Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I roll my neck to release some tension. The video I just finished watching was intense. That poor person has been kicked out of their house, rejected by their friends, taunted, and bullied. All for owning their gender identity. Sometimes I feel like such a hack for starting this project because of a misunderstanding over if I sleep around or not. But Mom pointed out that it doesn’t matter if my situation is big or small in comparison to others. What matters is that we are providing a safe place, understanding, and pointing them toward organizations that can offer legitimate help.

This is one of those situations when I can’t just leave a “Thanks for sharing your story” comment. Too much has happened to this person to ignore the fact that they need help if they haven’t sought it out. I open the Google document in which we’ve been compiling links to different organizations, and I copy three of them to add to my response.

I love knowing that several of the volunteers we’ve gathered through school and various outreach programs we’ve done, like the street fair, are doing exactly the same thing I’m doing right now. Our outreach has really grown. And I’ve learned how to write a thing called a Standard Operating Procedure document. A skill that Ines swears will benefit me when I enter the workforce.

Glancing at the clock, I see it’s time for me to log off for the evening. Over the last few months, I’ve also learned to manage my time well, too. I sit back in my chair and look up at the photo collage Ava and Bek helped me create. There are pictures from when we met at five years old, all the way through to Homecoming just a few short weeks ago.

I tear up just looking at the four of us—because Dylan is always around now, and I’m good with that—arm in arm and laughing. A chuckle bubbles out of me when I remember my shock at seeing Dylan dressed up in fancy clothes. He’s cute. Everyone knows it. But dressed up, he’s hot. Ava was beaming extra bright that night. And she and Bek looked so gorgeous in their sparkly cocktail dresses.

My chuckle morphs into a contented sigh. It was the first school dance I have been to solo. Sans date. When I walked up to the school, I felt vulnerable even though I was surrounded by my friends. The spotlight has remained on my dating status because of the #NoMoreShame project. I think of the boys who made grand gestures to ask me to a school dance in the past and that there wasn’t a single one this time. It hurts a little, but I also understand. By standing up for myself, and then by having it go viral, I put myself in the spotlight. I made dating me scary. I do miss it though. At times I wonder if I’ll ever date again.

But look at my life now. By changing my focus, I’ve taken up reading, volunteered at the library, and started a non-profit. My life is so much more diverse and fuller now. Dating will happen again one day, and I’ll be a better date because of these changes. I’ll have more to talk about, at least.

My text tone dings. It’s from Ava in our group text .

Ava: Hey, Sam, can you get to school a little early tomorrow? Say 15 minutes?

Me: Sure, no problem. Why?

Ava: We have a surprise for you.

Me: What?

Bek: It wouldn’t be a surprise if we told you!

I realize I’ve never really had a surprise before. Even when my parents gave me Sunny, I knew I would get a car for my sixteenth birthday, since all my siblings did. I just didn’t know what kind.

Me: Do I like surprises?

Ava: You’ll find out in the morning, I guess.

Me: And the surprise is at school?

Bek: Yes.

Me: Is this like that old show, Punk’d? Is it a practical joke? I know I wouldn’t like that.

Ava: No! It isn’t like that. It’s not like an assembly or anything. It’s just us. Don’t worry.

Bek: Park in the shop parking lot.

I stare at my phone. That’s a small lot behind the school that hardly gets used. That’s either a good sign that this isn’t a hidden camera thing, or a sign my friends have turned into serial killers and I’m a goner.

Me: …okay…weird. But see you then.

I get out of my car and squint at my friends, who stand expectantly by the door leading into the shop hall. Ava stands especially straight with her hands behind her back and a ridiculous grin on her face. Bek looks as dreamy as ever. Almost like she’s forgotten that they are waiting for me. Now that I’m here, I wonder how we will get into the school. The only door you can enter through is the main entrance.

I approach cautiously, expecting a cameraman to jump out from the shadows or Ashton Kutcher to walk up in disguise and tell me I won the lottery or something.

“Welcome.” Bek’s gaze is finally focused on me, and she has an uncharacteristic smirk on her face.

“Weird,” I reply. I look at Ava with an arched brow.

She pulls her hands out from behind her back and hands me a single, long-stem, red rose. Thornless, thank goodness, otherwise Ava’s hand would be shredded by now.

“What’s this for?” I take it like it’s a live grenade.

“It’s part of your surprise,” Ava says. She knocks lightly on the door and then gestures for me to precede her. The door swings open and Dylan steps out to hold it open for me. He also waves a hand for me to enter first. I step past him with my eyes narrowed.

“Morning, Scott.”

His devilish smirk crooks his mouth. “Good morning, Miss Jones. Welcome to Oak Grove High.”

