I Remember You

by Fasnacht

"Now we're far apart/And I don't lie awake at night/But every once in a while/Right out of the blue/I remember you." Jake is a sophomore at college when things go from good to everyone's definition of great. That is, except his own. It takes a mystery man, a horsehair bracelet, and a "hack reporter" to help him see the fine lines between humility and reclusiveness. Challenge fic.

2. I Don't Wanna Lose You Yet

Baby maybe I'm wrong but what it I'm right
And everything's depending on us tonight?
Maybe we'll pass this way again

But honey I don't wanna wait 'til then, so...

Baby throw your arms around my neck
Lay your pretty head against my chest
Listen to one heartbeat then the next
'Cause baby I don't wanna lose you yet

I Don't Wanna Lose You Yet, Steve Earle

Being a senior had its benefits, Sam thought. "I'll take the story." The entire bank of reporters looked at her and Sam knew what they were thinking. The girl who wrote about wild animals and sold stories to women's magazines at the tender age of 17 was going to cover a sports story? After all, they thought, no one who wrote about women's issues could write about cross country.

Greg, the regular sports reporter, frowned, "Sam. You want a track story?" The advisor for the paper had suggested she take it, though Sam wanted to run it by everyone at the meeting. It was only fair and democratic. Their actual journalism teacher and advisor was out on paternity leave, so the temporary advisor and teacher was the art teacher from the local middle school, Mr. "Call me Mike" Miller. Mr. Miller wrote for the paper in town, and this story would run in both the school paper and the town paper.

Sam bit out, "Cross country is not track, Greg." She smiled, "Still, we've been working on this lead for months." Mr. Miller had been working on getting a reporter an in with the coach for almost six months, and she wasn't about to let this pass to a reporter who didn't even know the difference between cross country and track, "The season's almost over. Now that we've got an in, we need to take it. As editor, I..." She wanted to be the one to interview the coach, but of course she could not come out and say it, or it would be seen as selfish.

Greg rolled his eyes, "Just admit that you want the story so you have an excuse to see your boyfriend." He shut his binder, "Fine. I don't like track anyway."

"Cross country." Sam corrected, not bothering to correct the assumption that Jake was her boyfriend. She denied it so many times that they expected it. Better to keep them guessing.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dad was cool with her taking a Saturday with Mr. Miller to drive out. In the car, Sam smoothed a hand over her simple hairstyle. Every bit of her brown hair was restrained. She was a professional. She couldn't risk her frizzy, messy, hair getting into a shot or anything like that. She hated the tension the weight of her hair created, but it was up and back. Her soft blouse was pretty, and Sam would be lying if she didn't think her new bra did wonders for the floral print. Gram was right about good support and had hauled Sam to the store the second she'd come home with the story for her first professional outfit. Gram was excited, but Sam was nervous. This was her first front page story, and nothing was going to blow it. She looked business casual, from her top right down to the flats she was wearing with dark wash jeans. She couldn't do anything about her pear shape, but she could put her most professional foot forward.

Sam looked at her camera case next to her on the floorboard. She had packed and repacked and packed the bag over and over. It contained everything she might need to have in any eventuality.

She knew that Mr. Miller was along merely for the supervision and so she had not relied on him to pack anything. He spoke as they got off the exit, "Now, Sam. This is your story. I'm here, but I'm not going to do this for you, understood?" The young reporter gave Sam a look as they parked, "You're on, and you're not off this story until it's in the paper, you get me?"

"Yes, sir." He scowled as he got out of the car, "Mike. Sorry." It was creepy calling a teacher by a nickname, even if he was a substitute. It was creepy and she couldn't do it, though she resolved to try harder so as to be perceived by the coach as Mr. Miller's equal, and not a student he was chaperoning. Sam looked around, already thinking about shots. The large building was impressive and starkly new on the campus. She remembered Jake's complaints of construction last spring, and wondered if she should have asked to make plans with him rather than just showing up on his doorstep after this meeting with his coach. She took her camera out of its case, snapped on the lens she wanted, and put the strap over her neck. She slung the camera bag over her opposite shoulder and hoped she looked calm, cool, and professional. Inside, she was shaking.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam made her way down the hallway. Mike was off getting coffee. Sam's stomach turned just thinking about coffee, and she hoped her orange juice would stay down. She snapped a shot of the wing she was walking through, just to test the light and the surroundings. Looking down at the screen, she pursed her lips, and shifted her game plan. The light was off, but no one ever wanted to do a story at sunrise or sunset, so she supposed she had better get used to it. She knocked with some hesitation on the door that read George B. Parker. This building sure was swanky, Sam thought, noting the shining floors and the dark wood. She hoped she hadn't tracked mud indoors.

