Chapter Text
Sam opens the door, the taste of whiskey still on her tongue, the burn still in her throat. But she manages a smile, doing her best to look put-together. “Hey. Come in.”
She hasn’t spoken to Jess in a year. She’s seen her around: in the quad, in the dining hall, in the library. She’s tried to make eye contact with her more times than she’d ever admit. But it was like Jess had blinders on, like she saw right through her. Like she didn’t want to look at Sam, wanted to leave her behind in the past, just like everything else they went through.
It’s not like Sam could blame her for that. How could she? She felt the exact same way.
She made sure to pick a college that would make her leave home and escape her town that knew everything that happened to her. The news—tabloids, articles—had made sure that they’d stayed anonymous. No photos. No names. They didn’t even mention where it happened—that would reveal a lot, wouldn’t it? And yet, it still came out—at least in Sam’s town. News travelled fast in small towns. It wasn’t exactly hidden, the fact that Sam kept disappearing for months for her psychological evaluations that Sam’s mother made sure she went to.
Her mother thought Sam was suicidal, and she couldn’t really blame her mother for thinking that. But at the same time, Sam didn’t go through all that shit to survive just to—what? End it all? No. She wanted to live, that’s why she’d fought so hard.
But she wanted to forget it happened. Losing Hannah and Beth was one thing, but that night… the fear she’d felt, even just from Josh’s prank? How he’d terrorized her? He was sick—Sam understood. But why had he terrorized her too? Did he think she had something to do with the prank? Blamed her for the disappearance of his sisters?
Sam already blamed herself enough for that.
If only she had found Hannah faster (God, fuck that big lodge, Sam constantly thought), then maybe Sam could’ve stopped the prank. And, yeah, Jess played such a big part in the prank. However, Sam couldn’t bring herself to fully blame her. It’s not fair to Jess. Pointing fingers, blaming people—it didn’t help anyone.
Besides, stepping back, looking at the bigger picture, all of them could be to blame. All of them. Chris and Josh shouldn’t have been black-out drunk. Sam should’ve found Hannah faster. Emily should’ve let her annoyance with Hannah’s crush go, maybe talked to her about it instead. Mike shouldn’t have participated in that prank—he had been the main star hadn’t he? Matt and Ash shouldn’t have stood aside like bystanders, filming, saying nothing. And Jess, of course, had even argued with Sam that night about it.
So, yeah, the blame game was convoluted. Unnecessary. Which was why Sam didn’t hate Jess.
But now, even after Sam survived, she’s haunted by that night constantly. Like she can’t escape the mines, can’t escape that lodge, can’t escape that night. It’s almost like she didn’t leave that mountain. Sometimes she thinks: what if she never escaped that lodge, she’s just actually dead and she’s in hell or something?
But now? With Jess standing in her dorm? Sam isn’t so sure she’s in hell anymore. Because Jess wouldn’t reach out to her first if she was.
And Jess?
Jess actually built a life for herself here. Picked up where she left off, slipped right back into cheer like nothing had changed. She was popular, too—always surrounded by people, laughter trailing behind her as she walked across campus. She’s magnetic. Always has been.
But Sam always noticed something off about her.
She remembered Jess in the hospital, the morning after. How empty her eyes had been, how she barely looked at Sam, barely registered she was even there. Like something had been hollowed out inside her. And Sam remembered the anger—the way it had settled, deep and seething, in the pit of her stomach. How the police had questioned them first, not as victims, but as suspects. Like they had something to do with the Stranger’s death—as if they could ever behead a person like that, cold-blooded.
Sam had wanted to scream. Jess had just sat there, silent, eyes dead set on the wall like she was seeing something Sam wasn’t.
But now… Jess is standing in her room, eyes darting around like she’s never seen a dorm before. Like she’s cataloging everything.
Sam’s gaze drifts downward, catching on Jess' hands. They’re trembling. Just barely, but enough that Sam notices. She watches as Jess curls her fingers into the cuffs of her sleeves, gripping tight, like she can force herself to be still. Like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Sam doesn’t say anything.
She just steps back, lets the door click shut behind her, and waits.
It’s weird being this close to Jess now. Sam had gotten used to watching her from a distance, like she was something forbidden. Something out of reach. She knew she couldn’t talk to her, knew Jess would shut her out if she tried.