Okay, so no one is going to spill the surprise yet. I enter the school and see several students in the hall. Many seem to be pausing to read the posters that line the walls. That seems strange. Kids never do more than glance at school posters. One girl even takes a picture of one.

Ava and Bek flank me, each wrapping an arm with mine to usher me down the hall. We come to the first poster, and they pause and give me a significant look. Ava tips her head toward the wall.

It’s an eye-catching poster with a compelling tie-dye of colors as the background. There’s a splat of white in the middle that serves as the background for the flowing red text. I read it and blink. Samantha Jones’s favorite color is red.

My gaze scans the poster, looking for a logo or something to identify what this is all about. I’m wondering if this is somehow tied to the #NoMoreShame project. But there are no additional marks to indicate what this is for. I scan the hallway and realize the posters line both sides of the hall.

Ava and Bek turn me and propel me across the hall to the next poster. Samantha Jones likes chips and salsa best.

“What the heck is this?” I ask.

But nobody answers. Ava and Bek steer me to the next poster, back on the other side of the hall, while Dylan lags behind. We zigzag down the hall reading. Horseshoes should be an Olympic sport —which makes me giggle. Samantha Jones’s middle name is Iris. Samantha Jones’s favorite flower is…the iris. Samantha Jones is a fierce warrior —which makes me pause to consider again who might have done this. Samantha Jones is a generous friend. To which Ava and Bek both squeeze the arm they clutch. Samantha Jones loves romantic comedies. Samantha Jones loves to read.

I have the sensation of being on a rollercoaster as I stare at the poster. It couldn’t be Brent.

Ava and Bek gently tug me toward the last poster in the hallway.

Samantha Jones loves a grand gesture.

I suck in a breath and slap my hand to my mouth.

The girls drag me away, though I want to stare at that poster longer. I feel like that poster holds all of the potential for my future in it, and I want to soak it up and dream and hope a little longer before moving on. We cross the intersecting halls toward the gymnasium doors. Bek pulls one open, and the girls let go of my arms and gently push me forward. I’m surprised to realize I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll walk in and turn the corner past the bleachers, and I won’t find my Bookstore Boy. What if it’s Chris? Or someone else entirely? I can’t believe how much I want this to end with Brent.

I can barely breathe as I walk into the gym. It’s tomb quiet inside, so my heels click on the polished wood. I think how the poor gym teacher will have a fit if he sees my high heels marring his perfect floor. The slamming of the door makes me flinch. Like if my heels hadn’t already, the door has somehow given us away.

A click echoes in the cavernous room and then music blares through the room. I freeze. It’s my favorite song. Ava steps beside me and nudges me forward. Just two more steps and I’ll be able to see into the gym. But for now, I have tunnel vision and can only see the corner I have to turn. The corner that could change everything for me.

I bite my lip and step around the corner.

My heart bursts with joy. Brent stands in the middle of the gym floor, holding an old boombox over his head like in that teen old rom-com movie, Say Anything.

Next to him is one last poster, propped on an easel.

Samantha Jones likes for her grand gesture to be personalized.

Tears flood my eyes, distorting my vision. Though I want to run and throw myself at him, I keep my pace to a saunter and hope I at least look cool. Brent’s emerald eyes glitter with mischief as he watches me approach.

When I’m a couple steps away, I say, “This is indeed a grand gesture.”

Brent finally lowers the boombox and places it on the floor at his feet. My favorite song is still playing. Where did he even get an old radio like that? And how did he get a cassette tape with my favorite song? He must have made it himself since the song hasn’t even been out for a year yet.

He arches a single eyebrow, making my insides flutter. “But…is it personal enough?”

I stop in front of him and study his handsome face. Up close, I see how unsure he is about his plan, and I consider grabbing his shirt and pulling him to me so I can kiss him, but I don’t want to get distracted yet.

I nod. “How did you…?” I point toward the hall.

“I undertook the most extensive research project I’ve ever done. I’m thinking about making it my senior project.”

I purse my lips. The idea of being Brent’s senior project is not enticing.

“I’ve been studying you. Asking your friends about you. Dragging information out of the morons you dated before who didn’t understand how lucky they were. Analyzing your social media.”

“So, you’ve basically become my stalker? Because that isn’t so romantic.”

He rewards me with my favorite thing: his smile. “I would never, ever stalk you. I just took the time to get to know you. To read your story.” His chin drops toward his chest, and he toes the floor. “Honestly, Sam. I almost didn’t go through with this.”

I cock my head. “Why?”

“In order to pull this off, I became an investigative reporter. I interviewed friends, past dates, family—”

“Family?” I interrupt.

Brent nods. “Lincoln put me in touch with Ines and Bridget.”

