Prologue
At fifteen years old, Sam Leto knew a few things: humidity was not her hair’s friend, she was going to graduate valedictorian of her class and music was life.
“‘I Will Follow You into the Dark’ was by far the best song of last year.” Sam tucked her thumbs into the loops of her jeans, narrowly avoiding the spiky knobs of her metal studded belt. The spider-web chain she’d bought from Hot Topic slapped against her thigh as she walked across the asphalt of the Tybee Island High School parking lot. “It’s mesmerizing and so poetic, and Ben Gibbard—”
“What are you talking about?” her best friend, Damon Rocha, interrupted. He threw his head back to get a strand of long dyedred hair off his forehead. He’d smudged dark black eyeliner all around his eyes to the point where he looked like he was cosplaying as the Hamburglar. She’d told him as much, but in the loving way they told each other everything. They walked so closely that they lazily bumped into each other, as if swaying to music only they could hear. “‘Sugar, We’re Goin Down’ reignited the genre.”
Sam blew air out through her lips to suggest her disagreement, then added, “That song is tight, but there are way too many words in the chorus. You can’t even hear what Patrick Stump’s saying.”
“It doesn’t matter what he’s saying.” Damon hoisted his snare drum backpack higher on his shoulder. Night had settled, but the fluorescent glow from the football field lit their way to his car. “They owned that melody.”
But Sam knew why Damon was making such a hard push for Fall Out Boy. “You just want me to like Pete Wentz so those dyed red tips make sense.” She gave him a half grin.
“Whatever,” he said, holding back a smile of his own. Sometimes they agreed on music, but when they disagreed it was even more fun. And Sam knew she was right about this one. “I read in Kerrang! that Ben wrote the song in fifteen minutes. Can you believe that?” Sam looked off, knowing that if she was in a band, she’d be talented like that, too.
“Yes,” Damon said. “I believe it only took fifteen minutes, because it’s not the best song of 2005.”
She was choosing to ignore that dig. “What he wrote is totally romantic. To love someone so much that you’d follow them into the afterlife. It’s cool, don’t you think?” Sam realized she sounded a little ridiculous, but Damon always made her feel safe enough to say anything.
“Yeah, or pretentious.” Damon pursed his lips.
“Whatever,” Sam mimicked his sullen tone back. Then she jabbed him with the corner of her sticker-covered clarinet case.
The sky was inky-black, and her arms prickled against the brisk air. Fall in Tybee was hard to plan for. The air was almost always balmy, because they were so close to the ocean, but it occasionally cooled down, as it had tonight. Still, she’d nearly sweat through her graphic skull T-shirt as their marching band played Beyoncé’s “Déjà Vu” during the football halftime show.
Now, though, they weren’t marching across a field lit by hot lights, and she shivered. Damon pulled her in close as they walked. He’d often tuck her under his arm this way. Sam was tall, close to six feet, but Damon always made her feel delicate in those moments. It was something she got unexpected comfort from, but didn’t dare tell him.
When she looked up, Damon looked down with the most genuinely sweet smile she’d ever seen. His mouth quirked up as they reached someone’s Ford Explorer.
“Hope you don’t hate Fall Out Boy too much, because I put one of their songs on this.” He pulled a CD sleeve out of his back pocket and handed it to her. His slanted writing and doodles were visible through the clear plastic, and Sam bit her lip.
They were constantly trying to impress each other through music—a kind of unspoken game of who could make the best mixes. And while Sam prided herself on finding obscure bands, Damon had the uncanny ability to put together songs that made her feel something. She wanted to listen immediately, but wouldn’t show her excitement that easily. Before she could think of something nonchalant to say, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
Sam was taken aback by the gesture and nervously touched the spot his fingers had just left. She’d spent nearly a half hour flat-ironing it that morning, but now it was frizzed and tangled. As her fingers clumsily tried to untangle a knot, her earring fell to the ground. Before she knew what was happening, just as Sam went to reach for her earring, Damon closed the gap between them.
“You look really great.” He longingly admired her face. Damon reached for Sam’s hand and squeezed her open palm.
She instinctively squeezed back, but her heart raced. Damon and Sam were best friends. They had been since middle school. Yes, Damon was inarguably cute. He understood her like no one else did, and she had already admitted to herself that she had a crush on him…but he was also all she had, in so many ways. Her mom had left her a year ago. Damon was her only friend.
Sam knew that what he was doing might lead to a kiss, and she needed to stop him before he said something that would change them forever. She couldn’t lose his friendship, but if he tried to make them more, then she’d have no choice. Because she wasn’t going to end up stuck in Tybee.
Before she could find the words, he tilted her chin up gently with an index finger. His eyes locked on to hers as he asked, “Can I kiss you?”
Sam sucked in a deep breath to slow the intense rush of adrenaline that flew through her at his words. Damon wanted to kiss her. And her heart soared at that fact, until her mom’s voice broke through.
Don’t end up stuck in this place.
That’s what her mom, Bonnie, had told Sam right before she’d left. And Sam had taken the warning to heart.
She was getting out, even if that meant she had to leave Damon behind.
As Damon searched her eyes, Sam silently implored him to stop. They could still be friends, couldn’t they? If she gave him another few moments, maybe he’d take the words back, or say he’d just been joking.
She waited, but he was waiting, too. And she was going to have to answer him, even if what she said irrevocably changed them.
She took a step away and looked down at her Converse sneakers. She’d have to lie. She’d never lied to Damon before, but now she would. Her lower lip trembled, as unsure of the words as she was. “Actually, I’m not feeling well.”
And she didn’t feel well. She felt nauseous from this whole situation and the confusion that flashed across Damon’s face.
“Oh,” Damon said. “Let’s, uh, let’s bounce, then.” He ran a hand through his hair and avoided her eyes.
As Damon turned toward the driver’s side of the car, Sam instinctively reached for him. Maybe she should just do what her heart wanted and kiss him. Because what if not kissing him meant he wouldn’t want to be her friend anymore?
But then, she also knew Damon. Knew that he wanted to stay close to his family. Knew how much he loved Tybee. And knew that if she didn’t break him now, she’d do it when she left.
Sam pulled her hand back and hoped that he could forgive her. She held on to his CD so tightly she was sure it would snap in half, but it didn’t. In fact, the CD seemed to pulse in her hand with the throbbing of her heart. As she walked herself to the passenger side of the car, she tried to forget how the light in his eyes dimmed just before he’d turned away from her.
Excerpted from The Backtrack by Erin La Rosa, Copyright © 2024 by Erin La Rosa. Published by Canary Street Press.
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