What she didn’t know was that someday, Jess would just randomly show up at her dorm.
No warning. No buildup. Just here, standing in Sam’s space like she hadn’t spent a whole year pretending Sam didn’t exist.
And Sam, well, she’d done the same thing Jess did.
She dove headfirst into school after months of psychological evaluations, after months of her mother hovering over her like she was something delicate, something shattered beyond repair. Which, in a way, she was—is.
The pain swirls inside her, the fear lingers in her waking moments and sinks its claws into her dreams. She doesn’t know how to deal with it. Her therapist tries, but Sam doesn’t even want to think about what happened, let alone talk about it. So she shoves it down and keeps herself busy—Environmental Club, Swim Club, Tennis Club—half of which she only went to a few meetings before quitting.
It doesn’t help.
It only pauses it.
And when she’s out of the meetings, when she’s alone in her dorm, with no distractions left to hold it at bay, the pain resumes. And consumes. And Sam consumes too—alcohol. To drown it all out. To help herself sleep.
She drinks until closing her eyes doesn’t make her see the Wendigos. Until she doesn’t see them perched on that chandelier in the lodge, long limbs, white eyes. Until she doesn’t feel the warm, rancid breath of one screaming right in her face.
She remembers that moment vividly. How much she’d forced herself to focus because everyone was depending on her. Because if she made a mistake, it wasn’t just her life at stake. And maybe if nobody had been depending on her, she would’ve died. But they were. So Sam made sure—forced herself—to stay still, to keep breathing, to survive.
Or else—
Or else it would have been her fault that her friends died. The Wendigos would’ve killed them all, Sam would have killed them all.
“Nice setup,” Jess says, bringing Sam back to the present. Sam blinks, trying to force herself to stay in the moment, to stop slipping into the past.
Jess is still looking around. Her voice is steadier, fuller. But Sam can’t stop thinking about how she’d sounded the morning after that night. Raspy, broken, empty.
“You’ve got the whole Pinterest vibe going on.”
Jess turns to her then, that signature smirk tugging at her lips. Sam can’t help but let out a small laugh—relieving almost—suddenly feeling very comfortable and warm—like she’s travelled back to a time where none of this happened. Like they were just normal students, talking about dorm decor choices.
And that’s how it started—how Jess started to slowly interweave herself into Sam’s life.
Sam was startled the first time Jess crashed one of her café study sessions. She remembered looking around, a little self-conscious (because, honestly, she wasn’t sure Jess would even want to be seen with her like this). But then there was Jess, standing in front of her table, pretending like she’d just run into her.
Sam knew she was pretending. But she acted like it wasn't completely obvious—the way Jess coincidentally had all her study materials in her bag. She had even pulled out a chair and invited herself to sit without waiting for Sam’s response.
So Sam played along.
Pretended she didn’t notice how Jess kept glancing at her between notes. Pretended she didn’t notice how Jess had ditched her usual group of friends that day, how she was sitting here with her instead. Pretended she didn’t notice how Jess was staring at her.
Did she have something on her face? Was there a coffee stain on her hoodie? She was too shy to ask.
The study sessions happened more often. Jess eventually stopped pretending like she just happened to be there and started to actually text Sam beforehand to plan with her. Sometimes Jess brought snacks, sometimes she leaned into her own laptop, studying away and sometimes she’d just steal glances at Sam, and Sam would pretend she didn’t notice.
Sam found Jess’ consistent presence in her life grounding… it is comforting in a way she’d never expect to get from Jess—of all people.
It felt like ever since that night, Jess had decided that she wanted to keep Sam in her life, and wanted to be around her. Sam couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was Jess’ way of coping with what happened. Maybe it felt better to know she was around somebody who knew exactly how she felt, who she could talk to without feeling judged or crazy (since information about the Wendigos had been kept out of the public’s knowledge).
And, yeah. Sam did want to forget it all happened, but… with Jess around—someone who understands—she found herself wanting to talk about her feelings.
It was something Sam’s therapist had been ecstatic to hear.
Oh, how’s Jess?
How’s it going with Jess?
Do you have any plans with Jess?
