Archive of Our Own

September 5

“The new kid is starin’ at you again,” Riley said under his breath, though that never made him any quieter.

Sam looked up from the peanut butter and honey sandwich that was wilting in the September heat. Indeed, James “Bucky” Barnes—what a stupid name—was staring at him from where he was sitting on another picnic table with his own sandwich dying in his hands. Beside him, with his back to Sam and Riley’s table, was Steve Rogers, who was an older transplant to their town, but no less a force of rebellion. Bucky had moved from New York to stay with the Rogerses and he’d been nothing but a problem since he’d roared into the school parking lot on a motorcycle that was definitely not within noise regulations. And he was always driving it after curfew. Sam didn’t know how he never got in trouble.

Bucky grinned at him when he caught Sam’s eye, a red smear over his teeth like blood and Sam looked away furiously. He knew exactly what blood looked like smeared over Bucky’s teeth because he’d been right next to him on Saturday night two towns over when he’d gotten into a fight outside of a bar they shouldn’t’ve been near in the first place. He’d been the one who had to duck into a 24-hour pharmacy shop and find antiseptic and bandages while Bucky bragged between spitting out blood.

He also knew what it tasted like to kiss blood out of Bucky’s mouth and the thought was making him even more flushed in the late summer afternoon heat. So he tried to focus on his best friend instead of the asshole across the way. “Is your dad ever going to fix the AC in the cafeteria?” he asked.

Riley shot one last look at Barnes before turning his attention on Sam too. As kids, they’d argued often over who had the more powerful, more rule-driven father. Sam, with his preacher father, or Riley, with his school principal (and now acting superintendent) father. They decided it depended on the day.

“Supposedly no one has parts as old as our unit and the school board won’t approve an extra amount of spendin’ for a new one. They’re talkin’ ‘bout trynna cover the dome window so it won’t get as hot. Maybe havin’ a fan drive to set up some box fans around the room.”

“Anything has to be better than eating outside,” Sam pointed out. Well, almost anything. It really was better to sit outside now, while the sun baked the cafeteria through walls of windows that just let all the heat in. It was very pretty when the AC worked. Otherwise, it was an oven. So the entire school had been having lunch outside all year and the lunch ladies had to cook in the elementary school and bus everything over. Which is why Sam had resorted to very sad sandwiches he brought from home.

“One of the long term fishin’ ships is coming in tonight, right?” Riley asked. His mind often wandered to the water when discussions of the heat came up.

“It came in this morning, actually,” Sam said. “My mama was out there to get it in and start sorting out the haul.”

“They managed without you?” Riley asked in faux shock. Since he was old enough to tie knots, Sam had been underfoot on the boats around the dock. His mother had started (and his father helped) run a sea-food restaurant. She had started with their own caught food, but the restaurant had boomed and it had proved better business to work with other boats than try to run their own boat and shop at the same time. As a kid, Sam had loved it. Once he’d decided all he wanted out of life was to get out of this town, this state, he loved it much less.

“Sarah was more than happy to miss school to help,” he said. “Besides, you know I’m supposed to be focusing on college applications and keeping my grades up now.”

“You have to tell ‘em about Georgetown eventually,” Riley pointed out, gnawing on a piece of celery that was mostly string at that point.

“I’ll tell them when I tell them.” When it was too late for any arguments to be made. “After Gideon, it’s a delicate line I’m walking here.”

“Goin’ to college is not the same as runnin’ away,” Riley argued. Sam’s stomach turned slightly, going a little cold like it did every time someone said Gideon just left because he was wild and wanted to. He’d stopped listening to the stories. There were too many to keep up with and almost none of them were true. Not being able to argue with them was the worst part though.

“It’s not the college part that’s the problem,” Sam said. “It’s the distance part. It’s the DC part.”

Riley made some dismissive noise. “You got into a fancy school. It’s got fancy buildings and fancy programs. They really want you and gave you all sorts of money. Your folks’ll be thrilled.”

“They want me to stay in Louisiana. Hell, if Dad got his way, I’d go into ministry just like him.”

“You’d be a terrible minister,” Riley laughed, like he always did when the subject came up. “You’re too acceptin’ and cool with things.”

“Ouch,” Sam said on behalf of his dad. The dismissal bell rang and Sam unfolded himself from the table, shoving the last of his terrible sandwich into his mouth.

“Attractive,” Riley commended, pounding him on the back and almost making Sam choke.

The trashcan was on the other side of the table where Steve and Bucky were still playing some game that involved pinching the shit out of each other. Still, when he passed by, Bucky managed to drag his fingers over a sliver of skin on Sam’s hip that was exposed by the way his shirt was hiked and sticking to his back. Sam willed himself not to react. It was far too hot to write off a full body shiver. He just jostled Riley as he took a step over and headed off to class without looking back.

September 5

The thing was, Sam had a rebellious streak in him a mile wide. But, after watching his brother implode and disappear when Sam was 13, he was finding it difficult to ever act on any of his be-a-pain-in-the-ass urges in any meaningful way. Their small coastal town was strict and religious in a way that Sam sometimes couldn’t believe existed in a world with rock and roll music and big-budget hollywood movies. He supposed it helped that there the local theater was carefully vetted and there were no music venues of any kind in the town. No dancing at all, in fact.

Gideon and his friends were the last good push for rebellion. They threw dances in fields just outside of the city limits and pilfered alcohol from friends already in college. In the half decade since, the only rebellious spirits weren’t actually rebellious, they were just assholes. The kind of guys who jacked up their trucks and put foghorns on them and ran people off the road into ditches just because they could. The kind that started fights if someone’s voice or style wasn’t right. The kind who’d trip a quiet kid with bags of groceries. 

Sam couldn’t get behind that kind of bullshit. Gideon, he’d follow all over town, taking detailed mental notes as they went along, but everything Gideon did needed a crowd with him. If Sam posted up in a field with a boombox and David Bowie, he’d just be a weirdo. Steve Rogers might appear anywhere there was a righteous fight to be had. But he wasn’t a sure bet. Every change in weather down here seemed to try to kill him and the harried, upset looks his mother could send him would otherwise do the rest. Sam had been in the office after some fight of Steve’s and had seen the way his mother had come in, all concern and disappointment and no anger. Anger, Sam could work with, push back against. Disappointment? That was the killer.

But Bucky Barnes had appeared, with his loud bike and blaise attitude and ready fists and endless questions. God, the kid had so many questions. “Everyone down here’s Baptist? Even the Catholics?” “What do you mean the theater isn’t gonna show the new Farrah Fawcett movie?” “A dry country? Are you kidding? This ain’t the wild west.” “How do you live without dancing?” “It’s a law? It’s a law from when?” “Don’t you guys ever have fun?”

He was the antithesis to everything the town had built itself up to be without even trying. He carried a leather coat everywhere, even though the thermometers were still tipping 100. He cursed like a sailor. He played the loudest music Sam had ever heard. He pushed back on every rule he came up against. Sam knew he still hadn’t cut his hair. He just kept it pinned up enough to be within dress code standards. He knew because he’d put his hands through all of that hair, leaned up against that terrible bike of his.

He drove Sam nuts. He really did. Sam hated the way he always walked into service late. He hated the roar of his bike–honest, you could tell when he was still five minutes off ‘cause you could hear it. He hated the cocky grin he wore all the time because it was infuriating and unearned. He was everything Sam wanted to be and was still too scared to reach for. Which meant Sam really liked him too. They could butt heads all day, but he was so down for whatever terrible idea came out of Bucky’s mouth when he grabbed Sam’s wrist and hauled him away from a diner booth or school desk or church pew.

He didn’t have to act like it though. So when someone collapsed down in the space across from him at the library and knocked their ankles together, Sam didn’t even look up. “You’re supposed to be in pre-calc.”

Bucky smelt like summertime heat and dirt as he shoved a hand through his hair and pulled the pins holding it up free. It tumbled over his jaw and cheekbones, resting on his shoulders. “Yeah, but it’s just test-prep. I asked to study up here.”

Sam very much so doubted that. He’d never heard of Mrs. Whelk letting anyone study in the library. The side of Bucky’s boot rubbed up the side of Sam’s leg and Sam fought down a shiver. “I have real work to do.”

Bucky dragged over one of the books Sam was using and glanced over it boredly. “Let’s go get some shakes.”

“Paula works school days. She’ll run to Riley’s daddy faster than a rumor can get around to tell him that there were school kids at the Drive In.”

Bucky made a disapproving noise and slouched back in his chair. He still had Sam’s copy of Hamlet but Sam didn’t even want to fight with him about it. “What’re you doing after school?”

“Working down on the boat,” Sam answered. The only half decent thing Bucky did around town was work on the docks. He was young and strong and knew his way around hauls and engines and the water. He’d predicted a storm a few days after showing up in town and earned almost everyone’s respect for a bit for it. If there was one thing he wouldn’t bother Sam about, it was working down on the water.

“Do you purposefully pick the days I ain’t gonna be there?” he asked.

“Sarah worked this morning and has volleyball tryouts,” Sam defended. “Mom needs help. Bother Steve.”

“Steve’s grandmother is in town,” Bucky groused.

“Bad break,” Sam snorted. “Guess you’ll just have to spend a quiet night in. Go back to class.”

“Come on. What do you do for fun around here?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. “Take up a hobby.”

“I have a hobby. It’s called dancing.”

“And you can do that to your heart’s content in your own bedroom.”

“Be better if you were there,” Bucky purred and his foot was back on Sam’s leg.

“If I say I’ll let you drive me home this afternoon, will you let me write this paper?” Sam asked, pushing his pencil behind his ear so he could cross his arms and lean back in his chair.

Bucky pretended to deliberate. “Sure. But I’m taking the long way round.”

“What long way? The only way to get a long way is to go the wrong way.”

Bucky shrugged. “So be it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the text in front of him. Still, he couldn’t help but cock his foot in the other direction to catch Bucky’s ankle. He didn’t have to look up to know Bucky was grinning like he’d won something.

September 5

“You have a homecoming game but no homecoming dance?” Bucky asked, propping up his bike as he and Sam stared at a field of some kind of grass from the side of the road.

Sam shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “The game isn’t anything to write home about either,” he assured. “I can’t remember the last time we actually won. No one goes.”

“Your life is very sad.”

Sam snorted and knocked his shoulder against Bucky’s. “How’d you end up down here? Why was it so important you followed the Rogerses?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sarah and my ma have always been each other’s support system. So when dad died, ma wanted to be closer to Sarah again.”

Sam grimaced but kept himself from apologizing. He knew Bucky hated that more than most anything. “Speaking of having a sad life,” he said instead, nodding down the road as a dust cloud and a truck that could only be compensating for something came over the hill.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asked.

“Eric Rollins. Probably Dylan Cob. They graduated last year, but clearly haven’t found their way out of this one road town. Rollins’ dad was mayor ages ago, when we were kids. He still gets away with everything because of it.”

Bucky sucked on his teeth. “Tell me how you really feel, Wilson,” he laughed. He tipped his coke bottle against his lips casually as Rollins stopped in front of them. He was about as square as a guy could come, from his ninety degree angle jaw and his straight buzzed hair, to his broad shoulders and stocky build. Sam couldn’t stand him.

“Wow, preacher-kid. Does your daddy know you’re hanging out with someone who looks like him?”

