The Infinite Noise

by Lauren Shippen

  “These people aren’t dangerous”—my dad takes over, giving me an earnest look that I don’t believe—“but she thought it was best that they didn’t know about you. We don’t want anyone trying to meddle in your life or telling you how to live it.”

  “We just want the world to be open to you, Caleb.” My mom smiles at me.

  “And it wouldn’t be if these people knew? I mean, who the hell are they?” My parents let the curse slide as they share another inscrutable look.

  “Well, to be frank … we don’t know.” My dad exhales, and I know he’s telling the truth.

  “Are you saying there are superspies after Caleb?” Alice scoffs, voicing the insane thought that was running through my own head.

  “Of course not, sweetie,” my mom says. “No one knows anything about what Caleb can do, and we’re going to keep it that way.”

  “That’s why it’s important to trust the people you tell,” my dad explains. “We’re not saying never tell anyone, but just be careful about who you trust.”

  “Yeah.” I find myself agreeing. “Okay.”

  My parents smile at that and I venture out of Alice’s cocoon of calm to check in with their feelings. The stress and concern are down from eleven to one and the pastel pink exhale of relief is filling them up.

  I pull my hand away from Alice’s and with it try to pull back into my own feelings. All that I find is a swirl of confusion twisting around a weight of fear in my gut.

  24

  CALEB

  “Okay, I know I said I don’t know anything about clothes, but you absolutely cannot wear that.”

  Adam is giving me the most incredulous look he has (which is pretty incredulous) as I step out of my bathroom in my dad’s old prom suit.

  “Nope, no, no way.” He punctuates each word with a shake of his head. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed and absently spinning a hat between his hands. The sight makes something squirm in my stomach, but in a good way. I’m a little surprised at how comfortable he seems—how well he fits into my space—but I think … I think I like it.

  Things started out awkwardly—we didn’t know how to behave around each other outside of our lunch bench, my parents were too eager and too polite—but once we got into the bad-movie montage of me trying on different outfits and Adam realized I don’t mind when he laughs at me, it started to gel. It got easy. I’m actually actively enjoying spending time with another human outside of my family, and I know in my bones that Adam is having a good time too.

  “What, you don’t think powder blue is making a comeback?” I spin around to show the suit off and Adam chuckles. Something warm blooms in my chest and fans outward, like it does every time I make him laugh. Might be his, might be mine, might be both of ours.

  “No offense to your dad, but I don’t think powder blue was ever cool.” He laughs.

  “Well, that’s the last of it,” I sigh as I flop down on the floor next to him, undoing the top button of the ancient tuxedo shirt. “We’ve officially gone through all my remotely nice clothes. So unless I can show up in my football uniform…”

  “Hey, with how you look in it, she might not mind.” Adam snorts and I blush, uncertain. He goes still—hot, embarrassed anxiety filling the space between us. The hat, which had been spinning in midair like a pizza, drops to his lap. He looks at me sideways before snapping his eyes forward and stammering out, “I just mean—I see the way the cheerleaders look at all you guys when you’re in uniform. Guess it’s a cliché for a reason. Personally, I don’t get it. With the red and white, you all just look like massive candy canes.”

  The panic he was feeling starts to cool, but something else sharp takes its place. Adam picks up the hat again and continues spinning it, but his hands are shaking slightly. I find myself absently wondering where the hat came from—I must have tossed it out of my closet at some point. I’m mesmerized for a moment, watching it move around and around in his fingers. It reminds me about how Adam told me he plays piano. I’d really like to see him play sometime. I’m staring at his hands, that sharp thing grating at me when I realize: he’s lying. I don’t know if he’s lying about the cheerleaders or thinking we all look like candy canes, but he’s lying.

  “Huh, yeah,” I say dumbly, realizing I need to say something but not knowing what that is. There’s a right move here, I know there is. But knowing someone’s feelings doesn’t give me a guidebook on how to respond to them. That I have to make up as I go along.

  “You should go with the second outfit,” Adam continues, a little too loudly, like he’s trying to distract me from my own thoughts. “The one with the skinny tie and the vest.”

