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“I’m sorry I left you alone the rest of the day,” I say. “I hope you weren’t too bored.”
“It’s cool.” Sam sits on one side of the bed, patting the mattress until I settle onto the other. “I took a walk around the neighborhood. Had that nice talk with Jeff.”
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” I tell her. “Which reminds me, we’re meeting someone tomorrow. His name is Franklin Cooper.”
“The cop who saved your life?”
I’m surprised she knows who he is. She really has been keeping tabs on me.
“Right,” I say. “He wants to meet you. Say hi.”
“And see if I’m a psycho,” Sam says. “Don’t worry. I get it. He needs to see if I can be trusted.”
I clear my throat. “Which means you can’t mention the Xanax.”
“Sure,” Sam says.
“Or the—”
“Five-fingered discount you sometimes take advantage of?”
“Yes,” I reply, grateful I don’t have to say it out loud. “That too.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Sam says. “I won’t even swear.”
“After that, we’ll play tourist. The Empire State Building. Rockefeller Center. Wherever you want to go.”
“Central Park?”
I can’t tell if she’s attempting a joke about what happened the night before. “If you’d like.”
“Why wait? Why not go right now?”
Now I know she’s joking.
“That’s so not a good idea,” I say.
“And was puking on that reporter a good idea?”
“That wasn’t intentional.”
“Did he say anything?”
Once more, Jonah Thompson’s insistent voice tiptoes into my skull. Again, I ignore it. The only thing Sam lied about was her name change, and I know all about that now. Jonah’s the one who was lying, trying to get me to spill my guts about being called a Final Girl. I spilled my guts, just not in the way he was expecting.
“Nothing important,” I say. “I wasn’t there to listen. I went there to yell.”
“Good for you.”
Another thought occurs to me, making my voice go soft. “Why didn’t you go with me? Why didn’t you even want me to go?”
“Because you need to pick your battles,” Sam says. “I learned a long time ago that fighting with the press is useless. They’ll win every time. And with guys like that Jonah Thompson punk, it only eggs him on. We’ll probably be in the paper again tomorrow.”
The thought makes my body go rigid with fear. “I’m sorry if that happens.”
“It’s no big deal. I’m just happy you finally got mad about something.” A spark ignites just behind her eyes. “How did it feel to confront him?”
I think about it for a moment, parsing through my hazy memory, trying to sort how I really felt from what the Xanax made me feel. I think I liked it. Scratch that. IknowI liked it. I felt righteous and energized and strong, right up until the nausea took over.