Page 45 of The Backtrack
She’d be that someone. She hadn’t loved high school but had used studying as a respite from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume her. And her valedictorian speech had been one she’d written as a kind of goodbye letter to Tybee. But she didn’t see Alt-Sam seated onstage the way she’d been back then. She scanned the crowd for herself and Damon.
Sam snaked her way down the row of chairs—past soul patches, shell necklaces, enormous cargo shorts and carpenter jeans—and into the aisle. The space was a sea of teal, but as she searched, she spied a wave of red hair in the small crowd of people who hadn’t taken a seat. Had she been the only redhead in high school? She couldn’t quite remember as she stumbled toward the flame like a jittery moth.
As Sam approached, she immediately recognized her high school’s college advisor, Mrs. Thrimble, deep in conversation with Alt-Sam. As valedictorian, Sam had been offered a full ride to several in-state schools. She could’ve accepted any of them. But the idea of pursuing a degree she had no interest in wasn’t as appealing as the adults around her kept making it sound. Especially when all Sam wanted was to attend flight school, the one option she’d actually been excited for.
“You’re one of the most curious and inquisitive students I’ve ever had the pleasure of helping,” Mrs Thrimble told Alt-Sam.
“Thanks.” Alt-Sam’s cheeks burned pink under the attention. She pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose.
Glasses?Sam had always had perfect eyesight. But then, there had been the car accident, and the double vision.Oh, no.
“And you’re smart. You could’ve been valedictorian if you’d really focused.”
Could’ve been valedictorian?
Mrs. Thrimble continued, “While I understand that you don’t want to go the traditional route of applying to colleges, I do hope you’re taking my recommendation to look into some night classes at the community college?”
Just then, Damon’s unmistakable spiky black hair came into view as he reached for Alt-Sam’s hand and squeezed it. He gave her a warm smile, then acknowledged Mrs. Thrimble.
“Big day,” he simply said.
“Yes, for me, too. I’m so proud of you both.” She placed a hand on Alt-Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Damon, are you getting the summer off before nursing school?”
“I might volunteer in the rehab center with my dad. Some of the nurses who took care of me after the car accident offered to show me the ropes.”
He was becoming a nurse, like his dad? What about the brewery?
“That’s excellent news,” said Mrs. Thrimble. “I was just telling Sam she should get some classes in over the summer. See what interests her.”
“I want to be a pilot.” Alt-Sam tucked a thick chunk of hair behind her ear. “I just have to save up for this corrective surgery.”
“Hopefully soon,” Damon added, trying to sound encouraging.
“The woman who runs the flight school in Savannah told me that less than 5 percent of commercial pilots are female. So there’s a real need for Sam.” Mrs. Thrimble gave a small smile. “Hopefully, the surgery goes well.”
The percentage of female pilots had increased, but only to 10 percent, so that statistic hadn’t improved much over the last decade. The skies weren’t friendly to women, but Sam had made it work for her.
“I should get to the stage, and you should both take your seats.” Mrs. Thrimble glanced between them and then maneuvered away.
“Maybe Mrs. Thrimble is right. Night school could be rad.” Damon turned to Alt-Sam, and she sort of shrugged him off.
“I know what I want. I don’t need night school,” Alt-Sam finally said.
Sam’s fingers twitched. She guessed it was fine that Alt-Sam was taking a longer, more complicated route to becoming a pilot. But in this life, she wasn’t valedictorian,andshe didn’t have an acceptance letter to flight school?
Damon wrapped an arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Brandon Flowers is a genius,” he said. “The way his lyrics so perfectly capture longing and love.”
Alt-Sam playfully rolled her eyes. “You know it’s about a breakup, right?”
“Sure, if you’re a pessimist you might think that,” Damon said. “But I happen to be an optimist. The relationship he’s singing about turns around. I mean, the way he asks the question at the very end tells us he wants to give it another chance.”
Alt-Sam shook her head. “He wants to be understood, but isn’t,” she insisted.
“Whatever you say.” Damon gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to check on my parents. Save me a seat?”
Alt-Sam offered a small smile as he walked off, but once he was out of sight, that faded. Her gaze landed on her hands, which shook.
What the fuck?Sam wasn’t sure why she was so mad, but this didn’t seem right. What had been one of the most encouraging and life-changing moments for her now seemed completely mucked up.
