Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

Sam Again

I go practically sprinting into the night air. The campus is largely quiet, though I'm not surprised to hear a couple bursts of laughter filtering from Sullivan as I take off. The air is crisp around me, and it plays to my sense of awake alert. I'm nearly a mile in before I even remember that I'm furious with Sam and that my feelings are hurt. I feel less ready to cry now than I did twenty minutes ago, but it still doesn't feel good to know that the guy I live with—the guy I was (and this makes me feel sicker than anything else) starting to develop feelings for—just stood by Brandon and made up lies at the party. I let myself get angry with him over the next few miles, amping up my pace and cursing him under my breath. It's only when I reach the left turn onto Owens Brook that I realize where I'm headed and my anger turns quickly into a ball of emotions that feels a lot like terror.

I slow my pace as I ascend the hill that leads to my parents' old house. The house I grew up in. My first fish, Fishie, is buried under the tree in the front yard, and I can see the light shadow of his "gravestone" (a rock from the woods) from the street. The windows are dark, but there are two cars in the driveway, and someone's put up a basketball hoop. I imagine a couple of little kids running through the upstairs the way that I used to, dragging crayon over the hall closets. My dad was always pretty chill about that phase in my life.

I cross to the other side of the street and sit on the neighbor's curb, staring up at my old house. I'm flooded with memories from there: singing with my mom at the bathroom counter as I brushed my teeth, dressing in my dad's hunting jacket and playing Pocahontas in the backyard, burying Fishie under the tree and making my parents say kind words about his short life. I jump when someone close by makes a strangled, gasping noise before I realize: it's me. I'm sobbing. I shouldn't have come here, and I don't even know why I have. But I let myself cry a little longer, tears streaming down my face and onto my chest, soaking the collar of my hoodie.

"I miss you guys," I say, finally, to the quiet house across the street. Then I kiss the tips of my fingers and hold them forward. Feeling like something of an idiot, I stand awkwardly and catapult myself back down the road toward school.

I haven't quite stopped crying by the time I arrive back at Ryder, but I can tell from the dead silence of the campus that it's well past midnight. I slip my key into the door and pray that Sam's still out and that I'm not opening the door to a supervisor kicking me off campus for blowing check-in.

Only one wish comes true.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Sam says immediately, leaping off his bed and looking at me accusingly. His eyes scan over my face, then down my body, covered in a tear- and sweat-soaked hoodie and leggings. A glance at my bed tells me why there's no supervisor; Jill or Spencer did an amazing job propping pillows to look like a sleeping me buried under my covers. I say a silent prayer of gratitude to them.

"Jesus, you look awful," Sam says into my non-response.

It takes everything in me not to grunt a sarcastic "thanks," but I'm pretty devoid of the energy to get into the bickering match that Sam's looking for right now, so I force myself to stay silent and open my wardrobe, pulling down a towel, t-shirt, and pair of sleep shorts before striding out of the room and into the hallway.

Just as I had hoped, the bathroom is quiet. Everyone's asleep. I should have been operating this way for weeks! I turn on the water and let it run hot, borderline scalding, before stepping in. I sigh as the salt scrubs off my face and body. Who knew that washing my hair could feel this good? I'm feeling both relieved and sated when the door opens. I still.