One

It was at the beginning of my junior year in high school when I met her.

I'm Pete-Pete Gilliam. I live in Amesbury, MA, a small city on the NH border. It's a nice place.

I'm an average high school guy. I'll be seventeen shortly. I get good grades but I'm not the class brain. I have a number of good friends that I hang out with but I'm not Mr. Popularity. You know, I'm just average. But I have a good life. I like my friends, I like school, my parents are cool, and my younger brother and sister don't annoy me too much.

I guess there was something missing, but I didn't really realize it. Oh, I realized it a little bit, as my two best friends, Mickey and Sean, both have had girlfriends since last year. And, they started just as I was breaking up with my one-and-only; and, yeah, I was a little jealous. But not that much. I really didn't dwell on it.

Until I met her.

It was first day of school, in my pre-calc class, when she came in.

She was gorgeous. Long curly dark brown hair, huge soulful brown eyes. She had a little button nose. She was 5'6" or so, and built. She was just perfect. The teacher introduced her as Samantha Andrews, a new student.

Right after pre-calc was lunch, so, in the hall, I caught up with her.

"Hi, I'm Peter. Peter Gilliam. You're Samantha."

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Welcome to Amesbury. Where did you move from?"

"Pembroke. Down on the South Shore. My father got a new job."

"Ah. Well, I can imagine it would be tough to move in the middle of high school, but you'll like it here. It's a nice place."

"I hope so," she said wistfully.

We had reached the cafeteria by then. "It's a good school. Well, the food sucks, but I think that's universal." She giggled at that. It was light and musical. We got our food, and I said, "Hey, would you like to come eat with me and my friends?"

"Uh, well, no thank you," she stammered. "I, uh, already got asked."

"Fine," I smiled. "Maybe some other time." She smiled back, and I headed to where my buddies were. However, it was strange-I managed to see her halfway through lunch, and she was all alone.

Two

This went on the whole week. I'd talk to her after pre-calc, and she'd try to go into a shell, but then I'd say something to make her laugh or smile at me. She'd try to keep quiet, but then she'd say something funny or interesting. And I asked her a couple of times if she had someone to eat with, she said, "Yes," but then I'd catch her eating alone.

A week afterwards, I decided to take matters into my own hands. She went to find her lonely table at lunch, and I followed her. After she got settled, I just plopped down in front of her with a jaunty, "Hi!"

She looked at me in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought you might want some company."

She looked at me uncomfortably. "Why are you doing this?"

"Samantha, I'd just like to get to know you. That's all. I'm not an ogre."

"I know," she sighed. "OK. Fine. You can eat with me." I'd like to say it was pleasant, and there were moments-I said something that made her smile, and her smile, I had discovered, was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. But it mostly wasn't pleasant. She let me stay there under duress and out of politeness. She didn't want me there.

It would've been easier to explain if I thought she was just shy. But I didn't. It didn't seem like shyness to me. I don't know how to describe it-it almost seemed like she was behind a door, and she was deliberately holding that door shut tightly, and every so often it'd fly out of her hand, giving me a glimpse. By watching her, I also realized it wasn't me-she did this to everyone.

After that, though, I didn't eat with her again. I'd talk to her after class, but only briefly. I didn't want to stalk her or anything, you know? But it made me sad-she was deliberately isolating herself, she did not at all look happy, and I didn't know why.

Three

About a month into school, I noticed something else about her-she was having trouble in that pre-calc class we shared. Now, I'm no math genius, but I hold my own. This time, I did say something to her.

"You're not getting this class, are you?" I said, as we walked out of it.

"No!" she said, exasperated. "I'm not getting it at all!"

"I'm doing OK," I told her. "Why don't we study together?"

I expected a no, I really did. I expected her to shoot down the idea without a thought. But I saw an internal battle flicker across her face. Then, finally, she said, "Do you think you can help?"

"Yes, I do."

"OK, then," she said with a smile, to my utter shock. She must really be worried about this grade. "We have a test in a week, though, so it has to be soon."

"That's fine. Today, if you'd like."

