Wicked Hunger

by DelSheree Gladden

Chapter Eighteen: The Three G’s

  (Vanessa)

  When Noah pulls up in front of my house, I jump up and fly out of the front door with barely even a goodbye to Grandma. I have to get away. Zander has been a moody mess since Friday night. Grandma isn’t any better, but they are the easiest thing I’ve had to deal with today. Spending the morning with Ketchup was torture. Not only was it awkward and weird between us, the only thing we saw Ivy do all morning was go into the converted garage in her backyard and come back out hours later.

  What was the garage converted into? Now that we couldn’t figure out without getting caught. Too many eyes to attempt a look in broad daylight. When we finally had to give up so I could make it back in time to meet Noah, the tension between us got even worse. I was about to choke on it by the time we got back to my house.

  Climbing into Noah’s car, I buckle myself in with a nervous smile.

  “Hey, so how was the party after the game Friday night?” he asks.

  My insides twist into a million shapes they shouldn’t. “Uh, fine.”

  “Did you stay very long?”

  “Not really. I was pretty tired. It was a long day.” It’s been a long couple of weeks, actually.

  “Well, are you ready to do some writing?” he asks.

  “I guess, though I’m not sure how much writing we’re actually going to need to do. I don’t think there’s a lot of talking in a battle scene. Not unless you count yelling.”

  Noah laughs. “True. I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

  As we drive over to his house, I will myself to relax. At one point, the idea of Noah actually developing feelings for me was exciting. I let myself wonder what it would be like to have a normal relationship with someone. Ordinary sounded so wonderful at the time. Now, every moment I spend with Noah just inspires more guilt.

  Thankfully, Noah lives on the opposite end of the school district, so I have plenty of time to try and collect myself. I push everything but our project out of my mind. Surprisingly, Zander and Ivy are the easiest to ditch. Ketchup is the hardest. He lasts until we reach Noah’s house.

  When we park in Noah’s driveway, I stare up at the split level home in awe. Not because it’s huge or lavish. It’s pretty average sized, actually. The lawn is well cared for, but not perfect, and the mailbox looks like it’s been backed into several times. I smile, wondering if that was due to Noah learning to drive. What I really love about his house is the tricycle left on the grass, the giant-sized scribble drawing done in chalk on the driveway, and the blaring sounds of pop music spilling out of an upstairs window. His house is happy and alive.

  The impression doubles when we walk through the door. His little sister, Amelia, is running through the house with a fairy wand in her hand and a cape tied around her neck. A slightly taller, equally energetic boy chases after her with a Nerf dart gun spraying foam bullets in every direction. In the kitchen, his mom and older sister are cooking dinner together and arguing about how the recipe should be prepared. Noah’s mom is waving a spatula covered in something yellow and creamy at her daughter when she notices us.

  “Noah,” she says, smiling and dropping the spatula back into the bowl. She wipes her hands on a towel and holds one out to me. “And you must be Van. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Elsa, and this is Kennedy, Noah’s older sister.”

  Kennedy swoops past her mom and ruffles her brother’s hair. “Nice to meet you, Van. We’ve heard lots about you from Noah here.”

  “Shut up, Kennedy,” Noah quips. She laughs at him and saunters back to the stove.

  “Mom, we’re going downstairs to the den. Can you keep the little ones out while we’re working?”

  “I’ll try,” she says with a smile. After seeing them tear through the house a minute ago, trying might be the most anyone can expect. “Van, you haven’t eaten yet, have you? We’d love for you stay for dinner tonight.”

  Caught off guard by her invitation, it takes me a minute to respond. “Uh, no I haven’t eaten yet, but you really don’t have to feed me. I’ll just eat when I get home.”

  “You’ll eat with us.” End of discussion, apparently. She turns back to the stove to argue with Kennedy and gets another plate out of the cupboard to add to the stack already on the counter. I’m sure she’s forgotten about us completely until we start to head downstairs and she throws one more comment over her shoulder. “Stay in the den, Noah. No girls in your bedroom, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom,” Noah drawls, rolling his eyes.

  He leads me downstairs to a toy covered den. His growl of frustration amuses me. “Sorry this place is such a mess. My little brother and sister are walking disasters. It’s impossible to get them to clean up after themselves.”

  “It’s okay, Noah,” I say. “It’s actually kind of nice. I like the mess.”

  He looks at me with one eyebrow cocked. “I didn’t picture you as a messy kind of person, despite the sponges and spilled cookies.”

  “I’m not, but this is different.”

  “How?”

  I shrug, not sure what I mean myself. “It isn’t dirty clothes or forgotten sandwiches. It’s the mess of playing and being happy. They’re too busy running around playing cowboys and some kind of fairy princess superhero game to worry about picking up. It’s nice. It’s a sign that your house is happy.”

  “You’ll have to tell my mom that. It will make her day to hear toys on the floor equals happiness. It’ll mean our house is about the happiest place on earth,” Noah says.

