“A girl could only play with seahorses and weave together starfish bras for so long before getting bored.”
“Can you imagine us arguing underwater?” Noah laughs, his eyes sparkling.
“It would be just a bunch of bubbles coming out of our mouths. It would be so funny.”
“I can’t imagine myself with a tail,” Noah admits, shaking his head.
“Really? I can. You’d make a good merman. I mean, you could always be shirtless. You could float around as you pleased. You’d get to see me every day, wearing a starfish bra and playing with seahorses.” I tilt my head, pointing out the obvious appeal.
“Are you trying to convince me to become a merman?” Noah’s chest vibrates as he laughs.
“Pretty much. Didn’t you ever used to play in your bath?”
“Are you asking me if I used to pretend to be a merman in the bathtub as a child? Because I feel like you should know the answer to that.”
“And what’s the answer?” I tease.
Noah raises his eyebrow and shakes his head.
“Aw. No fun.” I pout.
“Did you?”
“Not at all,” I admit, grabbing the clay from Noah’s hands. It sticks on my fingers, and I wrinkle my nose. “I wasn’t big into imaginary games.”
“You’re too literal for that, huh?” Noah asks, studying me.
“Pretty much. Even as a child, I was practical and pretended to have a job—playing doctor. Teacher. Chef. I couldn’t even come up with being a mermaid. Isn’t that sad?” I look at Noah, dropping the clay back onto the table.
“Nah. Everyone has different talents.”
“Mine just aren’t art-related. Unlike you and Mia,” I say, the drawing Mia gave me yesterday coming to mind. “Speaking of which, want to see one of your sister’s creations?”
I glance back at Mia. She’s got her head down in the textbook, looking between the book and our tools with determination. I turn back to Noah with a grin and open my notebook.
I pull out the sketch and hand it to him. Noah’s eyes widen as they scan across the sheet. He snaps his head toward me.
“Is this what you think of me?” Noah asks, gaping at the drawing.
“Mia drew it!” I laugh, grabbing it back from him. “It’s pretty accurate, don’t you think?”
Noah rolls his eyes. “Apart from the hair,” he states. “Did you ask her to draw you this?”
“No. It was a gift. But I might have provided the inspiration,” I admit.
“Really?” Noah asks with interest.
“I was comparing you to Medusa on one of your off days,” I explain. “And Mia thought it was so funny that, apparently, she had to draw it.”
Noah brings his eyes to mine. “So, that’s what I look like when I get upset, huh?”
“Basically.” I nod.
Noah frowns at the paper. “Attractive. Very attractive.”
“At least the snakes have matching scowls,” I offer, looking at the little snakes as his hair. “They’re kind of cute.”
Noah weighs his head back and forth, like he thinks my comment was actually serious.
“I suppose at least I’m not the only one scowling,” Noah agrees.
I slide the drawing back into my notebook for safekeeping.
“I think you should give me that. You shouldn’t be allowed to hold on to something that portrays me in such a negative light.”
Noah holds his hand out to me. I look between his hand and his serious expression and laugh.
“I am never giving this up. Besides, I could use her drawing as inspiration for our sculpting project.”
“Are you mocking me?” Noah asks, his mouth slipping open.
“No,” I tease. Even though I completely am.
“Well then,” he says, rolling up his sleeves as he picks up the clay, “maybe my sculpture will be of a mermaid who has a striking resemblance to you. Dark hair. Seahorse companion. Starfish bra and all.”
Noah smirks at the clay, looking way too devious. And very, very serious.
“You wouldn’t.”
Noah looks up to me and smiles.
“Would you?” I ask.
Noah doesn’t say anything. He just pulls open his notebook and spends the rest of class sketching out mermaids.
Made my demands.
Lunch
“You cannot make me into a mermaid,” I beg when class is over.
“I’m not making any promises.” Noah shrugs, looking way too amused.
“Noah, that’s mortifying,” I groan.
“And you having a drawing of me, made by my own sister, insinuating that I’m Medusa isn’t?” He holds my gaze, wanting to prove his point.
“Fine. If I cough up the drawing, then you have to promise not to make the mermaid sculpture. Or any other sculpture related to me for that matter. Deal?”
I extend out my hand, holding my pinkie finger up in the air. Noah glances at my hand before looking down the hallway.
“No deal. But it was a good try.” He smiles.
“Do you get pleasure in torturing me?” I mumble, pulling back my hand. I try not to stomp next to him, but it’s hard when he’s being annoying.
When he won’t just do what I want.
“Yes. I get an enormous amount of pleasure out of teasing you,” Noah says, raising his eyebrows at me as we get to the lunchroom.
Mohammad and Harry are already at our usual table. Mohammad is seated on the other side of the table though, opposite where he usually sits.
When we get to the table, Noah sits down next to me instead.
“Finally,” Mohammad says, looking up from his tray. “Okay, so here’s the plan.”
“I thought we were supposed to decide on a plan together?” I cut in, looking between Mohammad and Harry.
Harry shrugs, taking a drink of soda.
Mohammad ignores me. “I’m going to come by your hotel before the party. I’ll bring my uniform for tomorrow. I already talked to Mum. She’s fine with me staying the night.” He grins.
“With me?” I ask, my forehead creasing.
“No. With Harry,” Mohammad corrects.
“Why are you bringing your uniform to the hotel?” I ask, trying to follow along.
“Because staying at Harry’s is just an excuse,” Mohammad replies.
“Wait, Noah, are you staying?” Harry asks, looking up.
Noah looks back and shakes his head. “Mum texted me. They’ve decided they aren’t going, and she said she wanted me back home after, as it’s a school night. Mia’s been throwing a fit about us getting equal treatment or something,” Noah says, pulling out his lunch.
I quickly remember that I need to go get my own, but Noah pulls out two sandwiches, handing me one.
“But she did invite you all to stay at the house.”
“We’ll just figure it out later,” Harry says, popping open his bag of chips.
“How are things at the house?” Mohammad asks Harry.
Harry’s blue eyes slip to Mohammad. “It’s a fucking nightmare. They were already setting up this morning. Our house smells more like a floral shop than a house. It’s like they think if they woo everyone with champagne and hors d’oeuvres, then they might suddenly forget about the small fact that my dad’s abusive.”