10. NOAH
Chapter ten
My head is killing me, and my eyes are weighted down with sandbags. I swallow, wincing at the sandpaper feeling in my throat. Damn, why do I keep doing this to myself on school nights?
The smell of last night’s weed and bonfire lingers in my hair as I get to Roxanne’s locker. I couldn’t even wait until first period to talk to her, so for once, I dragged my hungover ass to school early, skipping my usual routine of painkillers, chugging water, and scarfing down a greasy sausage biscuit from 7/11.
I hear her rummaging in it, those black fingers gripping the ocean blue door as she shuffles through her things. I clear my sore throat and knock on the locker next to hers.
The cool metal is enough temptation to press my cheek against it.
There’s a pause and her head slowly backs out from behind her locker, the hinges squeaking as she pushes the door open to get a look at me. The inside of her locker is plastered with photos, band stickers, sticky notes with assignment reminders, and whenever I see that magazine cut-out of a certain blonde with perfect hair taped to the inside of her door, I tap a knuckle against the picture.
She must have a thing for him.
“John Taylor?” I look back and meet her eyes, giving her one hell of a smile.
As I stare at her reddening face, I have a feeling that before the day is over, that photo will be history. JT to never be seen again.
The locker door slams shut. “Shut up, Jackson,” she barks, not even looking up at me. “What do you want?”
“Noah’s Ark,” I say, hands spread wide to express the grand vision I’d come up with last night. Roxanne finally looks over at me, and I tip my head back against the locker so I can peer up at the ceiling with the same grin on my face. “I’m thinking that’s what we should be called. I can see it now on a huge marquee in lights in front of all of the city’s biggest arenas.”
The air stays silent for a good minute and I loll my head to the side to see the most dumbfounded expression on her face. She has one of her defined eyebrows high up on her forehead, the other scrunched down so low I’d think she has something in her eye.
I laugh and scoot closer. “You know, since I’ll be carrying all our asses to the top of the charts. Maybe we should put my face on all the shirts too.”
That snaps her out of it.
“Oh, yeah, Noah’s Ark…” She crosses her arms while she shifts her weight so that her hip juts out. “Yeah, with your god complex, I can see you on the merch. All hail, King Noah.”
“A queen is nothing without her king,” I whisper, and she scoffs while giving me a good shove.
“Don’t even go there.”
It’s hard for me to tell by the dark scowl on her face, but Roxanne Wishmore might be blushing. I slide even closer. “Well, it would have been more romantic if you hadn’t shoved me.”
“You really are a narcissist,” she mumbles, making me laugh.
“You really are a cynic. Maybe that should be the name of the band instead: Narcissist & The Cynic.”
“I’d sooner stab myself in the eye with my drumsticks than name our band that.” The second it flies out of her mouth her lips curl down into a flat line.
My arms fold against my chest, my jacket constricting around my shoulders, and the corner of my lip ticks up as I take a step closer, tilting my head to one side. She knows I’ve caught her slip up, and it’s way too late for her to hide it. But I still want to see those wide and dark eyes up close.
“Am I hearing things or did you say our band?”
She clears her throat. “Wh—what?”
“Was that a freudian slip?”
“No.”
“But you did say our band.”
“You know what I meant, if I were to join we would not be naming it something based on our arguing.” She looks to the side, leaning up against her locker. “Don’t get any ideas yet, I still haven’t said, or even agreed to anything—” Roxanne pauses, taking a deep breath. “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out why I would even want to start a band with you.”
“But you’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” I know she isn’t going to make this too easy on me. “I’m making my case right now, so hear me out.”
“I’m listening.” She crosses her arms and picks at a piece of lint on her rubber bracelets.
“Why wouldn't you want to...” I lean back flat against her neighboring locker, attempting to mirror her stance. “Because we could be something great. We would be a team, RoRo.” I nudge her elbow with mine. “We can take it all the way to the top. We’re already both great musicians, and people couldn’t even handle one of us. What do you think people will do when they hear us together? We’d blow any shitty pop band away.”
My right eye mists over to see her gazing up at me, her hand reaching up to her chest and gently rubbing at a pendant hanging around her neck. Her hooded eyes narrow as she chews on the inside of cheek, before those brown lips twitch and she’s suddenly dissolving into a fit of laughter.
