Glimpsed

by G. F. Miller

  31 This Is How Noah Goes to War

  Noah is waiting for me on the first bench in front of the school. I sit in my car and watch him flip his communicator open, closed, open, closed.… Sooner or later I’m going to have to get out of my car and face this day, but I might as well wait until the last possible second.

  We didn’t ride together because he has to go to work right after school. It’s a win, because it saved me the trouble of coming up with an excuse to drive myself. See, my plan is:

  Minimize contact.

  Make it through this day.

  Control the fallout.

  When there are five minutes until first period and only a handful of stragglers are left outside, I haul myself out of my car. I really want to trudge, or possibly slog, toward Noah. But I force a calculated bounce into my steps.

  If I act pathetic or standoffish today, this will all have been for nothing. Everyone has to believe that I’m completely into Noah so that he can thoroughly dump me tonight, save Holly from an otherwise horrible fate, ride off into the sunset, and live happily ever after. Or at least have a happy couple of minutes or whatever.

  He sees me coming, pockets the communicator, and jogs to meet me. Sixty percent of my brain is screaming, I can’t do this. With a finger on my neurological panic button, I compose a flirty smile.

  He doesn’t hesitate—just collides with me, takes my face in both hands, and kisses me like we’re picking up where we left off last night. I can’t pull away without making it obvious to everyone within twenty yards that something’s not right. So I let him kiss me. And it’s sweet and tender and pure and eager.

  Torture.

  Treasonous longing claws up my throat, scalding and bitter.

  He draws back, his eyebrows pinched together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” It’s bright. Chipper, really.

  “Liar.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek, the way you would catch a teardrop. Only I’m not crying.

  He looks like he’s about to say something honest, so I jump in with “We’re going to be late.”

  I sidestep him and take off, as close to a run as you can get with a peppy walk. Noah jogs to keep up with me. “Are you freaking out because of last night?”

  I don’t slow my pace or look at him. “We only have four minutes to get to class.”

  “I know it changes things, but I—”

  “It doesn’t change anything.” We stop at my locker, and I race through my combination.

  “You can’t seriously still think I want you to set me up with another girl. I’ve tried to tell you so many—” He breaks off, his eyes searching my face. When he speaks again, his voice is somehow both soft and determined. “Charity, I want to be with you.”

  He may as well have bodychecked me into the locker. I feel the pain in every neuron, in the tightness of my chest and how hard it is to inhale. The sweeter his words, the more painful it is when they slam me against the brick wall of incontrovertible truth: the fairy godmother doesn’t get the happy ending. Anyone I try to hold on to will get burned. I either hurt him a little now or utterly break him later.

  I close my eyes for a second to gather strength to break my own heart and then stab Noah with the shards. Then I turn to him and laugh in his face—a tinkling giggle, like what he said is so, so silly. “Oh my gosh. You remember all this is only pretend, right?”

  Noah looks ill. What’s left of my heart calls me names I can’t repeat. I dive into my locker so I don’t have to keep looking at him.

  After a few seconds of tense silence, he says, clipped and quiet, “There was no one around last night. That wasn’t for show.”

  I come up, clutching my books like a body shield. “Well, of course we couldn’t have our first kiss in front of everyone. That would be so awkward. We had to practice.”

  I shut my locker, wheel around, and head to class. This is my getaway. Just have to keep it together for a few more seconds. And then an hour, and then the rest of the day. I can do this.

  He strides beside me, his initial hurt sounding more like anger by the second. “So you want me to believe that you felt nothing last night. It was all a rehearsal for… for this… play we’re putting on for Holly.”

  “Right,” I chirp. His anger helps. It’s easier to be horrible to someone who’s pissed. Although my heart still feels like it’s being repeatedly WWE body slammed. Thankfully—for both my brave face and my attendance record—we arrive at the classroom for my first-period class. I practically dive through the door, only to find that Noah has a grip on my upper arm. My momentum pivots me toward him, and his other arm locks me in place right up against him. It’s so hard to pretend like I hate it.

