Sam received his first detention of the year during his second week of school for forgetting to bring his textbook to class. He stayed an hour after school, scraping gum off the underside of the desks in Mr. Brian's classroom.
When he finished, the sun was beginning to go down and it had gotten considerably colder. Elliot had taken the car for the night. He had a date with Karen. Trisha was the only other person at home with a license, and Sam decided he would rather walk the twenty minutes home than accept a ride from her.
He almost missed Martha sitting by the bike racks. For a moment, he considered ignoring her, but he didn't want to think about her being in the dark by herself. "Hey," he said. "What are you still doing here?"
When Martha looked up at him he could see that she'd been crying. "Go away, Sam. I'm really not in the mood."
"What's wrong?"
"I said, go away."
"Fine," Sam said. He'd taken only a few steps away from her before he changed his mind. "You know, I don't know what it is you want from me. Do you want me to say, I'm sorry? Because I am. I'm so fucking sorry I can't sleep at night. Everyday, I'm beating myself up about it. I'm sorry, Martha. I'm so fucking sorry. And if you want, I'll leave you alone and never speak to you again. But, I can't just see you every day and not worry about you. Can't we at the very least be civil?"
Martha didn't say anything, but Sam hadn't expected her to. He'd apologized, and he'd accepted that they were never going to be friends. For now, that would just have to be enough.
"Someone slashed my bike tires," Martha said. "I called my mom from the office, and she said she would be here. But she isn't. I don't think she's coming."
Sam helped Martha to her feet. "My house is close," he said. "I can patch up your bike and then I can see if Trisha's around to take you home. That okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
It felt like the longest walk of Sam's life. He didn't know what to say to Martha r now that they'd called a truce or even if he should say something.
"So, how has school been?" Martha asked.
"Fine," Sam said. He didn't tell her about his daily run-ins with Brock or about the fresh bruises he'd gotten just that morning.
"I heard Brock's been riding you pretty hard," Martha said.
Sam was caught off guard, as he'd believed nobody but he and Lara knew. "It's nothing I can't handle," he said.
Martha looked away from him. "That's what Dylan said."
Sam stopped walking. "He's been messing with Dylan?"
"It's not like with you," she said quickly. "He just says things, you know."
Sam relaxed a little, but he didn't like the idea of Brock being anywhere near Dylan. "I can't help that," Sam said.
"What is up with the people here?" Martha asked. "I wasn't here when your mom...did what she did, and Dylan never talks about it. But it was a long time ago. Why are they still so...angry?"
"I don't know," Sam said. "It's like they think because she died, she got away with something. So, instead of punishing her, they punish us."
"I'm sorry," Martha said.
Sam balled his hands into fists inside his pockets. "Why are you sorrry? It wasn't your fault."
"I know that," Martha said. "There's no need to get an attitude about it."
For the second time in a matter of hours, Sam found himself apologizing. "I'm just on edge," he said. "School has been terrible. Trisha's been a pain. And then there's you."
The last part had slipped out. "Me? What does that mean?"
"Nothing," Sam said. They were in front of the house by then.
Martha grabbed him by the arm to stop him. "What did you mean?"
"Nothing," Sam said again.
"I'm not gonna stop asking," Martha said. "You know me well enough to know that."
The sun had gone down completely now. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't have to, to know she meant it. "I guess I was worried about you. I still am."
"Martha started to say something, but the front porch light flickered on and Dylan stepped outside. "Martha, is that you?"
"I'll go open the garage," Sam muttered.
He finished patching up Martha's bike while Dylan and Martha spoke outside. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it didn't matter. He wanted to know what Martha was going to say before she was interrupted.
Sam finished patching up Martha's bike, but not before going upstairs and retrieving the cell phone he'd bought a couple of weeks ago.
"All done," he said to Martha a few moments later. "It won't last forever, but it'll work long enough for you to get it fixed.
Trisha wasn't home, but Elliot's car was parked across the street. Sam asked Dylan if he'd go and get the car keys. When he returned with the keys, he tossed them to Sam. "Can I come?" he asked.
"No," Sam said, a little too quickly. "I mean, you have homework and I'll only be gone a minute. Just stay."
Dylan looked at Martha, suspicion etched on his face. "It's fine," she said. "Go finish your homework. I'll message you later."
Sam was surprised to find that Martha didn't live in a house. The directions she gave him were to a trailer park on the other side of the train tracks. Homeless people shuffled from curb to curb, dogs barked frantically, and loud voices and yelling could be heard coming from every direction. Sam was glad he'd given her a ride.
"I know what you're thinking," Martha said. "We didn't exactly move back from Seattle with a lot of money."
"No, I get it," Sam said. "I'm sure it's nice on the inside."
Martha laughed. "Yeah, not really."
Sam parked the car.
"Thanks," Martha said. She started to get out of the car, but Sam called her back. "Hey, I got you something." He handed her the bag with the cell phone in it.
"Sam, there's no way I can take this," once she'd seen what it was.
"You can," Sam said. "It's my fault, what happened to the last one. It's my way of apology."
"I don't know, Sam," Martha said. "This had to cost you a lot of money."
"Don't worry about the money," Sam said. "I just wanted to do something. Please. Take it."
Martha met his eye. "Okay. Thanks."
For the first time in months, Sam felt like he was putting the whole thing with Martha behind him. He'd probably never stop feeling guilty about what happened to her, but at least he'd apologized and at least she was speaking to him again.
Elliot and Dylan we were in the middle of a heated discussion when Sam got back home. As soon as he walked in, Elliot shushed Dylan, saying, I'll talk to him.
"Talk to me about what?" Sam said.
Elliot pulled Sam aside. "Dylan told me what happened with Martha."
"Nothing happened," Sam said.
Elliot rolled his eyes. "I'm not trying to get in your business. But you need to be careful with how you handle this. I know you think all girls are here for your amusement, but that is not just any girl. She's Dylan's friend. His only friend." Do not scare her off. Got it?"
Sam glared at Dylan, who stood back behind Elliot, silent. "Yeah, I got it."
Sam was finishing up his homework when his phone chirped with a new text message.
Hey.
There was no name on the caller ID.
Sam texted the number back. Who is this?
Martha.
Sam stared at the name for a moment. Why was Martha texting him? Before he could formulate a response the phone pinged again.
What are you doing?
Homework, he texted back. Sam felt a twinge of nerves as he waited for her response. He couldn't explain why.
Her response came in fast. Me too. History.
Sam laughed out loud as he responded. I'm already failing that class. Mr. Brian is a dick. I hope you don't have him next year.
I've heard he's not so bad if you do the homework, Martha said.
Or if your last name isn't Tavert, Sam texted.
It was at least a minute before Martha texted back again. Does your dad know what's happening to you guys? Read her new message.
Sam guessed that on some level their father knew about the attitudes of the people who lived around them. He'd probably even experienced some of it himself. But Sam didn't think he knew the full extent of it.
No, Sam responded. I doubt he cares.
Again, Martha took her time before answering. He does, her message read. Then in a second message: I'm going to bed. Thanks for the phone. See you tomorrow?
Yeah, Sam texted her back. Goodnight.