“It’d be a miracle if he didn’t, since you’ve just got to look out the door to see across town,” Sam pointed out.

“You’re the new kid, huh? You got everyone’s thongs up their ass.”

“I don’t think I was needed for that,” Bucky said levelly.

“Eric, I’m fucking hungry,” Cob said from the passenger seat. “And we said we’d pick up Annie before we went to get food. And, God, she’s gonna still be doing her hair. Can we get going?”

“You all talk, new kid?” Rollins asked. “Or you got something behind your act?”

“Do you have something against names?” Bucky asked back.

“Piss off, Rollins,” Sam added. “He’s not gonna—“

“You know what chicken is?”

“An animal?” Bucky hazarded drily. “The color of your dick, I assume.”

Rollins bared his teeth in what was probably struggling to be a grin. “It’s a game,” he said. “You got your chick-sticker bike, so we can’t use cars, but I bet we can find tractors.”

“You’re not stealing tractors to crash,” Sam groaned. 

“What’s the point?” Bucky asked, because he couldn’t leave a situation alone.

“We drive towards each other. The first one to turn away loses. Chicken.”

“Look into my eyes and tell me I seem like the kind of guy to pull the wheel.”

“Yeah, everyone’s a real big man until the tractor’s bearing down.”

“Jesus,” Cob groaned. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

Rollins reached back to blindly hit Cob in the chest. “Let’s do it, new kid. Rite of passage.”

“In what world does your opinion about anything matter that seriously?” Bucky asked.

Rollins barked out a laugh and suddenly got out of the truck. Bucky shoved the empty coke bottle into his backpack.

“I don’t have time to measure dicks with you,” he said, stepping up to Rollins’ chest. “Either throw a punch or get out of here.”

Rollins seethed before he took a step back and then climbed back into the truck. “Next time, new kid,” he warned.

Bucky gave a sarcastic wave. “Enjoy your date,” he called. The truck roared away. “Chicken,” Bucky spat after it. He turned back to Sam with a pleased grin on his face. “That went well. Charming guy.”

“You have no idea,” Sam muttered. “He cracked a kid’s head on a toilet seat last year. Kid to had to have five stitches put in. All because the kid grabbed Rollins’ jacket in the gym instead of his own.”

“What a fucking shitbag.” He handed Sam the bike helmet and kicked the stand back into place. “Let’s get you home.”

“Why do you always gotta solve things with your fists?” Sam asked, examining his reflection in the helmet visor. 

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t have money to pay for some three ton machine I crash trying to impress that walking bag of shit.”

“You’ve already used shitbag.”

“I can barely afford to buy my best guy fries after school.”

“I paid!” Sam objected.

“See? I’m broke. Hey, do you think your mom will let me stay over to watch TV for a while?”

Sam pulled on the helmet and hugged his arms around Bucky’s waist and hoped no one else came down the road. “I’m changing and heading down the docks,” he reminded him. 

“Well, then let me drive you to the docks.”

“That’s alright. I like the walk. Gives me some time to think.”

“Thinking about anything in particular?” Bucky teased.

“Definitely not you,” Sam answered as Bucky started the engine.

“Liar!” he called over the roar of it and pulled onto the road before Sam could argue.

September 12

“Why are we here?” Riley groaned, tugging on his shirt repeatedly to circulate air.

On the field, the cheerleaders went through the same six cheers over and over again. Sam was going to be hearing them in his dreams. But he was there because Bucky, who was not on the cheer team, was down there with the girls, trying to show some of them tumbling passes. Sam, who had taken gymnastic classes next to Sarah for years, knew that Bucky was not really trained. He was all power and force, which made him a very bad teacher for the girls.

But Sam was the one to tell him to find a hobby a week ago, so he had to bear the fruit of it. “Bucky wanted to tell me something, but didn’t want to say it in class.”

“Most people write a note,” Riley pointed out. He laid back against the bleachers, which couldn’t have been comfortable since they were metal, and continued to fan himself with his shirt. “James Bond can do spy shit ‘cause he lives in a country where it rains all the time.”

“It rains here plenty,” Sam tasked. “Besides, he’s always off in some destination.”

“Even better. He’s workin’ on a beach. I’d be outside all day too if I worked on a beach with beautiful women in bikinis all around me.”

Sam rolled his eyes fondly. “You’d still keep that farmer’s tan of yours.”

Riley lifted the sleeve of his shirt to show off the difference between his shoulder and mid arm. “I think it’s rugged.”

Sam snorted and patted Riley’s jean clothed leg. “Sure is, bud.”

Finally, when Sam was sure his entire head was sweating, Bucky came away from the girls and leapt up onto the barricade between the field and the stands to climb the fence and drop down in front of Sam and Riley.

“Hey, man,” Bucky greeted, offering a hand out to Riley. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Ride home,” Sam explained while Riley shook Bucky’s hand. “What’s so important I had to melt out here?”

“I didn’t want to talk about it at school proper,” Bucky said. That was fair. The football field was practically part of the public park. Admin certainly never came this far from the main building. “I want to throw a homecoming dance.”

“What?” Riley asked sharply at the same time Sam said, “Alright.”

“What?” Bucky mimicked, staring at Sam.

“I said alright. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“What?” Riley offered for the third time, taking his turn to stare at Sam.

Sam shrugged. “Gideon used to do it. I don’t see why we couldn’t. It’s just a little bit of fun.”

“Since when do you do anything your brother did?”

“You have a brother?” Bucky asked.

“Come on, man. Aren’t you the one always talking about wanting a high school experience like your cousins?” Sam cajoled lightly. “It’s just a dance.”

Bucky grinned at him like Sam was offering him the world.

Riley scuffed the heel of his boot against the metal of the bleachers and suddenly found something very interesting to stare at below his feet. “I can’t dance,” he muttered.

“What? Come on, everyone can dance,” Bucky laughed.

“I’ve never even seen my mom and dad slow dance in the living room.”

Sam cut Bucky a warning look not to continue teasing him. “You know, that explains so much about Principal W,” Bucky said instead.

Riley snorted. “You have no idea. I saw him eating plain bread the other morning instead of, like, toasting or even buttering it.”

Sam had never seen Riley willingly partake in ragging on his dad with normal students. Typically, he was fiercely protective of his father, the same way Sam was of Sarah, even if he’d just driven her to throw a hairbrush at him that morning because he kept criticizing her braids. Bitching about his old man with Sam was fine. But Lord help whoever derided the principal in front of Riley otherwise.

“You think if I ask Taylor, she’d say yes?” Riley asked Sam.

“Taylor, who finds every reason to press her leg up against yours at Pop’s, no matter who’s watching and started matching her perfume to your cologne?” Sam clarified needlessly. “Nah, man I don’t think she’s interested in you.”

Riley jostled him and grinned something private.

“But Taylor knows how to dance,” Bucky said. “I’ve seen her with her older sister at dance halls. So you’ve gonna have to figure it out in a few weeks.”

Riley blanched, which should be impossible with the way the sun had turned his tanned skin into a fire hydrant. “You’ve seen Taylor dance?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a shrug. “She’s nothing to write home about. Her sister’s mostly out to flirt with guys, but she knows what she’s doing. Both of them.”

Sam glared at Bucky as dejection fell across Riley’s square face. “Well, Bucky knows how to dance,” he offered with a stern look at the other boy. “He’ll teach you.”

“Hey now,” Bucky objected. “I ain’t no teacher.”

“You were literally just showing the girls how to tumble.”

“Not well!” Bucky pointed out.

Sam couldn’t argue with that. “Too bad. You brought it up,  you have to teach him.”

“I feel like a kid being fought over in the McDonald’s parking lot by split parents,” Riley interjected. “Who’s gonna pay for my summer camp this year? It’s Dad’s fault I’m in baseball,” he mimicked.

Sam rolled his eyes and knocked his hand against Riley's arm. “Come on. I wanna get home and take a nap.”

“Can’t take a nap. I need your magic hands in my engine.”

Bucky frowned and Sam let him sit with the innuendo and discomfort for a while. Riley was the one who broke it. “Sam’s a whiz with machinery. It’s like he can talk to it or something. Can you believe that’s not what he’s going to school for?”

“No?” Bucky asked with a raised brow. “What’s the plan then? Ministry?”

Sam groaned and pushed Riley towards the stairs of the bleachers. “Bye, Barnes,” he called over his shoulder.

September 12

“Mrs. Burnette said she saw you and the Barnes boy outside their farm a while ago. She said it looked like you were about to start a fight,” Paul Wilson said, as if that was a way to start a conversation.

Sam sorted peas into a smooth pile and a pruney pile. “We weren’t starting a fight. We were eating and Rollins pulled up and tried to antagonize us into a fight.”

“Do brawlers use words like antagonize?” Sarah antagonized.

“That Rollins boy is nothing but trouble,” Darlene agreed.

“I don’t want you associating with Barnes,” Paul continued.

“Dad, he’s not a bad kid,” Sam sighed, sitting back in his chair. Mostly to get away from the smell of meatloaf. Suddenly his appetite had left him. Which was sad, because his mama’s meatloaf was the best on the planet. “We’re almost...friends.”

“He’s trouble,” Paul decided. “Maybe not like Rollins’ boy, but that makes him even more likely to drag you into his problems. Did you know, he was pulled over trying to leave town after curfew last Saturday?”

“Gee, I wondered why an officer would stop him and not anyone else,” Sam muttered.

“Young man,” Paul warned sternly.

“Mama can tell you, he’s always out helping on the boats. And he’s not a bad student. He drives Steve Rogers to his doctor’s appointments when Mrs. Rogers has to work.”

Darlene crossed herself the way she, and half other ladies in town, did whenever Steve was mentioned, which was absurd after all this time. He wasn’t the same kind of sick he had been as a kid. He wondered if they ever prayed for his bloody knuckles and righteous fury complex.

“Were you with him again this afternoon?” Paul asked.

“I was with Riley,” Sam said as evenly as he could manage.

“Good. Keep it like that.”

Sam forsaked his meatloaf—at least he’d eaten the potatoes—and stood up with a scowl. “I’m not Gideon. And even if I was, there’s a lot worse things I could be. And I could do a lot worse than hanging out with someone who’s only crime is wanting to have fun in this boring, small, narrow-minded town.”

“Samuel Thomas,” his parents both said with such a severity even Sarah winced.

“Sorry,” Sam bit out through his teeth.  And before anyone could really lose it, he stalked to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Other kids, he supposed, would get to blare music and scream into their pillow. Maybe throw a few books around or something. But Sam just laid on his bed, suddenly feeling immobilized by the horror of what he’d just done. He was going to be in so much trouble for, approximately, the next fifteen years. But beyond that, he felt terrible. Mostly terrible. (Partially justified) He owed his mama, at least, a better apology.

In a bitterly funny way, some of the first times Sam remembered doing something “bad” was when he’d sneak out of his room past bedtime and crouch at the end of the hallway to watch Gideon and his father fight. Sam’s memories of his older brother were deeply tinged with nostalgia and the glow of thinking his brother was some kind of superhero. But remembered when they were younger, Gideon was an all around good kid. Sam would watch him, from the pews, help with mass and think how important his brother must be. He’d watch Gideon build science experiments and history dioramas and he was pretty convinced no one was smarter or more creative than his older brother.

