Running Barefoot
Page 23

I missed the bus on purpose that night and waited until almost 5:00 that afternoon to get a ride home with Johnny after wrestling practice. I was tired and hungry and more than a little distraught. I’d finished all my homework, including a book report not due for another two weeks. I’d tried to read but found myself too jittery to focus. I longed for my music books – at least I could have gone into the band room and practiced the piano. I’d called Sonja from the office to tell her I wouldn’t be at my lesson that afternoon. When it was finally time to go I had to sit crammed in between Johnny and another sweaty wrestler all the way home from Nephi. I should have just taken the bus, but I couldn’t face Samuel yet.
The next day I faked sick. My dad didn’t question me too hard. In fact, he didn’t question me at all. I never faked sick, so when I said I didn’t feel well and wasn’t going, he just shrugged his shoulders, felt my head, and asked me if I needed him to stay home from work to be with me.
“Ugh! Please no!” I thought desperately. Then I would have to fake sick all day. I told him I would just sleep and that I would be fine all by myself. He didn’t need much convincing. I spent the day playing the piano until my back and neck ached and my fingers kept playing even after I stopped.
At 3:30 the doorbell rang. I was back on the piano playing Fur Elise, my feet bare, wearing my favorite old jeans and the soft blue BYU sweatshirt Jared had given me for Christmas. I ran my fingers through my hair and walked to the door, expecting Tara.
Samuel stood on the porch, his hands pushed down into his pockets, his head uncovered, his silky black hair blowing in the cold January wind. He didn’t have his backpack, so I assumed he’d gone home first. I wondered what excuse he’d made in order to come see me. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could see it.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” His voice held no anger, but there was a tightness around his mouth that I hated.
I moved aside and opened the door wider, indicating that he should come inside. He seemed hesitant to enter but must have realized we couldn’t sit out on the porch in the cold for very long - plus, his grandpa or someone might drive by and explaining would be weird. People in small towns saw things and talked....if someone saw Samuel sitting on my front porch with me, tongues would start wagging and that would not be good.
Samuel stepped inside, and I shut the door behind him. He didn’t sit down but stood stiffly a few steps from the door. I resumed my perch on the piano bench. I curled one leg up under me and stared down at the black and white keys, waiting.
“Are you sick?” Samuel asked bluntly.
“No.” My voice was a whisper.
“Why didn’t you go to school today? And where were you yesterday after school?” His voice was flat.
I tried to speak around the giant lump in my throat and had to swallow a few times to get the words to come out. “I was afraid to see you.” He seemed surprised that I would just come right out and admit it.
“What did you think I would do?” He asked sharply.
“It’s not what you would do,” I answered miserably, the lump in my throat growing, choking me. “It’s how you would act. I can’t stand it - you being so mad at me. You looked at me yesterday like you wished I were dead, and I just couldn’t face you knowing how much you hated me!” I folded my arms around myself, willing the pain in my heart to subside.
“I was mad…but I could never hate you.” His voice was soft, and I felt the tightness in my chest ease just enough to make breathing easier.
“I wish you hadn’t done that, but a part of me was glad that you did; I think that makes me even more ticked off; I hate it that part of me is thankful for what you did. It’s weak to need or want someone to speak for me.” He paused for a minute, and I shifted on the piano bench so that I could face him. He glared down at me, his jaw set, his eyes wet. “You can’t do that again, Josie. I don’t want you to take care of me. I know you did it because you do care….but don’t take my pride from me.”
“Is pride more important than friendship?” I said sadly.
“Yes!” Samuel’s voice was harsh and emphatic.
“That is so ridiculous!” I threw my arms wide in frustration.
“Josie! You are just a little girl! You don’t know how helpless and weak and stupid it made me feel to stand there while you arranged my life like I was some kind of charity case!” Samuel fisted his hands in his hair and growling, turned towards the door.
“I am not a little girl! I haven’t been a little girl for years…forever! I don’t think like a little girl, I don’t act like a little girl. I don’t LOOK like a little girl, do I? Don’t you dare say I am a little girl!” I pounded down on the piano keys - playing a violent riff, reminiscent of Wagner himself. Now I knew what Sonja meant by letting out the beast! I wanted to throw something, or smash something, and scream at Samuel. He was so impossible! Such a stubborn, mule-headed jerk! I played hard for several minutes, and Samuel stood at the door, dumbfounded.
Suddenly Samuel sat down beside me on the piano bench and put his hands over the top of mine, bringing the din to a halt.
“I’m sorry, Josie,” Samuel said softly. I was crying, tears dripping down onto the keys, making them slippery. I was a terrible beast, not fierce at all - just a blubbering baby beast. Samuel seemed at a loss. He sat very still, his hands covering mine. Slowly, his hands rose to my face and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.