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As much as she wants to feign ignorance, Sam knows exactly when the “we”s stopped including her. It’s not when she breaks the news that she’s going to Sunnyvale, willing herself to meet the gazes of the people she knows the most. The people that know her the most. The people who look at her like everything will be okay, no matter what designs are drawn on their sweatshirts. It’s not even when Deena inevitably breaks up with her, tired of the guessing game Sam’s stringed her in for months. Deena never deserved that. The constant questioning of their relationship. But everyone’s friends, and friends aren’t supposed to choose sides. It’s only when she looks up at the first Sunnyvale-Shadyside football game of the year, attention away from this perfect life she’s constructed in the matter of weeks, and doesn’t see Deena, Kate, or Simon among the student population. And she knows that it was a “we” decision. We don’t want to be here. We don’t want to see Sam. She hurt Deena.
Deena, who has been nothing but perfect. Deena, who’s always made it seem so easy to be herself. To be themselves. Deena, who she tried so hard to convince herself that everything was worth it for. The lingering stares from her peers, the whispers of is she, is she not, the disappointment masking something much deeper in her mother’s eyes. Deena, who sees her pretend to be someone else to please as many people as she can. To please the people she doesn’t even want to please.
The divorce was an excuse. It was always an excuse. It was an excuse to shed herself of her skin. It was an excuse to restart. Sam Fraser was Samantha first. And Samantha Fraser wasn’t Deena’s. She wasn’t supposed to be. But is it her fault that things ended up this way? Memories of soft skin, hovering kisses, and marks created with the greatest amount of love and truth. Memories of sworn secrets, hidden gazes, and cheeks tinged with the colors of each and every single rose Deena gifted her on Valentine’s Day. Memories of new nicknames, new beginnings, new futures.
Sam was Deena’s. And that’s why the days never got easier. They would never get easier.
Not for her, not for Deena, not for Kate, and not for Simon.
Simon, who she’d met first. Simon, who wrapped his fingers around her wrist and convinced her to paint his face freshman year. Simon, who thanked her with the tightest hug when he’d been announced the school mascot, smile plastered on the green that she was responsible for. Simon, who ignored the questions about the bandages on his hands. The cuts, the knicks, the blisters from working every job in that damn grocery store to make a living. Simon, who she sacrificed each bottle of nail polish for. Because Simon wasn’t meant to be pitied. Simon was someone that deserved more than she could ever imagine. And if she could make him feel good even just for a second, she’d do it until that feeling became infinite.
“Kate, I got you a little cheerleader-in-training,” are the words that jumpstart a friendship that would unknowingly last years. A group where, for once in their lives, Shadysiders could belong outside of stereotypes and judgmental glares. A group where they saw the best and the worst in each other, and that’s what strove them to keep on going.
Kate Schmidt. Freshman student president. Avid member of every single one of Shadyside’s clubs and organizations. Number one test scorer since elementary school. Destined for greatness. Destined to be someone somewhere. Destined to be pretty, look pretty, and make things pretty. She’s who taught Sam the workarounds of high school. How to style your clothes, how to wave your pom-poms, how to study until the eyebags can only be hidden by learning how to use makeup. How to make connections. How to will yourself to keep going, even when everything in the fucking world is against you. She tells Sam to take care of herself as much as she can. Because, she says, if you look like you’ve got it all under control, nobody’s going to doubt you.
Sam should be listening to her mother. Shadyside is filled with druggies that have no potential in life. Shadyside is littered with false promises and those that will bring you down with them. But Kate and Simon are different. She knows they’re different. She knows when she watches Simon teach Kate how to play chess with the makeshift board Sam gifted him. She knows when Kate sends her and Simon each a message at 12 A.M. on the dot. 143. I love you, and goodnight. She knows when Deena is introduced to her, and she thinks she’s never met someone that has fit her more than Simon and Kate have—a feat in itself. She knows that people have the wrong ideas about Shadyside. Because how can people that have grown up surrounded by such vile words make her feel this way?
