Smile, Synonym

[32] The Benefit of the Doubt

"Wait a minute — Roman Alonso did what?"

Fletcher was seated on the ground, looking like a five-year-old with his legs spread out, while Sam paced back and forth. In a Tuesday afternoon, Fletcher and Sam wouldn't usually stay in after school, especially when Fletcher had another History test to study for, but the circumstances were different today. Fletcher could tell by the way Sam was acting all day. He kept zoning out, his eyes distant like he wasn't even there, then someone — Fletcher, Noor, or even Gabriella — would call out his name and he'd blink and act as if nothing happened.

But, of course, something did happen. Something always happens. It was just a matter of asking — caring enough to ask — whether what that something was.

Which is exactly what Fletcher did.

Though, the first time Fletcher asked, Sam didn't immediately respond and when he did, Sam shrugged and said everything was alright. It took four more attempts until Sam finally told Fletcher what was going on. And so, they went to the Top Courts because, apparently, that's where they go now when they have to discuss something serious.

"He apologised to me," Sam repeated. His hair was wilder than usual, curls sticking out at different angles from continuous running his hand down his locks. Sam, at his moment, was the picture-perfect definition of a boy troubled and anxious. "For everything. He asked for my forgiveness."

"And what did you say?"

Sam stopped in his tracks. "I told him no. I couldn't forgive him."

"Damn right."

"But the thing is," Sam said. "I can't stop thinking about it."

"What do you mean?" Fletcher asked.

"What he did, I can't stop thinking about it." Sam was back to pacing again. "To be honest, I kind of feel sorry for him."

Fletcher sat up straight and tried to look at his friend in the eye. It was quite hard considering that he was sitting down and Sam was standing up. "And why should you be sorry for him? He's treated you like shit since, what? Freshman year?"

"Sophomore, actually," Sam corrected. Then he went on, "I don't know. It's just what he said — how he said it — and the look on his face when I said I couldn't — it was utterly broken." Sam slowed down his pace, his hands turning into fists. "And a part of me felt bad, you know? Because I know that face — I've caused it before."

On Thea, Fletcher knew, without the words needing to be said. He was familiar with that face too.

"It made me think of her. Just for a second," Sam paused and he stopped again. Then he stared up at the sky, as of hoping that somewhere up there — in heaven maybe, because that's where she belongs — she was staring back at him. Watching. Listening. "And I thought, if Thea could befriend a bloke like Roman Alonse, then must be worth something, right?"

"Maybe," Fletcher said. "Or maybe he's not. Thea always cared about people who didn't deserve it. We know that. Look," Fletcher stood up. "Don't beat yourself up over this, Sam. You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to even acknowledge that he exists. Alonso gave you a reason not to."

"Think about it this way," Fletcher added when Sam didn't respond. "Did you feel bad for being a jerk to me before?"

Sam shook his head. "No. You deserved it."

"Exactly," Fletcher said. "So you especially shouldn't feel bad for someone like Roman Alonso."

"But I forgave you in the end, didn't I?" Sam question. "Even when you didn't ask for it. What makes this any different?"