Chapter 10 It Turns Out Ice Cream Might Not Help with Everything
On the tenth evening of summer camp, I manage to do the impossible: convince Sierra to sit at the dinner table with the rest of us. Sure, I’m pretty much dragging her along with me, but there is little resistance apart from a confused “What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re friends now, remember?” I tell her.
Casually. As if I didn’t spend half of last night grinning like an idiot because I’ve actually officially befriended Sierra Levine.
I settle down in my usual chair, then give her hand a tug.
She gets the hint and sits down in the spot next to me.
“Friends hang out together and force each other to befriend their other friends.”
“I don’t think that’s—” Sierra starts, but I cut her off, grinning.
“I’m the teacher this time, Levine.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “It might surprise you, but I used to have a best friend, so I’m not completely lost when it comes to the world of friendship,” she counters, but before I get to ask her anything about this supposed ex–best friend of hers, Noah sits down across from us, closely followed by the others, including Liam and Veronica.
“Welcome to the group, Levine,” my brother says, smiling as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t seem too surprised by this turn of events. He leans forward a little, then asks, “Tell me: What are your intentions with my little sister?”
I widen my eyes at him in a warning. “We were born at the same time, Noah.” I sigh, then turn to Sierra. “You can honestly just ignore him.”
“Hey,” Noah says, holding his hands up in defense, “I’m just looking out for you. You haven’t exactly had the best luck picking good friends these past few years.”
I’m just about to remind him that Nina isn’t as bad as he thinks when Sierra gives me a look. “Is that so?” she asks before turning back to Noah. “I just want to be in her presence.”
She looks at me, and a shiver runs up my spine while heat rises to my cheeks.
“Oh wow,” Noah says, echoing my exact thoughts. “That’s actually a really good answer. I like her,” he tells me. Then, to the whole group: “Can we keep her?”
“First off,” Maya starts, “of course we will. But, second, you have to stop being extra weird. You’ll scare her away before she’s even truly joined our club.”
Noah smiles at Sierra and me. “I have a feeling it’s going to take a lot more than just my weirdness to scare her away.”
And though I don’t get why my brother is acting the way he is right now, I can’t help but hope against everything that he’s right.
Because even though Daniel had a point when he said being friends with Sierra wouldn’t exactly help my reputation, I want to be the sort of person who doesn’t care about things like that.
The sort of person who doesn’t run away from something real to uphold something fake, something as artificial as reputation.
I want to be the sort of person Sierra sees in me.
From where I’m standing, I have a beautiful view of the beach, but what makes it even better is that I can peacefully watch others roll around in the sand to keep their ball up in the blue sky without having to touch either myself.
HA! Suckers! I think as I watch the group of people my age. Then I realize there’s a really high chance they actually enjoy playing beach volleyball.
Oh well.
I turn away from the scene, joining my brother in a long line to get some ice cream.
Gigi is letting us spend some time in town today, and as we probably should’ve expected, Noah and I aren’t even close to the only ones in Bloomdale who need something to help us cool down.
We’ve been waiting here for what feels like a very hot eternity.
“You want me to order for you?” Noah asks me when it’s finally almost our turn.
I nod, a flush coloring my cheeks from the heat but also out of slight embarrassment.
I might be turning seventeen in less than two weeks and fully capable of ordering my own ice cream, but my social awkwardness doesn’t exactly care about those facts.
Since Noah is offering, I’m going to spare myself the stress.
“What kind do you want?” he follows up.
A grin magically appears on my face as I’m reminded of an inside joke we used to have with our parents ages ago.
“Surprise me,” I tell him, knowing that, even after all this time, he understands those words mean he should order the same flavor I have always wanted: strawberry.
Noah’s lips tug upward, his smile growing and growing and growing until he’s so visibly happy, it almost makes me want to cry. It only took me saying one simple thing to get him to smile like this, which just solidifies the fact that I’ve caused him so much hurt by shutting him out.
My grin fades away. Before I get to say anything, Noah turns to the employee behind the counter and orders my ice cream as well as some triple-berry frozen yogurt for himself. A few seconds later, he pays, then hands me my cone.
There’s no room at any of the colorful tables around us, so the two of us end up enjoying our treats as we walk around without a clear destination in mind.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
Noah tilts his head to the side, studying me for a moment. “Can you maybe clarify what you’re sorry for? Because if you think you stepped on my toes or something, then you probably tripped over your own feet.” He grins.
I shake my head and take a deep breath. “Just…everything these past three years, I guess.” The words have barely left my mouth before I tense, quickly adding, “Not ‘I guess’! That’s a terrible way to apologize, I’m so—”
“Your apology has already been accepted, Ellie. No worries,” Noah interrupts softly.
The right corner of his mouth is ticked upward into a small smile.
He puts a spoonful of frozen yogurt in his mouth before continuing.
“I’m honestly just glad to see you happy again.
And to finally have you back in my life for real. ”
“It’s good”—I pause mid-sentence to lick my ice cream—“to be back.”
I know there’s never a perfect time to discuss things like this, but seriously, Eleanore? You decided to do this while eating ice cream?
“I should apologize, too, though,” Noah says, sighing.
I frown, urging him to go on. “My intentions might’ve been good, but that isn’t an excuse for how much I pushed you when I found out about your list,” he explains.
“I knew my comments about Nina were making you uncomfortable and sad, and though that was the last thing I wanted, I just…kept going. I thought I was helping you in the long run, but instead I ended up treating you like something I should fix, and I’m really, really sorry for that. I didn’t handle any of it well.”
“Oh,” I say. I didn’t even know I wanted an apology for that, but it feels good to hear one.
Noah’s acknowledgment that what he did caused me loads of extra anxiety and meltdowns I didn’t need is…
validating. After years of being told that my feelings and I are dramatic, these words are refreshing, taking yet another weight off my shoulders.
“Thank you, Noah.”
He gives me a smile. I return it, and so we walk just like that, shoulder to shoulder, until we’ve both finished the last bits of our ice cream.
That’s when we finally find an empty bench to settle down on—one with a perfect view of the beach.
We watch many seagulls fly above, listening to them squawk as we ourselves stay quiet until, out of nowhere, my brother turns to me and asks, “Do you remember when you were hyperfixating on musicals and we tried to book tickets to see one in New York City? Behind Mom and Dad’s backs? When we were, like, ten?”
It’s certainly random, but I do remember. Vividly.
A sudden laugh escapes me at the memory, one loud enough that a few people who are walking by turn around to see what’s going on.
A month ago, this would’ve most definitely embarrassed me, but now?
I don’t care that much, so instead of shrinking, I let myself take up some space. As I’ve been learning, I’m allowed to.
Noah and I sit there, side by side, him with a big grin on his face and me playfully swatting his shoulder a ridiculous number of times. We talk about everything and nothing like we used to, bringing back memory after memory until Noah gets up and asks, “You know what else I’ve missed, though?”
I shake my head, a little smile still lingering on my face from our last conversation topic. “Tell me.”
He doesn’t open his mouth; instead he shows me the answer by pulling me into his arms. Without having to think about it, I hug him back, my arms wrapped around him as I lean in.
We hug and he’s sweaty and I’m sweaty and nothing about this is ideal for a hot day like this one, but that doesn’t make the moment any less perfect. All that matters is that I have my brother back.
We stay like that for a while, heart to heart. Then: “Does this mean you’re going to let me into your life again? For real?” His voice is muffled by my hair, and he’s so hesitant. Careful. As if he’s scared I’ll pull away again any second now—literally.
Instead I bury my head deeper into his shoulder. “Yes,” I promise.