Page 26 of Sam & Justin

“I shouldn’t have asked you to stay,” he muttered.

I squeezed his side and shook my head. “No.” My voice was firm. “Last night was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time.” I didn’t want to lay it on too thick and make him think that I was just saying this to placate him.

It seemed to have worked. The tension melted from his features, and I felt his arm snake around my waist. I wasn’t normally a big fan of PDA, but this felt nice. Kissing him in the gym felt natural. It didn’t feel performative, the way so many other instances of PDA did to me. I’d had partners in the past where it felt like they were trying to mark their territory when they kissed me in public. But this? It didn’t feel like that at all. We were just two people, enjoying one another’s company.

It didn’t hurt that there were more than a few people walking around the same way; though I was pretty sure most of them were being affectionate with people they’d come to the reunion with and not people they hadn’t seen in twenty years. People who would be leaving in less than twenty-four hours. I pushed the thought from my mind. I didn’t want to think about it right now. I wanted to live in the moment, instead of dreading what tomorrow would bring.

“So, what food truck is good?” Sam asked after a few moments of us walking aimlessly through the crowd.

There weren’t a lot of choices. Gomillion wasn’t a culinary Mecca, and we weren’t brimming with food trucks. I recognized two of them, because they were staples around City Hall. I was fairly certain another two came from neighboring towns. I’d seen the last one parked across town when I was passing through, but I’d never had a chance to stop and try it. I sighed. “I’ve only had two of them.” I pointed out the two that parkednear the office. “That one,” I indicated the one furthest from us, “has amazing chicken.”

“That one, then?”

“The other one has great barbecue,” I informed him with a heavy sigh, “and I looked at the menu of the other three, and they look really good, too.” In other words, I couldn’t decide.

I think Sam could tell that I was torn, because he squeezed my waist. “No one said we only gotta stop at one,” he suggested. I raised a questioning eyebrow. “Get a few things from the ones that sound good. Like the taco truck and the barbecue and shit. Then we meet at a table and share.”

I typically didn’t enjoy sharing my food, but did this really count as sharing? It was more like a sampler. I nodded in agreement. “Divide and conquer?”

“Yeah,” he grunted as he removed his arm from around my waist. I caught his wrist and pulled him back in for a quick kiss. When the kiss ended, he was smiling the kind of smile that made his eyes sparkle. I was pretty sure I’d sell my soul to get another one of those.

The feeling of that smile carried me through the lines of the two food trucks I decided to visit. Well, that and the stolen glances at him standing across the parking lot. I thought I saw him making small talk with another one of our former classmates, and that made me feel just as warm inside as the weight of his arm around my waist had. Sam was making an effort to be friendly to the people around us. It wasn’t even to make me happy, becauseI was nowhere near him. I wondered if that interaction with Robbie earlier had helped take down some of his walls.

If so, then I was going to buy Robbie a beer the next time I ran into him at Tallboys. I would name my firstborn son after him. Okay, no, not my firstborn son. Maybe my next pet.

Eventually, Sam and I both finished our gathering missions and met at an empty table set up in the parking lot. We had an entire spread in front of us. I’d gotten loaded fries and burnt ends from the barbecue truck, nachos from the taco truck, and nothing from the chicken truck. (The line had been too long, and they didn’t have much that we could share anyway.) Sam had returned with sliders from one of the out of town trucks and some noodle dish that smelled amazing from that truck I’d seen around town and always thought about trying.

He’d also had the foresight to get two paper plates from somewhere. We began to divvy up some of the food, which made it feel even less like sharing, and started digging in. I’d like to say that we had compelling conversation over the food, but we barely spoke. We were both too busy stuffing our faces. In the end, we made a decent dent in the selection of food we’d bought, though we still had a lot left over. I felt like I needed to be wheelbarrowed away from the table when it was time for me to leave, and I envied the fact that Sam got a few minutes to let the food settle.

Unfortunately, I had responsibilities.

At least, I thought I did.

When I got to the front of the school for yearbook distribution, everything was already laid out. There were signs behind a table directing people into individual lines based on their last name. There were lists printed out next to stacks of yearbooks to make sure everyone got one. There were even multicolored pens and markers set out for people to sign one another’s yearbooks. Our class had missed out on having a senior yearbook due to lost orders or lost files or lost something. (I’d been involved in many things in high school, but the yearbook and the politics within it had not been one of them.)

I found Vanessa on the other end of the lawn. She was setting out the final pack of gel pens on a table with a smug look on her face. “I thought I was supposed to be helping with this?”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” she chirped. “I had more than enough student volunteers. You’re not taking a role in handing them out, either.”

“Vanessa…”

“Nope. You’re not going to argue on this one,” she scolded. “You need to be able to collect signatures, and you can’t do that if you’re sitting behind a table making sure everyone else has what they need to have fun.”

“But I said—”

“No,” she repeated, her voice firmer. “You are going to get your yearbook from one of our student volunteers, and then you are going to enjoy one part of this event without any responsibilities. I opened my mouth to argue, to point out that I’d just had thebasketball game and lunch without responsibilities. I didn’t get a sound out before Vanessa clapped her hand over my mouth. “I think you can find your line.”

I recognized a losing battle when I saw one and sighed. Vanessa, recognizing my defeat, dropped her hand from my mouth.

“Am I still allowed to help set up prom?”

Vanessa nodded, her eyes growing wide. “Yes.” She paused. “Oh god, yes. You have to help with that, because we may have overstretched on the vision, and I’d need about triple the amount of student volunteers to do that without your organizational prowess.” I felt my cheeks warm. “Besides, you’re the only one that knows where half this shit is supposed to go.”

That made more sense. I started to straighten some of the gel pens she’d laid out, and Vanessa allowed that. I was almost afraid she’d rap me across the knuckles and give me another tongue lashing for the attempt to help. A few minutes later, she clapped her hands together and the students who were gathered around, playing on their phones, immediately took their places behind the table. Within minutes, people began rounding the building, still talking about their lunches. I spotted a few Styrofoam containers, leftovers from what had been a very successful meal.

Vanessa took over immediately. She directed people into lines, and I got lost in the crowd. I was shuffled to my line and got my yearbook. Once I had it, I started to look for Sam. He was about halfway through his line, and while I wanted to wait for him, I also wanted to start collecting signatures. I spotted a few of myfriends and made my decision. I would find Sam later. It wasn’t like the crowd was big enough that I’d never see him again, and I was drawn to him like a magnet. I wouldn’t be able to stay away from him even if I tried.

I made my way toward my friends, and we traded yearbooks. Before long, we had a large group around us. We were all passing around the books and regaling each other with tales from the past twenty years. Some of the stories were things that I’d heard—in person or on social media. Some of them, primarily from people I’d not kept in great touch with over the years, were completely new. My cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling. There was only one thing that could have made it better: Sam.