"OK," she agreed, and gave me directions to her house. I'd meet her there after school.

I absolutely went there to help her study. I wasn't just making the offer to get closer to her. That was a fringe benefit. I was worried that she was worried about the class. This was an innocent study session, nothing more.

I pulled up in front of her house, and knocked. She let me in, and took me over into the living room, suggesting we set up on the couch, using the coffee table as a desk. We were in the process of doing just that when a woman entered the room.

Obviously, Samantha's mother. We were introduced. And this was another worrying sign. I swear, the woman looked at me like I was sent down from Evil Male Central with the express purpose of molesting her daughter. I could just sense the waves of hostility coming from this woman. I didn't get it! I mean, I felt like I wanted to put a sign on my forehead saying "Hey, I really am a nice guy!"

The mother called Samantha into the kitchen. There was some heavy duty whispering going on, and none of it sounded pleasant. I didn't hear much, but I did here the mother say something like, "Bringing classmates here, do you know how dangerous that is?" I also heard Samantha hiss something like, "But I need the help in this class!"

Finally, Samantha came back out, un-accompanied by the mother, and gave me a feeble smile. We settled down to study. I did my best, and I do think I helped her, but my mind wasn't completely on it. What was so dangerous about me being here? ME? I mean, come on-I'm harmless.

Anyhow, we studied. The mother kept coming out and looking daggers at me. I just didn't get it. And, every time she came out, Samantha looked more and more agitated. There was something here I just wasn't getting. And Samantha was getting upset-partially at her mother, it seemed like, partially at her inability to grasp some of the schoolwork-and partially, I think, at my presence.

What I didn't know yet was what happened to Samantha when she got stressed. I quickly found out. I was hunched over the textbook, pointing something out to her, and I noticed she stopped talking mid-sentence. I looked over at her, and she was slumped on the couch, like she had no muscle control. Her eyes were wide open, but unfocused-glassy. Her jaw was slack, and drool was seeping out of it. Her right hand was making this strange repetitive pulling motion. Her left foot was tapping up a storm.

I admit it-I panicked. "Samantha? Are you all right? Samantha? Hey, HELP!" Her mother came flying into the room at that, looked at her-and then looked at me with an expression that mixed resignation with disgust.

"She's having a seizure."

"A seizure?"

"Samantha has epilepsy."

"Oh," I said. I'd heard of epilepsy, of course, but I didn't know much about it. "Is she going to be OK?"

"She'll be fine. They last a few minutes, then pass."

Just then, the front door slammed. "I'm home!" a masculine voice announced, then a guy walked into the living room where we all were. Samantha's father, I guessed-who walked in to me and her mother staring at her as she had a seizure.

"Damn," he said softly.

Just then, Samantha straightened up. The odd movements of her hand and leg ceased, and she blinked her eyes rapidly. She came back to-well, consciousness, I guess-and looked at me with those huge brown eyes. Then she looked at her mother.

"Did I just... ?"

"Yes," her mother said.

With that, she looked back at me-with a look of complete despair. And there were big huge fat tears rolling down her cheeks!

"Are you OK?" I said, rather stupidly. She didn't say anything, just looked at me, crying.

"Peter, I think you need to leave now," the mother said quietly.

"But..."

"She'll be fine. It's best that you leave."

I wasn't going to win this one. I gathered up my books-with her staring at me and silently crying all the while-and headed for the door. As I stepped out the front door, completely upset at what had just happened, and not understanding a lot of it, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Peter, is it?" It was her father.

"Yes. You're Samantha's father?"

"Yes. Are you a friend of hers from school?"

"I try to be. She's very closed off. But we were studying, she's having trouble in a class we share."

"Ah. Do you understand what happened in there? Did anyone tell you?"

"Mrs. Andrews said that Samantha has epilepsy."

"Right. Do you know anything about it?"

"Not much," I admitted.

"It's a neurological disorder. It has to do with the chemicals in the brain. They misfire, and she gets seizures."

"This isn't, like, life-threatening or anything, is it?" I said, holding my breath.