She knocked again after a moment or two, "Mr. Parker?" There was no reply. Sam started to freak out mentally. The email had said 2:30. It was now 2:33, and Mr. Parker was not in his office. Frantically, she checked her email on her phone, and saw nothing new. She had no clue what to do. They didn't cover what to do in classes if your contact ditched you, only what to do with them when you were sitting down with a tape recorder. The gaps in her education were glaring.

Sam hopped up, trying to see in the window on the upper door. The office was vacant and dark. Finally, she bit her lip. She knocked on the next doorjamb, which thankfully was open and occupied. A voice called out, "George is still in the lockers. Go on down." Sam never saw the person towards the back of the office, but she called out to the woman in thanks.

Sam made her way down a brightly lit stairwell, hoping to explain why she was late. Of course it would have to be her fault. What else could she say, "You weren't where you were supposed to be." No, it would have to be "I'm sorry I couldn't find you."

When she said just that, the coach in coach smiled, and shook his head, "No problem, Miss Forester."

"Sam." She interjected quickly, with a smile. She was starting to calm down inside. He seemed like a very personable man, and exchanging emails with him had made her practice all the things she'd say in her head, coming up with questions and responses to imaginary avenues the interview might take. She could do this.

He nodded, "Sam, then. Your interview is in there." He pointed to the door behind him, and went to turn back to his companion, picking up the thread of his conversation.

"Sir. You're my story." Sam broke in. "I..." She trailed off as she looked at the door. It was a locker room. Was he pulling her leg? She had been published in Your Table and Fannie Farmer magazines. They were national magazines. She knew her stuff and she wasn't going to be tossed around. So what if she'd never so much as written a word about sports? She had this down pat, because at its core, interviewing the new coach about taking over after the retired coach was a people story.

"You're mistaken. The other coach urged gently, "You're looking for Jake Ely. Go on in."

"Jake Ely?" Sam spluttered. "I couldn't..." No! The coach was her story. Why were they sending her to Jake? She realized that she was staring and looked like a fool. Maybe Jake was going to keep her company until the coach was done talking to his coworker, or something. It was rather sweet of him, and she was looking forward to saying hello. They hadn't talked in a few days.

The blonde coach smiled softly, misunderstanding her initial hesitation for missish prudery. "It's alright. Go on."

Sam squared her shoulders and pushed the door to the locker room open. She strode into the tiled room with a confidence she didn't feel. She knew that the coach wouldn't lie to her, but she still felt odd walking into a locker room with men in it, no matter how dressed they were supposed to be. Sam kept telling herself not to blush, not to blush, not to blush, but she knew she was blushing horribly. The room was loud, and music was blaring. She stopped as one guy looked to her up and down, raising an eyebrow in blatant query. He turned back to his locker, and Sam scanned for Jake. God, where was he? She suddenly was questioning her chops as a reporter. She knew there was no crying in baseball, but evidently there was no modesty in running. Sam dropped her gaze to the floor. They were not all dressed. She was a half second from bolting when she gathered her resolve and looked up for Jake, praying he would appear. He was nowhere to be seen. Quickly she surmised that he was likely back with the other lockers. She could not go back there, as she could hear water running and knew what they would mean for her modesty, and that of the... Shaking her mind off of the implications, she made a split second decision to hop up on the bench to see over the lockers, and called "Excuse me!" She balanced on the bench, camera bag whacking her bag as she stood on the bench as a gymnast would their beam, assessing and cool.

The loud room quieted once she called out again. The cadence of her voice was at odds with the masculine timbre of the room. A few heads turned towards her. "I'm looking for Jake Ely."

She heard the distinct slam of a locker over the swell of the music. AC/DC continued play, asserting that rock n' roll wasn't noise pollution, as the man in question rounded the lockers and came into the center aisle. She could hear his footsteps behind her and just knew it was him. Sam turned to hop down from the wide bench and came eye to eye with just the person she was looking for. Well, almost. For once, she was taller than Jake. She wasn't sure if it was his proximity or the change in their heights that made her heart pound, "Thank God. You're dressed." The simple observation was something wonderful. She had never been so thankful for that fact in all her life.

Jake was furious. She could see it in his face, in the set of his shoulders, which were, again, covered by a long sleeved t-shirt. Sam did not need to know that his Irish Spring was especially spiring-y today, though the information was quite nice all the same. She stepped back but stepped back too far. Her camera bag was going to hit the floor before her body, and she tried to brace herself but found herself pulled forward and placed on her feet, just as she expected to hit the floor. "Hey!"