Not only did she have to deal with questions about Jess from her therapist, but she also had to deal with it with her mother too. Her mother used to pester Sam about boys—oh, how’s Chris? He’s single isn’t he? Oh, how about Mike? Tall and handsome, that boy—and then that night happened and it turned into: Are you taking your medications? Are you getting enough sleep? Have you finally ditched that god-awful whiskey?
Sam lied. She always did.
But now, her mother asks about Jess. It flusters Sam sometimes, makes her cheeks feel warm in a way they never did whenever her mother used to pester her about boys.
Sometimes she wished her mother would go back to asking about medications, sleep and whiskey…
Sam found herself stuck in Jess’ orbit like a moth to flame.
Once, one of Sam’s lectures ran relatively late. Her walk to her dorm conveniently passed by the field that Jess’ cheer team would practice at. Sam knew Jess had practice that day. It was 5:16 p.m., Sam was relatively tired, and she could feel the exhaustion weighing on her. Nevertheless, she found herself walking to the campus convenience store and grabbing a bottle of cold water. Her feet were leading her to the field before she even realized it.
She hesitated for a moment as she watched Jess do her routine. She was flying in the air. God, how does she even do that? Sam found herself fascinated, eyes tracking every moment. Sam knew fuck-all about cheerleading, but she knew that if she even tried any of these moves, her limbs would all be in the incorrect order.
Jess was… captivating, Sam found herself thinking.
Then, they started texting more often.
It was weird.
But good.
The last time Sam had a best friend… well.
And Sam wasn’t even sure if she was Jess’ best friend. Jess ran a tight circle. She was popular, for God’s sake. And Sam… was not.
But it wasn’t like Sam wanted to be. She’d considered joining the track team. She loves running—she’s fast too. But she thought that it would call attention to her in a way she didn’t want. Track meets… eyes on her… as she runs? No.
Then there was the Environment Club, of course, which was more of her vibe.
The club would meet up, talk about the environment, schedule events, and plan who does what. And, well, Sam just thought that planting trees and picking up garbage would be more fun than having people watch her run.
She’s considered it though. A lot. Maybe someday. When she feels less broken.
A few weeks later, Jess had casually suggested going hiking with Sam—maybe I could try it, she’d said, offhand, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she wasn’t already setting up for the inevitable backtracking.
Sam could tell she was probably joking. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about it.
The idea of hiking with Jess sounded so fun, even though Sam could already hear the complaints. It’s too hot, Sam. My legs hurt. Are there bugs? Sam tried to play it cool, even made a joke, but in her head, she was already picturing it all.
So, of course, she made it special.
Jess—despite claiming she could “handle” dirt—wasn’t exactly in tune with nature. So, Sam wanted to make sure she had fun. Wanted to make it easier. Maybe help her get her mind off things.
And when they were there, standing in the middle of the woods, surrounded by trees and sunlight filtering through the leaves, Sam knew she had made the right call.
“Jess, come here,” she had said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. She gently pulled Jess down with her, both of them crouching over a patch of wildflowers.
Jess looked at them, then at Sam. Her eyes softened, something warm flashing across her face before she covered it up with a dramatic sigh. Sam noticed. She always noticed.
“Are we really stopping to look at flowers, nature girl?”
“Don’t act like these aren’t pretty,” Sam shot back, trying—and failing—not to think about how nice one would look tucked behind Jess’ ear. It would suit her, she thought. Something soft and delicate against all that sharp confidence.
But—the environment.
So Sam didn’t do it.
Instead, she flexed her fingers as they stood back up, shaking her hand slightly as if that would shake off the fact that she’d had the urge in the first place.
They continued. Sam made sure she wasn’t walking too fast, made sure she was close enough to Jess in case Jess tripped or something. Jess surprisingly didn’t complain the whole way through—though there were some grunts and mumbling sometimes. But Sam had a surprise in the end that she knew would make Jess happy—make it all worth it.
At one point, they stopped at a clearing near the edge of the trail. The view wasn’t as good as the final stop, but it was still nice—open sky, trees stretching endlessly below. But when Sam turned to Jess, she wasn’t even looking at the view. She had that faraway look on her face, like she was zoning out.
“Hey, trooper, you okay?” Sam teased, nudging her lightly.
Jess blinked, finally looked at her. And for a moment, she just… stared.
