“No, we can’t. I need to do it now.” I stare at Noah, seeing anger flash across his face.
“I’ll return them on Monday,” Noah says. And then he is out the door.
“Give them back to me,” I say, catching up to him in the courtyard.
Noah’s eyes are glued to the street, and I can tell he’s searching for Helen’s car.
“No,” he replies.
“Yes.”
When we get onto the sidewalk, I can see Helen’s car turning onto the street. She’s stuck at a light, trying to turn left when Noah faces me. He shoves his hand into his pocket, digging for something.
“The only thing you can have back is this.” Noah pulls the tissue out from his pocket.
The tissue with my lipstick on it.
I look from the tissue up to Noah, feeling my chest crack open. Noah looks hurt. Frustrated. His brown eyes have darkened, and his chest is rising and falling quickly. He extends the tissue out to me. When Helen’s car rolls to a stop at the curb, I take it into my hand. And Noah lets it go.
He walks around the car, gets into the backseat, and slams the door shut.
I open the passenger door and fall down into the seat next to Helen’s. When my door closes, Helen takes off.
He has such a presence.
1:30pm
We drive in silence. When we get to the house, I slip off my backpack, coat, and shoes. But even as they drop to the floor, I don’t feel any lighter.
Helen sets down her purse and keys on the table as Noah takes off his shoes.
“I should go pack.”
Helen nods at me remorsefully, but then her attention diverts to Noah. I glance at him, feeling a mixture of guilt and hate. He sits down at the kitchen table in an angry huff and brings his hands up onto either side of his head. A second after though, he’s dropping his hands and sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Helen sits down at the table with him as I leave the kitchen. But when I turn back, I see that she’s pulling him into a hug. I take the stairs two at a time, grateful when I close the door to my room. To finally be hidden away.
I wish I could come up with something to say.
Something to fix … well, everything.
But at this point, there’s nothing left to say. And I think the only thing I can do is leave.
I need to pack up my things and go.
I shut my eyes, take in a deep breath, and tell myself to hold it together.
I get halfway through emptying the dresser before I feel my breath catch. I’m working my way through my pajama drawer when my fingers land on a familiar piece of gray fabric.
I pull out Noah’s sweats.
Maybe I should call them my sweats, so that way they will lose their appeal. Their importance. I’m not even sure why I’ve kept them. Why they’re in my drawer.
His sweats aren’t mine.
And neither is he.
He never will be.
I crumple up the sweats and throw them into the trash bin, my hands shaking. I continue emptying out the drawers until there is nothing left in them. I’ve made a huge, messy pile of all the contents on my bed. But I don’t care. I don’t care that they’ll be a wrinkly mess when I get home. Or that I’ll probably never open any of these suitcases again.
Maybe the airline will lose them.
I move to the wardrobe and pull out all of my hanging clothes. I separate my shirts from my dresses from my uniforms. I take each item off its hanger, deciding I probably should fold it.
I shouldn’t just throw it into my suitcase.
I should care.
But unlike my clothing, nothing else seems organized. Or makes any sense. I can’t figure out Noah’s motives. Or even my own. Today, the only person who was pure in their actions was probably Harry. And the fact that I lashed out at him with Noah, through Noah … it says a lot about my character. It says a lot.
Because my actions weren’t just bad.
They were mean.
And the look on Harry’s face after I kissed Noah … it makes me feel sick.
I drop the dress that I’m holding onto my bed and slide down onto the ground. I cover my eyes with my palms and try to imagine that none of that just happened. That this is all a dream, and in a few minutes, I will wake up to start the day over. Noah will get into bed with me, and we’ll talk about school or running. But life isn’t that simple. And even then, I’m not sure that would make anything better.
A tear finally escapes, rolling down my cheek. And I allow it. Because there’s no one else here. No one is going to comfort me. And they shouldn’t. I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging them to my chest.
I was so furious and angry.
I was mad at Noah. At Harry.
I was blinded by anger.
Yet somehow, even blind, I found my way to Noah. To his lips. I still figured out a way to ruin everything.
I wanted to hurt them.
To break Harry’s heart the way he was willing to break mine.
Everything comes flooding back to me. Harry giving me the key. Noah saying he wanted my T-shirt.
Kissing Harry.
Kissing Noah.
I should have expected this. It was always—and will always be—just them. Noah will always choose Harry, and Harry will always choose Noah. I couldn’t ask anything different of them. I just never thought that they would both give me up for the other. And I never thought that Noah would tell Harry that he loved me.
Did he say it because he wanted Harry to end things?
Did he say it because he thought Harry truly deserved to know?
Or did he say it because he actually felt that way?
I hold myself tighter, realizing that I’m never going to find out. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter now. There’s no coming back from this. I can’t, in twenty-four hours, apologize to Harry. He wouldn’t accept it. I know I wouldn’t if I were him. And I don’t even know what I would say to Noah.
I’m sorry.
I’m so, so angry with you.
I’m disappointed in you.
I’m disappointed in us.
And Mohammad. Remembering the look on his face sends a shiver through me. If anyone could have seen in that moment that I’d snapped, it would be him. He would be the most understanding. But at the same time, he would be the hardest on me.
Because he loves me.
Because he loves them.
And I might have just destroyed everything for all of them.
I push myself up off the ground and wipe at my wet eyes and nose, knowing that I have to stop. I can’t think about this all day. I can’t sit here and cry. I need to have a goal. I need to keep my mind occupied.
I need to finish packing.
A knock echoes from my door half an hour later. My whole stomach flips at the thought of who could be on the other side of the door. And for a moment, I let myself imagine that it’s Noah.
But I know it’s not.
“Come in,” I call out.
Helen pops her head into my room. She’s probably checking to make sure it’s safe to enter after my blowup. She doesn’t want to be collateral damage. And I don’t blame her. Her gaze moves across my now-disastrous room. The floors and bed are covered in clothes, and I have two suitcases open. I add a freshly folded shirt into one of the suitcases and look up at her from the ground.
“I know that I was quite … exasperated in the headmaster’s office,” Helen starts, venturing farther into my room.