Jake gave no reply, not to her or to his teammates, and strode out of the locker room, pulling her along gently, but in such a way that gave her no way out unless she broke his wrist, and he did whine when he broke bones. Sam decided to go along with it, just to preserve his good standing in front of his friends. She didn't want to break his wrist, not really. Every person within eyeshot was staring. "Why are you all looking at me like you've never seen a woman before?" Sam called, trying to preserve the upper hand in this situation, "Watch the camera!" Sam said to Jake, as she tried to grab for it, as Jake propelled her along.

Jake rounded on her in the hallway, "Can't you read?" He snapped. Sam checked that her camera was all right, and tugged her top down. She could feel Jake's incredulous gaze on her, and her heart fluttered under the attention, negative though it was.

She looked up at Jake, "Nice to see you, too." She was biting back a smile, and she knew that once he got over his wilting flower moment, he would be, too. He was so inexplicably odd about the simplest things. What, did he think she had wanted to go in there? She was a professional, for heaven's sake, and he was acting like a small child.

He scowled, "Sam." Running his fingers through his damp hair, Jake asked, "For kicks, read that sign, yeah?"

Sam decided to have fun with phonics. She looked at the sign on the door near them, which read, "Men" and decided to pull out the e sound, reading, "Mean. It says mean."

"That's a short e!" Jake snapped. As he spoke, his hand closed around the shoulder strap of her bag. He slipped the taking her camera bag off of her shoulder, and placed it over his own slinging it over his own.

Sam shifted closer to allow him to do it. Sam grinned and shot back, "As short as your temper?" She let him take the bag, although it was hardly necessary. She would get it back. After all, a reporter carried her own kit.

Jake said resignedly, "I have a very long temper, Sam." Sam snorted. What he lacked was understanding. "You are not a man." So? She wondered what his point was.

Jake said, "Women don't go into men's rooms." He spoke as though he were laying down some law. In his mind, it was clearly just not done. It was unthinkable, according to his reaction and his tone. How dare she violate this rule of Elydom?

"I can if I want to." She rolled her eyes. "It was imperative that I do so, besides."

Jake cut her off impatiently, obviously tired of the conversation, "Besides, I have to blow off some idiot reporter." Sam's stomach sank. She was supposed to interview him? Really? He obviously didn't know it was her, but, honestly, this was not good.

Jake continued, sighing, "Can you please promise me that you will not go into the locker room then we'll get dinner? What do you want, Chinese or Italian?"

Sam was just about to tell him that actually, they were going for Thai at Happy Lin, and he could go hungry if he didn't like it, and after he'd called her an idiot, he was paying for dinner.

"Ely!" George B. Parker blurted, aghast. Sam hadn't even seen that he and the other coach were standing there, and had clearly been observing their entire exchange. The older man spluttered. "I apologize, Miss Forester I-" Sam took pity on him, and the blood rushing to his face as he looked at Jake.

She stuck her hand out to Jake, "Sam Forester, The Darton Daily. I'm the reporter. Otherwise known as the Queen of Idiotville."

Jake smiled, obviously at the joke, then frowned. There was a moment of silence as he processed her words. She let him have it as she had already processed what was going on, and knew that they would have to walk away cleanly. He looked at her and at the coach, "She can't do the story." Sam saw that the coach looked bewildered and furious.

"It's true." Sam agreed, mostly to back Jake up, "I shouldn't." She changed tracks, as the coach looked angrier still, "Sir, it was my thinking that I was here to interview you."

"No. It was arranged with Mike for you to interview Mr. Ely. I trust this will not be an issue, Jacob?" Coach Parker said. Sam watched as a look crossed Jake's face. She understood that he was backed into a corner, "Do the story, put it to bed, and you two can stay there with it for all I care."

Sam's blush was instant. It was only because she had just been blushing, she knew. Jake frowned, "What?" Oh, God. Apparently another rule of Elydom had just been trespassed upon. Ely gentleman did not have passionate love affairs with their best friends, however sad she was to admit to that fact in her own life. That rule was resolute.

"Well. Can we use your office, then?" Sam tried to diffuse the situation. After the words left her mouth, she blushed anew, as the coach's eyebrow's rose. She never realized how half the things she said sounded until she said them. "For the story! The interview!"

The coach nodded. Jake was clearly annoyed with the turn of the conversation, "Well, what else would we be doing?"

Sam bit back a normal response of "Shut up, you idiot." This was her first front page, above the fold, honest to God headline story, and she wasn't going to blow it telling Jake something he already knew.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam followed Jake down the fight of stairs. "What is going on?"