He couldn’t remember exactly when the fights started. Probably the same way this one had. Outbursts over dinner. A harsh exchange of words during passing moments. But he remembered Gideon suddenly staying out later. Every weekend, he was at a friend’s house all weekend. Sam remembered the first time Gideon didn’t show up for mass. He remembered creeping out of bed that night to watch his father sit in the living room, his anger growing into concern as the hours ticked on. By the time Sam dragged himself to bed, Gideon still wasn’t home.

But most of all, he remembered one morning, a few weeks before Gideon left, shortly after his eighteenth birthday. Gideon hadn’t been home all night. Sam knew this because he’d been up all night playing with a friend’s Walkman and reading some book someone’s brother had brought from college. He assumed Gideon must have come through his window sometime between six and seven. It was late enough that their parents were already out on the boat and Sam had gotten up to go running around the neighborhood. He was trying out for the track team and needed the extra practice.

When he’d gotten back from his run, assuming his brother was still MIA, he’d let himself into his room to steal clothes, as he’d become prone to doing. Whatever Gideon had been doing, clearly it had knocked him out because he didn’t so much as groan when Sam shoved the door open and trampled in. Sam wasn’t sure what he saw first—the second body in Gideon’s bed or the sparkling paint all over them. He did remember the way he’d stared at the arm wrapped around Gideon’s chest and Gideon’s own fingers curled around it. He remembered trying to make sense of the tangled limbs under the blanket. There were flowers woven into Gideon’s blooming afro. He remembered knocking some trophy off of Gideon’s dresser as he fell back out of the room and closed the door as quickly and as quietly as he could.

No one had ever said anything about Gideon being like that (like Sam, Sam had realized a few years later) in all the rumors that swirled around his disappearance. Sam wasn’t even sure his dad knew or had any inkling.

Needless to say, Sam did not appreciate being compared to his brother in a negative way. Some days it was because he thought Gideon had done nothing wrong. Some days it was because he thought he could be found out if someone stayed with the comparison for too long. Mostly it was because he was his own person and he did enough compensating for his missing brother all on his own.

Tonight, it hadn’t even really been about Gideon. Sam had brought Gideon into it. Because he was always thinking about Gideon. But his father bringing up Bucky had set his teeth on edge from the outset. Sam was allowed to rag on Bucky because he didn’t really believe it.  When grown ups did it, it was because Bucky was too difficult to control. And all his father was thinking about by bringing Bucky up was controlling Sam.

Sam really needed to go apologize.

Instead, he wedged open his window and climbed out of it, then shut it back. The Wilson house was not far from the piers and the beach. In fact, the little beach where Sam often spent time was closer than the piers were. It was not a very crowded stretch because no one patrolled to clean up the jellyfish and seaweed and the ghost crab population was out of control. He thought it might be privately owned, but no one had ever appeared to tell him to go away.

He was surprised, then, to find someone already sitting a half mile from the dunes that separated the beach from the beginning of the pier harbor. But then the wind changed direction and dark hair caught in it and Sam let his tension ease.

“What’re you doing out here?” he asked, sitting beside Bucky in the sand. Bucky was close enough to the water to soak his pants from the mud and get his feet wet with each tide.

“Was working with the Ruizes. Ran late. Steve’s grandmother's still here and Ma’s busy with Becca. So I thought I’d stay out here for a little bit.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sam said. He tilted his face up against the sea breeze and closed his eyes against the moonlight.

“You seem upset,” Bucky said after a second.

“What gave that away?” Sam asked.

“Normally you’d have bitched about getting wet by now. Your jeans are soaked.”

Sam looked down to find that he was soaked up to the knee and the seat of his pants was making a valiant effort at getting everything up to his waistband wet too. “My dad and I had a fight,” he said.

“About what?” Bucky asked.

Sam huffed out a cold laugh. “You, actually.”

Bucky glanced at him sharply and concernedly enough that Sam saw it, even out of his periphery. “What about me?”

“That I should stay away from you, getting into fights with Rollins and all, missing service and all, not being controllable and all.”

“Ah.” Bucky nodded in an understanding Sam wasn’t sure he was going to appreciate. “So your dad said something about not getting into fights and you projected a whole bunch more onto it.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered.

To his surprise, Bucky did. They stared at the ocean together some more until Sam closed his eyes again and laid back in the tide.

“Oh, you’re really in a bad mood,” Bucky noted drily.

“Do you think there’s some place for people like us? Not, like, metaphysically in the universe. I mean, like a bar.”

Bucky let out a startled laugh. “Uh, yeah. I mean, in New York there are. I don’t know about all the way down here though.”

“I just… my brother…”

“Right, the brother I didn’t know about.”

“I have a brother who’s five years older than me,” Sam sighed. “He ran away before he graduated high school. It was this whole scandal. No one knows why he did it. He’s never reached out to anyone who’ll fess up to it.” Sam dug his fingers in the wet sand and felt burrowing coquina clams scuttle away from them. “Anyway, I think he knew a place. Or maybe just a person. I don’t know. I was too young for him to tell me anything.”

Sam’s eyes were closed but he wondered what Bucky’s face was doing. Sometimes it would glitch out, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or frown or scowl. Sometimes it didn’t move at all, but then his voice would be registers different than it had been.

“You have a brother who’s like us?” Bucky asked. His voice was soft, a little disbelieving, a little awestruck.

“I think so. I was thirteen when he left. Obviously he didn’t tell me anything. But…I saw enough to put it together later.”

“Is that why no one talks about him?”

“No,” Sam said quickly. “I don’t think anyone else knew. They don’t talk about him ‘cause…” Anger flooded through Sam’s veins again. “I guess to respect my parents, or whatever. Not rub it in their face that their kid lost it.”

Cautiously, Bucky’s hand settled over Sam’s. Sam allowed it since there was no chance of anyone else being around. Even if someone was at the pier, they couldn’t see them.

“I used to think I could swim to the other side of the world, when I was a kid,” Sam said. “I used to get so far out in the water and my dad would have to swim after me and scoop me up and take me back to the shore. Mama always said I was more likely to end up in Texas than the other side of the world.”

Bucky laughed softly. “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed. “The gulf is kind of like that, isn’t it?”

“I just…remember always wanting to get out here. Even before I knew anything at all. I wanted to swim away and leave it back behind me.”

“Riley mentioned school?” Bucky prompted.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Sam said. “Going so far away. I just…feel like I’m running away.”

“Like your brother did,” Bucky surmised.

“Do you think it worked out for him?” Sam asked.

“I have no idea, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Me neither.”

September 21

“Riley, how many moveable parts does your leg have?” Bucky asked.

“One,” Riley grunted, clearly already knowing where Bucky was going with his rhetorical line of questioning.

“Wrong. It has at least six.”

“Six?!” Riley squawked. He stopped trying to make his hips move in any discernibly attractive way. It hadn’t worked for the past hour.

“Hip, pelvis, thighs, knees, shins, and feet.”

“Come off it, Buck,” Steve laughed from next to Sam. They were in Riley’s family’s hay barn, which was only half full of hay at the moment. Sam and Steve were sitting in the wrap around, leaning over the railings to watch the tragedy unfolding below. “You cannot move your shins independent of the rest of your leg.”

Sam and Steve weren’t necessarily friends before Bucky showed up. They could be allies when it came to shoving some upperclassman away from some lowerclassman behind the portable building. And they often volunteered at the same city events. They took the same classes. But they didn’t eat lunch together or go to the movies or offer rides to and from school. Which was a waste of several years because actually they got on like butter on a biscuit. They had the same kind of energy for caring about people and the same disdain for stupidity. Sam really enjoyed his company.

“I can’t move anything!” Riley objected. “My hips don’t move on their own. They’re connected to everything else!”

“You’ve just got to get confident in your body. What kind of music do you like?” Bucky asked. Steve’s shitty yellow Bug was parked at the entrance of the barn and Bucky was already leaning in to fiddle with the radio. No one on city council or in the church had figured out how to block radio waves, so there was nothing to be done about what kind of music someone listened to in their car. Though Sam had heard of someone’s speeding fine being doubled when she rolled down the window and the cop heard rock music.

“I don’t know, man,” Riley said. “You really think I get to listen to that much?”

“Don’t you have a car?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, a family car. What if I forget to switch it back or something?”

Bucky tsked and turned on something like a Top Hits station. The bike didn’t have a radio, but Bucky had dragged Sam off to enough bars, malls, and roller rinks for Sam to have an ear for the popular stuff.

“Look, come here, all you have to know how to do is move in time to the music. Do you know what rhythm is?”

Riley whined, louder than the music, and Steve laughed. Bucky was trying to bodily move Riley around the barn floor, but Riley was built like, well, a barn and his feet were absolutely refusing to move.

“He’s a really terrible teacher,” Steve said to Sam.

Sam nodded and kicked his legs over the open air. “Yeah. He was trying to tell a cheerleader she just needed to run faster to kick off properly for something,” he said.

“I one time heard him try to explain a math problem to his sister and he got frustrated and said, ‘it happens because you just do it!’ and then he stormed off.”

Sam sucked in a harsh breath. “That one’s pretty bad.”

“Things come pretty easy to him,” Steve said. “They always have. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be bad at anything, except maybe communication. I don’t think it really computes in his head that people may need steps broken down or explained.”

“My sister can be like that. She was always getting marked down in math because she never showed her work. She could just do it all in her head that much faster,” Sam said. “But she’s pretty alright at explaining things. Jeez, I had to listen to her explain, in detail, how to paint fingernails to a girlfriend of hers on the phone a few nights ago. I thought she’d never stop.”

“Yeah, that’s the exact opposite of Buck. When he took an art class with me, someone asked how he drew fairly realistically and he said, ‘draw the shape of the face, draw the eyes, draw the nose, draw the mouth, fix it.’ Like, he genuinely thought that would be helpful information.”

Sam laughed softly. “Noted. I will not ask him to show me how to do much of anything.”

They sat in silence while Bucky kicked at each foot that he wanted Riley to move. Then Steve asked, “You guys have been hanging out, right?”

Sam shrugged. He wasn’t sure how much Steve knew about the late night drives and the weekend escapes. “We go home from school together sometimes. See each other in study-hall.”

Steve shot him a knowing look and Sam figured he knew about more than the rides home. “He’s never taken to someone like this, y’know? I mean, he’s always had friends. People he could ask for a buck or a date to a movie. But he really likes you.”

Sam’s cheeks colored. “We get along. Opposites attract and all that.”

Steve snorted. “You are not opposites.” And when Sam looked at him in confusion, he said, “I can see you, Sam Wilson. I see you pulling bullies out of the locker room. I see you shouting after cars that don’t stop at the crosswalk. I see you every time the school announces some new rule.”

Sam looked down to the toes of his shoes. “I don’t ever do anything about the rules.”

“You take care of those who don’t follow them. You carried Danielle’s contraband book around in your backpack for a week so she could read it. And when they tried to implement that no-left-handers rule, you always feigned a question or a choking fit when the teachers started to harp on someone.”

“Yeah, well…” Sam shrugged. “Anyone should do something like that.”

“Yeah, but no one else does.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause the left handed kid was almost always you,” Sam joked.

Steve laughed. “Alright, you caught me. I just want you on my left more often.”

