That night, I couldn't sleep so I finished the last unpainted square on my painting. I kept the waters clear, like Sam had suggested--no yellow yachts. When I was satisfied with my finished product, I put my paints away, taking more time to wash the paint from my brush than I usually did, reliving the whole night in my mind over and over again. What did this mean? Where should we go from there? Why were his lips so soft?
When I was finally able to sleep, the sun was nearly rising. Later in the day, after my shower, I went out onto the fire escape and tapped on his window. I wasn't sure where this was going, but I knew I needed to talk to him. After a minute, I tapped on his window again. Nothing stirred, and I got the distinct impression that he was ignoring me. Disappointed, I went back into my room to call his cell. It rang twice and went to voice mail. I hung up and tried again. The third time, it didn't ring at all. So he was ignoring my calls.
In the days following, Sam had dropped off the face of the planet and I was wondering if he had just been a dream this whole time. Of course I knew he wasn't, because Amber was still talking to me, and I knew that the only reason was because Sam had convinced her to give me a second chance. I asked everyone he knew if they had seen or heard from Sam since Friday. Every day my chest ached, and I wondered how I wasn't breaking in half.
Come Thursday, I was disgusted by myself. He's just a guy, after all, I told myself. A stupid guy who can't even call after he kisses you. I sighed... Who was I kidding? Sam isn't just some guy, he's my best friend.
[to be continued]