"Not at all. Even the seizures are somewhat controllable, by medication. That was the first she'd had in a few months." He sat on the front steps, and motioned me to sit next to him. "The big problem with epilepsy is the stigma."

"Stigma?"

"Look, you saw her have the seizure." I nodded. "What did it look like? Pretty strange, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose. More scary that strange, actually."

"Yeah, but to a lot of people it's strange. Kids can be cruel. Samantha was pretty well ostracized at her old school. Now, part of that was that we lived in Pembroke our whole lives, so she went to school with some of the same kids every year, and she had her first seizure in school in second grade. Second grade kids can be really cruel-but it followed her. For quite a few years, her nickname was Spazzy Sammi."

"Jesus," I hissed.

"So," he continued, "Sammi's pretty used to having it be stigmatized. When we moved here, she was bound and determined that no one would know about her epilepsy."

"And I just blew that all to hell," I sighed.

"Well, I thought it was doomed to failure to begin with. I mean, she's not making friends."

"As I said, she closes herself off."

"Yes," he agreed, "which isn't any healthier than being ostracized, in my book. But she was convinced she should keep it a secret, damn the cost. And her mother, who can be very overprotective, backed her."

"Well," I sighed, "at least now I understand her reaction. The crying, I mean. She was crying because I 'caught' her."

"Exactly." He looked at me. "Peter? Do you like my daughter?"

I thought about that for a minute. "I like what I've been allowed to see. Every so often, she slips, if you know what I mean." He nodded. And then I said, not really realizing I was saying it out loud, "And her smile is gorgeous."

He chuckled, and I turned bright red. Then he looked at me seriously. "Peter, you're going to have to be stubborn as a mule. And, you also have to realize that she will be ostracized by some people. What if she has a seizure, with you, in a public place? You might have to deal with being ostracized by proxy."

"Anyone that'd do that isn't anyone I care about."

"Good," he said, clapping me on the shoulder again. "Samantha's a good kid, Peter. She could use a friend. Just remember what I said."

"I will," I said. He smiled and headed into the house. I headed to my car and drove off. I had a lot to think about

Four

The first thing I did when I got home was look up epilepsy on the internet. There was a lot of good information. A lot of it was just elaborating on what Mr. Andrews told me. It does affect people's lives-there's some medications that you can't take, Samantha might have trouble getting a driver's license-but a lot of things affect people's lives. A lot of the particular problem with epilepsy specifically was the stigma.

Well, she wasn't going to be getting any stigma from me. So, I should be able to get past that part of it, right? Yeah-wishful thinking. When I went back to school the next day, she wouldn't even talk to me. In fact, when she saw me coming, she gave me that look of despair-then ran the other way.

I understood. Really, I did-I had heard what her father said to me. But, I have to say, after a couple days of being treated like a leper-it started to get to me. I mean, I wasn't the one that picked on her! I wasn't the one that called her Spazzy Sammi! Why was I getting the backlash?

Look, I am not perfect. I know I have said and done things to hurt people. Mostly inadvertently, but occasionally on purpose. Not a lot, but enough to make me ashamed once or twice. Hey, I just turned 17, and no kid is perfect. But I like to think, basically, I'm a decent person. I like to think I'm nice. And that's to everybody-much less to someone I was interested in, and wanted to get to know better.

So, I started to get a little peeved. What it did was make me do something very uncharacteristic. I'm no shrinking wallflower, but I'm not overly aggressive either, not by any means. When I start getting the negative signals, I usually stop pursuit-and I probably over-emphasize any negative signals in my mind. But I didn't, this time. Why? Because I thought I was getting negative signals for reasons that had nothing to do with me-and, as I said, it rankled.

So, after a week of getting the complete cold shoulder, I did that uncharacteristic thing-I showed up at her doorstep at five o'clock on Friday.

Her father answered the door. "Peter?"

"Yes, hello, sir, is Samantha in?"

"Yes, she is." He stepped out on the porch and closed the door behind him. "Is she expecting you? I'd be kind of surprised if she was."