“You know what? Let’s go to Dixie’s,” Bucky called.

Steve groaned. “That’s, like, an hour’s drive. There’s a hundred dance halls between us and there.”

“Dixie’s?” Sam asked.

“It’s this place halfway to Baton Rouge, the other side of New Orleans. Got a huge dancefloor and really good nachos.”

“Nachos?” Sam repeated with a laugh. “You found a hole in the wall in Louisiana and you like the nachos?”

“Y’know, beignets weren’t on the menu and gumbo’s too difficult to carry around a dance floor.”

Sam held up his hands with another laugh. “I’m just saying, nachos is not a difficult thing to get right.”

“Listen, you just try these ones and you’ll change your mind.”

“It’s Saturday,” Riley pointed out uncomfortably. “Even if we left now, we wouldn’t get back before curfew.”

“Who cares?” Bucky asked. “Hardly anyone’s patrolling in the early morning. They’re just trying to catch everyone leaving.”

Sam watched Riley deliberate and really thought his best friend would beg off of it. Sam may have had a rebellious bone that needed scratching every now and then, but Riley was pretty straight-laced for a kid who liked to laugh. Respect for authority and all that. But instead of arguing, he just wiped his hand down the front of his jeans and nodded.

“Alright, if you think it’ll help.”

“Pal, nothing can make you worse right now.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Sam sighed and stood to head down to Steve’s car.

September 21

The car ride was cramped. Steve and Bucky took the front seats and Sam and Riley had to climb into the back seats, which were less seats and more a bench with no leg room. Taking Riley’s truck would’ve been vastly preferable, but, as he pointed out, his dad would likely notice it missing all night.

Sam had, for a moment, entertained a stab of disappointment that it wasn’t going to be him and Bucky squeezing into the back together. But then he thought about Riley glancing back and seeing them locking fingers or crossing ankles, and he was grateful to not have to deal with it.

He didn’t necessarily think Riley would lose it if he started thinking Sam might lean some way. But he did think it might put a strain on their relationship, or at least require a Conversation. Which he was not in the mood to go through. Everything with Riley, all their lives, had been easy. They felt like two pieces that fit together, jagged edges and smooth curves and trick corners. He didn’t want to face the consequence of chipping off an angle to keep fitting together.

Bucky and Steve argued fiercely over the radio for the first half hour of the drive. Bucky insisted Riley needed to be exposed to the music of the day, but Steve was adamant that driver picked the music and he had a more sedate sense of style than Bucky. He’d flip it to some oldies station and it’d stay there for a song or two and then Bucky would flip it to a top hits station and so on, so forth.

It was both amusing and irritating. Sam wasn’t sure if he was glad when they pulled up to a large, mostly paved, parking lot an hour later or not. He was plenty grateful to climb over the seats and out Steve’s door and stretch his legs. The sun was just setting, bathing everything in a deep orange that spilled across the asphalt and a dozen or so windshields. It was a little early for a dancehall, Sam thought, but they’d decided it was better to leave well before the curfew and avoid any trouble from cops looking for Steve’s sore-thumb car. Besides, other people were trickling in behind them.

“I feel…overdressed?” Riley said, leaning on a wheel hub next to Sam. Sam watched him stare at the girls who walked by with their exposed midriffs and the men with their unbuttoned shirts. Sam thought he might have an aneurysm when a woman walked by in a very short skirt.

“We can fix that,” Sam said, instead of ragging on his friend. He stepped in front of Riley and ruffled his collar and unbuttoned a few buttons, then rolled his sleeves up above his elbows. He tilted Riley’s hat further back than he normally wore it and grinned. “There you go, cowboy.”

Riley rubbed at his chest and grimaced. “This is definitely worse.”

“You’ll appreciate it when you get inside and start dancing. It gets hot as hell.”

“I don’t like any of this,” Riley decided and scuffed the heel of his boot against the pavement. “I’m gonna make you ride a horse one day and see how you take to it.”

Bucky solemnly held a hand over his chest. “I promise I will do whatever weird farm thing you want me to. But only if you don’t impress Taylor at the dance.”

Riley sized him up before nodding just as solemnly. “Deal.” He started to walk away and Sam followed, but Bucky grabbed his elbow. By now, enough people were milling around their cars, drinking beer that wasn’t overpriced as the ones in the venue would be, and Sam was worried he’d lose Riley in the gathering crowd.

“What’s up?” he asked, glancing from Riley’s hat to Bucky’s face then back to Riley.

Bucky reached up to gently redirect Sam’s face to him. “I just wanted to mention, it’s not for us, but they don’t mind us here.”

Sam blinked a little. “Really?” he asked.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Being so close to New Orleans and all. No one’ll look twice at us if we stay to ourselves. I dunno, maybe there’s a better place in NOLA proper, but I knew this one and I’ve been here and I’ve seen it.”

Sam nodded, slowly reaching out to curl his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and rubbing his thumb along the bone there. “Is it okay if we take it slow?” he asked. “I just…wanna see for myself.”

Bucky nodded, started to lean in to knock their foreheads together and thought better of it. “Of course, Sam. I didn’t mean we’d have to dance at all. I just wanted to take you some place where you might find some kind of answer.”

Sam smiled and finished pushing their foreheads together. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Hey, no problem. Happy birthday.”

“Ah, shoot, how’d you figure that one out?” Sam asked with a small laugh.

“I’m gonna figure all of you out,” Bucky promised. He dragged his thumb over Sam’s chin and then lifted his head away.

Finding Riley and Steve wasn’t that bad. Despite some people dressing like Riley–something like Sunday best–most everyone else looked like they’d rolled straight from dinner in the city. Sam had never seen so many tight fitting jeans and high heels.

He tried to picture Gideon here. Had this been the dance hall where someone had smeared glitter across his face or carefully wove flowers into his hair? It didn’t seem like it. Aside from the dress code, this could’ve been any of the places Bucky had taken him in the past two months that were closer to town.

There was a live band setting up at the front of the dance floor, but music was playing over the speakers in the meantime. Groups of people jostled around and filed into booths and tables that lined the outer walls, or milled around, standing and chatting.

“Do you guys want drinks?” Bucky asked.

“We should all probably start with water,” Steve pointed out.

“Absolutely not,” Riley said. “I want a beer.” Riley was turning eighteen in a few weeks, but he’d had a fake id since he was sixteen. Not even for himself, really. His grandfather often sent him out to buy groceries, which always included a six pack. Riley rarely used the id for himself, but his grandfather was happy to drink with him when Riley’s father wasn’t looking.

“Can you grab me a coke?” Sam asked, handing Riley a few bills.

“I’ll help,” Steve said, taking money from Bucky and following Riley. It was funny to watch Riley part the crowd and Steve easily navigate it after him.

“When does the dancing start?” Sam asked Bucky when the crowd closed around the others again.

“In a few minutes. It usually takes a little while for things to get started. People don’t like dancing to the radio.”

“How’d you find this place?”

“I drive when I’m mad,” Bucky explained. “Got real mad one night. Wanted to go to New Orleans, but that was just exacerbating the problem. So I kept driving. Found this place. It’s got a nice sign when it’s lit up. I’ll show you when we leave.”

Sam believed him without needing to see it. He looked around the crowd, trying to see if there were any men standing close to each other, or holding hands, or even just looping an arm over shoulders in a close way. He could feel panic and disappointment mounting as he continued to fail to find anyone.

Bucky’s knuckles brushed the back of Sam’s hand and Sam forced the panic down. Steve and Riley came back quicker than Sam was anticipating and had more than water.

“Nachos came with a soda drink, but Riley had already bought yours,” Steve explained, setting a second coke on the half-wall they were standing next to. “And they changed it so you can only buy two waters at a time, which is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Then he held out a tray of nachos that was definitely structurally unsound. “Try them.”

Sam watched the sliding pile with apprehension. But Bucky snagged a chip from the top that took three more with it, so Sam reached for the next one with the most food on it. “Oh, wow,” he said around a mouthful of chip and bean and cheese. “That’s really good,” he agreed. “Jalapenos in the beans?”

“For sure. And juice over the chips, I think,” Steve agreed. 

“Who cares about that?” Riley asked, taking a collection like Bucky had. “It’s got the good fake cheese.”

By the time they had emptied the tray, the band was just about done setting up and a few people had taken to the dance floor to start the night. Once the music started, people were quicker to step to the floor with their partners and start dancing. Some people didn’t dance to the music at all and some just slow danced no matter what. But most people were adjusting with each new song, or stepping back to let someone else take over. At one point, the largest line dance Sam had ever seen got accomplished, with Steve and Bucky both jumping in after the first rotation.

“How can they figure that out?” Riley asked, beer sweating in his hand. “I can’t keep up just watchin’.”

“I dunno,” Sam said with a shrug. He thought he was picking up certain moves and orders but then the line would turn and he’d lose it again. “Practice, I guess.”

“You should dance,” Riley said suddenly, just after Sam had gotten lost in the noise of the music.

“What? Why?”

“Because I know you practice all alone in your room. I see what you hide in that walkman.”

Sam laughed a little and shook his head. “I can’t do anything like this.”

“I’m sure Bucky’ll be more than happy to show you. He likes knowin’ things other people don’t.”

Sam rolled his eyes at the teasing and nudged his elbow against Riley’s arm. “He’s not that bad.”

“Nah, I guess not,” Riley agreed. “Just a little odd.”

“He probably thinks you’re odd too.”

Sam couldn't hear him do it, but he was sure his friend had hummed, head tilting back just a little in a nod he could deny. “How’d you even start talkin’ to him in the first place?”

Sam snorted against his coke can and set it aside. “At the church, actually,” he admitted. “Remember that crazy storm we got right after school started? I was setting up for the evening service and he came in the doors, soaked to the bone. Wanted a dry place to pass the time until he could see a little better again.”

“Huh.” Riley stared through the crowd and Sam wondered what was going through his mind. He couldn’t ask though, because Steve and Bucky came back over at that moment, laughing and reaching for water bottles.

Bucky had barely capped his and set it aside before he was grabbing Sam’s arm and tugging him from his spot. “Come on. Can’t not dance all night.”

Sam still hadn’t seen anyone else like them dancing, but Bucky’s fingers weren’t loosening on his arm and, indeed, no one looked at them as they stumbled onto the floor. He thought about shouting back to Riley to join them, but then Bucky’s hands were on his hips and he more or less forgot about everyone else in the room.

Sam took one of them in his own and caught up to the jaunty beat of the song, the kind of thing that needed loud steps and hops from your heel. He spun Bucky away from him and then turned into their connected arms back to Bucky’s chest. Bucky ducked under their arms to untangle them and grinned at him brilliantly.

“Damn, preacher-son. You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I never said I couldn’t dance,” he pointed out. At the large Wilson Family Gatherings that took place far from home, nearer the senior Wilsons’ place, dancing was a staple. Sam had never seen his father dance then, but no one had ever told him not to. He’d learned next to his siblings and his cousins when he was young. Those gatherings had gotten sparser and sparser as time went on. Sam wasn’t sure when the last one was. Not since Gideon left, for sure. At least, his family hadn’t gone.

But the movement was still in his bones and dancing with Bucky brought the same joy that dancing with his family had. Bucky was clearly having fun as well. Sam had seen him dance with a few girls throughout the evening, but clearly he’d been reigning himself in for the most part.

