I laughed. “Exactly. What about you? Is your full name Samuel? Or is it Samson, like in the Torah?”

“It is Samson,” he said, surprised. “But most people just assume it’s Samuel, so good on you.”

And just like that, our friendship began. All because of paper flowers. It sounds like a dad joke to say our friendship bloomed. But that’s how it happened.

Unfortunately, later that summer I learned that, just like flowers, friendships can wither away.

That’s when I decided I was done with having friends.

One

I am not obsessed with death.

But it’s a bit hard to avoid thinking about death when your family owns a funeral home and everyone works there. Including me.

My part-time job at the Walman Memorial Chapel—my family’s last name is Walman—includes cleaning and stocking the bathroom with paper towels and toilet paper. I am also in charge of making sure there are always plenty of tissues for the mourners. Dad calls me Purveyor of Paper Products. I call him His Royal Highness of Dad Jokes.

But right now I was thinking about a totally different kind of paper. I had just loaded up on craft supplies at my favorite stationery store.

“I can’t wait to get started on my projects,” I said to Suzanna, the owner, as she slid all my purchases into a bag. I bounced from one foot to the other. I was pretty excited about the vellum I had found. It was so delicate, almost see-through. I’d also gotten some heavy card stock with pretty deckled edges and some fancy handmade papyrus. I guess you could say I am obsessed with paper.

This was all because of Sam showing me how to quill last summer. I couldn’t help but think how much he would have liked what I’d bought today. He’d especially liked the delicate papers like vellum, which was maybe why I’d bought it, even though it could be incredibly hard to quill with.

“I’m looking forward to seeing them when you’re done,” Suzanna said with a smile, handing me the bag. “You’re getting so good.”

I love sharing my quilling projects with Suzanna because she is always so enthusiastic. And she was right—I really was getting good. “Can you let me know when that foil comes in?” I asked. “I have an idea for—”

Just then the big church bells outside bonged, announcing that it was two o’clock.

Shoot! I was supposed to be home by two.

The bells hadn’t even stopped bonging when I got a text from Mom: Where r u!!??

Uh-oh.

My parents had wanted to send me back to summer camp like usual. They are always so busy at the funeral home, and they worried that once school was out I’d be bored and get in the way. But I’d told them I didn’t want to go this year. I had my reasons. One of them was Sam, though they don’t know anything about that. Anyway, I am happy to work at the funeral home and make some money for my paper and other stuff. Plus, I am actually interested in learning more about how our family business works.