you.”
Sam gave me the crooked grin, then hauled himself out of the water and plopped down next to me. Water dripped off his hair and ran in rivulets down his face and his chest, which was almost concave in form. If he was at all self-conscious about being half-naked next to a girl, I wouldn’t have known it. He pulled on the strands of embroidery floss I was working on.
“Is that my bracelet? It looks great.”
“I started it last night,” I told him. “They don’t actually take that long to make. I should be able to finish it for you tomorrow.”
“Awesome.” He motioned to the raft. “Ready to collect your payment?” Sam had agreed to show me how to do a flip off the raft in exchange for the bracelet.
“Definitely,” I said, taking off my Jays hat and slathering copious amounts of SPF all over my face.
“You’re really into sun safety, huh?” He picked up the hat.
“I guess. Well, no. It’s more that I’m not into freckles, and the sun gives me freckles. They’re okay on my arms and stuff, but I don’t want them all over my face.” What I wanted was a creamy, unblemished complexion like Delilah Mason’s.
Sam shook his head, baffled, then his eyes lit up. “Did you know that freckles are caused by an overproduction of melanin that gets stimulated by the sun?”
My jaw dropped.
“What?” he said. “It’s true.”
“No, I believe you,” I said slowly. “It’s just a really random fact for you to know.”