They danced until Sam got dizzy and stumbled into Bucky’s chest with a laugh, head swimming as he tried to find his feet under him and tried not to pay attention to the way Bucky’s heart was racing under his hands. They’d stepped and spun and twisted their way to the far front corner of the dancefloor and Sam couldn’t see their friends anymore.

“We should–” he started to say, but Bucky just grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the bathroom. Which is not what Sam was going to suggest, but he wasn’t complaining. The bathroom had two stalls and two urinals against the wall perpendicular to the door. Bucky pulled them into the larger stall and Sam blindly locked it behind them.

He let Bucky walk him back against the wall and ruck up his shirt. The tile of the wall was cold to the touch but Bucky put his hand against the small of Sam’s back, so it balanced. He pushed his fingers through Bucky’s sweat damp hair and licked his way into Bucky’s mouth, not that it took much. Bucky was about as loose for him as Sam was for Bucky.

“You know what?” he panted against Sam’s mouth. “I’m regretting not bringing the truck now.”

“You want to make out in the back of Riley’s truck?” Sam laughed. “You’re as likely to find a hymnal as you are a guide to animal husbandry back there.”

Bucky’s face screwed up in disgust, probably at both things in equal measure, and he kissed Sam again instead of answering. “Just want a bit of privacy.”

“Should’ve thought about that before driving an hour away from home.”

Bucky’s hands slid up Sam’s shirt, squeezing at his chest in a way that made Sam’s hips stutter forward. It earned him a smirk from Bucky. Sam tugged on his hair in retribution, which pulled a muffled moan from Bucky.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and they each froze, looking at the open space between the stall door and the floor. Quickly, Sam crossed over to the toilet to sit on the back of it, feet pulled up on the seat. Bucky half straddled the bowl to keep kissing Sam, hands warm against his face.

“Hey, Sam? Bucky?” Riley called. Sam startled forward but Bucky quickly put a hand to his mouth.

“Hey, what’s up, man?” Bucky asked. There was a can of beer sitting on the toilet paper dispenser and he grabbed it, angling it over the water. Sam waved him off.

“Have you seen Sam? I can’t find him out on the floor.”

“Uh, yeah. He came in here with me. Think he might’ve gone outside for some air? I’ll go look for him. Have you found someone to dance with?”

“Uh, not yet,” Riley admitted. “I’ll go see if I can.”

“Atta man,” Bucky said. Now he did tip the beer can to the toilet, the noise mixing with the door shutting behind Riley.

Sam let out a ragged breath and he glanced, wide eyed, at Bucky. “What was that?”

“What? You wanted me to say ‘yeah, we’re both in here’? Come on. Just leave a little bit after me.”

He leaned in to kiss Sam again and Sam let him, climbing off the back of the toilet so he could push Bucky up against the wall now, fingers curling in Bucky’s soft t-shirt, other hand clutching at his hip. But when Bucky’s hand fell to Sam’s waistband, he had to shake his head.

“Not here. Not while Riley’s pacing the floor outside.”

Bucky sighed and pouted a little before he kissed Sam one more time before pulling away. “Fine. I’ll wait. But you should come home with me.”

“It’s Saturday,” Sam reminded him sadly. “I’ve got to be in my room when everyone’s getting ready for church tomorrow.”

“I hate this town,” Bucky groaned.

Sam smiled and shook his head a little again. “It’s not all bad.”

Bucky stole another three kisses. “No,” he agreed thoughtfully. “I guess not everything about it is bad.”

Sam pushed him towards the door and Bucky slipped out of it and then the next. Sam was just going to flush the beer down the toilet when he heard the door again.

“Sam?” Riley called again. “I know you’re in there. I’m not stupid and you’re not quiet.”

Sam’s blood ran cold and he squeezed his eyes shut, like maybe he could will this all away. Maybe he could crawl under the stall to the next one over. But then Riley was pushing open the door to the stall he was already in, staring at him like this was some proof he’d only mostly been sure of.

“Hey,” he said.

Sam flushed the toilet and Riley looked confused for a second. “Uh, hey,” Sam said back.

They stared at each other, three feet between them, and Sam desperately wished there was a window he could climb out of.

“We were just–” he started.

“I’m not stupid,” Riley repeated sharply. He took a few steps back so he could lean against the back wall. “You’re my best friend. You think I didn’t notice?”

Sam continued to stare for a few extra seconds. If this was the last time he got to see his best friend look at him so cleanly and openly, he wanted to commit it to memory. “I was hoping you might pass it off as a fluke,” he admitted.

“I did for a while. But there’s a lot to write off.”

Sam nodded. Not because he necessarily agreed. Just because he didn’t want to argue.

“How long?” Riley asked.

“I dunno. A few weeks after he showed up.”

“So, basically the entire time we’ve known him.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” He could feel tears building in his throat, pricking at his eyes. “Please don’t freak out. I get it if you wanna walk away. Just don’t–”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Riley interrupted. “Jeez, you think I would?”

Sam dug the heel of his hand into his eye. “I mean. Yeah. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Would you? If it was the other way ‘round.”

“No,” Sam answered. He also couldn’t picture a world where he didn’t sympathize with Riley in the scenario, but that was besides the point.

“Where would I go anyway? If I was gonna run?” Riley asked. “You’re basically my only friend.”

“Everyone at school loves you,” Sam objected.

“Sure, but they ain’t my friends. It’s just you.”

Sam lost the fight against the tears and he sank down against the wall to hide his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. For all of this.”

Riley sat down next to Sam after a pause. “You put us down right in front of the door,” he pointed out, since Sam couldn’t see. “We’re gonna scare the snakes outta whoever walks in.”

Sam snorted and felt a sob build in his chest that he tamped down. “I’m sorry to them too.”

Riley cleared his throat then was quiet again. “I don’t need an apology, Sam,” he said eventually. “Except maybe for you makin’ me think about what I’m sayin’ right now.”

“I’ve been lying,” Sam said. “To my best friend. We tell everyone everything.”

“I kissed Aimee N. freshman year.”

Sam finally looked up at Riley, peering at him through wet eyes. “What?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why. We were at the bleachers one day and I just did it. I didn’t even like her.”

“Thanks for letting me know. Hey, is that why she hates me too?”

Riley laughed softly. “Yeah, probably.”

“Thanks for letting me know. But I don’t really think those things are the same. 

“I went to the air force recruiting office a few weeks ago. Over the summer.”

Sam’s blood went cold again. “Why would you do something like that?”

Riley shrugged. “Don’t wanna go to school. Farm’s not doing great. I don’t wanna stay here and just…work at the grocery store all my life. I wanna see things and learn something interesting. Just get up in the sky and watch. Besides, hey, maybe I’ll become an astronaut.”

“We just got out of the most unpopular war in history and you want to get involved in that?”

Riley shrugged and looked at his knees. “I just know I don’t want to be here.”

“Rye, why didn’t you tell me?”

Riley raised an eyebrow at him. “So that makes us about even, I’d say.”

Sam’s cheeks warmed and he looked away from Riley’s face. “Yeah, I get it.”

They lapsed into silence. Riley started tapping his foot, off beat, and Sam picked at a loose cuticle.

“Just guys?” Riley asked.

Sam startled at the question. “Uh. Yeah. I think so. Is that a problem?”

Riley shook his head. “Heck, with your pretty face out of the picture, I’m the next best lookin’ guy at school for the ladies.”

Sam laughed softly and elbowed Riley. “Don’t tell anyone. Not even Steve. And if Bucky finds out you know…”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not even the one other guy who does know. Hey, can I still sleep in your room when I come over?”

Sam snorted. “I think that’s up to you. If you want. Would probably raise suspicion if you didn’t.”

“Cool. ‘Cause that’s the only place I can run to.”

“Seems a little counterproductive,” Sam pointed out.

“Makes it a good thing I’m not trynna run, huh?” Riley got to his feet and offered his hand down to Sam. “Come on. Let’s go see what those other two have gotten into.”

Sam let Riley pull him to his feet and then hesitated a second before hugging him tightly. Riley hugged him back instantly. “Thank you, Rye,” Sam muttered.

“Any day, Sam,” Riley promised.

They left the bathroom and melted into the crowd around the dance floor. People had taken to dancing in the wings or between the tables, but Sam and Riley managed to cut a path through groups easily enough. Sam saw Bucky two-stepping with a girl who was probably a few years older than them around the same time another young woman stopped Riley. She was wearing almost the exact same shirt as him, except she’d cut the sleeves and bottom half off of hers and tied the remnants around her ribs.

Sam watched a blush erupt over Rileys’ face, ears, and neck. “Howdy, ma’am,” he greeted with a touch of his hat.

It made the girl giggle, like it always did, and she inclined her head towards the dance floor. “Do you wanna dance, cowboy?” she asked.

“Uh, n–”

“He’d love to,” Sam interrupted, pushing Riley to the edge of the crowd. “Take it easy on him. He’s not used to getting off the farm.”

The girl smiled brightly. “I think I can handle that.” She finished pulling Riley to the floor and Sam cut across the corner of the dance floor to get back to the back end of the hall. The tray from their nachos was still on the half-wall but everything else had been cleared away, including Steve. Sam had half expected him to be waiting.

By the end of the song, Bucky had made his way back, looking loose-limbed and happy. “Hey, Sammy,” he greeted, holding onto Sam’s shoulders as he stumbled to a stop. He’d apparently caved and had a beer, but Sam didn’t mind the smell on his breath right then. “Where’d you go?”

“Uh, Riley came in after you left,” he admitted. “We talked.”

It sobered Bucky immediately, though he still seemed to sway a little as he stood, a little buzzed on beer and a lot buzzed on the music. “Is everything okay?”

Sam nodded. His throat felt tight even though everything seemed to have worked out. There was still a curling pit of anxiety in his stomach that he couldn’t shake. “Yeah. It’s fine,” he answered.

Bucky stared at him with bright, discerning eyes before he carefully shrugged. “Alright, if you say so. Wanna dance again?”

“More than anything,” Sam said with a small smile. But as Bucky was pulling Sam to the dance floor, Riley came stumbling away.

“I think Steve’s outside,” he said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder to redirect him. “I think he’s startin’ something.”

“What? Why? What happened?” Bucky asked, hurrying to catch up.

“The girl I was dancin’ with, she said the guy who brought her got all up in someone’s face and they took it outside and when she described the guy…well, it sounded like Steve.”

“Jesus,” Bucky groaned, pushing by Sam and Riley to halfway sprint out of the dance hall.

They didn’t have to search through the dark of the night to find them. It was, indeed, Steve and some guy who was about three times his size. Steve’s nose was already bleeding and the other guy had a large fist curled in Steve’s shirt, the other raised above him.

“Hey!” Bucky called, drawing the attention away from Steve long enough for Riley to stride forward to punch the man across the jaw, sending him sprawling.

“No one never taught you manners,” Riley spat. “But hopefully someone taught you how to stay down.”

Bucky stared at Riley and then at the guy on the ground clutching his face. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” Riley asked, genuinely confused. “You think just ‘cause I like to follow rules I don’t know how to defend ‘em?”

“I would never have considered that you could punch someone in my life,” Bucky admitted. “I thought those arms were solely for hay bales and pigs.”