"No, sir, she's not. I, well..." I took a breath. "She's been avoiding me in school. I mean, turning and running if she sees me coming. I can't corner her there."

"Ah," he said, with a wide smile, surprising me.

"I was going to try to get her to go to dinner with me-that is, if I wouldn't be interfering with any family dinner plans."

"Not at all," he said, still smiling, "we had nothing planned-in fact, we were all just discussing it. Come in." He opened back up the door and led me into the living room. "Samantha! You have a visitor."

"I do?" she said, emerging from the kitchen, the mother in tow. They both stopped short when they saw me. "Peter? What are you doing here?" she said, that despairing look on her face again

I screwed on my courage. "I'm here to take you to dinner. Ever been to the Sylvan Street Grill over in Salisbury? The food's great. Get your coat."

She looked at me like I had four heads. "Peter? I mean... I can't..."

"Sure you can."

"Why are you doing this?" she pleaded.

"Because I like you, and I'd like to get to know you better. Look. If you really don't think you'd have a good time on a date with me, if you really don't like me-then say so, and I'll go. But if you're going to say no because you're scared; if you're going to try to avoid me like you have all week because you're scared-well, no, I'm not going to accept that."

"But you saw it," she whispered.

"That's right. Which means we got it over with." She had been standing a few feet away from me. I walked right over to her, grabbed her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "Samantha. It doesn't make a difference. Get it? It doesn't make a difference."

She just stared at me. "What if she has a seizure in the restaurant?" her mother said from behind her.

"Well, I'm just supposed to let it pass, right?" Her mother nodded. "I don't have to hold down her tongue so she doesn't swallow it?"

Samantha actually grinned at that. "No, that's a myth."

"Just let it pass," her father said. "If it goes longer than five minutes or if she has one right on top of the other, you need to call 911-but that's just a precaution, that's never happened to her. Oh, and if she's walking, or not supported, you might have to grab her. Don't restrain her, but make sure she isn't in a position where she could fall and hurt herself-her muscles go completely slack so she can't stand up."

"OK," I said.

"And what if she has a seizure in the restaurant and everybody starts staring-at her and you?" her mother said.

"It doesn't matter," I said, and meant it. "They can all mind their own fucking business." Samantha gave an embarrassed giggle at that-probably because I dropped an F-bomb in front of her parents!

"It's not that simple," the mother said, relentless to the last.

I looked at her. "I have a little brother, Jimmy. He's 12. He has asthma-I mean bad asthma. It restricts a lot of things he can do, he has to carry around a puffer all the time, he can't keep up with the other kids much. He gets teased about it. And he has vicious attacks. A couple years ago, I was 15, he was 10-I was babysitting him and my sister, who was like 8 at the time. He went into an attack like you wouldn't believe. There I was, dialing 911 and frantically trying to get my little brother to start breathing again. You wanna talk about scary?"

Samantha looked at me. She blinked twice. And then looked at me some more. And then her face unfolded into a 100-megawatt smile. "OK," she said, and went over to the coat rack and grabbed a jacket.

"Samantha. This is a mistake," her mother said.

"Mildred!" her father hissed.

"No, ma'am, it's not," I told her mother. "It's not a mistake at all." Samantha smiled at me again, and I led her out the door, to my car.

As we got in and I started driving, she turned to me, apprehensive again. "Who have you told?"

"Not a soul," I said. "Well, that's not exactly true. I told my mother. She knew I was preoccupied with something, so she asked me what was up. I told her the whole story. Don't worry, Mom's cool."

She nodded, and then said, "Your friends haven't noticed that something was up?"

"Yeah, they did, but I parried it. They know I like you, and they know you weren't responding, but they don't know why."

"They must think you've been stalking me," she giggled.

"Actually, Cindy-she's one of my friends, she's my best friend Mickey's girlfriend-said exactly that. I told her that, yes, I was definitely stalking you."

She giggled again, and then said, "Are you really this sweet?"

"Only some of the time, as my little sister would be happy to tell you." She giggled again.

