Samantha and I walked to my house in the rain. I held the umbrella above the both of us, although I made it a point to keep Sam dry, even if it meant getting a little bit of rain on myself. Today was the only day I was allowed to love her and I fully intended on making it last.
We got to my house laughing, though I forgot what we were laughing about. It didn't matter though, because Sam was happy, at least on the outside, and that was my goal. We stepped onto my front porch and I closed the umbrella and shook some of the water off of it. The rickety screen door cried out in pain as I opened it and I pulled the house key out of my jacket's pocket and the two of us stepped inside. Sam had goosebumps.
I took off my shoes inside the door and motioned for Sam to do the same. We then walked down the short corridor and into my living room where my parents and my brother sat eating nachos.
"Aw, what the heck, you guys? You didn't wait for me to get home to make the nachos. Talk about impolite," I joked, trying to take the uncomfortableness out of the situation for Sam. I leaned in the doorless entryway nonchalantly as the thirteen-year-old stood awkwardly behind me, arms crossed so her hands could soothe the bumps on her arms. "So listen, my friend Sammy here" - I winked at her - "kinda needs a place to hang around until her parents sober up or something like that and I mean, how could I turn a blind eye to this face?" I motioned to Sam and she played along perfectly, giving my family large puppy eyes - or eye, rather - and a curled bottom lip. My father and brother chuckled and my mother smiled.
"What's your name again, dear?" my mother asked.
"Sam Fallston. I live literally right outside the border of Beaver."
"Sam Fallston, okay. Well feel free to stay as long as you need, okay sweetie?"
"Keep her out of my room," my little brother of age eleven said through clenched teeth. It almost got a chuckle out of me.
"Yeah, sure thing Ethan. Like a girl like Sam would want to go excavating through that landfill you call a bedroom." I heard her giggle behind me. We walked through my cluttered living room and into the kitchen. "Want a sandwich?" I said to her.
"...I don't eat a lot," she said, leaning against the counter.
"Yes you do, you're eating a sandwich, right now," I said sternly. I pulled a few slices of white bread out of the bread box and reached up to open the cupboard. "You like peanut butter?"
"Yeah, actually."
"Cool, cool, me too." I twisted the lid and dipped a butter knife into the peanut butter. In minutes, both of our sandwiches were done and I plopped hers down next to her on the countertop. "Eat up."
She reluctantly picked up the sandwich and bit into it, and soon after I did the same. Soon enough both of our sandwiches were gone and Sam was following me upstairs to my room, which I knew was bound to be a mess; hopefully she wouldn't care.
And she didn't. The fifteen-year-old strutted past the small mounds of clothes, both dirty and clean, and plopped her little body right down on my bed. I laughed a little and sat down next to her, falling backwards onto the tangles of flannel sheets and navy blue bedspread with a smile on my face. She looked at me over her shoulder and smiled at me, her green eyes half-lidded and dilated. I took in her appearance and somehow found her more attractive than I had on the day we had the second substitute in calc. Even the red and pink pen lines on her forearms and were upsetting in a strange and beautiful way.
I took a deep breath and exhaled dramatically. I felt like I had saved a life.
'I was going to do it and I don't think I was going to chicken out this time.'