  “Fine. We’d better make it count, then.” His eyes glint, like, Game on. He kisses me on the mouth. It’s an angry kiss full of challenges and accusations. I try to kiss him back with incontrovertible evidence of my indifference. But in two heartbeats we’re melting into each other like butter in the sun.

  From within the classroom comes a chorus of cheering and whoops. There’s the familiar click and swoop of a photo uploading to the collective consciousness. The bell rings. Mrs. Karakus calls in her “we are not amused” voice, “That will be enough of that. Charity, take your seat.”

  Noah slowly releases me, with a look like he’s holding a straight flush and he knows all I’ve got is a pair of sevens. I meet his eyes, poker-faced, admitting no such thing. Then I enter the classroom amid catcalls and a rousing chorus of “Noah and Charity sitting in a tree.”

  I hear Mrs. Karakus behind me say, “This isn’t like you, Noah. Get to class before I’m forced to write you up.”

  Since it’s the last day before fall break, Mrs. Karakus puts on a documentary, and I have time to pull myself together. I’ve barely gotten my heart rate under control when Holly walks in and hands the teacher a note. My head immediately breaks into a tap dance. I press a finger to the spot between my brows, wondering defeatedly what the problem is. I’m doing everything I can to undo the Unhappily Ever After I created. So why does Holly still give me a headache?

  * * *

  Holly happens to be two people ahead of me in the lunch line, and I have a proximity headache that will not quit.

  Kade walks up and she welcomes him into line with a kiss that makes me blush. NO! I mentally shout. She’s supposed to be pulling away from him now, losing interest. Otherwise, how is she going to let Noah rescue her from this soul-numbing un-HEA I accidentally locked her into? In desperation, I conjure a nudge—a grenade of pure indifference—and launch it at her.

  The weird thing is, even though I’m sure I hit the mark, she keeps kissing him for a few more seconds. Finally, she pulls out of the kiss and turns her attention to her tray. Delayed reaction?

  I see Noah approaching in my peripherals and subtly brace myself against the food counter. If he kisses me, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold it together. So—despite the fact that I promised Noah I wouldn’t nudge him anymore—I seriously consider buying myself a couple minutes fairy-godmother style. But just as Noah gets close enough to reach for me, Sean steps between us with a “Walk with me, Charity.”

  I take Sean’s arm with maybe too much visible relief and a rush of pure affection.

  As we pivot, I catch a look from Noah like he knows I just got a major out. I wiggle my fingers at him, mostly for the benefit of our audience. Holly watches dispassionately. My head pounds.

  Sean expertly maneuvers us into the courtyard and out of earshot of our classmates. “Charity.” He draws my name out into a whole sentence that means, Young lady, I am very disappointed in your choices.

  “Please don’t, Sean. Not today. Whatever sins I’ve committed, I’m already paying for ten times over. I’m getting my ass kicked out there.”

  He puts his free hand on top of mine. “Would it help if I said I told you so?”

  “Not really.”

  “Anything I can do, though? For real?”

  “I’
m going to need a ride home from Surya’s party tonight.”

  “You’ve got one.”

  After we say hi to the drama club and some drumline guys, we meander past Kade and Holly. She’s clinging to his arm and pleading, “Don’t be mad, K. I didn’t mean to zone out. I don’t know what came over me.…”

  My head bursts into a bludgeoning rhythm.

  I hazard, “Sean? Do you think that Holly and Kade are good together?”

  Sean tsks. “That depends on what you mean by ‘together.’ I don’t think they have an actual relationship.”

  “They’ve been dating for months.”

  “There’s more to a relationship than time. You know, things like honest conversations, knowing things about each other…”

  I huff. “Exactly! How do I make her realize he’s not good for her?”

  “You don’t.” He stops walking and turns me to face him. “Charity. Stay in your lane.”