“We don’t have pigs,” Riley scoffed.

“It’s not broken,” Sam said, running his thumbs along either side of Steve’s nose. “But it’s gonna bruise something fierce. You might wanna wear glasses for a while.”

Steve grimaced and turned to spit blood from his mouth. “Ma’s gonna kill me,” he said.

“She’s gonna kill me first,” Bucky pointed out. “Come on, let’s go home before boy-wonder here causes any more problems.”

“Where are your keys?” Sam asked. “Someone else needs to drive. Your eyes are gonna swell up.”

Steve groaned and fished his keys from his pocket. “If you crash my car, I’m gonna murder you too,” he warned Bucky as he passed them over.

“Get in line. Your ma, my ma, you. I’d say your new friend, but I’m not the one who ended it this time.”

“I’ll sit with Steve in the back if you wanna take shotgun,” Riley offered to Sam.

“More leg room in the passenger seat,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’m just gonna pass out, I think. Try not to think about how badly I gotta piss.”

Sam laughed softly and rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll take shotgun.”

They piled back into the car, everyone doing their part to navigate Steve to the back seat, and left the dancehall, headed back for home. Sam watched the lights of civilization sweep by the window faster than he could process them. It seemed like a lot of shit was doing that recently.

A few minutes into the drive, when Riley really was snoring and the whistling sound from Steve’s nose had evened out, Sam reached over to put his hand over Bucky’s on the gearshift.

Bucky looked over at him and grinned, lit up in all the lights.

September 27

Sam just about fell out of his chair in seventh period when the intercom cackled to life and rang feedback through the room. Even the teacher looked deeply irritated to have a silent reading day interrupted so loudly.

“Good afternoon, this is Principal Wiatrek. All seniors, please report to the gym immediately. Do not go to eighth period. Report to the gym. All seniors.”

Confusedly, people began to put their books away in their backpacks and looked up the teacher for any further instruction. She continued to look irritated.

“Do not dally in the halls. Go straight to the gym and be careful in the parking lot. This is not a free pass to leave early. I expect every one of you to be in the gym. Do not make me follow you and take attendance again.” Which was less clarification than Sam as hoping for.

He followed the stream of people flowing into the halls and making their way to the gym at the far side of the school. He found Bucky around the next turn and they fell into step together.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked. “Is this some yearly tradition?”

Sam shook his head. “I have no idea. The last time our whole grade was called out like this, it was because we misbehaved on a school trip.”

Bucky’s nose scrunched up. “Gross. We didn’t even get a school trip this time.”

The gym was across a service road and a parking lot from the main building of the school. It was hot outside and the flow of traffic bottle-necked at the gym door. Sam could feel sweat beginning to collect along his spine, under his backpack.

It felt weird to be standing outside with only his class. It was easy to forget how small it actually was when he was focused on his core group of peers or an all-grades extra curricular or the crowd of a football game. But like this, he realized that this was it. These were the same people he met in kindergarten and they’d be the same people who walked the stage with him in a few months. Most of his life was contained right here on the steps leading up to a gym without AC.

“Do you see Steve?” Bucky asked.

“No. Have you seen Riley?”

“Nah. But he’s out in the shop building, right? They probably missed the announcement entirely.”

That was true. There was no working intercom over there. Sam was pretty certain the shop teacher kept looking away while students destroyed it in more creative ways everytime a new one was installed.

By the time they got into the gym and found a seat on wooden benches that were already tacky with humidity, Sam was irritated and sweaty. In the middle of the gym floor, Principal Wiatrek stood next to Mr. Rollins and, horrifyingly, Sam’s own father. Paul looked as bored and uncomfortable as Sam ever felt here. There was a woman too, who Sam didn’t recognize, but he assumed she was involved with the school somehow. PTA maybe? School board?

“Shit, he looks just like his loser kid,” Bucky said under his breath, nodding to Rollins.

“Being an asshole shows physically eventually,” Sam muttered back.

“Thought you said he wasn’t the mayor anymore.”

“He’s not,” Sam agreed. Which made it vastly irritating that he was there in the first place. “This is some morality spiel. We get them every now and then at pep-rallies. They’d never done it grade by grade though.”

“Maybe they’ll pray we all make it to graduation. Or maybe someone died.”

“We’d definitely have heard about it from classmates before they could schedule an announcement.”

Bucky inclined his head in agreement. The crowd hushed gradually and Sam could see Wiatrek doing rough counting. Paul’s eyes found Sam, and then Bucky, and Sam jerked his knees from Bucky’s.

“This is about everyone,” Wiatrek said under his breath, but the microphone managed to pick it up, which was a minor miracle considering it rarely worked when someone was standing right in front of it.

Which is what he did next, stepping up to the microphone and adjusting it to better reach his mouth, which sent more feedback through Sam’s brain. “Good afternoon, seniors,” he greeted. Half of the class responded with an unenthusiastic ‘good afternoon.’ “I apologize for interrupting your day. Hopefully this won’t take too long and we’ll have you back in your last class with at least enough time to turn in homework.” No on reacted to his stupid joke. 

“I’ve asked you all to gather today because I’ve heard rumors that someone is attempting to plan a homecoming dance for next week’s football game.” A few idiots whistled. “I am here to remind  you that, no matter how young and invincible you may feel, dancing within city limits is strictly against the law. This is not my rule, though I find myself often agreeing with it. This is a real law. And you are all young adults. Many of you will be turning eighteen in these coming months if you haven’t already.”

Bucky elbowed Sam’s arm. “Happy birthday, again,” he whispered.

Sam blushed hard at the memory of how exactly Bucky had wished him happy birthday Monday night on the beach.

“As such, you are becoming pillars of our community, which means you are held to the same standards as our community. You are expected to obey laws and maintain peace, morality, and dignity. I have with me today Pastor Wilson and former Mayor Rollins, who would like to offer a few words on the subject.”

Rollins took the mic first because he was an asshole with no regard for others.Paul, for his part, hadn’t made a move towards it, so Sam let some of his vicarious anger simmer away.

“Good afternoon, seniors. As Principal Wiatrek said, you are becoming adults in our community. I know where you are in your journey and how you are feeling. My own son has recently gone through exactly this. I know it feels like now is the time to act out and make a mess of things. You feel like the world resets once you graduate and everything is erased. But that is not true. The examples you set now and the choices you make will follow you into adulthood. These are the moments that define you. You are establishing the rest of your lives here. I hope you make the correct choices going forward and do not give into the temptation of lawlessness and debauchery. As the rest of the world falls apart, our community remains strong and resilient. It is now your duty to continue that tradition.”

Bucky pretended to gag and he dropped his head back as he rolled his eyes. “I hate this town,” he muttered.

Making sure there were people in front of him, blocking his father’s view of them, Sam squeezed Bucky’s knee. “That’s your fault for listening. Just tune them out. That’s what everyone else here is doing.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“I’m thinking about my Hamlet essay.”

“Good afternoon, class,” Paul said, the third greeting of this inane session. “I’m glad to recognize so many faces in the crowd. Sometimes I come to speak at the school and I don’t know any of the students. Though, you are a special group, since you are all my son’s age. I have gotten the privilege to watch you all grow up alongside him at birthday parties and barbeques and bake sales and talent shows and sporting events. Every single person in this class has so much potential in them and I can see the fire in your eyes. Trust me, every time I ask Sam to pick up his laundry, I see that fire.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as people turned to look at him.

“I know you have questions. I know resistance comes, not from hatred, but from confusion. Finding answers to some of your questions can feel daunting sometimes, right? The world is getting so much bigger so much faster. How can you possibly know where to look?” He held up a copy of the bible that Sam knew lived on his desk at home. It was the one he wrote his sermons out of.

“All the answers you need in life can be found in this book. How to be lawful and honest, how to obey authority and live in grace.”

Sam stood suddenly, almost sending himself sprawling backwards when the back of his ankle hit the edge of the bench. “Excuse me. Might I quote a few passages as well?” he asked. He could not believe his voice had held together through this whole thing. Someone near the front row turned to look and Sam realized with a lurch that his mama was down there too.

His father watched him carefully before he nodded. “Of course, son,” he said with a go on gesture.

Sam cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. “Psalm 149:3 Let them praise his name in the dance, let them sing praises unto him with the timbrel and harp. Repeated again in Pslam 150:4. 2 Samuel 6:14 And David danced before the Lord with all his might. Ecclesiastes 3:4 To every thing there is a season and a time: to every purpose under the heaven: a time to weep and a time to laugh: a time to mourn and a time to dance. Pslam 30:11 Thou has turned my mourning into dancing.” This, he found his eyes on his father, unable to look away. That’s what half of this was, wasn’t it? Sam had spent so long trying not to be his brother and his father had spent so long trying to make sure that Sam was not his brother. And the whole time, what they really wanted wasn’t the absence of a new Gideon, but the presence of the old one back.

“From the very beginning, in Exodus, the Bible talks of dancing and celebrating and playing music to praise the Lord and honor Him. I don’t know when we started to believe that dancing was sinful. I don’t know when we took celebration and turned it to shame. I don’t know why someone in the 1800s wanted to write it down in law that there’d be no public dancing here. But I do know that there is a season and time for every thing. And the time for dancing is now.”

“This is not the time for a debate, young man,” Rollins called loudly.

Paul turned to look at him sharply. “That is my son and you will not take away his right to speak and preach. You will not do that for any of the students in this gym or this school.”

“This is absurd,” Rollins scoffed, crossing his arms. “A few Bible verses will not change the outcome of your dance. We’ll be blocking off the roads next weekend and moving curfew an hour ahead of time. Any person out and about after curfew will be held in the jail until the next morning.”

Bucky stood then too. “Then we’ll dance in our cells,” he called back.

A few chuckles cut through the crowd of students. Sam could not look at his mama, but his heart was full for his father’s defense of him. He smiled thinly down at Paul and let his legs give out to sit again.

A few nights after his outburst at dinner, he’d slunk into the living room after Sarah had gone to bed and sat on the coffee table in front of his parents on the couch. With minimal eye contact, because there was nothing he hated worse than seeing himself disappoint his parents, he apologized profusely and haltingly got a few words out about his thought process and what he was feeling.

There’d been a silence then, when Sam had sneaked a glance up at his parents who were having a furious, silent conversation that involved a lot of eyebrow movement, frowning, and quick swishes of the hand.

“I will not lose another son, Paul Wilson,” his mama had half snapped, half sighed. Then, to Sam, she’d added, “You’re grounded for the rest of your life. Dish duty until we buy a dishwasher and then you’re on dishwasher duty. And don’t even think about asking to go with the Wiatreks on their vacation this year.”

Sam nodded. “Understood, mama,” he’d agreed. He probably would’ve agreed to anything to make her hug him the way she did and kiss his hair.

His father had not said anything until later that night when he appeared in Sam’s doorway well after Sam had heard his mama turn in. Sam sat up quickly, clearing space for his father to sit next to him, which he did.

Sam and his father were similar in enough ways to make people do odd double takes. In the face, Sam was very much like his mother. She had the high cheekbones, the wide eyes, the gap in her teeth. But Sam’s hands were just like his father’s, along with the pattern they grew their beards in at, or the sprawl of their legs.