Sam sighed, "It appears, Mr. Ely,..." She joked, as the bottom of her flats echoed in the stairwell, "That we're up the creek. But here's what we're going to do: Nothing. Just pretend I'm not here." Sam said.

They reached the landing, and Jake didn't go forward. Instead, he turned around on the wide landing, and said, "What?"

"I can't interview you." Sam admitted. Jake would clam up, and the whole trip would be useless. "We both know you won't say two words, but I can observe you going about your day, and I can write about that. For it to work, you need to pretend I'm not here."

"That's insane." Jake bit out, staring at her. Sam took an awkward step backwards on the landing, leaning into the wall. Jake looked down into her eyes, and Sam's heart started to pound. This was as close as they had been for months, maybe the closest they'd been ever. Maybe she should do something about it, Sam thought. Maybe she should stop staring. Maybe she could...

Reflexively, Sam ran her tongue over the chapped corner of her lips, "Jake..." She had to make him see that this had to be exactly like this. She had to make him understand that the heat of his nearness was driving every thought from her head, and sucking the air from her lungs. He had to understand that this stairwell was all they had, maybe all that they ever would.

"You want me honestly to ignore you?" Jake asked harshly, not giving her the space to move, not that Sam wanted any, "Just go about today like you're not here, and I'm not..." He made the idea sound like it was crazy. Sam inhaled, tying to steady her thoughts. Her body felt weightless at his nearness, and the clean sent of soap that lingered on his skin drifted around her.

"This is a big story for me, Jake." Sam explained, softly, trying to still her racing heart as Jake's eyes glittered. Sam wished she was tall enough to put her head on his shoulder. As it was, tilting her head gave her a unique sense of protection. The only sensations she was feeling came, somehow, from Jake. "It could mean a job after college. I can't allow anything to get in the way of this. We have to do this story as ethically as possible. I'll disclose that we're friends in the writing, but I can't allow our friendship to color the research." She was telling him, as much as reminding herself of all of these facts.

Pushing up on her toes and...Sam's mind ran wild. No. Doing that was not a good idea. It just wasn't. How easy it would be to kiss him, to end this whole bit of tension spiking around them. But no, they were friends, and only friends, and she needed to remind herself of that fact.

Something shifted in his voice then. Sam felt it, as much as heard it, and it was all she could do not to shiver. "So I'm supposed to do what, exactly?"

"How would you treat me if I wasn't me?" Sam asked, hoping that her earlier gaffe in mention how friendly they were could be paved over. People did not kiss their friends, no matter how much said friend was really, really, fixated on the idea.

Sam's fervent hopes were dashed as Jake stepped away with lightening speed and started back down the stairs calmly. "Jake!" She called, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. Darn his composure. Sam was rattled, unglued, and he'd barely touched her. She could not let herself imagine anything further, not with her mind as it was. She bit her lips, pressed them together, took a steadying breath, prayed for self-control, and bolted down the stairs after him.

He was at the bottom of the steps by the time she got there. "What?" Sam stood on the step, as Jake opened the door, "I don't hang out in stairwells with strange girls."

Sam gaped at him. This was not going to end well.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She was going out of her mind, and not in a pleasurable way. They were pretending not to know each other. What part of that did he not get? He held the door. He pointedly did not touch her, not even casually. There was a wall between them. Surely strangers did not act this way, surely. "What's first on the docket?" Sam asked as she padded along next to him, his long strides eating up the ground much faster than she ever could.

Jake gestured towards a building. It was the Dining Hall, Sam knew. He was hungry, then. Sam figured she should abstain if there was a huge plate of pad thai in her future. Jake held the door again as they walked silently into the building, and again, he did not let his arm brush any part of her as he might have. The lack of touch felt suspicious. People would know he was not touching her if he didn't, at least casually. He pulled a tray off the of the pile. Sam pointedly asked, "May I have my bag?"

Ordinarily, she would have told him that he was hogging her stuff, and to give it back, but there were roles. "We're eating, not working. Go find something you want." He was already striding away, toward the salad bar.

Sam sighed and walked after him. She didn't tell him that she wasn't eating, but he looked up from loading down his plate with grilled chicken, and she saw surprise on his face. Realization flashed in his eyes. He thought she didn't know where to go. "They've got sweet potatoes on the end of the side bar down there. Up that way is entrees, back that way is dessert." Jake outlined, knowing that she liked sweet potatoes, taking huge amounts of vegetables onto his plate. "It's going to be hours until we eat again."

Sam understood. He couldn't go a few hours without eating enough calories that would have lasted a week for most people. He was continually hungry, and always assumed that she would be too. He was funny about eating without people. "Not everyone eats as much as you." Sam grinned and followed him towards the huge cake on display. It was glorious. Sam's calorie limits would be blown several times over if she ate even a tiny bite of that thing. Her hips were expanding in its presence. It was amazing.

