Taylor 

“Was that in Antigua?“

Noah follows my gaze to the picture above our heads and shakes his head. “No.”

He doesn’t continue to explain, so I ask, “Where was it, then?”

“Pre-service training in New York. Stop distracting from my question.”

I pull at my curls. “Chill, I’m just curious.”

I point to another picture, with a sudden need to get to know the Noah outside of this town.

“And this picture?” 

It’s a black and white picture, quite artistic, of a landscape I don’t recognize.

“That was just a gift,” Noah answers, his foot tapping impatiently. “Look, if you don’t wanna learn today, we can just stop-”

“Okay, okay.” I raise my hands. “I’m distracted, because my friend and I applied for the organiser position for this year’s fundraiser. Tomorrow is the presentation session.”

Noah crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I see. Organising those was hard work.”

I frown at him. “What? Do you think we can’t make it?”

He quickly shakes his head, and his arms loosen their hold. “No. I just mean that it’s impressive that you guys want to apply.” He hesitates, as if to ask something, but then decides against speaking.

I scratch my head. “Well, Caya didn’t leave me any other choice, really.”

“Is Caya a friend or …?”

Noah’s cautious tone makes me laugh for some reason. “Oh, yeah, just a friend. Caya came out as bisexual a year ago and has a girlfriend who goes to the private school a block away from ours.”

Noah fiddles with the corner of the textbook and asks, “She came out? How … How did that go for her?” 

I shrug. “It wasn’t really a big deal. Her parents are both women, so they probably would have been disappointed if she came out as straight.” I’m joking, but Noah doesn’t laugh, and somehow I immediately feel bad for saying it. 

“She is quite lucky, then,” comments Noah quietly. I fidget in my spot, unsure why the vibe of the conversation seems to have changed. 

“What about you?” I blurt out. 

The words burst out of me before I can stop them. I cringe when Noah’s head snaps to me.

“What do you mean?”

I scan the room, eyes fixating on anything that isn’t Noah and settling on the picture on the pinboard.

“I mean, do you have a girlfriend? Did you meet someone during your volunteer year? Or was it the person you helped last time?”

Noah’s expression turns odd. “Oh. I told you that person is just a friend.”

“Right. But, like, you really ran out here as if your ass was on fire for that friend.”

“You would know that I cherish my friends if you had ever met my effort to become friends.”

Well, that was a punch in the gut if anything. Never met his effort?! I tap my foot on the floor. I try to ignore the ache in my throat by pointing at the pictures above our heads. 

“Every time I try to ask about your friends or your volunteer year, you deflect. And now you can’t even tell me who you ditched me for? You don’t have to tell me their life story, even just saying it was your girlfriend or something is enough, I would understand.” I pause, then add, “Was it your girlfriend?”

Noah’s eyes narrow, and a second later, he suddenly smiles. “You seem awfully interested in my love life, Taylor.”

The chair creaks when he leans forward, our noses almost touching. He tilts his head. His eyes are drawing me in, and I almost miss his next words. “Why? Do you have a thing for me?”

I jerk back so hard, my chair almost topples over. I barely manage to huff out, “Hell no. I just want to be prepared for when my mom comes chewing my ear off about how the great Noah has a smart model girlfriend and why don’t I.”

Noah stands up, walking a few steps away. I’m still staring at the black fabric of the empty chair when he says, “Don’t worry, that will never happen.”

There is something in his voice that makes me look up, but he’s already schooling his expression, not giving away any emotions.

“Then you don’t know my mom well enough,” I answer, before I register that he might have meant something else. But Noah doesn’t give me a chance to consider it.

“You know what, since it’s already this late, why don’t we stop the lesson here for today?” His voice is icy, and I get up from the desk with the inexplicable need to defend myself.

“What? I ask one uncomfortable question, and you throw me out?”

Noah stands rigidly at the door. “I told you, it’s none of your business.”

I take a step closer and push my fingertip into his chest. “You know, this is why we never get along. You blame me for not making the effort, but how could anyone succeed in climbing that high tower you lock yourself in? Kinda difficult to befriend someone who doesn’t want you to know them.”

Noah opens and closes his mouth, but I don’t wait for an answer this time. I grab my bag with a bit too much strength and force my way out of the room. I don’t stop to tie my shoes, but just slip them on, storm out towards the park across the street. Frozen leaves crunch under my stomping feet as I head home.

Anger burns inside me, easily rekindled after years of smouldering. It was fed every time Noah blocked me out, brushed me off, or treated me like an annoying child. Like he couldn’t be bothered to treat stupid me with any respect. The sessions have gone so well that I'd thought our dynamic had changed. Stupid, stupid me. How many times do I have to walk home through this park, angry and hurt, to learn my lesson? As I did as a child, I kick against pinecones scattered on the path. I bathe in the anger, the resentment, and the disappointment, so I don’t have to face the new fluttery feeling I got when Noah came so close to my face I could see the little gray spots in his blue eyes.