Noah
noah
. . .
T he gym decorations haven’t changed at all since I last went to prom. There’s still the streamers and balloon arches, as well as teachers lingering strategically around the room to prevent kids from having too much fun.
Peyton’s a fucking knockout. None of these other girls compare to her beauty, and they know it.
That’s the only way for me to sum up how I’m feeling right now. When I saw her coming down the stairs, I had to discreetly shift my stance to avoid her mom or dad from seeing the growing bulge in my pants. I thought for sure Harrison was going to tell her to change. I would’ve if she were my daughter. Even now, I want to put my jacket over her shoulders, button it, and make her look as frumpy as possible. This pink number she’s wearing, with slits up to her thighs on both sides, and a strapless top should be outlawed with the amount of cleavage it’s showing me.
I know I shouldn’t feel the way I do about Peyton, but I can’t help it. Everyone says she’s like a sister to me. She isn’t. I’ve never seen her that way, and it’s unlikely that I ever will. If I wasn’t five years older than her, things would be different.
We make our way into the gym with her hand in mine. People stop and stare, mouths dropping open, and some point at us as we walk by. I want to think they’re looking at her because let’s be honest, all eyes should be on her. But they’re not.
They’re looking at me, the boy wonder. The one who chose football over a baseball career. The one who made it to the NFL when his father gave it all up. I don’t even pretend to wonder what they’re thinking because I don’t care. I’m at prom with Peyton because it’s where I want to be. She’s all that matters right now.
We keep walking until we’re in line for prom photos. From where we stand, we can’t see the backdrop, but I’m banking on it being as cheesy as it was when I was here last. Thinking back to my senior year, we had a Greek theme and most of the female student body declared themselves goddesses. I went stag. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to go with. Still, I had a good time.
People chat with us while we’re waiting. The guys ask me a lot of questions about the NFL, the upcoming season, and what my prediction is. As if I’d say anything less than winning the Super Bowl. Every athlete wants to win. No one steps out onto the field, onto the court or up to bat thinking today is a great day to lose a game.
The girls aren’t so kind to Peyton. There’s a lot of backhanded comments which really grate on my nerves. They’re jealous, and while it’s easy for me to say it, I know she and Elle keep to themselves at school. I did the same thing and am thankful I had Quinn for a couple of years because you never know who you can trust. You never know who is genuine and who is using you to get to your famous dad or not.
It's finally our turn. I hand the lady our envelope and Peyton’s eyes widen.
“How did you get that?” she asks.
“I have my ways,” I tell her.
“But I planned to pay.”
I scoff. “As if I’d ever let you. Come on, it’s our turn.”
Somehow, I missed the theme, Enchanted Under the Sea. We stand between these odd formations which I think are meant to be coral. Peyton prepares to stand next to me, but I’m not having it. It’s a prom photo and it calls for a prom pose. I stand behind her with my hands clasped in front.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“I look forward to it.” I laugh until the photographer tells us to smile. “It’s going on my refrigerator.”
“Better not.”
“You’re right,” I say as I take her hand and lead her down the back set of stairs and into the gym. “It’s going on my dresser, and my nightstand, and my refrigerator. I bought the big package.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” She seems embarrassed but has no reason to be.
“Uh, duh. Have you met our mothers? It’s going to be in their holiday card collage they send out, plus Little B wants a copy. And my dad.”
“You’d think you didn’t go to prom.”
“You know it’s because you’re in it.” I kiss the tip of her nose and then pull her onto the dance floor. Shortly after, Elle and Ben join us. He’s finally over his fanboy moment and not staring at me like I’m someone famous. To the twins, I’m Noah. Their Noah. And that’s all I plan to be tonight.
Every five or six songs, is a slow one. Each time, Peyton tries to walk off the dance floor, but I pull her into my arms, and we sway to the music. It’s not long before our song comes on, the one we grew up listening to thanks to my mom. I had no idea this was hers and dad’s song until he told me years ago.
As Bon Jovi sings the lyrics to Never Say Goodbye, I hold Peyton close. There’s a shift in the air between us. My hand drifts down her back as I look into her eyes and find myself kissing her forehead, leaving my lips there longer than what is deemed friendly.
Her hand goes up the back of jacket. I don’t startle because it feels right. I pull her even closer, if that’s possible. I can feel her heartbeat against my chest and when I look down at her, her eyes meet mine. It’s right now, in this moment, I wish she were mine. That we didn’t have this family obligation between us because it keeps us apart. She’s the only one my heart wants, and she has been for as long as I can remember.
The song ends. I don’t move. I don’t want to.
“Noah,” she says my name softly and with so much promise . . . promise of nothing but friendship.
“What’s up, P?”
“Can you get us a hotel room?”
I search her eyes for confirmation, to make sure I heard her correctly. Peyton nods and her hand slips into the waistband of my pants, almost as if she realizes I need to know she’s serious. I look from her to the door and nod, knowing what I’m agreeing to.
For tonight, she’s going to be mine.
Only mine.
And I’m going to be hers.
Always.