We got to the restaurant and got seated. She'd never been to the Sylvan Street Grill but agreed to go on my enthusiastic recommendation. We ordered, and started chatting while we waited. We talked about each other for a bit, and, when she wasn't being scared, she really was delightful.

The food came, and we started eating. She said I was right, the food was great. We ate a bit, and then, suddenly, she said, "This is my first date, you know."

"Well, I'm not shocked," I said. She looked at me. "When I was leaving your house on Monday, your dad came out with me. He pulled me aside and told me some of the problems you had at your old school."

"Oh," she said glumly.

"Hey, I'm glad he did. I was so confused. I couldn't figure out why you were crying, and I was deathly afraid I had inadvertently done something. At least your Dad cleared that up."

"I just couldn't stop." She looked down and her voiced dropped. "Look, Peter, I liked you from the start. But I was so scared, and when you saw me..." she trailed off.

"You really got shit," I said.

"Oh, they called me Spazzy Sammi, they'd walk by and make faces at me, and motions with their hands-it wasn't pleasant. Not everybody, but enough-and nobody else would make friends with me because then they'd be a target, you know? I was so glad when we moved, you have no idea." She gave me a wry grin. "Of course, I thought I could keep it a secret."

"But then you'd still be isolated."

"Yeah," she admitted, "though that's not fun, it's better than being teased." She looked up and grinned at me. "And I got lucky, the first one that finds out is one of the good guys."

"At your service, ma'am," I quipped. "You want me to go out and buy a white hat?"

"Nah," she giggled.

"I'm not going to be the last to know, though. The odds are against it."

"Probably not," she said sadly.

"I'll back you up, though." She absolutely beamed at that! "So, is it just the stigma?"

"That's a lot of it. There's more. Hey, it's kind of scary. I've gotten more used to it, of course, but-I mean, how would you like it if you had little holes in your life? I don't remember the seizures, you know-and then I'm fuzzy afterwards for about a half hour. Hey, there are worse things-I'd rather have this than the asthma your brother has."

"Yeah. Having seen both, and now knowing that a seizure won't kill you or anything," I agreed. "Jimmy's asthma could."

"Right. So there are worse things. But there's things I can't do. I can't take certain medications, because they interact with my anti-seizure stuff." She grinned at me. "It's a good thing I've never dated-I can't go on the pill."

I almost choked at that one, but regained my composure. "That's what condoms are for," I parried.

"True," she grinned. "There are other things. I can't drive. I might be able to someday-but the state of Massachusetts requires epileptics to go six months without a seizure to get a license, and I've never managed that. Three or four, usually, but not six."

"Wouldn't driving be scary anyway?" I asked.

"Well, a bit, but I get a warning. I know when a seizure is coming, is what I mean. You ever have your foot 'fall asleep'? You know, that tingling?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I get that all over, for a few minutes, right before a seizure. If I were driving, I'd have time to pull over." She got a look on her face. "Of course, half the time I get that feeling and try to make the seizure go away. Which never works."

"Monday," I said.

"Oh, you betcha," she agreed. "Ah, well-all's well that ends well."

We finished our meal and chatted, then I took her home. When I pulled up in front of her house, I pulled out my cell phone. "Listen, I was wondering-could I have your phone number?"

"Of course," she smiled. We ended up swapping everything-regular phone numbers, cell phone numbers, e-mail addresses, IM screen names. Ah, the age of technology. Then I walked her to her door. Damn, I wanted to kiss her-but I thought it'd be pushing it. So I just said good night.

I'm not sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

Five

I woke up the next morning feeling strange.

I got up, got some breakfast, chatted to the folks. I puttered about a bit, wanting to call her, but-again-not wanting to push it. At about 11 AM, I went to my room to fool around on my computer. A minute after I fired everything up, she popped up on IM.

"Oh thank GOODNESS you're there! I felt strange about calling so soon, but I was about to out of sheer desperation," she typed.

"Hi, Sam, what's up?"

"We have a test in pre-calc on Monday, I'm trying to study, and I'm just not getting it!"

"I'll be right over," I typed.

"YOU'RE THE BEST!!!"

