Taylor

It’s not easy to push aside that odd moment with Noah while I’m swamped with the preparations for the fundraiser bid, but I manage. Barely. The preliminary presentation went well. Though I wasn't at my best, we moved on to the last round. Next week, there will be a final round of presentations in front of the school director and faculty leaders. Caya made it clear that since it was my idea, I should present the project on my own. Once I got chosen, she would force me to, quote, nepotism her bubble butt into the aesthetic manager position.

Some might say she wanted all the fun without the pressure, and they would be right. I don’t really mind, though. It’s a very welcome distraction. It works only until Friday night, when Mom has to remind me of that stupid children’s day at stupid Haverfield U, which stupid me volunteered for with stupid Noah.

But that's not her only message of doom. “I have to leave earlier, so Noah will come and pick you up around 8 am.”

My mom can sniff my complaints coming from a mile away and immediately adds, “My car will be too full with supplies to take you with me. Remember to wear warm clothes, the info stand is in front of the welcoming center.”

With no room to argue, I agree, and the next morning, I put on my thickest jacket, warm boots, scarf, and hat and waddle outside as soon as I hear Noah’s car.

My greeting is as frosty as the morning air. We begin our ride in silence until Noah sighs and turns on the radio. I stare wistfully out the window, feeling like the pitiful protagonist of a movie. The tension between us is almost palpable, not even disrupted by the soft sounds of the radio, where the new songs of the week are being presented. 

I bite my lip.

Honestly, I hate to dwell on this. I did overstep. His reaction might have been over the top, but I feel bad about my own behaviour. I should apologize. At least that way, I won’t have to keep circling through the conversation in my head. I hope so, anyway.

By the time we drive across the Chesterham River, I’ve strengthened my resolve. Now I just need to open my mouth and speak. I’m sorry. A few words. Come on, how hard can it be? 

I still don’t move.

The light of the rising morning sun reflects on the little waves, stirred up by a cold breeze. The river twinkles, blue with specks of grey. I’m immediately taken back to that moment. 

Do you have a thing for me? 

I jolt, and my elbow slips from where it rested on the door’s armrest.

Noah throws me a short look. “You okay?”

I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah. Just dozed off for a sec.”

Noah chuckles. “Stayed up late?”

“I’m sorry,” I burst out. And immediately regret it.

“Huh?”

Now I have to see it through. I rub my hurting elbow. “I shouldn’t have bothered you about telling me about your friend. It was rude. But-”

“There shouldn’t be buts in an apology, Tay,” Noah says with a surprisingly gentle voice.

I press my lips together and stare back out to the twinkling lake. I can hear the little waves whisper: Do you have a thing for me?

I shake my head in the hope of shaking off the whispers. “Well, then, I won’t say more. Just. Sorry.” Then I laugh and turn back to Noah. “No butts.”

Noah throws me an exasperated look, and I wave to the street. “Eyes to the front. I don’t want my parents to have to fish my cold, dead body out of the river.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone would bother.”

“Hey!”

“Thank you for apologizing.”

I hum and eye Noah’s profile, the sharp lines of his neck and jaw, and the soft curves of his eyes and nose. I blink and quickly look back out to the river, only to be met with the same blue and grey colors as Noah’s eyes. I huff.

There is … something. An unsettling feeling I can’t put my finger on. I push it aside.

“Did Aunt Susu tell you what we are going to do today?”

Noah graciously accepts the change of topic. “Some of it. Mostly setting up the info booth, handing out maps and pamphlets. Later, we are going to help at one of the booths inside.”

That I hadn’t known. “What booth?”

“Law, of course.”

“Don’t tell me they are going to play out a court session again. I’m not gonna wear any old-man wigs.”

Noah slows and stops at a red light, the bridge now behind us. “Thankfully, no. Mom said it’s gonna be crime scene themed.”

“Ooh, can I play the corpse?” I grin at Noah, who rolls his eyes.

“They will be doing fingerprinting, and the kids can search for fake evidence. They have to search letters under UV light and put together a word to get a stamp for the rally.”

“Not as bad as I expected,” I admit. Noah hums and takes another turn left. Finally, the front gate to the university comes into view. When we arrive at the welcoming center, Aunt Susu is standing at a booth that sells hot apple cider and hot chocolate while watching two students put a banner above the entrance doors.

“Left side, a little higher! Oh, hi, Sweety,” she greets Noah with a shoulder hug and then smiles at me. “Good morning, Tay. How nice of you to help out as well.”

“Good morning, Aunt Susu.”

Susu points towards a stack of boxes. 

“I’m sorry, there isn’t much time. Would you both get started on setting up the flyers and pamphlets at the info booth? And there is also a large map of the halls that needs to be displayed a few steps away from the entrance.”

“Sure thing,” I warble and start stacking boxes into Noah’s arms. An ‘oof’ escapes Noah, but he holds on tight and doesn’t complain.

Thankfully, the cloudy sky clears. The sun warms our faces as we start sorting through the piles of flyers. We are barely halfway done when the first eager parents stop by; their kids are of different ages and in various states of sleepiness.

Working together with Noah is surprisingly smooth. It’s like he can read my mind and hands me tape or holds onto a stack of flyers at the exact moment I need him to. I want to think we are working in comfortable silence, but truthfully, I wouldn’t mind having a topic, any topic, to talk about. I’ve never been good with long stretches of silence.

“Let’s go hang up the hall plan,” Noah says, picking up the poster that is almost too large to carry for one person.

I quickly abandon my last stack of flyers and hold on to the other end of the large sheet. We move over to the entrance, where Noah holds up the poster as high as he can manage while I direct him a few more steps to the left. When I’m content with the position, I return to help him hold it up, and we both take a heavy breath. 

“You need to hold it a bit higher,” I say, while struggling to tear off a piece of tape.

“No, I’m pretty sure your side is too low already.”

“What?” I look up and frown. “No, it isn’t.”

Noah frowns back.

“Can’t you just lift your corner higher?” I try again, arms getting heavy.

“But it won’t be straight, then.”

I take a deep breath, and before I can explode, a melodious voice asks, “Do you guys need a little help?”