  I laugh and start helping him clean up. When we have some free space on the floor, we sit down on a couple of bean bag chairs with a notebook and absolutely zero ideas. Fifteen minutes later, we still don’t have anything useable. Throwing my pencil down, I sink into my bean bag.

  “I have no idea where to start with this.”

  “Where to start…” Noah sits up. “Well, why do most battles and wars start?”

  “The three G’s,” I say automatically.

  “What?”

  “God, gold, and glory. Didn’t you have Ms. Ames for world history?” I ask.

  Noah shakes his head. “I had Dunne.”

  “Oh, well that was always Ms. Ames’ answer for wars. Some kind of religious proclamation of superiority, wealth being at stake, or the need to be the biggest and most powerful. Pick any war in history and she could give you one of those three reasons as the cause of it,” I say.

  “Hmm,” Noah says, “I think Paris and Helen of Troy might disagree with Ms. Ames. Love can spark wars just as quickly as the other three.”

  “Paris and Helen aren’t real people, Noah. They don’t count.”

  Slouching into his bean bag, Noah looks at me thoughtfully. “You think they’re the only ones that ever started a fight because they weren’t supposed to be together? West Side Story is a classic movie, one everybody’s seen. It’s the same thing.”

  “It’s Romeo and Juliet, another fictional story.” I pick the notebook and pencil back up off the floor. I hold the pencil ready to write something, anything. This isn’t really a topic I want to discuss right now. “Besides, we can’t use love as a reason for our fight. There’s only two of us, and if we were in love with each other, why would we be fighting?”

  “We’d have to have a love triangle, I suppose, but you’re right that we’d need three people for that,” Noah says. He taps his chin. “Too bad Ketchup isn’t in our class. I bet Mr. Littleton would let us add him in if we asked.”

  My head snaps up, and we lock eyes. His are calm, but his body is held taut. Mine is immoveable. Although, the feeling of insects crawling around under my skin is on the verge of making me jump up and bolt. “What?” I manage to ask.

  The corner of Noah’s mouth twitches at the sharpness in my tone. “Van, I’m not blind. Ketchup sat behind me the whole game. I could feel him glaring at me every second, and if I even got close to touching you, he accidently kneed me in the back or kicked me. It’s
obvious Ketchup has a thing for you.”

  “Look, Ketchup is… my best friend,” I finish lamely.

  Noah frowns. “Best friend? Or something more?”

  “We’re not dating.”

  “Look, I know it may be none of my business,” Noah says, “but I like you. I want to keep seeing you, and not just to do homework. If you’re not interested, well, you can just say so and I’ll back off.”

  I look down at the notebook, tapping the pencil against it to keep my thoughts focused. I love Ketchup. I always will. But I would be lying if I said Noah and his normal life wasn’t at least a little appealing. Maybe it’s the right thing to do. If I distanced myself from Ketchup, he might find someone else and be happier. If I were a stronger person I would do it. In the end, I answer Noah’s question as honestly as I can.

  “I don’t know what I want,” I say. “I do like you. You’re really sweet, and you actually want to hang out with me, which is a big plus. It’s just that there’s a lot going on in my life right now.”

  I look up at him, hoping he can understand. Noah nods thoughtfully. “Does Ketchup know that?” he asks, a bit of annoyance creeping into his voice.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Noah sighs. “Ketchup doesn’t seem to care that you’ve put limits on your relationship with him. He still looks at you like you’re his. And you don’t stop him from acting like that.”

  “How am I supposed to stop him?” I snap.

  “By putting some distance between the two of you, for one.”

  Meeting Noah’s eyes, I don’t know what to say but the truth. “Noah, I’m sorry Ketchup wasn’t very nice to you at the game, but nothing I say to him will change that. He really is a good guy, but yes, it bothers him to see you with me. Maybe I should walk away from him, do the right thing, but I can’t. There’s too much history, too long of a friendship for me to do that. I’m sorry, but if you want to hang around with me, you have to accept the fact that Ketchup will be there too.”

  “Ketchup isn’t going to run me off.” Noah suddenly grins. “I just hope he’s ready for some competition.”

  I shake my head, knowing Ketchup is more than up to the challenge. “Good luck,” I say with a smile. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. We’ve been through a lot together. It won’t be easy to get him to back off.”

  “Then why aren’t you dating?” Noah shakes his head. “Sorry, none of my business.”

  Shaking my head, I appreciate him trying not to be nosy, but I feel I owe him some kind of explanation, even if it’s not much. “I know it sounds cliché, but it’s complicated. Family stuff mostly. I can’t really go into it, but Ketchup and I are only friends.”

  More questions burn in Noah’s eyes, but he is nice enough not to ask. He seems glad for now to know that there is a chance for a relationship to develop between us. To be honest, so am I.

