. . . th’park . . . wha . . . ?” The recipient lost patience and seemed to hang up, leaving Sam frowning at the mobile in his hand. “That was Bling. She’s mad.”
“What? Why is she mad?”
“I dunno. Probably something to do with noodles.” Sam rolled over onto his front and smiled dopily. “You’re all right, you.”
“Not bad yourself.”
Sam rested his head on the grass. A few moments of silence passed, but it wasn’t awkward. Just peaceful. “Kayla?”
“Sam?”
He paused, as if uncertain whether to continue. “What happened to your brother?”
She considered getting angry and defensive, but decided against it. She felt too sad after talking to her nan. Besides, she’d have to tell Sam eventually, if they were ever to— She stopped the thought before it ended. She reached into the patchwork bum bag she’d taken to using every day and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes. Russia had gotten her into the bad habit. She lit it slowly.
Blowing the smoke away from Sam’s face—as a sort-of med student, he deplored the very concept—she tapped the cigarette free of its loose ash and sighed. “He killed himself.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, only peeling them open when he’d processed the information. He looked up at her, though had difficulty meeting her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must . . . that must have sucked. It must still suck.”
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Kayla finished her cigarette, and once she flicked it away into the pond— Sorry, fish —Sam began tracing infinity signs on the palm of her hand with his fingertip. It was more absentminded comfort than anything of metaphorical significance, but the touch of his skin felt nice.
“His name was Gabe. He . . . he was my best friend. I know it’s probably really generic to say that in retrospect. I can hardly say I hated him, can I? But it’s true. We weren’t like siblings who tolerated each other’s existence just because we had to. We just . . . liked each other. He was hilarious, so funny. And so sweet.” Kayla bit down hard on her bottom lip. “I miss him, you know?”
Sam propped himself up so he was sitting parallel to Kayla, and she rested her head on his football-sized shoulder. In a soft voice, he asked, “Why did he . . . do it?”
“He was bullied. Threatened. He was gay, and someone took a disliking to him. Just like that, no rhyme or reason.”
A contemplative pause. “How are you doing? You know . . . it must be so hard . . .”
She shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it. I know that’s bad. I know I should be crippled with grief. But . . . it’s too hard. It’s too hard to think about. So I don’t.”
A hand stroked her hair, even though it was matted and tangled from a day of water fighting, sweating, and dancing. “But Kayla . . . numbing the pain for a while will only make it worse when you finally feel it.”
She spluttered with laughter.
Sam looked shocked at her outburst—comedy hadn’t been what he was going for. “What? Why are you laughing?”
She could hardly catch her breath. “Isn’t that from Harry Potter? That numbing the pain line?”
Sam’s cheeks went pink. “Oh, shut up. I was trying to be insightful . . .” He trailed off. Another hand traced down her jawline, from her ear to her chin, then gently nudged her head upward so she was nose-to-nose with him. His breath tickled her sun-chapped lips, and he leaned in, tenderly brushing them with his.
Kayla pulled away. It didn’t feel right. “No, Sam.”
His eyes betrayed his hurt. “Sorry, I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought.”
“No, I mean . . . I don’t mean no. I mean not like this. Not while we’re talking about my brother. It feels . . . cheap. I don’t want to cheapen his memory.”
“What? That’s not what I—”
“Yeah, but it’s what it felt
“What? Why is she mad?”
“I dunno. Probably something to do with noodles.” Sam rolled over onto his front and smiled dopily. “You’re all right, you.”
“Not bad yourself.”
Sam rested his head on the grass. A few moments of silence passed, but it wasn’t awkward. Just peaceful. “Kayla?”
“Sam?”
He paused, as if uncertain whether to continue. “What happened to your brother?”
She considered getting angry and defensive, but decided against it. She felt too sad after talking to her nan. Besides, she’d have to tell Sam eventually, if they were ever to— She stopped the thought before it ended. She reached into the patchwork bum bag she’d taken to using every day and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes. Russia had gotten her into the bad habit. She lit it slowly.
Blowing the smoke away from Sam’s face—as a sort-of med student, he deplored the very concept—she tapped the cigarette free of its loose ash and sighed. “He killed himself.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, only peeling them open when he’d processed the information. He looked up at her, though had difficulty meeting her eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must . . . that must have sucked. It must still suck.”
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Kayla finished her cigarette, and once she flicked it away into the pond— Sorry, fish —Sam began tracing infinity signs on the palm of her hand with his fingertip. It was more absentminded comfort than anything of metaphorical significance, but the touch of his skin felt nice.
“His name was Gabe. He . . . he was my best friend. I know it’s probably really generic to say that in retrospect. I can hardly say I hated him, can I? But it’s true. We weren’t like siblings who tolerated each other’s existence just because we had to. We just . . . liked each other. He was hilarious, so funny. And so sweet.” Kayla bit down hard on her bottom lip. “I miss him, you know?”
Sam propped himself up so he was sitting parallel to Kayla, and she rested her head on his football-sized shoulder. In a soft voice, he asked, “Why did he . . . do it?”
“He was bullied. Threatened. He was gay, and someone took a disliking to him. Just like that, no rhyme or reason.”
A contemplative pause. “How are you doing? You know . . . it must be so hard . . .”
She shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it. I know that’s bad. I know I should be crippled with grief. But . . . it’s too hard. It’s too hard to think about. So I don’t.”
A hand stroked her hair, even though it was matted and tangled from a day of water fighting, sweating, and dancing. “But Kayla . . . numbing the pain for a while will only make it worse when you finally feel it.”
She spluttered with laughter.
Sam looked shocked at her outburst—comedy hadn’t been what he was going for. “What? Why are you laughing?”
She could hardly catch her breath. “Isn’t that from Harry Potter? That numbing the pain line?”
Sam’s cheeks went pink. “Oh, shut up. I was trying to be insightful . . .” He trailed off. Another hand traced down her jawline, from her ear to her chin, then gently nudged her head upward so she was nose-to-nose with him. His breath tickled her sun-chapped lips, and he leaned in, tenderly brushing them with his.
Kayla pulled away. It didn’t feel right. “No, Sam.”
His eyes betrayed his hurt. “Sorry, I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought.”
“No, I mean . . . I don’t mean no. I mean not like this. Not while we’re talking about my brother. It feels . . . cheap. I don’t want to cheapen his memory.”
“What? That’s not what I—”
“Yeah, but it’s what it felt
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