“I guess I disagree. I thought your fingers were nice before. But they’re nice now too.”
I sit here, wondering if Noah just gave me a compliment.
I grab a glue stick, ready to start putting my sunrise together. “Ask me something,” I say to him, trying to change the subject.
“You always smell like caramel.”
“What?”
“Is it your perfume? You said that was vanilla, right?” he asks. “Or are caramel and vanilla the same smell?”
I wrinkle my nose at him, finding his question funny.
“This has been bothering you, hasn’t it?” I ask, searching his face.
“You’re not going to tell me?” he asks, looking taken aback, almost pouting.
“There are only so many ways I can annoy you.” I grin, realizing he really does want an answer. “And I take great pleasure in watching you get frustrated that you can’t place the scent of my perfume.”
“Mal,” Noah says, leaning toward me.
“I already told you,” I say, finally giving in, “it’s vanilla.”
“But it’s not just vanilla,” he says with tension in his voice. “It’s got something sweeter in it too. I can always figure things out. This, I can’t.”
“I know,” I say, agreeing.
Because most of the time, he can. It’s like how he can bring together math and art. Or how he can go from being all uptight one second to being super relaxed the next.
“I can always figure things out,” he repeats, looking at his blank sheet. “But you’re a different story.”
“Me?”
Noah pushes his dark hair out of his eyes and nods at me.
And he actually does seem frustrated by this. I’m not sure why placing the scent of my perfume has gotten to him so much, but apparently, it has.
“It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” I laugh.
“A lot of things drive me crazy,” he replies, looking at me seriously.
“Like what?”
“What do you think?”
“I think change drives you crazy. Um, my slow morning habits,” I add, thinking. “You hate messes and hate feeling like your relationships aren’t grounded.”
“You’re missing so many things,” Noah replies with a chuckle, shaking his head at me.
“What did I miss then?” I ask, feeling a little annoyed.
Because he’s the one who asked me to list off everything he hates. Well, not everything he hates.
But things that drive him crazy. And if it drives you crazy, it’s not good.
Right?
“Your unfeminine nails digging into my shoulders yesterday,” he whispers, “for instance.” Noah doesn’t look at me when he says this, which is a good thing because my face instantly flushes.
I stare straight down at my collage, not believing those words just came out of his mouth.
I drive him crazy?
“Noah—” I start to say, but the bell goes off, interrupting us.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and then he’s gone. Out of his seat, leaving me sitting alone in the classroom.
I’m stunned, frozen in my spot.
But then I start to notice students coming in, and I look up to the front of the room. Mrs. Jones is staring at me.
I get up and give her a freaked-out smile.
Maybe I’m just selfish.
Geography
I move to my next class in a daze.
I’m about to walk into Geography when someone grabs on to my elbow.
“Olivia?” I ask, turning to see her hand wrapped around my arm.
She pulls me back out into the hall.
“What the fuck?” she says.
“What?” I ask, peeling her fingers off me.
“Seriously?” She seethes. “You know what this is about. First, it’s Harry. And now, Naomi?”
“Stop,” I say firmly, not wanting to go through this with her again. “Look, I’m not going through this week, hating one another. I’m just not doing it.”
“Harry called me yesterday. He told me that he was sorry if he gave me the wrong impression Saturday but that he’s definitely with you.” She crosses her arms in front of her, her delicate face looking like it might crack.
“Well, it’s true,” I say, narrowing my eyes in at her. “Isn’t it a good thing that he called you? Told you? I thought that was respectful.”
“Who cares about respect?” she says, the words rolling out of her mouth. “I don’t want his respect. I want him.”
“I know,” I state.
Olivia glances at me.
“And I can’t imagine how you felt Friday night and then Saturday and again Sunday. He’s been all over the place with you, with your feelings. I know me being here with him isn’t easy. But I can’t do anything other than try my best not to intentionally hurt anyone.”
“You make it hard when you flaunt him in front of me,” she sort of whisper-yells, giving an icy stare to someone who walks into the classroom and has the audacity to look in her direction.
“I’m not giving up Harry. I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But what if we tried to be friends?”
She lets out a snort. “Please. Why should we have to be friends?”
“It’s obvious we can’t just ignore one another. I think we’re both too … stubborn for that. So, since all of our friends seem to be friends and we have the same classes and detention and everything else, maybe we should just try.”
“I don’t want to try. I just want you gone.” She flips her blonde hair over one shoulder, turns on her heel, and walks into the classroom.
I lean my back against the wall, aching for some relief.
It seems like everyone’s mad at me today.
Except for Harry.
But even he would be mad at me if he knew the things that Noah had said to me yesterday.
If he knew that I had allowed it.
If he heard what Noah had said in Art.
I let out a groan, knowing that I’m a serious chicken and maybe not as good of a person as I thought.
Maybe I’m just selfish.
Maybe I like the attention from Noah and Harry.
Maybe I like feeling close to them.
To not having to commit to one.
But I know that’s not true.
I really like both of them.
But I want to be with Harry.
I push off the wall, deciding to venture into the classroom. Harry’s not in his seat yet, but Olivia and Naomi both look at me when I walk in the door. Olivia gives me a once over, before raising her nose in the air and glancing away.
Figures.
Naomi gives me a closed-mouth smile, but it seems more out of pity than anything else.
I sit down in my chair, wishing the day could be over.
I don’t want to sit through another class.
Especially not one where I can’t have Harry next to me.
I’m sure Mr. Pritchard will separate us again. Make Harry sit in the corner, his hands tucked behind his back.
I cover my face with my hands, wanting to crawl into a hole and never come out. But then I feel the air shift next to me, hearing someone take a seat behind me.
“Someone’s stressed,” I hear Harry say, his hands coming up to rub my shoulders.