Heads in the hallway turn and curious stares are cast my way, but I don’t bother to look back because I can taste the sweetness of whatever joy she’s feeling.
“I hate that I know you’re right,” she sighs out as her head hits the back of her locker. “You’re not going to shut up until I say yes, are you?”
“You know me too well.” I shift around again, leaning against my shoulder instead. “So?”
“So... what happens when we argue over our sound? Or we can’t agree on a song? Or you try to play one of your songs in our set that I never agreed to?”
Her gaze is probing, words a test to see how much I’ve thought this through. How deep my commitment to our band really goes. She’s trying to push me off the idea, so I meet her stare head on without flinching.
I’m in it. No matter what.
“Then we argue, and when we can’t agree on something, then we go round and round until we find a solution that works for the both of us, or until one of us gives up.” I poke at the side of her arm. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve already worn you down enough to agree.”
That brow arches again. “You don’t even know how much of a headache this is going to be for me.”
“That’s why you need me, Roxanne. I can deal with all of the stress and headaches for you.” The words feel corny as they leave my mouth. I know I can’t magically erase all her worries, but I can damn well help with some.
“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“When it comes to getting what I want? Yeah, I know exactly what to say and what buttons to push.” I step into her space, my hands going to rest on the locker on either side of her, leaning in until there are mere inches between us. “It’s a science.”
I tower over her smaller frame, my arms caging her as her nostrils flare and those cheeks turn pink. It’s funny, watching her as she fights with her shyness. I’m surprised she hasn’t burst out of that shell yet to shove me away.
My feet slowly back out until we’re eye to eye, and maybe it’s because I’m registering how much taller I am than her, but I think I could pick her up and toss her if I wanted to. She barely reaches the bottom of my jaw, having to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact.
I refuse to look anywhere else, taking in every micro-expression as her doubts shift to certainty. She’s starting to believe me. Her teeth stop working at her cheek, the death grip on her necklace loosens. Inch by inch, her shoulders start to sag as she exhales deeply.
No, I wasn’t being manipulative, okay? I am simply skilled at playing the game. With the right words, I can communicate my desires in the most effective and persuasive way possible. Well, except with Wendy, apparently.
She lets out another deep breath, and I inhale with her, still unflinching as I stand close enough to catch a whiff of her hair—something sweet and fragrant like bubblegum. Her minty breath is tinged with some sort of powdered sugar sweetness too, and it’s too overwhelming to not notice.
“Why do you smell like donuts?” I blurt out.
“What? I do not smell like donuts.”
To me, she does. In fact, being around her makes me feel like I’m in a bakery.
“You do,” I insist, and then I take a slow inhale to prove my point. “You smell like donuts.”
“Well, why do you smell like rancid old fryer grease from the cafeteria?”
“Did you just sniff me?”
I can see her ears starting to redden when she starts to shake her head. “ No I did not —” she tries to protest, but stops to take a deep breath in through her nose. “Okay, fine. You smell like cookies,” she admits.
“Cookies? You calling my smell sweet?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s so pleasant. The next Calvin Klein, I’m sure,” she scoffs. “You reek.”
I laugh, watching the color in her cheeks deepen. Almost like she’d been sunburnt. Two lockers down, someone slams their door shut, and a strand of Roxanne’s hair falls out of place. I blow it away from her face, and like clockwork, I hear her breath catch.
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never been told I smelled like cookies.”
More lockers start opening and closing, the sound of distant students’ conversations in the background. I keep my eyes on her though, my heart starting to thump harder in my chest. She’s going to cave, I know it. Even if she’s glaring at me.
“You’re insufferable.”
“I know.” And I do know it. And I love it. I love the reactions I can draw out of people. “That’s one I’ve heard before.”
She tilts her head to the side, saying louder this time, “Oh, yeah? By who?”
“You.”
Her firm stance doesn’t change, her flannel covered arms still crossed and her head shaking in disbelief at me. I just crack a smile from how long we’ve been talking about smelling each other.
She’s close to breaking. I’ve thrown her off balance enough.
The hallway starts to fill up with students racing to make it to class before the first bell rings, their voices rising, the sound bouncing off the walls around us.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says, her eyes burning into mine. I’m not sure if she’s challenging me or warning me, but either way, I’m determined to take my chances.
“What’s that?”
