Page 10 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

Jesus. He kills me every time he says that. He’s delusional. We’re seventeen years old, we haven’t even graduated high school yet. We don’t know what love is, but dammit, he almost has me believing him. “Turner--”

“Why don’t you call me by my first name? My real name?”

I shrug. “Because everyone calls you Turner.”

“But you’re unique. You should call me something that means something. You shouldn’t be like everyone else.”

“Our names clash.”

“Why? Because Whitney said so? Fuck her.”

I giggle softly. I know he goes to so much effort to not cuss around me. He thinks I’m delicate like fine china, and his friends no doubt think I’m some kind of high maintenance princess.

“I’ll pay you to tutor me,” he continues quickly. “You could quit Dixies and I’ll replace your income with tutoring.”

Just the thought has my smile turning flat. “Where do you get all of your money, Samuel? You don’t do anything shady, do you?”

He smiles up at the side again. “My mom calls my dad by his full name when she’s trying to sound cross.”

“… Okay?”

He shakes his head with a soft chuckle and snags my pinky finger the way he so often does. My traitorous stomach flips again at the intimate contact. “Never mind, Sammy, I was just making an observation. As to my nefarious income, the guys and I make money every weekend at The Shed. Believe it or not, people throw cash in our guitar cases every night. We tend to make a few hundred each set because all the rich kids like to slum, and we split that between the four of us. We do that two nights a week, which means I take home a couple hundred dollars a weekend. Plus, I mow lawns during the summer, and my folks pay me to babysit my sister sometimes. I save every cent I make except for what I spend on water at Dixie’s. I bet I could afford whatever you make. I bet she doesn’t pay you much.”

She pays me less than four dollars an hour. He already pays me more than Ms. Dixie does with his overgenerous tipping. “I can’t take your money, Turner.”

“I’m asking to purchase your services, Samantha. You’d be doing me a favor. You want me to graduate, don’t you?”

I shake my head as dread replaces the nervous energy in my stomach. “Don’t call me Samantha, okay? I don’t like it. It reminds me of my mom when she’s mad, and that’s all the damn time.”

“Alright.” He gently squeezes my finger. “Does your mom call you Sammy? Or Ricci?”

“No.” I smile. “No one calls me Ricci except you.”

“Alright. I call dibs on that, and I promise to not call you Samantha ever again. So, tutoring?”

“I don’t know… When would you want to start?”

His smile splits his face in the most beautiful way. “You busy right now? Pi’s messing with my head and I need a nerd.”

I gently tug my finger away from his. “I suppose I could be your nerd. But I won’t take your money, and I’ll keep my regular job.”

“I don’t like the idea of you having two jobs. I’m the man. I should be supporting you.”

“Jesus.” I shake my head and start moving back through the library doors. He jogs to catch up, and his hand brushes my lower back. “How old are you? You don’t support me. You don’t even have to support you! We’re teenagers, Turner. You have years of mooching left.”

He doesn’t argue with me, he simply follows closely behind, so close my hair must surely be touching his chest, then we take a seat at the desk. He leans low over his books again, pretending to study hard as an excuse to lean into me. He’s like a big old pussy cat. “Teach me, Mrs. Robinson.”

“Turner--”

His eyes lift slowly, latching onto mine with a twinkle. “What’s my name, Sammy?”

I bite my lip, because his face is barely a foot from mine, and I still haven’t kissed a boy. “Your name is Sam Turner.”

“Yeah, it is. So use it.”

– Scotch –

The Easiest Thing In The World

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