I toss my baseball in the air, blinking up at the Maple Leafs poster on my ceiling. The wind rattles my windowpane, and thick, wet snowflakes stick against the glass. I slept horribly last night. Or really, I didn't sleep at all.
"Hi, Cameron."
I catch my baseball and glance towards the door. Hailey is standing in the hallway, her hair in a tangled ponytail, wearing a red sweatshirt of Veronica's that's huge on her.
"Hi, Hailey."
"Is Mum home? I need help with long division."
I sit up and rub my face. "No, she's out with Veronica. On Saturdays they always go grocery shopping, remember? Do you want me to help you?"
She runs up and jumps on my bed beside me, the springs squeaking. "You're horrible at math," she says.
I smile. "Maybe Sam would be better."
"Yeah." She thinks for a minute, her brown eyes swimming in thought. "Cameron?"
"Yeah?"
"Why would somebody hurt Sam?"
My breath hitches a little. "I don't know," I say softly.
"Hurting people is not nice. That's what Mrs. Webster tells us. Use your words."
"Yeah, that would be better."
"Did they try to use their words?" Hailey looks up at me, her eyes wide with innocence. "When they hurt Sam?"
"Probably not."
"Why would they do that?" Her face scrunches up with confusion. "Mum said I wasn't allowed to ask Sam. Can I ask you?"
"Okay."
"Did Sam say something mean? Did he take something from them?"
"No." I glance over my sister's head out the window. "Sam likes other boys. Did you know that?"
"No."
"He does. And some people don't like that."
"Why don't they like that?"
I shrug. "I don't know, Hailey."
She sits on my lap and presses her head against my chest. "I like other boys. Do people not like that?"
"What? Who do you like?"
She giggles. "There's a boy in my class named Walter. He has the coolest sneakers."
I smile. Oh, Jesus. "Okay," I say. "Um, no, people don't mind that. But Sam is a boy who likes boys."
"Well, I don't mind that."
"That's good."
"I like Sam."
"Me too."
She takes her head off my chest and studies me. "Don't be sad, Cameron."
"I'm not."
"Do you want to watch a movie? Mary Poppins?"
"Okay."
"Carry me to the couch!"
I stand up, swinging her around, and she laughs.
In the living room, I start the movie and curl up on the sofa. I think I doze off pretty early. I don't dream anything at all.
~
There's a knocking at the door that jolts me awake, my heart beating. Hailey frowns at me.
"Shh," she whispers loudly. Mom is sitting beside her, and they're sharing a bowl of popcorn. "The movie is almost over. Someone's knocking."
Groggily, I push the blanket off me and stumble towards the front door. I know it's Sam before I open it.
"Hi," Sam says, bouncing on his toes. The discolored skin around his eye has faded, but it's still clearly a faint shade of purple. At least the swelling has gone down. He twists his mouth and glances up at me with wide eyes.
"Hey Sam!" yells Hailey from the couch.
"Hi Hailey," Sam calls, then turns back to me. "Want to take a walk?"
"Sure," I say, pulling my coat from the rack and slipping my boots on. "Let's go."
"It's really cold out there," says Mom, turning to look at us over her shoulder. "Don't be out long."
"We won't," I say, and step outside, shutting the door behind me.
We sink in the thick snow, not saying much. Not many cars or people are on the streets. The harsh wind bites our skin, and I stuff my hands deep in my pockets as my eyes start to water from the cold. Bare trees shudder as we walk beneath them.
Sam is shivering. He's talking less than usual, and walking faster than usual. I don't know if I'm supposed to say something, so I don't. I match his pace and bury my face in the collar of my coat as the wind howls in my ear.
As the neighborhood rink comes into view at the end of the block, I'm gritting my teeth. Maybe we should've stayed home.
I nod towards the rink. "Want to warm up inside?"
Sam shrugs. Snowflakes are melting on his cheeks like freckles. He follows me as I step through the front door, kicking sticky snow off my boots. It's not much warmer in here, but at least there's no wind.
"George?" My voice echoes around the rink, but it seems to be empty. The lighting is dark but the ice is a bright white, and old posters flutter in the rafters. I look back at Sam, who's staring at his shoes. "We'll just stay a minute."
We sit down on a bench beside the ice, and I rub my frozen hands. I glance sideways at Sam.
His fingers brush gently against his bruise, and his face crumples suddenly.
"Hey, hey," I say, my pulse quickening. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he says.
"You can talk to me."
He twists his mouth, long eyelashes blinking out towards the ice. He takes a deep breath. "My uncle is sick."
My heart sinks. "Tom? What happened?"
"Cancer. They caught it early, but still." He glances at me, his eyes wide. "That's why I can't go to Toronto. Right? He's taken care of me my entire life, shouldn't I take care of him?"
I wish I had the answers. "I don't know," I say.
"Me neither." He looks back to the rink, fingering the soft skin around his eye again. "Fuck. This still hurts."
There's a sting to his words that I've never heard before. Actually, I'm not sure if I've ever heard Sam curse before. "Sam."
"I hate them." His eyes flutter shut, and he feels the bruise on his eyelid. "Maybe I shouldn't hate them. But I do."
"Me too."
"You know, I got a B on my last French test."
"So? That's not bad."
"A B? For me, that's horrible. Things have been crazy lately. I just wish it would go back to the way it was, you know? Back in the fall."
It's different, seeing Sam like this. God, it hurts. He's always so happy and kind, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes and a warm smile. But now his mouth is twisted sadly, and his hand is covering his closed, purple eye, and he looks so tired and so sad.
His other hand is resting on the bench, and I let my fingers brush against his, let my fingers curl around his -
He pulls away as his right hand drops from his eye. "Cameron."
I feel like I've been stabbed. "Sam."
"You don't have to do this."
"Do what?"
"I'm sorry I kissed you. I shouldn't have done that. You don't have to do..." he takes a shaky breath. "You don't have to do what you think I want you to."
"Do you want me to?"
He puts his hand back against his eye and scowls. "Cameron. Shut up."
"Sam."
"Cameron."
Fuck, this is so hard. And I don't know how to do this.
"Sam," I say again, softer. "I'm sorry."
"Can't we just go back to studying math?" He has both hands against his bruise now, and his eyes are squeezed shut tightly. "When did things get so messy?"
"Probably when Hailey was crushing on you." I wish he would smile.
"That would be a long time ago," he says, and sighs. "We should head back."
"Are you staying for dinner?"
"Probably not."
His fingernails look like they're digging into his skin, and I reach out and grab his hands. His eyes are shining with tears.
"I'm sorry, Sam," I whisper.
He shrugs. "You don't have to be sorry," he says softly, and his mouth turns up slightly.
And then I'm kissing Sam Hughes.
He tastes like honey and snow and cinnamon and ice, and I press my hand against the side of his cheek as he un-tenses and kisses me back, and his lips are so soft on mine.
When he pulls away, I want him to come back.
"Cameron." He's staring at me with wide eyes. "Is this okay?"
I don't know. I feel all tingly inside and I can't think straight. "Yeah."
"Really?" He's smiling now.
I press my hand against his ear and kiss him again, and this time he doesn't hesitate. I kiss him until my mouth hurts.
~
I toss my baseball in the air, blinking up at the Maple Leafs poster on my ceiling. I can hear pots clanking around in the kitchen, the thick scent of tomato soup curling under the crack in my door.
I catch the worn, leathered ball in my fingers. Fuck. I kissed Sam Hughes. Again. I smile a little.
The future is going to hurt so bad. But right now I feel so good.
A/N can I get a what what