  He holds me in place while that sinks in. And suddenly I’m hearing Memom telling her version of the Rapunzel story. She was determined to run away with this loser she thought was a prince. Our great-auntie could see what a phony he was, but the girl…

  It’s suddenly so obvious. She doesn’t need to be rescued. I’ve just got to set her free.

  I give Sean’s arm a hard squeeze. “Thank you. Um… There’s something I’ve got to do. I’ll see ya later.”

  I intercept Holly as she gets up from Kade’s table and drag her into the bathroom with me.

  “Charity! What the hell?”

  “Holly, I need to tell you something.” I check in with my head. It’s clear. I must be on the right track—no more maneuvering, just brutal honesty. Mostly brutal for me, actually. “I saw some of your art, and you’re really talented.”

  “Thanks?”

  “Noah told me how great you were, but I didn’t really get it until I saw some of your drawings for myself.” She looks longingly at the door, so I talk faster, before she can escape. “I was so focused on getting you together with Kade last year that I didn’t take the time to get to know you… to find out all the things about you that Kade ought to love… that Noah already loved.”

  “Loved?!” She takes a step back. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

  “Because I’m sad when I see you with Kade. It seems like you decided your real self—that girl who loves ice cream and makes comics, bakes cookies and hates running—she’s not enough, so you made up this other girl for him. You wouldn’t have to do that for anybody who’s worthy to have you. Somebody like Noah.”

  She scrunches her face. “Are you seriously trying to set me up with your boyfriend right now?”

  I try to say yes, but I can’t force the word out of my mouth. It comes out “Yuh… Ugh… I can’t even—I just want you to be free. To be yourself.”

  Holly’s eyes shift left. Her teeth dig into her lip.

  The bell rings, making us late for class. I startle. “Oh crap! I’ve got a test. I gotta go.” As I throw open the bathroom door, I call back, “Please, just… be you! Think about it!”

  * * *

  By the time the last bell rings, I can barely drag my half-dead carcass to my locker. Between baring my soul to Holly and enduring Noah’s emotional waterboarding… I am done. Carmen, Scarlett, and Gwen—completely oblivious to my plight—escort me down the hall, chattering about what they’re going to wear to Surya’s party. In the midst of feeling sorry for myself, I take a moment to appreciate that Carmen isn’t left out anymore. I even find myself smiling a little. Then I spot Noah.

  He stands between me and the front door, arms wide. “Come give me some sugar before I go to work, my little tribble.”

  Smile gone.

  Scarlett says, “What’s a tribble?”

  Carmen says, “OMG, you guys are so adorbs.”

  I hesitate, desperately searching for an excuse to avoid my fate. Carmen says, “Go on.”

  There is no mercy in the Universe. I’m one of the “red shirts” volunteering to explore a new planet. It’s going to kill me, but it’s what I signed up for. When I’m in range, Noah pulls me into the circle of his arms.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, snuggle in, and whisper in his ear, “If these people weren’t here, I would punch you in the throat so hard.”

  He calls out, “Be gentle.”

  I pull back just until our noses brush. “You suck.”

  He seems to be having trouble breathing. “All… your idea.”

  I thought maybe I could be this close to him and resist pressing my lips to his. But my willpower crumbles one sense at a time. I breathe him in. Close my eyes. One tiny shift—a feather-soft brush of my lips against his—draws a soft whimper out of him. With that sound, my shields are down and I’m at full impulse power. I pull him toward me with both hands and kiss him recklessly. A kiss that tastes like longing and self-destruction and cherry Coke. I hate this, I think. I hate this… I love this… I hate this.

  The girls go, “Aaaaaaaaaaw,” and Noah pulls up, looking like his number just got picked in Powerball. He kisses me one last time—a gentle brand on my forehead. “See you at seven.”