Sam stared at their hands as they sat next to each other, both picking at their fingers idly. “You scare the holy hell out of me sometimes, you know,” Paul said eventually.

“I’m sorry,” Sam had said.

“You have so much life in you, Sam. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone trying to give this much energy to the world. After Gideon… I love your brother, I hope you know that. I will never stop loving him. And I don’t love you or your sister any less because of what he did. I suppose it may seem like I got distant, but I swear I was always right there with you.”

“We didn’t even talk about him,” Sam said quietly. “It’s like he just stopped existing.”

“We could have handled things a lot better. I know that now. But I hope to never have to use what I’ve learned dealing with this ever again. You’ve grown into such a wonderful young man. Opinionated more than I can keep up with sometimes. I don’t know where you get all these ideas. But, Sam, I’m so happy you have them, even if it means we might butt heads over peas some nights.”

Sam looked up at his father then, blinking back tears. “Really?” he asked. “It’s not the end of the world?”

“Of course it’s not,” Paul said, pulling Sam into a one armed hug. “If I didn’t argue with you, I don’t know if I’d learn anything at this old age. You’re my favorite, most stubborn teacher.”

Sam had clung to his father’s arm and leaned against his shoulder and tried not to really cry as he focused on his own heartbeat calming down. “I love you, Daddy,” he’d whispered as he untangled himself minutes or maybe hours later.

“I love you too, Sammy,” his father had said back, kissing the crown of his head and standing. “Forever.”

Forever, Sam thought as his father and he stared at each other now. Even through the head butting.

“Settle down,” Wiatrek tried to order, though it wasn’t working as other students stood as well–some to walk out of the gym all together, others just to stand like Bucky–and the din rose in volume. “Students, settle down!” Wiatrek had the microphone back and, once again, the feedback squealed. People groaned and covered their ears. “There will be no dance after the game next Friday. This is not up for debate or discussion. Please follow the rules or there will be consequences.”

“Whatever,” Bucky huffed. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, climbing down the bleachers as everyone else cleared out despite Wiatrek still trying to speak. Sam’s sneakers hit the floor and he tugged on Bucky’s sleeve for a second before crossing the gym to his father. He ignored Riley’s dad asking what he was doing or what he needed and instead hugged his father tightly.

He was a little surprised when his father’s arms hugged him back. 

“Please don’t tell my classmates about my laundry habits again,” he muttered.

“Start taking care of your laundry and I won’t have any pithy remarks to make.”

“You’re not pithy,” Sam groaned. He pulled himself back from his father and waved Bucky over. “Dad, I want you to meet Bucky. I know you’ve exchanged pleasantries, but I want you to meet him as my friend. Buck, this is my father, Paul Wilson.”

“It’s good to meet you, sir,” Bucky said, offering his hand out. “I’m sorry if I’ve been any trouble.”

“No you’re not,” Paul corrected. To Sam’s horror, Bucky shrugged.

“I’m not,” he agreed. “But I am sorry if I’ve been trouble for Sam. He’s been about the only part of this town that makes me happy.”

“Sam’s a good boy,” Paul agreed. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

“I’m trying,” Bucky promised.

“You boys are really going to try for this dance, aren’t you?” Paul asked.

“We’ll figure something out, sir,” Bucky answered.

Paul put his hand on Bucky’s head and then Sam’s, the way he did when he was blessing someone at church. “Then I’ll be praying for you and all your friends. Please try to be safe.”

Sam blinked a little numbly. “Really?”

“Everyone just got up here and called you all adults and the future of our community. How do we expect you to make important decisions later if we don’t let you make any now? I’m here to guide you, Sam. Not hinder you. Now, get out of here before Rollins decided to arrest everyone under the age of 27 preemptively.”

Sam grinned at his dad gave him one last hug before heading out of the gym with Bucky by his side.

September 30

Bucky folded himself into the picnic table next to Sam. The odd cold snap they’d had blow in over the weekend almost made it bearable for the jacket he was wearing. “Where does the cityline end?” he asked without preamble.

Riley, who had been in shop class and had missed the drama of Friday but had been filled in since, raised an eyebrow. “Up the country road a few miles?” he guessed. “Around the Newmans’ farm.”

“Sure. Where else?”

“The old grain factory to the west,” Steve, who had been called out sick and missed the drama of Friday but been caught up, said. “Different country road the other direction.”

“Right,” Bucky agreed. “What’s the last one?”

Sam frowned. “The beach?”

Bucky snapped and then smacked the table. “Coastal waters are state waters, up to some number of miles, but not city waters.”

“Okay,” Riley agreed hesitantly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Have the dance on a boat on the water.”

“There’s no way that’ll work,” Sam objected. “There’s no boat big enough.  And we’d have to have everyone on board before we could get far enough away from the harbor to be out of reach. We can’t have people rowing out all night.”

“What if the boat wasn’t in the harbor?” Bucky reasoned. “What if it was, say, on a private, protected stretch of beach with new fences put up around it.”

“Man, just spit it out,” Steve groaned. “What scheme did you hatch up this weekend?”

“There’s this beach Sam and I go to and I found out why it’s so weird and secluded. It’s completely privately owned, used to be a research strip until the funding ran out and it was abandoned. But I figured out who owned it and I convinced them to let me park a boat off the shore in exchange for some chores, like putting up a new fence, mowing down the grasses, scraping the dunes, trying to find a way to banish the crabs.”

“What’s gonna stop the cops from coming up to the boat?” Riley asked.

“It’s private, protected land. They’ll need a warrant first. So as long as we keep it quiet until, like, Friday afternoon, they won’t know. Besides, it’s on the water, not in town.”

“Assume that that very shoddy logic works out in your favor,” Sam added. “Where do we get a boat big enoug to fit all of us dancing?”

Bucky grinned. “The Ruizes.”

“I’ve been on the Ruizes' boat,” Sam sighed. “There’s no way. They can barely host another four guests on their boat.”

“Their fishing boat, yeah. But Mr. Ruiz just bought a yacht.”

“That's the Ruizes?” Riley hissed. “I’ve seen that thing all summer. I had no idea.”

“Yeah,  apparently they came into a lot of money earlier this year. He said his kids are all out of college and they fixed up the house how they wanted and they had enough left over to buy this boat. And then some. It was a hell of a clunker when he first took me out there, but we’ve got it running well enough to get it on the water. Painted all shiny and new.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing all these evenings?” Steve asked with shock.

“Mostly,” Bucky said. Somehow, he didn’t glance over at Sam. Sam would’ve glanced over at him if the roles had been reversed. “I think it’ll work.”

“How do we keep it underwraps for that long?” Riley asked.

“Just don’t tell no one,” Bucky answered. “It’s not like the town’s so big people need help getting anywhere. They’ll come if they want to.”

Riley chewed on the inside of his cheek, but didn’t ask any more questions. Steve also had turned back to ripping apart a straw wrapper and tying it into complicated knots.

“Cool,” Sam said. “That sounds…alright. We’ll make it work. Can we park the boat Thursday night?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ll have to talk to Mr. Ruiz, but I think he and his wife are heading out to to visit one of their kids this weekend, so he shouldn’t mind.”

“And you know how to drive this thing?”

“I’ll be able to get it on the beach,” he confirmed with a nod.

Dramatically, the release bell rang right then and everyone got up to start heading to their next class. Sam had study hall and found himself delaying his trek to the library. Bucky graciously hung back as well. The courtyard always cleared out faster than the cafeteria used to. Not having AC was really a boone for the anti-tardiness policy.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked. He sat on one of the tabletops with Sam, feet balanced on the bench underneath.

“Yeah, just wanted to ask you something,” Sam said. He looked up at Bucky, squinting through the sun, and pushed his hair out of his face. “You need to put new bobby-pins in. Here.” He dug in his jeans pocket and produced two, tying Bucky’s back back.

“Thanks,” Bucky muttered, blushing greatly. “What’d you need to ask.”

“There’s this dance,” Sam started, just to see the way the smile broke out on Bucky’s face. “And I was kind of wondering if you wanted to go with me. We might have to do dinner afterwards, but I think that’ll be okay. The Drive In’s open all night.”

“It is,” Bucky agreed. He pretended to deliberate before shrugging. “Sure, I can go with you, Wilson,” he said with that same wide smile. “You just gotta promise not to cramp my style.”

“Barnes, you don’t have any style,” Sam laughed. He glanced around, studiously searching any nook where anyone might appear, before leaning over to kiss Bucky quickly. “It’s a date,” he said.

“A date,” Bucky said back. “I’ll pick you up.”

The warning bell rang and Sam stood. “See you Thursday first.”

Bucky held a hand over his chest and made a little bow before heading off to his math class, however long that lasted.

October 3

Sam had never been on a boat so big before. At least, not one with such open spaces. There were large fishing boats that sometimes docked here but they were full of equipment and hauls. The yacht was definitely comparable in size to them and almost wide open, except for the captain’s hull nearer the stern. There was an undercarriage level that they’d decided, with the Ruizes, to lock and lock well. They just needed the deck for this party.

He and Bucky had been out since school let out and now the sun was well past set. They’d configured some rope railings around the ship to keep people from tipping over and they’d set up a table off the port side near the bow where foods and drinks could be left. Decorations had gone up. They hooked up the stereo system. Sam took another look at the engine to make sure he liked the work Bucky had done.

“I trust Mr. Ruiz. It’s you I’m concerned about,” he’d said.

And now they were putting finishing touches on some light fixtures when Bucky asked, “If I got to ask your dad to take you to a dance, if that was a world we lived in, do you think he’d say yes?”

Sam wiped his temple on his shoulder and shrugged. “A few days ago? No way,” he said between panted breathes as he stared at some flickering lanterns. “But now? Maybe. You mean a lot to me. He can see that. Even if he doesn’t know everything.”

Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat and laid down across the deck, staring up at the stars. Sam turned off all the lights he’d just made sure were working and laid next to him. 

“Isn’t it better not having to ask?” he asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I want to. I wanna do it all right. I want a storybook.”

“I don’t think we get that, Buck,” Sam said quietly.

“I’ll ask him to marry you.”

“Oh, you think we’re gonna be together that long, huh?”

“I think I’ll slip and ask you a lot sooner than you think,” Bucky corrected. “We’ll see each other for the first time since you’ve gone to DC and I won’t be able to stop myself after the first kiss.”

“You’ve got to get the kiss in first,” Sam agreed with a smile. He tucked an arm under hishead. “I’m not going to DC. I’ll apply to LSU. It’s just easier that way.” It had also been a bartering chip he’d used to keep Riley here a little longer. He’d already more or less made up his mind, but he’d offered it out to Riley like a life preserver. 

“Stay with me, if we both get in. You can make some other decision after if you want, but stay with me for now.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Bucky asked with concern.

“I haven’t rejected Georgetown yet. I’ll wait until I get a confirmation from LSU. But, yeah. I’m pretty sure this is what I want.”

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked.

Sam turned onto his elbow and leaned over to kiss him instead, shifting to straddle his lap as his hands came up to hold Bucky’s face. Bucky held onto the back of his head, his other hand trailing down his back and along his spine until he could tug Sam’s shirt up to his shoulders and get his hands on bare skin.