“You’re trying to give me that, ‘you like me, really, deep down’ bullshit. But I actually think I hate you.”
“Good,” I shoot back. “If you didn’t I’d be worried.”
“I’m not joining your band,” she says flatly, but I see the lie—the widening of her pupils, the flicker of white around her eyes, her lips twisting to the side, her top teeth working a corner of her bottom lip.
I hold my breath. Her body is screaming for her to say yes.
I’ve almost got her.
“Unless we have conditions,” she adds.
“I think I can live with that,” I say, a smile crossing my face. “Go on.”
This is going great.
“First condition,” she begins, voice low and serious, “you will stop calling me RoRo. I will never, never, ever answer to that stupid nickname.”
“First of all, RoRo is a very cute nickname.”
She ignores me, squaring her shoulders. “And second, I never have to be in the same room with you outside of practice or band related stuff.”
“Second, fine. You never need to talk to me outside of practice.”
“Which brings me to condition three.”
I lick my lips. “Which is?”
“When we are together to practice, there is no funny business, no conversation, and hands off.”
“Hands off?” I snort. Her firm approach is impressive, but I’m not sure what’s funnier: her face turning back to business, or the red she’s trying to pretend isn’t there the second I had her up against the lockers.
“Don’t think that I don’t know the whole reason you sing is so you can ‘woo’ the ladies.” Roxanne had rabbited the air quotes while rolling her eyes. She tilts her head upwards, eyes scanning the overhead ceiling and her chocolate-stained lips open as she lets out a sigh, accidentally bumping her head into the locker handle. “So... yeah, you know what all of that means. Think you can handle that?”
“With you?” I take a moment to look her up and down, making sure to linger a little bit longer on her throat swallowing. “No problem at all.”
Even though the prospect is appealing and I wouldn’t mind knowing what brown lipstick tastes like, there is no chance in hell I’d ever be interested in the poster girl for underdog high school rebellion. Or the girl who made me the face of a soda fountain joke.
I tilt my head. “So?”
“So ...” She looks me straight in the eyes from over her bottom lashes. “I’m in.”
My face splits into a wide grin as I punch the air with my fist. I sweep her up in my arms and spin her around, holding her tightly and lifting her feet off the ground with ease.
Her agreement came way faster than I expected—I had fully prepared for an entire week of begging, bugging, and maybe some slaving before she’d even think about agreeing.
My fingers dig into her, every muscle in my body twitching and ready to grind Iron Fillings into the dirt with the fucking heel of my shoe.
My stomach does a weird flip as everything around me fades into the background as I find my nose buried in the sugary scent of bubblegum. It was the only thing I could concentrate on, bringing me back memories of when I was a little kid in Seattle and getting those small pieces of gumballs from a little machine and chewing them for ages.
Then, Roxanne’s voice pierces through the air with a stern command. “Put me down, you asshole! You’re already violating rule number three!”
“Am I? This isn’t practice, Wishmore.” I loosen my arms and release her.
She gently slides back down to her feet and I let some space form between us, but damn I can’t stop smiling at her. My hand rubs at the top of her head. I’m fucking thrilled.
“I think a whole day of having you say no to me would’ve killed me,” I say, my voice low and throaty. I clear it quickly. “Anything else?”
“No, that should cover it.” She scowls at me and makes a show of fixing her hair, then starts to straighten out her dark green checkered flannel. “Where exactly are we going to practice?”
“That’s the best part. I already found us a place.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a key to a storage unit I had reserved after the Blast yesterday. I knew I needed to come prepared if I wanted her to take me seriously. “Not the most glamorous rehearsal space, but it gets the job done.”
“Wow. You really thought I was going to say yes, didn’t you?”
“Well, you didn’t say no.”
“Has anyone ever said no to you?”
“Never.” It’s innocent enough until she side eyes me and I lift a brow toward her.
I rest a hip against the locker and dangle the key between us. When our eyes meet once more, she snatches the key from me in a flash to examine it closely. Her eyes flick up to my face, then back down to the key. Up at me, then back to the key.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Her greens settle on me, holding me in an uncertain look. “Do you already have a plan for how exactly we’re doing this? I mean, yeah I’ve got my drums. You got your... voice. But do you even know anyone else who is willing to play?”
