Page 16 of Sam & Justin (Gomillion High Reunion #4)

I showed them the new culinary arts classroom.

It had once served as our home ec classroom, but the kitchenettes had all been refitted.

They had full size refrigerators, ovens, stoves, sinks, everything someone might need to prepare a meal.

I listened as one of the men in my group reminisced about being the only boy in his family and parenting class.

I remembered that. He’d had to wear the empathy belly around the hallways.

It had been my first, and unfortunately not last, encounter with the concept of MPREG.

We were halfway through the tour, checking out the remodeled locker rooms in the big gym, when someone said they needed to use the facilities.

Rather than waste time hoping they would catch up, I let my group rest. The former football player went looking for his old locker, trying to see if he could remember the combination.

Never mind that the lockers had been replaced.

A few other alumni rested on the new benches.

I decided to take the rest time to check my phone.

Maybe Sam had texted, though I didn’t remember giving him my number.

There was a small part of me that feared that he wouldn’t show up at all, that he regretted what happened between us the night before and decided to go back to King’s Bay.

It wasn’t like he had really wanted to be here in the first place.

He’d only come because his friend suggested it.

The fear gnawed at my stomach like a feral creature, all gnashing teeth and rabid snarls.

The only way to soothe it would be hearing from him, getting assurance that the night before hadn’t been a mistake.

I didn’t think it was. If anything, the only part of it I regretted was that he’d be going back to King’s Bay in the morning.

Assuming, of course, that he hadn’t gone back already.

I searched my pockets for my phone. Nothing.

I remembered holding it that morning, so it wasn’t like it was lost. It couldn’t be lost. My entire life was on that phone.

I had the phone numbers and email addresses of every single person involved in local politics programmed into it, along with notes about in what areas they could best help Rachel and when to best contact them.

I had favorite donut orders for a few of the more finicky members of council, the ones that sometimes needed a little sweetening before they were susceptible to Rachel’s ideas.

I had years of pictures. I had a several hundred day streak on my favorite puzzle app.

Maybe I’d left it in the supply room while we’d been setting up for the basketball game.

That had to be the only answer. Or maybe my car?

Having a few ideas of where it could be didn’t stop the anxiety, but it did give me a game plan.

I would just have to hope that no one showed up for me to lead them on a second tour so I could search.

The rest of the tour took another fifteen to twenty minutes, including a trip outside to the new football field.

The entire time, I could only half focus on the task at hand.

The rest of my focus was split between Sam’s absence and my phone.

I was pretty sure my group could tell that my heart was no longer in it, but they stayed in good spirits.

They shared memories of different parts of the school, mostly stemming from the changes that were made.

They kept the flow of conversation smooth, so I didn’t have to feel like I was letting them down by being a distracted tour guide.

It probably would have been better if I’d let Vanessa lead the group and stayed at registration, after all.

When the tour ended, I led my group back to the lobby.

We passed one of the student volunteers leading another group of alumni through the halls, pointing out a mural that had been painted by art students the previous year.

It featured the old mascot, so it would probably be replaced before next year’s reunion.

“There’s just over an hour until the alumni basketball game,” I told them as we neared the lobby. “Feel free to explore the school, mingle, or do whatever you’d like until the game. It’ll be in the small gym. There are refreshments available in the—”

I lost my train of thought the moment we stepped into the lobby, because Sam was standing there.

He was leaning against the wall, looking for all the world like the teen rebel he’d been in his youth.

The only thing missing was that old black leather jacket.

He smiled when he saw me and held up a small black rectangle: my phone.

I could feel my smile double in size. My group broke up, and I ignored whatever Vanessa was saying to me as I walked over to Sam. “You found it!”

“Left it in my bathroom,” he whispered, passing me my phone.

I caught a few people exchanging glances, and for once, I didn’t care what people might have been saying. I wasn’t ashamed of anything that had happened between Sam and me the night before. I stuck my phone in my pocket and thanked him, just as Vanessa called me back to the table.

Together, we counted off another two groups as volunteers returned, and I took a third one.

Sam was in my group, and he walked next to me the entire time.

I noticed that he opened his mouth to share a memory while we were in the office, but he shut it without a word.

I watched the way he shifted nervously, and I remembered his confession the night before.

He cared, so much, about what other people thought of him.

Even when he pretended he didn’t. He didn’t want to call attention to the person that he’d been, not while he was trying to get people to acknowledge the person that he’d become.

Which meant that I needed to do something to help change everyone’s opinion of him. Luckily, I had an idea.

It meant veering off the tour just slightly, stopping by the counselor’s office while in the administrative suite.

There was a display of pamphlets, which I pointed out, before directing my attention to the man that had already captured all of it.

“Any thoughts on these? From a professional therapist?”

Sam took a few steps closer to the display of pamphlets and picked one up.

I watched as he looked it over, flipping through and skimming the headlines.

When I spared a glimpse at the rest of the group, only one person was watching him.

The others were talking amongst themselves.

But if this could change one mind, let them see the person he’d become, then it would be worth the few moments of shining a spotlight on him.

“Pretty good,” he said after a few moments of quiet. “Got a lot of good info but needs a few hotlines. There’s some texting ones now, really helps the kids who don’t want to be overheard talking about their shit. You should tell that Vanessa woman.”

“Or you could,” I suggested.

He didn’t look all that pleased at the suggestion, but I noticed the colorful pamphlet was still in his hand as we entered the hallway.

By the time we made it to the culinary arts classroom, he had folded it up and stuck it in his pocket.

I almost wished we could detour back to the office so he could get all of them.

Clearly, whichever one he grabbed had caught his interest. Maybe he could find ways to improve the others.

Or maybe I was overstepping, thinking of ways to fit him into my world when that wasn’t what he wanted.