Once upon a time, it was my parents’ wedding song. You’d think that alone would suck out all the romance for me. But it hasn’t, not even slightly. Maybe some songs are just unruinable.
I sing the first verse with my eyes closed, feeling my way through the chords. My mind keeps drifting back to Matt. Smiling, sad Matt, holding my hand as we stroll down a winter path, right at dusk. I’m dressed like Elizabeth Bennet, and my hair’s collecting snowflakes. “But they never stood in the dark with you, love.”
I know I’m singing too loudly. I know my voice is too earnest, too ardent. But I’m so moonstruck, I can’t help it. I think my heart’s wrapped in clouds.
Someone knocks—and everything freezes. My hand goes rigid against my guitar strings.
“Hello?”
My heart’s hammering so loudly, I can barely hear my own voice. Hello? Maybe I didn’t say it out loud at all. Just in my head. Maybe this is all in my head. I glance out the window—no cars in the driveway. So, the only person who could feasibly be here is Andy, and he’s still with his voice teacher. Ergo, no one’s here. No one’s knocking on my bedroom door. My mile-a-minute brain made the whole thing up, just to troll me.
“Little Garfield?”
Oh my God.
“Um.” Nope. Nope. Not real. “Noah?”
Of course, he takes that as an invitation.
So now Noah Kaplan’s in my doorway, grinning like a T. rex. “Why’d you stop singing?”
You know those stoves where the knob makes a flame shoot straight up? Zero to burning. That’s my face.
“How are you here?” It comes out like a croak.
He crosses the room in two strides, plops onto the edge of my bed. “What do you mean, how am I here?”
“This is my mom’s house.”
“I’m not allowed at your mom’s house?”
“No, I mean, how did you get here? Where’s your car?”
“At home. I can’t drive until this comes off.” He lifts his cast arm.
“So, what, you just walked here?”
Noah pops his sneakers off using only his feet. I always forget he can do stuff like that. Picking up stuff off the ground with his toes, and then sort of tossing it up into his hands. He says it helps keep him lazy. I don’t even get how he’s an athlete.
He scoots back beside me by the headboard. “Of course I walked here.”
“You walked here from your house.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That’s like an hour-long walk.”
“It was nice.” He pats the head of my guitar, yawning.
“In the rain.”
“I like rain.”
“You’re, like, completely dry. You’re not even—okay, you’re just making stuff up, aren’t you?”
“Possibly.”
I shove him hard in the shoulder.
“Okay, okay! Little Garfield. Sheesh.” He glances at me sidelong, eyes crinkling. “If you must know, I’m here because your brother, Ryan Kevin Garfield, stole my phone—”
“He stole your phone.”
“Well, I left it in his car yesterday.”
“Ah.”
“And unfortunately, my sources have informed me that it’s still in his car, which is currently parked at Georgia Tech, and will be for another”—he checks my wall clock—“forty-six minutes.”
“Which is why you’re here . . . now.”
“My ride had places to be, Little G.”
“Your ride. You mean your mom?”
“No, it was definitely a limo. Like a big limo full of hot girls.”
“Don’t call your mom a hot girl. That’s weird.”
“It is weird.” He wrinkles his nose. But then he smiles and taps the head of my guitar again. “Anyway. Sorry I interrupted your whole thing. What were you singing?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t.”
“What? Come on, you should keep going. I really like that song—”
“Nope.” I set my guitar down, pushing it toward the foot of my bed.
“Come on, you’re so good, though! It sounded amazing. It was the MLB of singing. I was like—whoa. She really means it—”
“I don’t.”
“You totally do. Who were you singing about? Wait, let me guess. Shawn Mendes. No. No, wait. Who’s that guy from that movie?”
“That guy from that movie.” I bite back a smile. “Very specific.”
“You know who I mean. The cheekbones guy. With the French name—”
“I have no idea where you’re going with this.”
“I’m going to start leaving my phone in Ryan’s car more,” Noah says. “If it means I get to experience Kate Garfield singing to Timothée Whatshisname . . .”
All the air whooshes out of my lungs. Noah’s smiling expectantly, but when he looks at me, it falters.
Kate Garfield Singing.
His eyes widen. “Kate—”
“It’s not funny.” I scoot off the bed, grabbing my guitar and shoving it into its case. “Okay? You’re not funny.”
I slam the case shut. And Noah’s mouth falls shut, too.
Scene 16
Of course, the minute Andy and I walk into school on Monday, there’s Noah, ready to pounce. “Kate!” He intercepts us in the lobby. “Hey, Anderson.”
“Hiiii.” Anderson glances at me sidelong, eyebrows raised.
“How’s it hanging?” asks Noah.
“You mean my testicles?” Anderson asks. “They’re fine, thank you.”
For once, Noah’s speechless.
Anderson smiles and elbows me gently. “Love you. See you in history.” Then he adjusts his messenger bag—backpacks ruin Andy’s aesthetic—and disappears down the hall.
Noah blinks. “Why are we talking about testicles?”
“You brought them up.” I blush. “I mean, not up, physically—”
“This conversation needs to be, like, a hundred percent less literal,” says Noah.
“Yeah.” I nod quickly. “Yup. Anyway—”
“Anyway,” he says, suddenly serious. “About yesterday. I just wanted to apologize again—”
“No, no, no. You’re good. I overreacted. It’s fine.”
“No, it was a stupid thing to say. I just wasn’t thinking about that whole mess. Not—I don’t mean the singing was messy. Just the Instagram stuff.”
“Noah?”
“Yup?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Great. So we’re good?”
“Good. Great.”
“Great,” he says. “Perfect. Because I need your help.”
“My help?”
He smiles slightly and nods. Then he squares his shoulders, looking right into my eyes.
Aha. I recognize this maneuver. The eyegasm. An f-boy classic. It’s this extra split second of eye contact, but with the intensity ramped up to eleven, typically ending in a makeout. Even Jack Randall pulls it off, and he’s so stoned half the time he can barely keep his eyes open. But Noah’s, like, unsettlingly good at it.