  “You don’t think it’s too hipster?” I ask, letting the weird moment pass. No point in lingering when I have no fucking clue what to do about it.

  “Hipster isn’t always a bad thing.” He finally looks at me again, a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

  “Just didn’t think I was the type of guy who could pull it off,” I mumble.

  “You should have more confidence in yourself, Caleb,” he says seriously, like my self-esteem is what we’ve been talking about this whole time. My heart lurches at his words—how does he see the things no one else does—and I give a knee-jerk response.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not the only one,” I say, snatching the hat out of midair and donning it dramatically.

  “Ooh, them’s fighting words,” he laughs, his eyes smiling more than his mouth as he reaches for the hat that’s now on top of my head. I bat his hands away, which just makes him laugh more, and soon we’re caught in a weird not-quite-slap-fight where we’re just sitting on the floor shoving each other.

  I’m breathless with laughter as Adam’s pure joy zips into my body and combines with my own. I’ve never felt this from him before. He gets amused, yeah, but this kind of carefree happiness is new. I’m completely intoxicated by it and I shove him harder, as if it will release more of the bright light of joy like hitting an old cushion releases dust. I clearly shove too hard because Adam starts to fall backward and he automatically grabs the lapels of the hideous blue tux jacket, nearly pulling me down with him. My arms windmill for a fraction of a second before landing on either side of him, holding us both up.

  What happens next is … weird. The light of joy doesn’t go out but it kind of stutters and bursts. He’s still happy but there’s an added layer of fluttering anxiety that begins to cut through. The pulse of his nerves is out of sync with my heart, which right now feels like it’s going to spring from my chest. The battling rhythms make my skin tingle and my forehead break out in a sweat. All of a sudden, I’m a boy made of nerve endings alone.

  Dr. Bright tells me that, when I get overwhelmed by someone’s emotions, I should try and focus on what I see—on the concrete things in front of me. I do this now, drinking in Adam’s wide-eyed expression like it’s going to soothe the fire building in my veins. It doesn’t work. His mouth opens slightly like he’s going to say something and my heart lurches at the possibility. But no sound comes. Instead his eyes start moving around my face, like he’s doing the same thing—trying to cling to reality so he doesn’t get dragged under by the wave of emotion that’s moving through the air.

  My heartbeat has slowed, or it’s sped up and his has slowed. Or his has sped up and mine has stayed the same—I’m losing track of what’s what and who’s who but all I know is that we’re in sync again and those butterflies have invaded my stomach once more. They’re both welcome and unwelcome—a nice, warm feeling that makes me want to hide. I suddenly become aware of the warmth coming from Adam’s body. My arms aren’t touching him, but I can feel his rib cage expanding as he breathes, like the air between his sides and my forearms is being sucked out with each inhale.

  His fingers flex slightly on my lapels and I don’t know if it’s been seconds or hours since he first grabbed them. I should say something. I know I should say something. But, as with so many things, Adam beats me to it.<
br />
  “Yeah, the vest and skinny tie for sure,” he mumbles, releasing his grip and folding in on himself slightly as he turns away from me. The fluttering feeling turns sour; the physical withdrawal tearing the feelings away with it. I pull my arms back and wonder at how hollow they feel. Like I just put my fingers into an electrical socket, making my whole body bright, and now I’m living in a primitive world lit only by daylight.

  What the fuck.

  25

  CALEB

  “You look really nice.” Caitlin smiles at me as she closes the car door behind her.

  “Thanks,” I say gruffly. “Adam helped me pick it out.”

  I have no rational explanation for why I say this other than it seemed important that she know. Credit where credit’s due and all that.

  But that’s not totally it, is it? I bring up Adam because he should be here. I like Caitlin, and I notice she smells good as she walks toward me, but if there’s anyone I want to stand next to in a poorly lit gym, making fun of the DJ and avoiding our classmates, it’s Adam. I’m not really sure what to do with this information.