Sam felt it immediately—the sudden weight of Jess’ gaze, the way her blue eyes caught the light, turning bright and endless, like some kind of swimming pool she wouldn’t mind sinking into.
It was weird, the way it made her stomach flip. The way Jess’ eyebrows lifted slightly, like she was seeing something new. Like she was looking at her in a way she hadn’t before.
Sam sometimes hated being so introspective and… aware, because she was seeing this expression on Jess’ face… but she couldn’t believe it. There was no way that Jess was looking at her like… that, right? It made no sense. But she definitely was, and Sam didn’t know why.
“Jess?” she tried again, softly, even though she didn’t want Jess to stop looking at her like that.
Jess blinked again, flustered in a way Sam had never seen her before. “Sorry, I was just…” she trailed off, and Sam could see the gears in Jess’ head turning, scrambling for an excuse. (Her cheeks were also turning red, which was the one thing Sam decided to ignore). “Are we close to this so-called-cliff of yours?” Jess really likes deflecting, Sam realized. “Or did you make it up to get me to suffer through this hike?”
Despite the very obvious deflection, Sam let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head a little. It was more out of affection than anything.
Jess… she likes to push things down, run away from her feelings. Sam doesn’t like doing that, never had. Jess made her want to face her feelings. So, she did.
She journaled later that night until her hand started cramping up. She wrote about everything that happened, from when Jess showed up to her door to the end of their hike. She wrote about that hug they shared, how she’d felt her stomach fluttering in a way she’d never felt before. And how, after that hike, Jess had made Sam promise to call if she felt the urge to drink before bed.
And when did she not have that urge?
So, she called.
They called every night (still do).
Every time they called, Sam liked to picture it—Jess lying in bed, phone pressed against her ear, eyes tracing patterns into the dark ceiling. Saying things only Sam got to hear, her voice soft, impossibly intimate in the quiet of the night.
Sometimes, Sam could hear the smile in her words. Could feel it through the phone.
And in those moments, she could almost see it—the slight upturn of Jess’ pink lips, the way they might curve, lazy and amused. Maybe even a little shy. It was stupid. But Sam still imagined it anyway.
Obligatory calls stopped feeling obligatory after a while. They just were a part of the night. A part of her. Instead of reaching for whiskey before bed, Sam reached for her phone. Instead of numbing herself with alcohol, she let herself sink into the warmth of Jess’ voice—soft, familiar, something she’d come to crave more than the burn of liquor down her throat.
Sam remembered this one call. The one where she’d said something so stupid she had to physically mute herself and scream into her pillow.
“You do have a pretty face.”
What the fuck.
Why did she say that? Why did she say that?
Sam Giddings did not say things like that. And she definitely didn’t scream into her pillow like some love-struck teenager. If her mom had seen her, she’d never hear the end of it. She finally unmuted just in time to hear Jess’ voice come through the line—strained, like she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Um… thanks, you’re…” Jess trailed off. And Sam had snorted before she could stop herself, her embarrassment fading in an instant, because—God, look at them. “You’re pretty, too.”
That made Sam’s brain short circuit for a second.
And listen—Sam is rational. She’s a think-before-you-act, think-before-you-speak kind of person. But at this moment, she couldn’t, for the life of her, find the thinking part of her brain. It was gone. Completely wiped.
So, she did the only thing she could… deflect.
For the first time, Jess had managed to throw her off balance.
And she should’ve seen it coming. Of course it would be Jess. Jess, who had half the campus wrapped around her finger, falling to their knees at just a look. Jess, with her stupid magnetic smile and those deep, blue eyes—
Yeah. She was so fucked.
“Who’s that girl you’re always with?” Mark—a guy from her Environmental Club—had asked once, not even looking at Sam as he stapled a banner to the bulletin board, his voice casual—too casual.
Sam already knew who he meant, but still, she said, “Who?”
“The blonde? Braids?” He glanced at her then, green eyes bright with something that made Sam’s stomach twist. She didn’t know what she was feeling.
“Oh, uh.” She shifted her weight. “That’s Jess. She’s—”
Mark stopped what he was doing to look at her properly, head tilting slightly. Sam thought—stupidly—that he and Jess would probably look good together. He was handsome, tall, with soft brown curls, and he wasn’t an ass like Mike. That should be enough for her to root for him. (But she didn’t).