My mouth drops open as I imagine him interviewing my sisters. But then I scold myself to stay on track. “So, after all that work, why did you almost toss it?”

Brent locks his gaze with mine and I’m suddenly sitting in a hot spring. His emerald eyes burble with emotion. “Everybody I spoke to—everybody, Sam—said how generous you are with yourself, your time, your love and friendship, your resources. I could go on and on about the things people said.”

When he falls quiet, I frown. “That’s nice to hear, but I still don’t understand why you almost abandoned this.” I hold my hands up and can’t help the pleased smile that curves my lips when I think about everything he did to put the grand gesture together. “This is amazing, Brent. This is hands down the most wonderful thing anyone has done for me. Why would you have tossed it?”

I realize his cheeks are blazing red, and I assume it is because of my praise.

“Sam, I will never forgive myself for the assumptions I made about you. And then when I was faced with the truth of you through my research, I realized I don’t even deserve you. I will never be good enough for you. The reason I ended up doing it is because you deserve it. You deserve to be seen and recognized for the amazing, generous, caring person you are. You deserve far better than me, but this is at least a start.”

I can’t speak. My heart hammers in my throat, complicated by the tears currently choking me. I swallow but it doesn’t help. I shake my head furiously to let Brent know I have thoughts and reactions to what he’s said, I just can’t verbalize them at the moment.

His brow creases with alarm and confusion. A crestfallen expression wipes away any concern and he nods. “I mean, I know. I missed any chance I might have had with you. Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything.”

I grab his arm and shake my head again. “No, you idiot. That’s not it at all.” I smile through my tears. “I have two of the best friends.” I turn to indicate Ava and Bek, who I know are still watching, and I see Dylan standing next to Ava, his arm around her, and she leans into him. “Okay, three. And they’ve always been enough for me.”

Brent frowns at me. I rush to clarify. “They still are, they always will be. But what you’ve done to make this happen is by far the most special, thoughtful thing anyone has ever done. Not only did you go out of your way to learn everything, you listened to me. You heard me and you took action. ”

Hope ignites in Brent’s eyes, but it’s still mixed with doubt. I take a step closer so that we are inches apart and I drop my voice so that only he can hear me. “Please, forgive yourself for only seeing the surface, social Sam. I’m responsible for her. I created her intentionally. But she’s moved on now, and in her place is a girl who isn’t always confident about herself, who never thinks she’s doing enough to help others, who loves to read and shop. That’s the Sam you’ve taken the time to know. And other than those three people behind me, you’re the only one who has put the effort into her. You’re good enough, Brent. You’re better than good enough.”

His gaze drops to my mouth and his husky whisper sends a shiver down my spine. “There’s one thing I didn’t think through in this plan of mine.”

“What?” I breathe.

“The school’s no p.d.a. policy.”

I laugh. The teachers do strictly enforce the no public displays of affection policy. “Does that mean you want to kiss me?”

Air wooshes out of him like he’s been holding his breath. “So much.”

“I think we can take our chances.”

“Oh yeah? You’re willing to break the rules with me?”

“I mean, I already entered the school through an illegal entrance. I might as well go all out.”

His hands brush against my hips as his arms wrap around me. I’m shivering like it’s a winter day and I have no coat. My palms rest on his chest, and his heart pounds as fiercely as mine. The seconds it takes for him to lower his lips to mine feel like an eternity.

Finally, our lips meet. His are soft but strong, somehow. I don’t even know. I arch against him, eager to deepen the kiss when we hear a very authoritative voice call out.

“What is going on here?”

We break apart, but I’m too unsteady to step away. I have to use his chest for balance while my senses stop spinning. The heat in his gaze isn’t helping that along, though.

“I definitely didn’t think this through,” he whispers.

The levity helps me gain my balance. I laugh as I finally find myself steady enough to step away and turn toward the gym teacher storming across the room toward us.

Brent runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Mr. Gunn. I expected to be out of here by now.”

“What is all this?” Gunn demands. “You better not have ruined my floor.”

“We’ll clean up and get out,” Brent assures. “No gym floors were damaged in the making of this dateposal.”

I cock my head. “This what?”

Brent gathers the easel and poster, while I turn off the boombox and heft it.

“Dateposal.” Brent shrugs. “You know. Like a promposal, but more permanent.” He throws a worried glance my way. “At least, I hope it’s more permanent.”

At that moment, as we join up with my friends and exit the gym, I feel certain it’ll be very permanent, because I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with a boy who will work this hard for a girl. “Dateposal.” I grin. “I like it. We should hashtag it.”

“And we can make it go viral.” Dylan waves his phone. “I recorded the whole thing.”