Taylor

It’s been a little over a week since Noah left me in the cold while playing the white knight to his secret girlfriend. At least that’s who I assume it was. He never answered my unspoken, but very heavily implied, question, and it’s been bugging me ever since.

Caya is saying something about the fundraiser project over her spaghetti and vegan meatballs lunch, when I interrupt her.

“I think Noah might have a secret girlfriend.”

Caya doesn’t even blink at my interruption. “Two questions. Why do you think he does and why is it a secret?”

I recount what happened yesterday while Caya slurps up her spaghetti in a similar fashion to eating popcorn.

“And I know I’m not entitled to know more about Noah’s private life-”

“Do you now?”

“-but he really showed me the cold shoulder. And shouldn’t we have heard it through the gossip mill if he got a girlfriend?”

“No one would care enough.”

“And what girlfriend wouldn’t boast about having Noah as a boyfriend?”

“A sensible one?”

“But he only returned a few weeks ago, then he either must have had one before he left, or he moves really fast.”

“So maybe he doesn’t have one.”

“But who else would he be bending over backwards for if it wasn’t his girlfriend?”

I take a deep breath. Caya uses the chance to say, “Let me ask you a question in return. Why are you so obsessed with the idea of Noah having or not having a girlfriend? Does it matter?”

I bite my lip and frown. I do know why I’m obsessed with it, but I’m not sure I want to say it out loud.

“Oh, so there is a reason,” Caya calls me out immediately. I sigh and lean forward, resting my chin on my hand.

“It would make me feel that more inadequate if he got a perfect, smart, polite girlfriend next on his way to live the college-family-career-life.” I wave my hand. “It’s like I can already hear my Mom’s nagging voice, ‘Why haven’t you found someone yet? Noah is already married with two point five kids and running charities with his model wife. What are you doing with your life, Tay?”

“That is an impossible scenario.”

“But you get my point.” I poke my fork at a piece of lettuce with no intention to eat it. Salad from the cafeteria is even more lethal than its tacos.

“Yeah, I do get it. And it’s kinda messed up that your mom put this idea in your head that you always have to strive to be a mini-copy of Noah.”

“I’m not a copy-”

“I’m not saying you are. But you do seem very obsessed with following this ‘perfect college-family-career-life', as you call it. Have you ever stopped to think whether that’s what you want? Because every human is different, Tay. And you have so many good qualities that Noah probably doesn’t, and vice versa. It’s unfair to both of you to constantly compare yourself with him. And then resent him for it.”

I swallow hard. Caya sighs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like this. Nevertheless, it’s something that you needed to hear, and it’s on you to take it to heart or ignore it. You know me, I can’t hold back when I have something to say, but at the same time, I might not always be aware of the full picture.”

I clear my throat and keep my eyes trained on the salad. “No, you are right. I shouldn’t care if Noah has a girlfriend or not.”

I know I shouldn’t. I don’t want to. But a nagging part of me, somehow, still does.

Caya claps her hands, and I jolt. “Now, since that is out of the way, how about you listen to what I was saying about the fundraiser?”

❖ 

Albeit the serious lunch talk with Caya, I’m a bit giddy when I arrive at Noah’s. Our application was accepted, and we moved on to the next round, the presentation of the event plan. Noah notices soon enough that my thoughts are somewhere else. He puts down his pen and asks, “Repeat what I just said.”

I blink. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought.” Noah taps a knuckle against my forehead and asks, “What’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh? You haven’t paid any attention, have you?”

I hold my forehead like a wronged kitten. Only then, his words register. Pretty little head? 

“Did you just call me pretty?”

Noah snorts and it’s so ungraceful that I regret not having recorded it. Noah Bricks did not just make that sound. 

I’m peeved about his amusement, however. I know I’m not breathtakingly good-looking, but I never considered myself ugly. I catch myself subconsciously scratching over my freckles, before I will myself to stop.

I scrunch up my nose, “No need to laugh at me.”

Noah’s gaze softens, and his laughter halts, though his lips are still suspiciously curled upwards. 

“So?” He asks.

“What?” Even I can hear the defensive tone in my voice.

“What has you so distracted today?”

My toes curl into the soft carpet at our feet. Somehow, I don’t want Noah to know, and I search for a distraction. My gaze settles on a picture pinned to the board above his desk. It shows a group of guys, Noah amongst them, sitting around a table in what looks like a bar. One has an arm slung around Noah’s shoulder, leaning around him to grin into the camera. My eyes stare at the point where he is touching Noah, and I grow tense without knowing why.