“She’s…?” he prompted, eyes stupidly expectant.
Sam cleared her throat. “She’s a friend. From high school.”
Mark had hummed, nodded, before his lips curled into something almost smug. “Oh, really?”
Sam didn’t like that.
“Is she…” He paused, just enough for her stomach to tighten.
Sam already knew it was coming.
“… is she single?”
The question shouldn't have bothered her. It shouldn’t have. But it did. It so did, no matter how much she tried to convince herself it didn’t. No matter how much she’d written about it in her journal, the side of her hand smudged with ink.
Sam forced a breath, face neutral, like it didn’t mean anything, like she hasn’t been stuck in this weird headspace for months now. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”
Mark grinned. “Huh. Maybe I should ask her out.”
Sam’s jaw clenched before she could stop it. “Yeah,” she had said, voice a little too flat. “Maybe.”
He never did end up doing that.
Sam’s never been more glad.
Sam doesn’t like overthinking. She tries not to. She’d rather spill everything onto the pages of her journal, scrawl the mess out in ink, and then read it over a million times until it starts making sense. Until she can see her own thoughts clearly instead of just hearing them.
And if you could search a word in her journal like a document, Jess would probably be the top result.
Her journal has been an absolute mess ever since she figured out she had a—God… she can barely even admit it, not even in her own brain—ever since she figured out she has a crush on Jess. A crush. On the straightest girl on the planet.
Was God just cruel or something? The trauma, the mountain, wasn't enough? He had to make sure Sam’s gay awakening was her super absolutely straight best friend.
But….
But then—no matter how hard she tried not to—Sam always found herself thinking about that day. The hike. The way Jess had looked at her. Eyes deep and blue, like they could swallow her whole if she let them.
It was stupid. It was nothing. Probably.
Maybe Jess was just… incredibly, intensely, platonically in love with her or something. That was a thing, right? Jess was a passionate person. Maybe this was just how she was. Maybe Sam was reading too much into it.
And of course, as if Sam wasn’t already losing her mind, the universe kept throwing more moments at her. More lingering looks. More casual touches that didn’t feel casual at all. More little things Jess would say that stuck with her way longer than they should have. She found herself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying them over and over—like if she just analyzed them enough, picked them apart carefully, she’d find the answer she was looking for. Like if she looked between the lines long enough, she’d finally figure out if there was something there… or if she was just completely, hopelessly delusional.
And then there was that day.
The day Jess had asked if she was interested in any of the guys from Environmental Club, all casual, offhand, like it was the most normal thing in the world. And Sam—who had never really been offended by such a question before—had almost bristled.
Because, no. Absolutely not.
She’d thought about Mark, about how smug he’d looked when he said he was going to ask Jess out. Thought about the weird little grudge she’d been holding against him ever since. And then, in her flustered, defensive state, she’d let it slip.
Girls.
It had come out so fast, she almost hadn’t registered it. But Jess had. And Jess, who normally let things slide, had decided that today was the day she wouldn’t. She’d questioned it, tilted her head in that way she did when something didn’t quite make sense, brows furrowing, lips pursing slightly.
And Sam—who was usually good at keeping her cool—had felt her entire brain stutter.
Because, one, why had she said that?
And, two, why had she said it after Jess had called her cute? Yeah. Cute. Because apparently, Jess thought Sam’s whole thing with nature and sustainability was cute.
Which, fine, whatever. That was great. Except that Mark was also environmentally conscious. Mark was a guy. Mark, in theory, was the type of guy Jess should be into. And Jess had just called that cute. So, you know. A match made in heaven, right? For the next week, every time Sam caught a glimpse of curly hair in the distance, she found herself dragging Jess in the opposite direction. And Jess—who usually noticed everything—was too busy ranting about some minor inconvenience to even clock what was happening.
When Emily called out of the blue that night, chirping about some get-together she was planning, Sam had smiled… tight, polite… but her entire body tensed like she’d just heard a fire alarm go off inside her own head.
She didn’t… really talk to anyone anymore. Not consistently, anyway. Distance made it easy, and the unspoken agreement between most people who had lived through That Night seemed to be: let sleeping dogs lie. Nobody was rushing to rekindle ties with the Trauma Club, least of all Sam.