  Caitlin is saying good-bye to her parents and I think her dad says something cringingly dad-ish to me as he waves. I respond on autopilot, but now that I’m thinking about Adam, my brain is preoccupied replaying that weird moment from last night. My body is remembering that butterfly feeling (mine or his?) as Caitlin takes my arm to lead me into the gym and new butterflies swarm into my stomach. The feelings clash like nails on a chalkboard and I try to smile and nod through the grimace I’m feeling as Caitlin smiles up at me and says something.

  God, this was a bad idea. I knew this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked. Dr. Bright said that we could just go to the dance as friends but I know in my gut that Caitlin wants something more.

  “Caleb, are you okay?”

  “Huh?” My eyes refocus on Caitlin and I realize that she’s been talking for the last thirty seconds and I have no idea what she’s been saying.

  “You just look … I don’t know.” Her face crinkles prettily as she hears herself admit that she doesn’t know something. Kind of a new feeling for her, I’m guessing. My mind instantly leaps to the fact that Adam is the same way and, goddammit, this was definitely a mistake.

  “Yeah.” I nod enthusiastically to make up for the weird panic moving through my brain. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh—I’ve got a headache, that’s all. It’s not that bad, though,” I add, feeling her concern warming my insides. It’s nice. I definitely prefer it over her butterflies.

  “Oh good.” She looks relieved. “Because, I don’t know about you, but I plan on dancing.”

  She lets go of me and shimmies goofily as she pulls open the door to the school. Crap, was I supposed to do that? Get the door? She doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of chivalry; she’s smiling at me, the concern melting into soft, lukewarm liquid, and I try to put Adam out of my mind. Caitlin’s great. She’s witty and smart and clearly gets that I’m out of my element. This is going to be fun.

  * * *

  This is not fun.

  I’m trying to be a good date—dance and talk with Caitlin, smile at her friends—but there are just too many people feeling too many things and I lose focus every other minute. I’m about to escape to the bathroom to sit in silence for a few minutes when someone calls out my name.

  “Michaels! How the hell are you, my man?”

  I turn to see Henry swaggering toward me. He reaches out a hand, pulling me into a completely unnecessary handshake like we’re old school chums who are running into each other at a ten-year reunion. God, this guy is such a tool.

  “Hey, Henry.” I grimace as he claps me on the shoulder with his free hand. I take a moment to look him over as I adjust to his feelings. He’s wearing a well-fitted suit, his blond hair perfectly slicked back, an insufferably smarmy expression on his face. Everything about him is slimy. His feelings slither into my body and make me restless.

  “So, you gonna get with that or what?” he whispers, jerking his head toward Caitlin, who’s dancing and laughing with Jessica as I get punch for us. My eyebrows reach toward the top of my forehead as I give Henry my best blank stare. I don’t want to play this game with him. The moment I start to go along with it, it will become harder to keep his feelings at bay.

  “We’re just friends,” I reply, hoping that will end this conversation. But Henry smirks and tilts his head at me as if to say, Oh really? There are phantom bugs crawling over my skin that I recognize as Henry trying to get something. It’s the same sensation I feel whenever he’s making excuses for skipping practice or getting an extension on a project—the bugs start crawling and a second later he’s smirking at our coach or our teacher and they’re apologizing to him.

  For a while, I sort of thought maybe Henry was special like me. He seems to always get what he wants by just flashing his pearl-white teeth or talking smooth. It’s like being hypnotized by a snake. But once I was able to separate his feelings from everyone else’s, I realized he wasn’t like me. He doesn’t have any kind of supernatural ability to get what he wants. He’s just … determined.

  “So you won’t mind if I take a crack at her?”

  “What?” I’d assumed our conversation was over, but Henry’s question snaps me out of my daydreaming and back into my body. There’s a little spark of cold fire in his feelings now, right in my stomach, and it’s making me hungry in a way that’s not going to be satisfied with the too-sweet cookies sitting next to the not-sweet-enough punch.

  “If you and Cait are just buds, then you won’t care if I try to get in there.” He smiles, the flame of determination growing up my torso and frosting over my lungs.

  “She hates being called Cait,” I say for lack of a response, and because it’s true.