At the beginning, she thinks that Deena has the potential to be her very best friend. The person who she could spend the rest of her life with without any complaints. The person that she can call hers and not have to worry about whether or not it’s a reciprocated feeling. The person that blurs the lines between reality and fiction, what’s romantic and what’s platonic. And it, honest to god, terrifies her. But she can’t tear herself away. Not from the curve of her grin. Not from the beauty marks on her face. Not from the inkling feeling that grows within her that this is wrong. This is so wrong.
Then Deena looks over at her one night, curled on one side of Sam’s bed as textbooks and homework papers lay crowded around them. And Sam knows that this is a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. The way her heart hurts just watching the slow breaths rise and fall from Deena’s chest. The way everything is on fire as Deena strokes the sleeve of her—Sam’s—sweater in silence. It’s always looked so much better on Deena. Like the girl belongs in everything that Sam owns. Like she’s just meant to be with Sam in every single way.
And the music is growing quieter, and Sam realizes that it’s not because it’s the sound of her heartbeat that is growing louder with every passing second, and Deena’s face stretches into a coy smile and it’s too perfect and too much and too Deena.
She doesn’t hear the warning sounds in her head, the inevitable whispers on the streets, the bruises on her wrists from being tugged too tightly by her mother, the idea that this can’t last as long as she wishes it can. She surrenders her space on her comforter, closing the distance between them and presses her lips against Deena’s.
And then Sam is Deena’s. But she’s always been, hasn’t she?
Even as she stands inside of the hallway, body shivering despite the fact that it’s not cold, she’s Deena’s. Even when she was cursed at outside of the vigil, seeing each and every single line she memorized on Deena’s face back to life, she’s Deena’s. Even when Deena tells her to go to hell, a thought that’s raced in her mind since the beginning of time, she’s Deena’s. Even when she’s running for her life, putting everyone else in danger because they’re her friends and everything will be okay, she’s Deena’s. And it’s hard, pushing Deena’s hands down, pretending not to hear the echoes of Deena’s cries in her head since their separation, sacrificing herself for Deena. For Kate. For Simon. For Josh.
For Josh, the boy responsible for how far everyone has come. The boy that is so much stronger than Sam could ever be. Josh, who looks at her with such anguish from across the room, and she wishes she could go back in there for one second to tell him that he did everything he could. It’s not his fault. They wouldn’t all be alive if it weren’t for him. They wouldn’t know a single thing about this curse if it weren’t for him. Josh, the familiar head of hair around the corners of the Johnson house. Josh, who’s supposed to be playing games in his living room and stealing internet to talk to his friends. Josh, who learns small hacks to make this living hell a little better because, hey, who can reject chocolate in the face of death? Josh, the little boy turned man. Josh, an integral part of the “we” that they’ve adjusted to after Sam.
Sam thinks about herself. Sam thinks about the girl that she was a day ago. The cardboard cutout asked of her by her mother, her father, Peter, the world. The feeling of being without living. The idea of making everyone but herself happy. The lie of not having a choice. But she has a choice now. She’s lived more in less than twenty-four hours than she has in months. She’s felt the same happiness that drives her to keep going to this day. And she makes her choice after watching the argument in the room. The argument of whether or not they should just end it now. We’re letting her die, Deena’s plea slips under the crack of the door. We’re killing her.
There's a piece of them in everything. She looks down at her bandaged palm, mind flooded with memories of Simon. She presses a finger against the bag beneath her eye, called back to flashcard nights with Kate. She takes a long, deep breath, reminding her that she is still alive, thinking about the brilliant, young mind that is Josh. Sam stares at the axe that is heading her way, refusing to close her eyes, and wills herself to focus on Deena. Deena, who would do anything and everything for her. Deena, who is on the other side of the door right now. Deena, who she needs to save. Deena, who’s hers no matter what.
And then she’s pulled back into the room, adrenaline pumping through each of her limbs, door slammed and shaking her out of her daze.
“You’re not doing this alone.”