It looked amazing, and she wasn't really going to do anything but sit in a car until chores. Despite knowing better, she was reaching out to take one when she heard Jake mutter beside her, "Internalized sexism." Sam looked up sharply to find him grinning at her. He put two forks by the two pieces of cake on the heavy tray. Sam headed towards the tables, figuring that she would do her part to smash the patriarchy today. Sadly, confronting the system of patriarchy wasn't always as enjoyable as chocolate cake.

Jake was weaving through the tables when a voice called out, "Ely! We've got a spot for you!" Sam looked over to see several young men sitting at a table, food piled around them, chairs messily added to fit more people. Jake clearly wasn't too pleased about having to join in, but they went. Sam was determined to get information for her story. After all, she couldn't very well write a story about a man who declined to kiss her in stairwells and plied her with chocolate cake.

Sam approached the table behind Jake, bereft of her steno pad or her camera, she had to rely on her role to send off an aura. The boys shuffled over, and one spoke to her, "Hello?"

Sam realized she had been standing there, staring at them like a dolt. Unlike everyone back home, she and Jake were not peanut butter and jelly here. They weren't perceived as being together, as though it was natural to see them both together. "Hey." She stood there, "I'm Sam. I'm following Jake around for a story. I'd love to ask you some questions, but otherwise, don't mind me."

She finished speaking to note that Jake was looking pointedly at the chairs. Another darn rule of Elydom. Sam sat to the closest chair, next to someone named Bobby and across from someone named Doug. Jake pulled the chair from behind them and placed it next to her on the corner of the table, ignoring the seat down at the end that was clearly meant for him. Sam refused to make anything of it, though she did try to scoot over closer to Bobby to give him some room. She couldn't move, and looked to find that Jake had hooked his foot around the leg of her chair. She wished she could shove him off of his chair in retaliation, but she was a professional, even if he was a five year old boy who wanted to get her back for hogging the table.

"So." Bobby said, "What should we tell you about Jake?"

Someone from down the end of the table, Randy, crinkled his nose. Sam almost laughed at the expression, and pulled out her pad and her camera. She checked her settings as Randy spoke, "We're an open book." The others made statements of agreement. Sam discerned that Jake was the quiet one of the bunch, as they all began to laugh and joke and talk.

Jake was taking this well. He'd placed the tray between them and was eating his salad quietly, though the ghost of a smile danced on his face. Bobby added, "Ask us anything, we're willing to set aside team loyalty to preserve your journalistic integrity, Miss."

Sam ignored her cake, and tried to start off slow, "Well, what kind of teammate is he?" Jake, clearly without thinking, had arranged their dishes. Sam slid nonchalantly into sharing a tiny space with him. Thankfully, she was left-handed and did not elbow him at every turn. She turned her mind to her job, and not the cake before her.

Sam bit into her cake. It was great. There was a ganache, and heavens above, it was German chocolate. Jake's eyebrows knitted together as his eyes zeroed in on her, "You're not interviewing people about me in front of me. There's bias."

Sam acknowledged the truth. She wished she could drink his water, but they weren't supposed to share drinks, if they were strangers. Strangers thought it was gross or something, and rightly so. Jake had probably forgotten that fact, though sharing stuff was just easier. It saved money, and they'd always done it. "Sure."

Doug shook his head dramatically, as though affronted, "We would never lie to a pretty girl, Ely. You'll get the truth from us, and if Jake's uncomfortable, he can get lost and not us." Doug's tone light, teasing. Had Jake been telling them to go away? "We'll have a fine time without him. Should we set up interviews?"

Jake stabbed his salad forcefully. Sam thought quickly, searching for an out. She did not really want to write her story on the basis of interviews. She wanted to see Jake, have a moment to shake off the roleplaying that she was regretting keenly. Sam found a way to save face, "Thanks, but I promised Mike..." she was glad she'd remembered to use Mr. Miller's name. The act she was pulling off meant that she was cool, calm, and collected, who used teacher's names like it was nothing, "that I'd stay with Jake." She'd done no such thing, of course, but what good was a friend if she didn't use him once and awhile to save face socially?

The wall between her and Jake grew thicker as he reached carefully towards the middle of the table for a napkin, rather than taking one from her pile. She'd screwed up and gotten too many. Sam looked at him, then, and saw something dark in his eyes. It sent a bolt of frission down her spine, and Sam gripped her camera carefully. She tried to breathe, but the idea had left her brain. "Aw, I'm sure your boyfriend won't mind."