  “Thanks for the tip, pal.” Henry winks, slapping me on the shoulder again, before sauntering away toward Caitlin. He takes the cold fire and the skin-crawlers with him and I’m left holding two glasses of lukewarm punch and wondering if I just gave him permission for something I have no right to give permission for.

  Henry reaches Caitlin and Jessica and starts dancing goofily at them. I’ve seen this move before—he’s trying to break the ice, and the girls laugh, mostly out of politeness. The static pinpricks of their annoyance jump out at me and I involuntarily flinch as I step a bit closer to the dance floor. I’m cautiously edging into the radius of their emotions, knowing that whatever the combination is going to be, I might not handle it all that well. I count to ten as I try to gently probe into the swirl of feelings and find out what I’m dealing with.

  Before I’m able to gauge the situation, Henry reaches an arm toward Caitlin, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close to him, swaying awkwardly. She gives that polite laugh again, but this time there’s a razor edge to her smile that makes the jabs of annoyance sharper against my skin. My whole body is tense, my shoulders starting to reach toward my ears.

  Caitlin tries to spin away from Henry but he pulls her in tighter, forcing her to dance with him. Caitlin’s annoyance grows hot with anger and I need to defuse this before it gets out of hand.

  “Hey, Caitlin, here you go,” I shout over the music as I hand her the punch. She smiles at me, moving away from Henry again, and I feel the hot static of anger-annoyance relax slightly. She opens her mouth to say something but Henry grabs her again, spilling the punch over her hand.

  “Hey!” She swats at Henry with her free hand, smile now completely gone. The irritation spikes—wait, no, it’s not irritation, this is pure anger. I haven’t felt this from Caitlin before and for a second, I’m completely overwhelmed. When most people get mad, there’s a build—a burning that grows hotter and bigger until it explodes. This isn’t like that at all. It’s as if there’s been a volcano of molten-hot lava inside of Caitlin this whole time, lying dormant underneath layers of kindness and ambition. Now, all of a sudden, the volcano might erupt.

  “What?” Henry laug
hs, a different kind of heat building inside of him. A kind of heat that, from him, makes me feel radioactive. “Come on, don’t you want to dance?”

  Both his arms are around her now as Caitlin does her best to angle her body away from him. Jessica and I are standing on either side, wondering what we should be doing.

  “Back off, Henry,” Caitlin bites, pushing him away, spilling punch all down the front of his perfectly cut suit jacket.

  “Jesus,” he shouts, looking down at the pink liquid seeping into his clothes. “God, you don’t have to be such a bitch!”

  “It’s not my fault you can’t take a hint!” Caitlin yells back, and they’re starting to draw the attention of our classmates.

  Henry recovers from the spill quickly, puffing out his chest and taking a menacing step toward Caitlin. Toxic rage is pouring out of him. The air is thick and I can almost see the heat waves rising off of Henry. Caitlin’s volcano stalls for a moment and all at once, it’s like I’ve had seven shots of espresso—my hair is standing on end and I’m having a hard time breathing. Caitlin is scared.

  “Henry, go clean up,” I say, stepping between them, my back to Caitlin.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” he spits. “Your girl here owes me an apology.”

  “Oh my god, you’re deluded.” Caitlin leans around me to snarl into Henry’s face. The fear abates for a moment as the red-hot anger takes over. How Caitlin hasn’t completely combusted at this point is a total mystery to me.

  “You’re the one who owes me an apology,” she snaps.

  “I was just trying to have fun—”

  “What about forcing a girl to dance with you is fun?”

  They’re shouting over each other now, completely ignoring the fact that I’m towering between them. Henry is mad and Caitlin is mad and scared and I can’t fix it. Knowing what they feel doesn’t help because I can’t do anything about it. I’m too buried in the emotions. I shouldn’t have come over here. I should always just stay out of it, but I’m angry about what Henry was doing and that just piles onto the garbage dump of other people’s feelings that’s building around me. I can’t even hear what Henry and Caitlin are saying now because the fear is stuffing cotton balls in my ears and the anger is making my vision go white. Adrenaline and panic are fighting each other for space in my body and I can’t catch my breath. I’m drowning, choking on lava, burning in the heat.