Except—well. Two weeks ago, she texted Ash. Tentatively. Just a hey, just checking in, just testing the waters. And now they were talking more. Not constantly, but enough. Enough that it had started to feel safe, maybe even warm. Especially since Sam had… started telling her things. About her situation. Her problem.
Her big sparkly: Jess problem.
Ash had seemed like the best person to confess to—years of swooning over Chris made her an expert in doomed crushes, even if that particular saga ended up with mutual hand-holding and soft morning-after smiles. Sam’s version was nothing like that. Jess wasn’t—Sam didn’t even think she liked her. Not like that. It wasn’t the same.
Which made Ash the ideal confidante. A responsive diary with feelings and good advice and appropriately scandalized reactions. Sam could pretend it wasn’t real if she only ever talked about it in texts. Could compartmentalize. Could breathe.
Until she had to see her in person. With Jess.
That, Sam thought, the moment she hung up the phone—was going to be a fucking disaster.
And it was. Of course it was.
The entire night, Sam had to pretend she hadn’t been talking to Ash on a semi-daily basis. Had to ignore the pointed glances Ash kept throwing her across the room like they didn’t share a digital archive of late-night emotional spirals and emoji-coded freakouts.
“Oh my God,” Ash said, practically skipping into Sam’s space during a lull in conversation. “At first I was like, what? You and Jess? But now that I see it in person—”
Sam nearly choked. “Ash,” she hissed, eyes darting around, her brows stitching together in panic.
“I’m sorry,” Ash said, in the least sorry tone possible, grinning so wide it was almost cruel. “It’s just—wow. I meant what I said, you know?”
Sam gave her a look. “What did you say?”
Ash tilted her head, visibly stalling. “Well, okay—I didn’t say the whole truth. Obviously.” She made a vague circling motion in the air like that would explain anything. “But don’t freak out, okay? I, um… talked to Jess.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “You what?”
“I was careful!” Ash rushed, hands up in surrender, giggling like this was a comedy and not the actual unraveling of Sam’s entire nervous system. “Really careful! But—you might be surprised at what I found out.”
Sam folded her arms, trying not to visibly hyperventilate. “What. Did. You. Say to her.”
Ash bit her lip. Paused. Definitely stalling.
“Ash,” Sam said, through gritted teeth, “just tell me.”
“I told you not to freak out—”
“I never agreed to that!”
Ash winced. “Okay, okay, fine. I just—ugh, I might’ve… maybe… lightly brought up your whole, um…” She gestured vaguely again. “…thing.”
Sam’s heart stuttered. “You talked to her about our… friendship?”
Ash smiled, far too pleased with herself. “If you want to call it that, yeah.”
Sam shut her eyes for a second and let out a breath so deep it made her chest ache. If there was one thing she could usually count on—something she prided herself on—it was her ability to keep it together. To look calm. Controlled. Neutral. Even when her entire body was practically vibrating with the urge to scream.
“God, okay… what did she say?” she finally asked, voice low, her gaze catching Ash’s too-wide eyes.
“That’s for you to find out.”
And Sam didn’t bring it up. That was the worst part. She didn’t initiate anything, didn’t lead the conversation there—Jess did.
“Did… Em and Ash talk to you about anything weird tonight?”
It had been a casual question. Almost. But Sam’s heart dropped like a stone the moment the words left Jess' mouth.
She turned to look at her, every muscle in her face pulling taut as she tried to hold steady. Neutral. Blank. Like she had no clue what Jess might be talking about, even though she absolutely did. She just didn’t know what, exactly, Em had said.
“Huh?” The word sounded foreign on her tongue, like someone else had said it. Her voice didn’t even feel like hers. She tilted her head to one side, manufactured confusion settling across her features like a mask. “Anything weird? Like what? That’s very ambiguous.”
It wasn’t ambiguous. It was the opposite. Her mouth tasted like metal.
“I know. Just—have they? Like, said something out of the ordinary to you?”
Sam kept dodging. It was becoming a habit. Not a conscious one, maybe, but it was happening more and more often. And yeah, maybe she didn’t always deflect. Except when her mom asked about Jess. Or when someone made a comment she wasn’t prepared for. Or when her thoughts drifted to places they weren’t supposed to. So, actually—okay. Fine. She did deflect. When it came to Jess, she was a world-class escape artist.