Sam's reply was automatic, "Oh, he's not my boyfriend." The words left her mouth before she looked away from Jake and she realized that they were talking about Mike, and not Jake. The idea was humorous, and something of a change. "Mike's my editor."

Jake spoke then, "You call him Mike, now. Didn't you just meet the guy?" He was actually curious. Sam understood why. She liked people, but she always tripped through life sticking her foot in her mouth. Gram said she had grown out of it, and that she was a lovely girl. Jake probably assumed that, based on their conversation last week, that she had overcome her awkwardness at having a temporary advisor. She came up with a great reply, "Well. I mean, I call you Jake, and I don't know you from Adam." She smiled at the implicit joke. That saying annoyed Adam. She was also reminding herself of the limits she'd set up, which Jake seemed to be ignoring. He was not all ill at ease here, and he kept looking at her.

Jake muttered something and turned back to his chicken. She allowed the conversation to carry on, and Sam didn't realize that she didn't take a single note as she got to know Jake's friends. They saw him so differently. They thought she was quiet, reserved, that he was hard working, and not much fun. They saw him as a fuddy duddy. He was all of those things, but not in a bad way. He was deeply emotional, a lot of fun, and had a wicked sense of humor that they couldn't see. Her biases were coloring her impressions, but frankly, she thought his teammates were blind, even if they did leave her with more questions than she had answers.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam found herself sitting in the bleachers, waiting for Jake. He'd had a meet today, but she wanted pictures, so she hauled him out here to stand around and smile nicely, which was harder work than anyone realized and they'd almost had a bit of a heated discussion over it all. Max had called, so he'd wandered off to talk to his mother. Sam stayed in the bleachers. She tried to sort through the ideas she had for the story. So far, she knew she was missing something. She had just sat down when a man approached her, from the back corner of the bleachers. He was older, and spry. Sam liked him instantly as he tucked away a tissue into wrinkled pants. "This is an odd study spot."

Sam looked up, "Uhm. No, sorry. I'm just waiting for my..." Sam nearly said friend. She stumbled, "For Jake." She did not say that his mother called, because there was too much to explain. A realization dawned within her, "You're the retired coach, right?" Sam did not know how to handle meeting one of the best coaches on the planet. He really was. After all, he'd only retired due to cancer that was now in remission. As a parting gift, he'd donated half his money to build this place. "David Melanchthon, right?" Sam was a tiny bit awestruck. She had a bunch of questions that he could answer, if he wanted.

He shook his head, looking at her curiously, "Only my mother called me David." He sat down next to her, "Even my wife calls me Reese. I don't answer to anything but Reese. I had a bunch of stuffy old ancestors who wanted to live on, forever. 'Fraid I never was cut out to be a theologian." He filled in Sam with a bemused smile, "David Harrison Reese Philipp Melanchthon, at your service." He continued on archly, "You're that girlfriend of Jake's?"

"He's got a girlfriend?" Sam asked quickly, coloring. Well, no wonder he hadn't picked up on any signals she'd been sending for at least a year now.

Reese looked at her, archly. Sam swallowed. She was dealing with the loss of hope, the crushing of her innermost hopes, in front of a man who routinely made grown men cry. She would not, and anyway, it was nothing to cry over, not really. He should have told her though. She didn't like that she had been coveting someone else's boyfriend, and she most especially did not like knowing that her best friend was a liar. He couldn't have a girlfriend. He didn't. He would have said, and there was no way he wouldn't have run the girl by her. She was better at googling people. "Somebody up home, I gather." Reese said, "Which, judging by the way you were looking at him, is clearly you, though you're here under some professional capacity." He looked at her, "Sensible shoes, steno notebook, and tucked up hair. You're a reporter."

"I thought the camera would be my tell." Sam said, admitting the truth with a smile. Reese reached into his pocket and offered her a hard candy. She took the peppermint, and he popped one into his own mouth. Wait until she told Jake that she had eaten peppermints with the man who endorsed them. She would never let him live this down.

"Anybody can by a camera and tote it around, girl." Reese chided her. "Think about the first thing you learn about being a reporter." He continued on without her input, "You're behind the lens, behind the pen. You're not bent on being seen. You want to blend, observe, sense, become all eyes and ears. Amateurs don't know that, and they dress with an eye toward being seen." West concluded, "So, you look at the shoes. And in your case, the hair." Sam quickly reached up and tucked away strands that had fallen out as she'd followed Jake around, listened and observed. He never forgot that she was there. He pointed things out, took to spots on campus that he thought she would like. Sam knew that his small detour through the journalism department hadn't been accident, though Jake passed it of as the quickest route. Sam knew better, she'd studied the maps. before she'd come here.

