Noah parks his car in front of the house just as I get out of the garage.
“Nice house,” he comments.
“It’s a 100 percent ordinary house,” I respond. “Honestly, look down the street and you’ll see that it’s a replica of every single house in this street. This street was built with a photocopy machine.”
“So… you like your new neighborhood, then?” Lena sarcastically summarizes.
I shrug. “I don’t dislike it.”
“But it’s too boring for an artist,” Noah points out. In contrast to his joking tone, his eyes are serious.
This neighborhood is indeed too boring for an artist, but I don’t know whether I’m an artist or not. I’m just a teenager who likes to draw. But I’m just being moody for no reason. I shouldn’t go there with my barely-friends around.
I invite them in and give them a quick tour of the house before taking them to my room.
“Oh, wow. You really didn’t unpack anything,” Lena comments.
“Dude, hospital rooms are more personalized…” Noah snickers.
They might have a point. But Lena, being her bubbly self, sees the silver lining: “Does that mean we get to decorate the room as well?”
“The two of you can do whatever you want, but I’m not here for feng-shui. I’m just here to go through Will’s stuff.”
Because I’m not a total moron, we start with the least personal boxes. School stuff. Art supplies. That kind of thing. As much as Noah claimed he was just here to snoop, he helps move the furniture around when Lena decides that I need to have an ‘art studio’ where I have the best light.
My parents left me the bigger room on purpose so I would have my bed, a desk for school, and a work station for drawing. When we arrived, I had organized things randomly based on where the movers put the bed. But, thanks to Lena and Noah, I now have three distinct spaces in my room. It’s perfect, and I love it.
Then we start unpacking books, CDs, and stuff like that. It feels a bit personal to share, although not by much. It takes ages because Noah reads every single title and some back covers as well. Then we all happily argue about how we should organize my bookshelves. Alphabetical, genre, size, color, author, best to worst… It ends up turning into happy chaos. That works for me.
Lena opens another box. It’s my art. The pieces and sketchbooks I decided to keep anyway.
“Can we have a look?” she asks me.
“What are you doing?” Noah interrupts her with mock outrage. “Don’t ask. Don’t give him a chance to take it back. Just open the box and go through it.”
“You’re an idiot,” she snorts, “but you have a point. Sorry, Will, I’m going in.”
I love their dynamic. You can tell that there is a strong bond between them that hides behind seemingly shallow banter. It’s the way they look at each other, the way they never take offense for what the other is saying as if they just always get what the other wants to say. I am probably going to make a fool of myself, but I just have to ask: “So, are you two a thing?”
Noah glances at me with genuine surprise on his face, his mouth slightly opened. Lena just bursts out laughing. “Me and her? Why?”
My face heats up. “I don’t know. You seem very close.”
“Yeah, that’s called friendship.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. Lena punches his shoulder.
“I think we’re close because we’re not a thing,” she explains. “He’s kind of a player.”
“I am not.”
“Oh yeah? Do you want to talk about homecoming?”
“No, we do not.”
“But he does have a girlfriend at the moment,” she muses. “Let’s see how long this one lasts.”
Noah offers no answers. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s so sure about his current relationship or because he only has a lukewarm interest in the subject.
When I gaze at him, I can definitely see it. A lot of girls are probably smitten because of those eyes. I can totally see that part. Part of me, for an inexplicable reason, is disappointed that he would be a player. Or, maybe, I am disappointed by something else that I won’t admit.
The two of them take some drawings that they want to put on the wall.
“No,” I object. “I don’t want my art to go on the wall. It’s weird.”
“But your walls are too naked,” Lena protests.
“She’s right. It’s very unbecoming of an artist.”
It’s that connection again. They just constantly bounce on each other’s sentences. Maybe he should just stop being a player and ask her out. Well, after he ditches the girlfriend obviously.
“Then you guys will have to draw me stuff,” I compromise.
“Really?” Lena looks as if both her birthday and Christmas have come early.
“Sure. How about you give me your current art project once it’s been graded? The ones with the mirrors. I love it!”
“Deal.”
“You won’t get anything from me,” Noah disagrees, “because there is nothing artsy about me.” I think about his doodles and I have to disagree with him. There is something artsy about him. But it would be super weird to ask him for a random doodle, so I abstain. “Anyway. Last box.”
Lena reaches for the box, but I grab it before she can. Panic washes over me. That box contains all the memories I was too sentimental to let go of, but I’m not brave enough to face them either. If I let Lena open that box, not only will I have to face what’s in there, I will also have to talk about it. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
But I also don’t know how to convince them not to open the last box when it’s the only reason they came.
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