  32 This Is a Little Illegal. And Totally Self-Destructive.

  I head straight home to get ready for the party. I have four hours, but lots to do. Hopeful raspberry seems wrong tonight, so I survey my closet looking for a better choice of hair color. Jet black is almost dark enough for my mood. I take the box into the bathroom. But for some reason I can’t make myself completely erase the raspberry. I end up with a black top layer, with raspberry hiding underneath. No one but me needs to know it’s there.

  I paint my nails. I shave my legs. I’m extra careful with my makeup. I don’t want to look goth. And I don’t want my face to melt if I cry. When I cry. It’s tricky, as a makeup problem. I go with a retro look—heavy winged eyeliner on top, an obscene amount of waterproof mascara, red lips.

  I spend forty-five minutes staring at my closet before I get dressed, eventually picking a short dress with hidden pockets. I’m strapping on sandals when I hear the garage door open. Even though it’s almost 7 p.m. on a Friday, it feels weird that my mother is home. I secure my shoe and head out to investigate.

  “Mom?”

  She kicks off her heels and drops her purse on a stool with a weary sigh. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “What are you doing home?”

  She finds a tumbler in the cupboard and fills it with ice from the dispenser in the refrigerator door. “I live here.” She yawns. “Oh gosh. It’s a gin-and-tonic kind of night.” She finally looks at me. “What are you dressed up for?”

  “Party.”

  “Whose party?”

  “A guy from school.” I’m not trying to hide anything, but it’s not like she’d know who Surya is if I said his name.

  “There won’t be any alcohol at this party, will there?”

  I cop attitude. I mean, she doesn’t get to traipse in here, after leaving me to my own devices for years, and act like she cares about things like who my friends are and what I do in my spare time. So I snap, “Don’t worry about it. I can handle myself.”

  “Don’t tell me what to worry about. I’m your mother.” She pours gin into her tumbler, which seems super ironic while she’s lecturing me about hypothetical alcohol.

  I’m spring-loaded to tell her off, but the doorbell rings. I march to the front door, Mom trailing behind, and throw it open. Noah stands there with a handful of daisies. His shirt says WE ARE IN UNSURVEYED TERRITORY. His hair is messed up like he’s been running his hands through it. My heart flutters at the sight of him.

  He breathes, “Wow.” Then proceeds to stammer, “You… uh… you changed your hair.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “Are those for me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He shoves them toward me. “My dad always says flowers are the magic carpet that apologies ride on.”

  I take the flowers, which is a first for me. I don’t even know what to do with them. �
��Apologies?”

  “Charity,” Mom says from behind me, “who’s your friend?”

  Seriously, Mom? Tonight you’re going maternal? With an audible sigh, I back up to allow Noah in. “Mom, this is Noah. Noah, Kate—my mom.”

  He reaches out to shake her hand. “Nice meeting you. I was starting to wonder if you were imaginary.”

  Mom looks like he poked her in the eye, but she composes herself quickly. “How do you two know each other?”

  “We’re, um—”

  “School. We go to school together.” I set the flowers on the coffee table, pick up my purse, and edge toward the door. “We’re heading out.”

  Mom has a funny look on her face. Suspicion? Confusion? She’s gripping the back of the armchair with one hand, like the shock of meeting Noah might knock her over. Is it really that mind-boggling that I have a friend? Gee, Mom, thanks for the vote of confidence.

  She composes herself with a quick inhale. “Really good to meet you, Noah.”

  As soon as the door clicks behind us, Noah says, “I was out of line today. I’m sorry.”

  “NBD.” I walk toward the van without pausing for this conversation.

  “Are we going to talk about this?”

  I open my door before he can do his chivalry thing and slide into the car. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I slam the door without waiting for a response.

  He gets in on the driver’s side and drags his hand through his hair, demonstrating how it got to its present state. Then, without a word, he starts the car and backs out of the driveway.

  Surya’s house is only a few minutes from mine. Part of me wishes he lived in Utah. I want to stretch out this last car ride for days—my last minutes of being with Noah. But part of me also just wants to get it over with, to trade in the tension and dread for the finality of ending it.