"Which brings me to my question." Reese said, "You're the reporter that came to meet Ely. How serendipitous." Sam got the idea that it hadn't been serendipitous at all. "He's got to face facts. He's a good athlete, and if he's going to make anything of himself, he's simply got to open up."

Sam disagreed. She held her piece, though, not wanting to voice that Jake was one of the most open and honest people she knew. "He's a good man." Sam asserted quietly. The statement was pure fact. He was among the very best of men, for all of his stubbornness and assertions that he knew things that he did not.

Sam's ears perked up when she heard Jake clattering up the bleachers. He called out, "Sam, Mom says Quinn..." He broke off when he saw Reese. His posture shifted, and he lost some element of ease that Sam realized that she only saw when they were alone. He was looking at them carefully. Sam understood why he had never said he'd met Coach Melanchthon. She never would have believed him. "Reese."

Sam stifled a bit of a gaping look as Reese answered, "Ely. Your time was good today, and you kept your shoes on. Good for you." Their interactions were easy. Jake didn't even look a tiny bit taken aback.

Jake nodded respectfully. Reese continued, "But for the love of God, Jacob, watch yourself going through that creek, you hear? That water may be contaminated for all you know. I hear some old business conglomerate owns the land there, you never know what the old coot poured into the water." Sam wondered why Jake didn't get the joke. Reese's father had owned that land, it was how they had gotten a lot of their money, which had been spent on the very building she was sitting in, "You don't need to wallow in it when you cross it. Use your brain on that!"

Jake arched an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. He wanted to know if they knew each other well enough for him to introduce her. Roleplay was so not their thing, Sam thought. Dropping all pretense, she said, "Jake, why didn't you tell me your friend Reese was Coach Melanchthon?"

Silence followed her question. Reese answered, "He didn't know, Samantha." Jake looked thunderous.

Behind the granite etched into the lines of his body was shame, shame, and hurt. "I had no idea." He looked at her, "And now it's going to be in the paper that I...lied, took advantage of resources my teammates don't have, cheated. Everything..."

Sam tilted her head, "All that's going in the paper, Jake, is anything we agree on." She didn't have the guts to tell him that, at the end of it all, she could have written a passable story without even saying one word to anybody. She knew Jake's stats, had followed the blog and website out of thinly veiled personal interest. At the end of the day, she wasn't going to put some story above two decades of friendship. Maybe it looked silly to some, but it was only ethics to her.

Reese looked surprised. "Well. You're certainly throwing away a lead." He reached into his pocket for another mint, but came out only with plastic. Sam wished she had another mint. Her mouth was dry. Jake looked ready to bolt.

"No." Sam replied, sure that she could make this work, and help Jake feel better. "I'd like to understand why you lied to Jake, though, Coach. That would be quite the headline, now wouldn't it? Famed Coach Uses Track Complex to Dupe Up and Comer." Sam quoted, "Now doesn't it?"

Reese laughed. "You'll go far with that kind of chutzpah." Sam did not laugh, and Jake was still looking around like the bottom had fallen out. Sam did not waiver, and Reese admitted, "I saw something in the boy. Figured George had no idea the kind of potential he was throwing away by giving up on the kid. George's a good boy, but he rarely looks below the surface." Reese looked at Jake, "I helped you. What skin off of your nose is it if I chose to augment your coaching and not the whole team?"

Jake shot to his feet, "It feels dishonest, Reese. Like I cheated. Like I had somebody in my corner that nobody else did. I don't know."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Jacob. It isn't the case, and we will talk about it when the AP isn't waiting for a story." Reese insisted, and the joke went over well. For many people, it would not have, but it did with Reese. "The real story I want to know about is that bracelet you wear."

Jake colored. Sam was on it like a fly on a pie, "Jake?" She pressed. Sam looked at his sleeve. He was wearing the Phantom's bracelet that she'd given him. Sam shifted on the metal seat to look at Reese, wheels turning in her head, "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you orchestrated a media interview for Jake just so that you could find out about the bracelet without asking yourself?" She was incredulous. All of that effort for one question?

West replied without shame, "Yes. I came up here to muscle you into asking some questions about it, but well, you're not easily directed." Reese replied. Sam was glad that he did not reveal to Jake the fact that their conversation had been dominated by her unrequited love for Jake. There were some truths that were never meant to see the light of day, especially if he did have a girlfriend. She would never be able to live with herself.

Sam's heart beat quickly. He was not injured by this deception on Reese's part, and she knew it would be all worked out, somehow. "I've no idea what to say."

