How You Get the Girl

“You are not doing all this because of a girl.”

Trevor's disbelief was justified, yet Samuel couldn't help feeling offended. Everything seemed to offend him lately, from Clara ignoring his texts to being invited to Jack Campbell's party.

He normally loved Jack's parties, as Trevor had made it a point to tell him dozens of times. Jack was a wanna-be chef who cooked enough food to feed an army, then invited one to his house. He always had enough beer around to last weeks, and the girls entered his front door in flocks.

Samuel did not want girls, and alcohol seemed like a dangerous thing to turn to in this condition. He never felt this awful over a break-up – he had not left the house in days.

Over the past three months, he had not even touched a drink. Clara was the definition of good girl, and being with her changed him more than he would like to admit. Samuel even swore less now, due to the disapproval in her eyes when she used to hear him speak.

“I feel like I am a girl,” he told Trevor, tilting his head back over the side of his bed to meet his best friend's eyes. “I miss her, man.”

Trevor rose an eyebrow, then seemed to realize he was serious. He held out his arms like he was showing off the moping Samuel and announced in an even deeper voice than usual, “The invincible Samuel Rowe, taken out by his first ever three month relationship –”

“Trevor,” he groaned, sitting up and placing his feet on the floor. He leaned against his knees as Trevor continued.

“Taken out by a seventeen-year-old girl, ladies and gentlemen –”

He rolled his eyes and stood, knowing the mocking wouldn't stop until he pulled himself together. “You know, I remember you being pretty torn up over a certain someone, too,” he grumbled, ripping a shirt off its hanger and slipping it over his head.

“And who told me to get up off my ass and move on?”

Samuel walked to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, cringing at how messed up his hair looked. He began fixing it hurriedly, knowing that taking too long would only lead to more smart remarks from Trevor.

Instead of that, though, he leaned against the door frame. “Clara's friend Isabel is dating Jack,” he reminded. “You know Clara won't be partying, but she will.”

The words slowed him down and he made extra effort to perfect his normal look – messy in a good way. In the way that made girls want to run their hands through it and actually mess it up. In the way that made Clara squint her nose all cute and ask, “Isn't that a ton of hair gel?”

He finished up and began walking down the hall, but Trevor pulled him back by the shoulder. “Grab a jacket,” he said. “It's cold outside.”

~*~

Jack's parties always started early, but they also started slow. The smart crowd showed up to get the best of his cooking before it ran out. The appetizers were there all night, but an actual meal was more difficult to come by. It was also worth showing up at five o'clock and waiting until ten for the real party to start.

Needless to say, Samuel wished he were eating and chatting with the guys in Jack's kitchen. Instead he sat in a undersized booth at the local diner with his best friend, like they were on some sort of date. Luckily, Trevor made it obvious years ago that Samuel wasn't his type.

Anyway, he was busy devouring a pile of waffles as Samuel moved his food around with his fork. “You know, I spent the last three months wishing Clara would loosen up so I could party with you guys.”

Trevor said something about still thinking about her and forgot about Austin through a mouthful of food, and Samuel tilted his head in confusion. “What?”

“I said, 'You're still thinking about her. You think this is how I forgot about Austin?'”

It took Trevor much longer than three days to get over Austin, but Samuel decided not to mention it. Going to Jack's party tonight should buy him at least a couple more days to mope before Trevor came barging into his room again, and he told himself that was all he would need to move on. Just a couple more days.

Samuel took a couple more slurps of his soup. “We would have a feast in front of us if we were at Jack's now.”

They would be at a bigger table as well. Whoever chose the seating in the restaurant must not have taken into account that some people were tall, and did not want to sit so close to their companions. A couple a few booths behind hardly had to lean against the table as they kissed. He looked away.

Trevor sighed. “But we would run into Isabel. You'll still be lucky if you don't see her tonight, you know.” He shuffled his feet, causing him to kick Samuel's legs. “These tables are ridiculous.”

Samuel felt guilty that Trevor was missing out. There had not been a time in the past three years that they showed up late to one of Jack's parties.

But he did not want to think about seeing Isabel, the pink-haired girl who threatened him when he began dating her best friend. The girl was like a tiny chihuahua – she was shorter than anyone he knew and never stopped yapping. She also had an overprotective father who signed her up for self-defense classes years back, and she claimed to have taken shooting lessons. It was the prospect of a gun in her hands that terrified him, although he heard she could pack a decent punch. He could recover from a bloody nose.

“She'll probably track me down,” he said, and Trevor shrugged.

“If she can punch your face when you look this sad, I would say you deserved it. You never did tell me what happened.”

He more than deserved it. “I screwed up,” he said, his voice too small for his liking. He cleared his throat.

Trevor smiled, all sympathy. “It happens. I'm still in shock that you kept a girl so long. When you started dating, I thought …”

“That this would happen, only twelve weeks sooner.”

Samuel had given up on his food, and Trevor's plate was clear. He stood, tossing a five dollar bill onto the table. “You didn't count the weeks, Sam.”

“Thirteen and a half,” he answered, digging for his wallet. He handed his money to Trevor, since the waitress had only brought them one bill, and then walked outside before he could hear the response. If Trevor teased him for his counting, he might have to drive him right back home, because Samuel wasn't sure he could handle that tonight.

He sat in his friend's beat-up car and let out a pathetic whimper that he would never in his life let anyone else hear. His hands fidgeted in his lap and then he held them against his face, willing himself not to cry.

Trevor opened the door to find him sitting with his knees to his chest, staring out the opposite window so that he wouldn't have to meet his eyes. He started the car and let out a sigh. “I'm driving tonight, Sam. And you are going to drink.”

He muttered something about being alcoholic that fell deaf even to his own ears, as the car pulled out of the parking lot and sped towards Jack's.