They rarely got to do this. Sam had walked past people doing worse in the backseat of their cars after school but him and Bucky could barely brush fingers at school. Even out on the beach, they rarely indulged in a kiss, minus one time. They were too likely to get caught at the Wilson household, which left the small house the Barneses were staying in, which was practically connected to the Rogers’ house, so even that required planning.

But here, beneath the stars and hidden by ship walls, Sam let Bucky’s hands roam and he kissed his neck until Bucky was squirming under him, making all these noises Sam had never heard before. He pulled the collar of Bucky’s shirt down to kiss over the top of his chest and the vee of his neck.

“Sammy, can we go to your family’s boat?” Bucky breathed.

“We’re not doing anything on my family’s boat,” Sam said.

Bucky kissed into his mouth in response and Sam wasn’t sure if it was an agreement or an argument.

“I just want something soft under my back. And maybe a nap before we go back in.”

A nap did sound good. Sam’s body was aching when he thought about it, in all the places Bucky’s hands weren’t touching him. "Sure, then," he agreed with a wry grin. "But keep your expectations Rated G."

Bucky put a hand on his chest and then squirmed so he could stand and haul Sam up with him. 

“Just wanna hold you for a while,” Bucky promised and pulled him towards the shore.

October 4

If anyone had any opinions about Sam walking out the door in a suit with Bucky towards his bike, they kept them to themselves. Sam had said something to the effect of ‘we planned it, we have to get there early and make sure things are running smoothly,’ so maybe that assuaged them.

“You kids be safe,” Darlene said, adjusting Sam’s bowtie for a third time. It wasn’t laying right. Sam couldn’t tell her it wasn’t laying right because he kept yanking on it every time he felt like he was going to throw up. He hadn’t had nerves like this in a long time. Then again, he hadn’t been planning on doing something this reckless for a long time.

“That is an ugly color,” Sarah said, peering at him from over the back of the couch.

Sam examined himself in the entry way mirror, which only really showed off his shoulders as far as color went. “I’ll have you know, this is the Prince color.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Sarah scoffed. Still, she continued to watch him as he adjusted his coat. “Unbutton it,” she said. “It looks better that way.”

Sam did as he was told and then flicked the bottom hem out of his way to shove his hands in his pockets and examine the look that way.

Sarah shot him a thumbs up and then turned to the commotion coming from the kitchen.

“Hey, Sammy, you ready?” Bucky asked, Paul following him with a mostly peaceable expression. “Mrs. Wilson, your sweet-tea is divine,” he added, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Next time I need to cater something, I’m gonna pay you to do it.”

“I cannot believe Sam hasn’t brought you by the restaurant yet,” Darlene agreed. “You can get all the tea you want there.”

“Well, sneaking around doesn’t really give you the chance to lurk where your family is,” Paul pointed out with a look at Sam that made him shrink a little into his coat. “You have the key to the boat?”

“Always,” Sam answered.

“Good. I want you to stay there if things gets too much for you tonight, okay? Don’t try to drive back. I know it’s only a mile or so, but still.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Sam insisted.

“There’s no alcohol allowed,” Bucky agreed.

“I’m just saying,” Paul reiterated. “The boat is right there and I’d prefer you safe. Especially with the curfew Rollins has put in place.”

After the service on Sunday, when Paul had urged the congregation to pray for the kids, their dance, and guidance for all in the community, some of the fervor seemed to die down. There were a handful of Voices You Listened To in the community, but none could ring quite as loud as Paul Wilson’s. Most of the cops would go easy on kids coming back from the dance, maybe keep an eye out for any drunk driving. But there was still the risk of someone in Rollins’ pocket catching someone on just the wrong side of the rules.

“Will do,” Sam said, hugging his father and giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and then dancing over to yank on one of Sarah’s braids while she watched TV. She shrieked and threw a pillow at him and he ran out the door with Bucky, laughing and covering his head.

“You ready to go have a party?” Bucky asked, kicking a leg over his bike.

“We’ll see how this goes,” Sam said with a giddy sort of sigh.

Across town, people were clearly getting ready for the dance. Flowers were held behind backs and suits hung over arms and pictures were staged in lawns. It was funny how quickly the opinion about something could turn once other people slowly eased themselves into accepting it.

“Are you going to do it?” “No, I couldn’t. Are you?” “Not if you’re not.” “Well, if you’re not, I’m not.” “Fine, I’ll do it.” “Great, I’ll do it too.”

Sam wondered how many different lives were waiting under the surface for someone to finally break down and buy a new car or cut their hair or take a new job. Anything that went against the monotony of this town.

He wondered what Gideon would think of this, to see people taking pictures of their kids before a dance. Gideon, whose dances at the old grain factory attracted a few dozen people but were kept under wraps and who probably snuck off to New Orleans to breathe a little easier in a skin that actually fit him, who just wanted people to see him. Sam wondered what music he played at those old dances. He wondered what music Bucky was going to play at this one. Despite the fact that Sam had done most of the stereo work, Bucky hadn’t let him see the stack of tapes he was planning on using throughout the night. Dangerous territory. Bucky’s taste swung wildly from Top Hits to Old Time Crooner to weird orchestral music with chanting.

Hopefully he had not brought any of the chanting. That was the last thing this dance needed.

They pulled up on the beach and found a truck already waiting on the sand. It was not Riley’s truck.

Sam and Bucky got off the bike and cautiously crossed over to the uninvited guests. “What are you doing, Rollins?” Sam demanded.

“I heard you were having a dance,” the junior Rollins drawled. Behind him, Cob was leaned up against the hub of the truck, looking disinterested. Talk about a life waiting to stop conforming. “It’s homecoming. I’m home.”

“You never left to come back,” Sam pointed out drily. “This is for high school seniors only. Go away.”

“See, I’m callin’ bullshit on that,” he said, blocking Sam’s path when he tried to skirt around and get to the boat. “I was just a senior. Seems fair we get to party too.”

“Should’ve taken initiative when you were in school,” Bucky called. He was still standing where they’d first stopped and Sam took half a step back towards him.

“New kid,” Rollins gloated. “We never finished what we started the other day, did we?”

“Are you still thinking about that?” Bucky asked. “Find something better to faun over.”

Rollins’ eyes flashed. “You said throw a punch right. Come on, throw it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and took a step forward, but Sam cut in front of him and channeled his inner Riley as much as he could before swinging at Rollins' face and knocking him aside.

“Now where did the preacher’s kid learn to throw a punch like that?” Bucky asked in stunned amusement.

Rollins righted himself and Sam stretched out his fingers before curling them back into a fist. It hurt less when they were a fist.

“Go for it, asshole,” Sam tempted. “See if it was a lucky shot.”

Cob grabbed Rollins’ arm before he could take Sam up on it. “Why the fuck are you picking fights with highschoolers?” he asked in a snarl. “Why the fuck are we here? I was gonna get laid tonight and you said this was important. And now my dick ain’t wet and your face is bleeding.”

Rollins wrenched his arm away and almost took a step towards Sam but Cob grabbed him again. “We’re going back. We’re gonna call the girls and apologize and bring beer. I swear to God, if you throw a punch, I’ll run you over myself,” he threatened, yanking Rollins back to the truck.

“This isn’t over, you freaks,” Rollins snarled as Cob bodied him into the truck. He wiped his nose on his shoulder and snarled as he slammed the door shut behind him. Cob peeled from the beach, kicking sand all over Bucky’s bike, before Rollins could get anything else out.

Riley, along with Taylor came over the harbor dunes in time to watch the truck disappear. 

“Don’t you just look like a picture, Taylor,” Bucky greeted with a grin.

Riley glared at him for a second before remembering something vital and letting his face ease up again “What was that?” he asked, nodding after Rollins and Cob.

“Nothing,” Sam answered. He shook his hand out and then shoved it into his pocket again before Riley could see. “Come on, let’s get things set up.”

October 4

People showed up more or less on time, but almost half an hour after the start time, no one had started to dance. Sam was pretty certain Bucky had restarted the first cassette in the hopes someone would dance to the music. It wasn’t quite crickets. People were talking and laughing and seemingly enjoying being in each other’s company. But there was little, except the dress code, to suggest this was any different than the passing periods in school.

Sam chewed on his lip and shifted next to Bucky, adjusting a cup of blue-something from hand to hand.

“We could,” Bucky suggested softly.

Sam looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “We cannot. This isn’t NOLA.”

“I’ll dance with Steve too. You dance with Riley. No one will think twice of it.”

“Yes they will,” Sam insisted. “Because we’ll be the first.”

“It beats standing around staring at our shoes,” Bucky pointed out.

Sam looked down at the sharp dress boots his dad had let him borrow after showing him extensively how to polish them. “Not a bad view.”

Bucky hooked a knuckle under his chin to lift his face. “This is a better one.”

Sam blushed and pulled his head away before Bucky could feel it. With a shaky breath, he set his drink aside and took Bucky’s hand before heading to the space cleared on the deck as a dance floor. The song playing was one of the songs they’d danced to at the dance hall, so Sam slipped into the rhythm of it easily enough.

He heard people start to whisper. He hated the difference between normal mumbling conversation and a whisper. He felt like he could feel a thousand eyes on him, which would be a feat because there was no more than 50 people on deck.

Then Riley stepped out with Taylor and…actually kept up with the music. Sam whistled at him and grinned when he looked up. Riley grinned back and spun Taylor under his arm. Slowly, other couples joined the dance floor as well. Most people were very bad at dancing. But once they figured out the gentle sway of a slow dance, things got less chaotic. Some people were very good at dancing and Sam had the feeling he was about to lose his date in the name of exploration and discovery. “I need to know where they learned and I need to go there,” Bucky had said once at a bar.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked, spinning Sam around and giving him a good look at the boat and everyone dancing and laughing.

“Good,” Sam answered with a grin. “Really good.”

Steve appeared in the crowd, dancing expertly with a beautiful young woman who Sam had never seen before.

“Old friend,” Bucky explained and spun Sam back to him.

The night passed like that, a blur of faces and colors, snippets of conversation. He knew at one point, a lot of people had moved to the beach to dance. Who knew people could get sea-sick in a boat that wasn’t really moving. Besides, someone had said you shouldn't wear shoes on the deck and a bunch of people got self-conscious.

“We’re redoing the deck later anyway,” Bucky brushed off and left his current partner to take Sam back.

Sam could hardly believe it when Riley found him, sweat soaked and giddy, and said he had to duck out and take Taylor home. It was almost two in the morning. When Sam looked over the side of the boat, he’d found a lot of people had left. Thankfully, no one seemed to be passed out in the sand.

Reluctantly, he asked everyone on the boat to start heading home as well and to pass it on to people on the beach. It did not take long for people to clear out and for Sam to be left alone with Bucky, who’d taken up a perch near the bow, staring into the ocean.

“You thinking about something in particular?” Sam asked.

Bucky looked over at him. His eyes were like silver in the moonlight. “Just that I wanna be able to dance my whole life. And I wanna dance with you my whole life.”

“There you go again, putting a claim on me like I’ll be interested in you when summer–” Sam laughed against Bucky’s mouth when he was suddenly being kissed. He threaded his fingers through Bucky’s hair and held him close. “Alright,” he amended. “Maybe a little past summer.”

“With time for dancing?” Bucky asked, kissing the corner of his mouth and his cheekbone and the inside of his eye. 

Sam sighed against the attention, melting against Bucky. “Always with time for dancing.”