I laughed, shut down the computer, and told my folks where I was headed. I got to Sam's house and she opened the door-delighted (and relieved!). Wasn't that nice to see!

We got quickly to work, and she was far more relaxed than she had been the last time we tried to study together-so it went a lot better.

Unfortunately, there was still a problem, and I found out about it an hour after I had gotten there, when Sam excused herself to go to the bathroom. Before I knew it, the mother was looming over me.

"How dare you!" she hissed.

"Excuse me?"

"Giving her false hope! You don't care, you don't have to live with it! She does! Are you going to be there if she has a seizure in public?"

"Yes," I said firmly. That one took her aback a bit, so I seized the advantage. "You're talking like you think she can't live a normal life."

"She can't!"

"You know what? As long as she believes that-she never will."

"What do you know about it?" she almost roared.

"I told you. My brother. And asthma's worse, in terms of health. Jimmy can't really lead a normal life-but he gets very close, because my parents encourage that. You live every day with a little boy who could stop breathing at a moment's notice-and Samantha looks pretty normal."

The mother didn't know what to say to that-and didn't have a chance, as Samantha came back into the room. The mother shot me a look, then headed upstairs.

Sam looked at me quizzically, then said, "Hey, come here." She led me into the kitchen. "It's 12:30, let's see what we can scare up for lunch."

"OK."

She made some sandwiches, and we ate them at the kitchen table. After a few minutes, she quietly said, "She was giving you shit."

"Yeah," I admitted.

"Look, I love her, and I know she loves and wants the best for me-but she's overprotective."

"I noticed," I grinned.

She grinned back, and said, "She got the brunt of it. Whenever I'd get picked on or shunned, she was the shoulder I cried on, you know? I think she was more horrified than I was. So, that's why."

"I figured as much," I said, and then looked right at her. "Look, I can handle it, OK?"

"OK," she smiled.

"If she thinks she's going to scare me off, she's got another thing coming."

"Good!" Sam laughed.

A bit later, we'd got done studying, and were just chatting.

"I told you that last night was my first date," she said. I nodded. "It wasn't yours, though."

"No," I said. "I've had a girlfriend. Started towards the end of Freshman year, went midway through Sophomore. So, it ended, what, about 10 months ago. I've had a date or two since then, nothing much."

"What happened with your girlfriend?"

I sighed. "I don't know. What I don't know is if she changed while we were going out, or if I was blind. But, by the end, I pretty much hated her. She treated people like shit. I broke up with her after she verbally attacked one of my best friends, and for no reason."

"Who was it?"

"Linda Garriveaux."

"Oh, Jesus," Sam snorted. "That's one girl I steer clear of."

"Good choice. You know, I don't really think she was like that when we first started going out. I don't know what happened."

Sam looked at me. "She walked all over you, didn't she?"

Damn. "Well, I guess, to a point..." I said sheepishly.

"You're too sweet. I knew it the minute you told me who it was, that she walked on you. Did you sleep together?" My eyes went right open at that, and my jaw dropped. "Thought so," she giggled. "And I'd bet any money that the first few times were great-and after that she used sex as a negotiating tool."

"Damn," I said. "Sam, I don't mean this to offend-but how does an isolated girl who had her first date yesterday-how does she figure all that out so quick?"

"Keen powers of observation," she grinned. "Nobody talks to me, so I learned to watch, just to keep from being bored. Besides which, you're as easy to read as an open book, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Not that I recall," I said.

"Well, you are," she giggled. "It's very handy."

"Oh, thanks," I grinned.

Six

We finished studying, and I went home for supper. Sunday, the next day, we spent a couple hours on the phone.

When we got into pre-calc on Monday, she shot me a huge smile on the way to her seat. Afterwards, she met me outside the class.

"How'd you do?" I asked her.

"I actually think I did OK," she smiled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." We got to the lunchroom, and I asked her if she wanted to eat with me and my friends.

"Uhm, well, I..."

"You're not ready for that."

"No. I'm comfortable around you, but..."

"That's fine, then it'll just be the two of us."

"You should eat with your friends," she said.