“You don't have to get drunk, but I can't handle you like this, bud. At least have a beer or two.”

Clara would kill him if she knew he was drinking, and maybe that was what fueled him. Maybe Trevor's tone was too convincing to ignore. Or perhaps, Samuel was just as fed up with himself as his best friend was.

Even later, he would not be able to explain his reasoning. But as they pulled into Jack's neighborhood, he knew he would drink more than a couple of beers tonight.

For thirteen weeks, he proudly wore the title Clara Roberts' Boyfriend. Tonight, he was just Samuel Rowe. He was single, and he planned to bask in the freedom that brought him. And in the morning, he bet the world would look ten times brighter.

~*~

There were several cars parked on the lawn when they arrived at Jack's, his wide driveway already filled. While the rows started off neat, they scattered into a mess that made Samuel think quite a few people were drunk before coming to the party.

Jack did not live in the middle of nowhere, but the property was at least two acres, and it gave him some distance to work with. He could not have asked for better neighbors, either – they stuck to themselves unless the noise grew out of hand, which was close to never. People respected Jack. When he asked for quiet, he usually got it.

For this reason, his parties were pretty laid-back. People drank, and occasionally there was a fist fight or even a screaming match. Mostly, they just ate food and laughed.

At first, Jack headed straight for the kitchen. Jack kept the table in there full of snacks, and despite just coming from dinner, Samuel was hungry.

He lost his appetite when he spotted Isabel and Jack making out against the fridge, and then he could not find a drink soon enough. A pretty girl in a low-cut top showed him to a cooler and even bent to grab him a beer from it, clearly intending to show off her breasts in the process.

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest, because he watched. What would Clara say?

With an incoherent grumble, he yanked the can from her and took a gulp. It did not calm him, so he imagined Clara's disappointed eyes and took another. He imagined her lecturing him about alcohol that night, the night he hung on every word she said, and bent to grab himself another beer.

The girl was gone, hanging on someone else's arm a few feet away. It should not have mattered, and it should not have made him emotional – he had always been fun and outgoing while drunk. Right now he felt like pulling out his phone and telling Clara where he was. He felt like pleading with her to please, please forgive him, or at least rubbing it in her face that he was drinking again.

He ran his fingers through his hair and scanned the room until he found Trevor. He was on the couch with some guy, talking and holding hands and stealing kisses. Samuel stepped further into the room and glanced around some more until his eyes caught a girl's, and then he walked even closer.

She met him halfway, giving him a flirty smile. “I'm Martha,” she said. Martha had a crooked nose and an air about her that told him she would forget his name in ten minutes, but that was okay.

This was the old Samuel, fourteen-weeks-ago Samuel, who had not met a girl named Clara and did not look for anything serious. His only concern was making sure the girls he hung out with felt the same way, and Martha did.

He could not kiss her first, because she stood on her toes and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips crashed together and it felt so wrong, these soft red lips against his, when he was used to chapped ones leaving lip gloss stains on his face.

Samuel did not kiss her back. Martha pulled away and he said, “Look, it isn't you –”

“I understand.” Her smile was polite, withdrawn, but not angry. She turned around and left, and Samuel went to the kitchen – now Isabel-free – and sat down alone at the table.

He drank a bit more and ate a whole plate of Jack's homemade cookies. It wasn't until Trevor found him two hours later that he realized there were tears in his eyes.

~*~

Things were brighter in the morning, but not in the way he hoped. Samuel woke up at eight o'clock in Trevor's guest bedroom, sunlight streaming through the curtains and adding onto the worst headache of his life.

He trudged downstairs, where he knew Trevor would be waiting in the kitchen – he smelled breakfast, and Trevor's mom never made it home until noon. Her work schedule had saved Samuel more times than she could know.

“You called my parents, right?” His mother was not a worrier, but he knew his father would be pacing the halls if he did not come home.

Because he had no missed calls on his cell phone, he figured Trevor thought ahead. His friend nodded.

“Yeah. Your dad asked why you weren't calling yourself, but I just told him you fell asleep during a movie and planned to call after.”

His dad knew they had been going to a party. “I doubt he bought that,” he said. He also doubted his dad would bring it up again, so he guessed it did not matter much.

Trevor shrugged, turning once again to the stove. He threw a couple of (terribly scrambled) sunny-side up eggs onto a plate and handed it to Samuel. “There's bacon and toast on the table.”

Both were burnt, but Samuel took his plate over and dug in. Lack of food – besides the cookies last night – had caught up to him, and he was starving.

Only after they had both finished eating did Trevor speak again. “You were, uh … crying, a lot last night. You're feeling better now?”

“Well, I'm not weeping all over the place,” he answered, and immediately felt sorry for his sarcasm. Trevor's face fell.

“I'm not trying to get all sentimental, Sam, but last night scared me.”

He sighed. “Look, I'll wash the dishes, okay? I'm fine.”

Trevor's shoulders relaxed and he nodded, but didn't leave him alone like Samuel hoped. He followed him to the sink and leaned against the counter, drying the dishes as Samuel washed them.

“This thing between you and Clara, is it something you can't fix?”

Samuel stayed quiet for awhile. He waited until he had rinsed the last plate off and handed it to Trevor, then shrugged. “I don't know. I screamed at her for nagging me all the time, and she said we were two different people. She said maybe we were never meant to be together.”

He felt his face heat up, embarrassed to admit, “I don't even know what that means.”

“Do you think you guys are meant to be together?”

He did not understand how two people could be meant for each other. Sure, they could want to be together. He even halfheartedly believed in love – his parents claimed to have found it, anyway. But who decided if two people were destined for each other?

“I want to be with her,” he answered. “That's all I know.”

Trevor nodded. “Then let's get her back.”