Chapter 17
Sam straightened up a little in his chair as he sensed someone come into the room. Despite the intervening racks of books and mostly bad lighting, he'd been there so often the place almost seemed to be a part of him, and he knew when something inside it changed.
He kept his gaze on the page of the book he'd been reading but no longer saw the words, his other senses stretching to pick up what information they could about whoever was there.
His heart sped up a little, sensing that whoever it was was moving toward the other end of the room. He refused to get his hopes up, though. If there was something he'd had a plateful of at Stanford, it was disappointment. Scholastically he was on a rocket, and if he pushed it, he was sure he could create some close friendships with several of his professors. But it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was to connect with his peers, not his teachers. That he could always do and had. But making friends with people his own age…it seemed to be beyond him. And he didn't understand it – not at all.
Things were better. He couldn't deny it. The nightmares were pretty much gone, proving he'd been right, though the fact hadn't made him any happier. He desperately missed Dean's voice, his laugh, his interest. Sometimes he even missed his father – though he would never admit that out loud, not after the way things were left between them.
Mitch and Brian were gone. If Mitch hadn't been there before, Sam was pretty sure he could have connected with Brian. More than once he'd seemed willing, but Mitch wouldn't have it. And Brian was Mitch's friend not Sam's.
He squirmed in his seat, the whole thing still leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
His second year roommates he'd hardly ever seen. And when he had, they'd pretty much treated him like he didn't exist. Alex and Jeff were better, at least deigning to give him the time of day. They'd come on board in the summer, seemingly because they needed to retake a couple of classes from the spring semester which they'd failed due to having way too much of a good time. Why anyone would come to college and squander it away by getting totally wasted was something else he'd had to add to his list of things he didn't understand.
Jeff had become a lot friendlier right toward the end of summer. He and Alex even suggested they take a class together – art history/appreciation. Sam had to admit he'd really enjoyed the class. Some of their other suggestions though, not so much. Every once in a while they'd drag him off to a bar somewhere and try to get him to mesh and fit in, and while he pretended okay, it just wasn't him. Sometimes he got the feeling that somehow he'd become Jeff's pet project. He still hadn't decided if this was a good thing or not. Though he supposed some kind of progress was better than none. He'd just never expected what he wanted to be this difficult to get.
His gaze bounced to the other small table on the far corner of the room and Sam's heart skipped a beat. He'd been right, it was her. She'd come back again. His cheeks grew unexpectedly warm. Sam quickly forced his attention back to his book.
Unless they were looking for research material, no one ever came to this room. And, if for some reason they did, they definitely never stayed long. The central area outside by the restrooms and vending machines was a much more popular location. But in here it was a lot quieter. There were no expectations. He could just be himself and not worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. He could just concentrate on studying. It was why it'd become one of his favorite places to hang.
This was the fourth time she'd come there. Too far to really see, all he could tell about the girl was that she was blonde with wavy hair. And though he knew nothing about her, after the second time, he'd started to look forward to her showing up. Though they hadn't spoken, not even come close enough to see one another's face, it still felt to him as if they had a connection, as if they were kindred spirits of a sort.
He knew it was a wild fantasy, but fantasy was about all he had left. He was sure that in a week or two she would tire of coming there and that would be that. If they ever even came close enough to speak, it would be a miracle.
Yet despite all that, the illusion of camaraderie, however thin, eased the raging ache in his soul a little all the same.