  A few silent minutes later, Noah’s mom calls us up for dinner. Well, she calls everyone, and everyone comes pouring out of both levels to converge on the kitchen in a rush. Dodging them is tricky. I end up flattening myself against the wall as I watch them fall into their seats. The three siblings I met earlier are joined by two more, a boy who looks to be about ten and a girl who can’t be much older than thirteen. His parents sit at either end of the table, and two chairs have been squashed in at one end to make room for me and Noah.

  “Are there anymore?” I whisper to Noah.

  He chuckles, and says, “Nope, that’s everyone. Hungry?”

  I nod, but more than just the large family staring at me holds me back. Zander, Oscar, and I once tried to figure out how many people in the world our hunger might want. We tallied up everyone we had ever come in contact with that spiked our hunger at school and compared it to how many people were in our school. It was hardly scientific, and probably not terribly accurate, but the numbers we got were a bit discouraging. On average, one in twenty or so people appeal to our hunger. Any time I get around a group of new people, I get nervous, and there are still four members of Noah’s family I have yet to really meet.

  Before I can work up the courage to approach his family of my own free will, Noah slips his hand into mine and tugs me forward. He didn’t do it just to get me started, either. He makes no move to let go of me as we cross the kitchen to the dining room. Maybe because he’s partially dragging me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when Noah finally lets go of me to pull my chair out. Hoping I can melt into the general mayhem around me and stay at a safe distance until I can be sure, I fold my hands in my lap and don’t say anything. Not more than two seconds pass before Noah’s mom is introducing me to everyone at the table, telling me their names and letting everyone in on the details of the project Noah and I are working on.

  That gets the ball of chatter and chaos rolling. As everyone talks and passes food, nothing at all rouses my hunger. After a while, I begin to relax and enjoy the banter. The whole rest of the meal, I have a hard time finding a second to take a bite with all the questions everyone keeps firing at me. Even little Amelia gives it a go, asking me about my dancing and if I’m Noah’s girlfriend. That one hushes the entire table, including me. I glance over at Noah in a panic, but he handles it smoothly.

  “Pickle, quit bugging Van and eat your potatoes.”

  Her whole face wrinkles in annoyance, but her miniature sized fork dips into the pile of mashed potatoes on her plate anyway. I do the same, not even noticing Noah’s hand reaching under the table until he pats my leg and squeezes me reassuringly. He pulls it back casually and asks one of his sisters that I can’t remember the name of how her volleyball game went the night before. The conversation flows away from me and on to what everyone else in the family has been doing. I soak it all in, amazed that so many people can function together and not end up with blood all over the walls.

  When dinner finishes, I offer to help clean up, but both his mom and Kennedy wave me off. Noah and I try to work on our project a little more, but after an hour of getting nowhere, it’s time for him to take me home. Leaving is an experience as well. I get a hug from everyone in the family, thanks for coming over, and an open invitation to come back anytime. When Noah finally manages to pull me out of the house, I stare at him in disbelief.

  “Your family is…”

  “Nuts?” he finishes. “Yeah, I used to try to warn people, but they never believed me, so I gave up. Sorry they kind of attacked you in there.”

  “No, it was great, Noah. Your family is awesome.”

  “Really, ‘cause you looked pretty scared most of the time,” he teases.

  I smile and shrug. “A little, maybe, but it was nice. It was nothing like my family. It was happy and exciting. Thanks for inviting me over.”

  Noah steps closer, close enough to make me anxious. “Thanks for coming.”

  Nervous energy flutters through my veins. I can barely find my voice, but I say, “We didn’t get much done on our project.”

  “That’s okay. We have plenty of time.” His head tilts to the side very slightly, as if he is considering something. He takes another step closer. There can’t be more than an inch or two between our bodies now.

  For a moment, I panic. I don’t know what to do. Noah must see it in my eyes. His body tightens, but doesn’t move. “Van, I really like you. I know that may freak you out a little, but I really hope you’ll give me a chance.”

  Before I know what is happening, Noah’s lips brush against mine. When he pulls back, I smile, amazed at the warmth of his affection. Noah’s smile widens as he presses his palm against my cheek. “Do you know what the best part of tonight was, besides kissing you just now?” he asks.

  I shake my head, unable to speak.

  “Seeing you smile so much during dinner.” He grins at me. “You have the most beautiful smile, but you hardly ever let anyone see it. I’d like to see you smile more often, and I think maybe I can make that happen if you let me try.”


  I nod slowly and say, “I think I would like that.”

  “I better get you home,” he says with a smile. His hand grasps mine briefly to get me moving, but he doesn’t push me any more tonight. He lets go once I begin to follow him.

  The drive back to my house is quiet, but not uncomfortable. I make it up to my room before the fact that I just had my first kiss really hits me. I have imagined my first kiss hundreds of times, and that wasn’t it. It’s not that Noah’s kiss wasn’t sweet and wonderful, it’s that it was with Noah. That’s not how it was supposed to be. Every fantasy I ever dreamed up was of Ketchup. A sickening sense of betrayal lodges itself in my heart.