Sam inhaled. That hadn't been why she'd given it to him. She'd given it to him so that it would lead him to where he was supposed to go in life, all the while knowing that there was a place in the world that was there to catch him if he fell. He'd needed something to take with him from home, something to ground him to the earth that he loved, something that would keep him as one with it, remind him of who he was and always would be. Sam replied, "It's a magical bracelet made of the mane of a magical horse that rules the range, who moves like the wind and lives forever in unity with the land." Sam nodded primly.

Reese chuckled, "If it was a gift from your girlfriend, Ely, why didn't you just say so?" Neither Sam nor Jake corrected him. It was old hat. "I was thinking it was a power balance that actually worked and wasn't a placebo. Your times skyrocketed when you started wearing it. I wanted to develop the technology."

Jake contested that statement, "You were curious, admit it." Sam's mind was spinning with the opening lead of her story. She knew just what she was going to say.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They were quiet as they crossed campus, their day having not made dinner out possible. She had to get home. Sam wanted to know how Jake was feeling, but he knew that she wasn't going to get answers until the story was done, until she could just be his friend again. The light was changing, and she had to get to the car to meet Mr. Miller. They were in the stairwell when Sam worked up the courage to say something, to break the silence between them that seemed tense and heavy with expectation.

In the middle of the landing, Sam turned around quickly. Jake stopped on a dime, wrapping an arm around her as they bumped up against the wall. Sam's lungs froze in her chest and she knew that this was her last shot. She was leaving in five minutes and everything was wrong, even though she had her story. Jake was going to step away quickly. Sam had to stop that from happening. He needed to know. Her words were rushed, "I'm me again." The words left her in a heated whoosh.

Jake's eyes glittered in the semi-darkness. The stairwell was barely lit. Sam was going to hyperventilate if he didn't do something or back away. She was feeling too much, her mind was spinning. She was going to explode, and he was only looking at her and touching her in a gentle way that she wished she could interpret as platonic. Pretending not to know him had been so frustrating and annoying and wrong and awful and terrible. It wasn't right and it wasn't fun, not after the first few minutes. She, Sam realized, wanted people to know what he was to her. He didn't even know what he was to her, and somehow that was even more wrong. Sam wished her mouth wasn't so dry, that she could hear above the blood rushing in her body, the want itching across her skin.

Her awareness of Jake was absolute and all consuming. "Really?" His voice made her tremble, there was something in it that made her see all kinds of things in her mind, the kinds of things that were based off of what his lanky fingers were doing to the sensation receptors in her body.

"Yes." Sam said, the single word filling the space between them.

Jake's grin was electric as he realized what her intent was, and assured that her aim was true by moving to compensate her. If he had not moved, she would have ended up kissing his ear or something. The thought flew from her brain as their lips met. Their first kiss was everything she'd ever wanted in meaning, if not in technical grace. It was honest, and joyful, and hopeful, and perfect in Sam's mind. Sam felt Jake's smile against her mouth, could literally feel him vibrating with joy as he urged her to deepen the kiss. At that, Sam had to press her knees together to keep them from knocking together, as Jake pressed himself closer still and she felt the changing textures and sensations of the kiss with such awareness that she thought she would literally fall over if it ended. Their bodies closed the remaining space between them as Jake pulled his mouth away, breathing raggedly. Sam barely felt the brick wall at her back. They stared at each other. Sam was assuring herself that their moment had been real, that she hadn't dreamed it up. She didn't know what to say.

"You could tell me what you're thinking." Jake offered, looking at her with an amused expression as she lowered herself back to her feet. She hadn't meant to speak aloud. She didn't want to say that to Jake, though.

Sam shook her head. They needed more time to explore those thoughts, and she wasn't going to rush this. "So, uhm. Is this why you don't hang out in stairwells with girls?" The question was absurd, but it fit the moment, fit the wide smile on her face, fit everything about this moment. She would never forget it, and she just had to know.

"I said I didn't hang out in stairwells with strange girls." Jake returned, and broke their embrace, tossing a grin over his shoulder. "I never said a word about not kissing them."

Sam inhaled, "I am not strange." How dare he say that she was strange? She'd show him strange. She'd show him. After gathering her wits she followed him up the steps, "I am not!"

Jake held the door open, "Says the woman who decides that we should pretend not to know each other for an entire day." His body weight absorbed the weight of the door that opened to the hallway. He leaned down as his hand drifted across her elbow and whispered, "That's a pretty strange definition of foreplay, if you ask me."

Sam huffed and stepped on his foot, flipped the ends of her tousled hair, and walked towards the parking lot. Jake called after her, "We'll work on it!" Sam looked back over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, trying to contain her anticipation. She couldn't wait.