Because this wasn’t a crush. Not the way people normally talked about them. It wasn’t butterflies or daydreams or even hope, really. It was—magnitude. It had weight. Sam had liked people before, sure, but never like this. Never like Jess.
Which, honestly, tracked. Jess wasn’t just anyone. Mike literally dumped Emily to chase after her. People orbited around Jess like she was gravity. They watched her. Longed for her. Would’ve done anything to have her look their way.
And of course—of course—Jess brought up the café.
Sam’s dumb little slip-up. The one about girls. The one that had come tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop it, just because she couldn’t handle the idea of Mark from the Environmental Club making his move first. Because Sam wasn’t ready to imagine that.
But she didn’t get to stay safe.
It was out there now.
“I do.”
And then… silence. Not the kind she expected. Not the kind she prepared herself for, running this scenario over and over in her head like a disaster drill. No cold laugh. No disgust. No tender moment of clarity. Just—
“What?”
A shriek. Loud, unfiltered, so Jess that it had made Sam flinch.
Jess wore her emotions like a second skin. Always had. The problem was, for once, Sam couldn’t read her. Couldn’t even try. She looked… shocked. Eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline, lips parted like she’d lost her next word mid-sentence. Then she closed her mouth. Opened it again. Didn’t speak.
Her cheeks turned pink.
Her eyebrows drew in.
She started to shake her head.
Sam’s eyes dropped, fast, to Jess’ hands—just in time to catch the way they were trembling before Jess noticed and curled them into fists.
And—wow. Okay. Believe it or not, this night had.. it had a good ending. Surprisingly. Against all odds. Sam still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Jess’ initial reaction—there had been too many emotions flashing across her face in rapid succession, too fast for Sam to track or decode. It was like trying to read a book with the pages flipping themselves. But the important part, the only part that mattered, was this: Jess hadn’t looked disgusted. She hadn’t bolted. She hadn’t rolled out of the car and straight into traffic just to escape the conversation. Which, honestly, was something Sam had mentally prepared for in the five seconds Jess had given her to prepare.
Instead, Jess had been… supportive. Shockingly so. And then, just to really ruin Sam’s entire emotional equilibrium, she gave a whole speech…
(“I was feeling so lost. So alone. Despite everything I had going on. Y’know: cheer, friends, parties. They were just distractions. Things to keep me from looking at what I didn’t want to see. But you…”
“You made me want to face it. You made me stronger. Made me believe in myself. That I can get better. That there’s… things in this world that—that are worth sticking around for.”)
It was something sincere and wide-eyed and so Jess that it left Sam’s stomach in knots and her chest melting like wax under a flame.
You’d think that would be the end of it.
A neat conclusion. Sam moves on. Her crush fizzles out like a candle finally burning itself down. Jess names her maid of honour someday, drops her kids off at Sam’s place on weekends so she and her husband can sneak away to Cancun or wherever for a little alone time. Sam babysits and pretends she’s not in love with someone else’s wife. You know—the usual.
She knew she was spiraling. Knew she was letting her thoughts veer way too far into the future. But it didn’t matter. Because the problem—the problem—was that Jess loved with her whole chest. That kind of reckless, all-consuming loyalty. And somewhere along the way, she had turned that focus onto the wrong platonic friend.
Which was Sam… of all people.
And yeah, we’ve been over this. Many times.
But lately… something had started to crack. Not in a big, dramatic way, but in the subtle, insidious way that makes your stomach hurt before your brain can catch up. Sam kept flipping back through her journal like it would hold the answer—like some past entry would be circled in red, underlined three times, with a little arrow pointing at the exact moment everything shifted.
But there were no clues. No riddles to solve. Just messy handwriting and soft confessions and stupid hope. Jess had been acting weird. Not outright strange, just… different. Tense. Off. And she had always insisted it wasn’t because Sam liked girls, but it was hard not to notice how perfectly everything seemed to line up right around that time. It felt too exact. Too timed.
But then Sam would think about the speech. The one Jess had delivered with too much feeling, too much sincerity, too much Jess-ness to be fake. Sam knew her. Knew how bad she was at lying—embarrassingly bad, really—and there’d been nothing disingenuous in her voice.
Which only made things more confusing.
Because if it wasn’t fake, then what the hell was it?