I was in awe of Sam's ability to care and love. To comfort.

Chili cheese fries and binged episodes of The Gilmore Girls after tears and painful explanations, a surely unfortunate wakeup call for my new Best Friend. Confusion and misplaced guilt. Parents and cruel men. A pink and black crocheted blanket hung across our laps and I attempted to laugh through one of the worst nights of my life. We were in a cove of book-shelves and knick-knacks. Home.

But I couldn't stop feeling the way that he'd pushed into me when I'd asked him to stop, a cancerous body and I had to be my own white blood cells.

If I hadn't run... I don't even know...

"June?" Sam chirped, placing a warm hand over mine. Her palms were dry and calm.

"Hm?" I hummed, still staring past the television.

"I don't want for this to set you back." Sam's words were soft but they struck me hard in my chest and my blurry vision welled with salt.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Hey, no. It's okay. Look at me." I did, with some difficulty. Bags hung from her deep eyes, and I felt a pang of guilt for waking her and not insisting harder that she go back to sleep. Her hair was in a silk bonnet and a cropped tee hung from one thin shoulder. She hid her yawns.

"June, you're about to be on your own financially, if you're not already. In the last couple of weeks I've seen you grow and live, and I don't want to see that stop. I'll do whatever I can to help you get on your feet here, if that's still what you want."

I'm lucky to have met Sam.

With a sniffle, my eyes found hers and that look would be burned into my retinas for the rest of my life. Genuine love and care from another person, seeped through her pupils and into mine. Air-dropped. She gave me a sad smile before continuing. "I know this is absolutely terrible and Moose will rot in hell for it, Benji too if he doesn't immediately condemn this behavior, but I need you to believe in yourself right now. Something shitty happened and you were strong and got yourself out of that situation. So what if you took a little help along the way? I need you to be proud of that. You're going to need to learn to believe in yourself as an independent person if you're going to make it. That's not me trying to scare you; I just want for you to be prepared to live with this and move forward."

Before I knew it, we were in a pool of hugs and tears. Her small frame felt big and important in my arms. It was.

"Have I ever told you about my little sister?" Sam asked as she pulled away. Thick tears flowed down her umber cheeks, and she rubbed the rounded tip of her nose on her white long sleeves.

I shook my head. Outside, a car horn honked loudly, but neither of us jumped or reacted.

You get used to it.

"Tiffany Ann Mallord was her name."

Was?

"She um, killed herself when we were in High School. She was sixteen."

Fuck.

"I had no idea, Sam." My friend had suddenly become stiff, hips locked into a straight line with her rigid shoulders. Twiddling fingers found each other in her lap.

"I don't, uh, talk about it much." She cleared her throat. "She, well, she got screwed over. Bad. Some photos got out of her in... poses that were... yeah and the bullying just got to be too much for her, I think. She wanted to be a nurse."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered as I pulled her in for a side hug, resting her silk bonnet on my shoulder and squeezing. "You can tell me about her, if you want."

l hoped that I was saying the right things.

"That would be... nice." Sam sniffled. "She played the clarinet like no one I'd ever met." A dark chuckle shook her long neck as we pulled apart and faced each other. I was engaged, in the right way this time. "A literal rocker too! She'd throw these awesome little concerts for my older brother, Boston, and me playing Nirvana and The Strokes and Avenged Sevenfold on fucking clarinet for some reason! We used to complain that the concerts were too long. I think we both regret that now."

I nodded, not sure what to say but hanging onto every word.

I want to know her.

"I was too hard on her; everyone was. Everything was and I lost her. I'm not saying that you're there or nearing there, but I want for you to know that I want you here. In more ways than one. I believe in you."

Fuck.

"Sam... I-" I was cut off by her arms thrown around me, erupting into a fit of sobs. "I'm not going anywhere... you don't have to worry..." She only cried harder.

We held each other for a long time, but when I saw the analog clock under the TV click to four-thirty, I insisted that Sam get at least a little more sleep before getting up for work. Reluctantly, after insisting that I take a Plan B from under the bathroom sink, she did.

Checking my phone felt like drinking poison.
   
1:32 AM

Moose:

We need to talk.

2:41 AM

Moose:

Just tell me where your head's at. Please June. I'm freaking out. Please don't do anything without talking to me first.

My stomach churned with rage as I typed a response with pounding thumbs.

4:32 AM

Contact me again and I'll definitely do something.

With a huff, I laid onto my side and pulled the blanket up onto my shoulders. I was numb and emotionally exhausted. And a little disappointed that there was nothing from Nate, but I reminded myself that this shouldn't be a surprise. He just wanted his money.

I hadn't checked my bank account since getting the text from my Mother; I was scared, but I hadn't felt ready until that moment. I decided that it was better to know and plan accordingly.  With trembling fingers, I opened the app and entered my six-digit passcode.

Zeroes.

But not in the good way.

Fuck!

Things were grim and hopeful. The thought of staying here and starting from nothing was equal parts suffocating for a girl who had seen Europe and been on six multi-week cruises, and comforting for a girl who had never felt home. I was a walking contradiction. Schrodinger's emotions.

How am I going to pay Nate back?

Where do I even start?

What am I going to do with my life now?

It was more overwhelming to think of the future by myself than it had been with Sam next to me, but I tried to remember her words. In a nutshell: it was sink or swim now, and the water didn't care that I'd never had a swimming lesson before. Flapping and flailing my arms was tempting, but it wouldn't keep me afloat long. Too exhausting, too frantic. I took a deep breath.

If I could do anything, what would it be?

I thought back to childhood, to little six-year-old June with her clip-on earrings and cowboy boots, flipping through the pictures of her step-dad's encyclopedia. I remembered reading Junie B. Jones in my Hello Kitty pajamas. Trix Cereal and Pillow Pet commercials.

What did she want to do?

Nothing in particular was coming to mind, but I kept trying. At seven I'd been told of my expectations (married by twenty-five and I could only go to college if I was only going to find a future husband), so six was the last time that I was untainted. Just June.

Mrs. Dillon's classroom... collecting Webkinz... ICarly and Drake & Josh....

Nothing of use was coming to mind.

Until Freddy.

My first step-dad, Gunther, had a middle-aged miniature poodle named Freddy and he kept that dog in what is called a 'Continental'. Beveled tufts on otherwise thin legs, a big rounded head and chest, and hip pads made him look straight out of a cartoon - and a haircut like that was far from low maintenance. No one ever asked me to, but I brushed that dog every night, and tagged along to every grooming appointment. It mesmerized me.

The women of 'Pup Rock: Groom and Board' were total badasses. I'd peek through the high windows on my tippy-toes and watch the tattooed women work for hours, the way that they expertly avoided injury for both human and canine while also leaving them in an unrecognizable, gorgeous form. Shears and clippers moved with expert precision.

And every time as we left, Mother and Gunther spent the better part of the ride home shaming the kind women for their tattoos, or their piercings, or because they charged too much or had to shave out a mat. With red cheeks and burning eyes, I'd stared out the window, wishing.

Bingo.