We Could Be Dreamers

7

"I fucked up," I tell Sam, head buried in my hands. 

"Yeah, you're going to need to be a bit more specific than that," she replies with a laugh, reaching over to steal one of my French fries. "There are quite a few things you could've fucked up here." 

I raise my head to glare at her, but she just grins and shoves more French fries into her mouth. "I blew it with Brooke," I announce. 

"Nuh-uh." Sam shakes her head. "There's no way you could've blown it that fast. You're better than that, Adam," she says with a half-smile. "Don't sell yourself short." 

"Thanks," I say, stirring my McFlurry absently. Skor with fudge sauce like I always get. "But here's the thing. I blew it. And you were right, by the way. It was Hot Jason. And he was hot." 

Sam grins. "Yeah, he is. But what does that have to do with this whole mopey thing you've got going on right now?" She asks. 

I stare at her. "He's hot," I repeat, like that explains everything. "And he's really good friends with Brooke. So I'm like ninety-nine percent sure she's madly in love with him."

"Seriously?" Sam snorts. "That's what you're stressed about? I'm hot and you're not madly in love with me. But if you're really worried about it, I'll just seduce Jason. Get him out of the way."

She says that last part with that little twinkle in her eye—that look that says, I'm joking. Mostly. I kind of love it when she does that look. 

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. "I'll keep that in mind." 

"You should. It's a foolproof plan." She reaches over again to steal even more French fries. 

I give in and slide the little cardboard cup thing over to her. She's right. Probably. She usually is. 

"Actually," Sam says, tilting her head and studying me, "What I don't get is why you're so freaked out over this stuff."

"Huh?" I frown. 

"Think about it." Sam purses her lips for a moment. I know that look, too—there's something that she wants to say, but she's not quite sure how to say it. "You keep making these—" she waves a French fry around "—big, dramatic declarations of love. Not to her, obviously. But I've heard you say it so many times. How you love her. How she's perfect. How she's so impossibly incredible. But I mean..." she shrugs. "How well do you know her, really?" 

My mouth falls open disbelievingly. I take a couple seconds to process her words. I'm in love with Brooke Rojas. I've been in love with Brooke Rojas since we were in kindergarten. I honestly can't remember a time when I haven't been in love with Brooke Rojas.

And yet...

Well, I can't quite remember falling in love with Brooke Rojas. 

I scowl at Sam. "Does it matter?" I mutter. "You just don't know what it's like to be in love with someone. You don't get it."

"Seriously?" She raises an eyebrow. "I might get it a little bit more than you think. But that doesn't matter, okay? It's just a little bit weird how you're taking the tiniest potential threat and deciding it's time to give up on the whole Brooke thing."

I might get it a little bit more than you think. 

The fuck does that mean?

I try not to focus on that for now. "I'm not giving up. I'm just—" I sigh, slumping back in my seat. "I don't know."

Sam's expression softens. She smiles gently. "Ah, you'll figure it out," she says reassuringly. 

And she sounds like she believes it, too.  

Sometimes I just really wish I could share Sam's faith in me.