“I’ll have you know that you happen to be looking at the new guitarist for Noah’s Ark—”
“We’re not calling it Noah’s Ark—”
“I already have everything lined up, Roxanne. No need to fret,” I reassure her, dragging my fingers through my hair. “I don’t make big plans like this on a whim. In fact, you’re the final piece that I needed. We’re already complete.”
“We won’t know if we’re complete until we hear ourselves together.” Roxanne sniffs, her jadeite eyes twinkling as she tilts her head. “How do I know your guitar playing isn’t as shitty as your personality?”
Shitty personality? The fucking audacity of this girl. I have plenty of friends to prove that I’m a goddamn delight.
A ripple of laughter puffs between her lips when I say nothing, a soft sound that barely tiptoes across the hall as she blinks up innocently at me.
“Please. My guitar playing is better than my personality could ever hope to be.” I roll my eyes, running a tongue along the inside of my cheek. “Don’t worry about the bassist, he’s insane. And I’m not even being biased because he’s my friend.”
“We have no name, a place to practice, and a third member who’s supposedly insane. Do I at least get to know his name before I agree to practice with him?”
“His name is Daniel.” It’s so fun to see her get all worked up about these small things. “Don’t worry. This guy has a sense of adventure like no other, just like us.”
She gives me that skeptical look again and then scoffs.
“What?” I ask.
“A sense of adventure? You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’ve taken my time watching from the sidelines,” I reply, and she jerks a quick look up at me. “I think I know almost everything about you now, Roxanne. Your eyes are sharp, your lips are full, and you always have drumsticks stuffed in your socks because you want someone to notice. I can tell from a mile away that you can’t sit still and want to escape this boring place.”
I start to slowly walk towards her, my finger tracing a path up the lockers, pushing her back in her tracks until she bumps into someone. “Do I need to make the plan any clearer for you, or should I draw it on your skin with a marker?”
Her throat bobs, the ripple of every swallow visible down her neck. Her fingers tangle in the straps of her backpack, eyes wide with emotions that I can read like a book.
She’s nervous, and now I know everything I’m saying is true.
“I’ll play the drums in our band, but not because I want to run away with you, Noah.” Her voice goes defensive, a wall to hide the truth behind. “I don’t need to be saved.”
“Never said you did, Wishmore. I’m not here to play the hero. I’m here to play guitar and kick Iron Fillings’ ass.” I lean in close, my eyes blazing with focus as she reaches up to fiddle with her necklace again. Another wave of bubblegum scent passes between us. “But you definitely don’t belong in this town.”
I don’t know why, but it’s like a tense standoff between two gunslingers, the tension mounting. Roxanne clears her throat and purses her lips, looking away.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“One hundred percent.”
“I already said I’m in,” she says, her voice wavering. “Let’s hope I don’t.”
“You’ll love it, I promise. What if you like it so much that you’re not a grump anymore?”
She stands tall, her backpack straps gripped firmly in both hands, small chin lifted in the air. “Please. I’ll be a grump in my golden years. Now let’s talk business. I can practice today after school, but I can’t for the rest of the week until I move my shifts around. I think my boss will let me adjust my schedule around so that we can at least practice on Wednesdays and Saturdays.”
“So you do have some kind of a life?” I smirk. “I’ll make sure you regret this as little as possible. Now all you need is this key to cement our deal.”
“I won’t regret it at all as long as I don’t have to be called RoRo.”
She lifts the key back up between us, inspecting it again. The glint from the fluorescent lights catches my eye, and as I blink, I notice a ditzy little blonde thing sneaking up behind Roxanne. Her wild curls, held tight by a pink scrunchie, bounce as she steps up beside her.
Roxanne registers her and takes a quick step back, hastily shoving the key into the front pocket of her shorts, making me look down at the light frayed hem cut off to her mid thigh. Her gaze never leaves the blonde though, who is shooting a charming full teeth smile at us both.
“Roxy,” she says, throwing her name casually into the air.
Two lockers slam shut before Roxanne stammers, “Uh, S-Steph—”
“Stephanie,” the blonde says, turning to face me. “Her best friend.”
I hold a hand out and Stephanie hurries, brown eyes wide and eager as she reaches out her dainty little fingers. “Hello, Stephanie, her best friend,” I say immediately, grip firm but gentle. She’s so tiny and perky that I’m scared I’d break her fingers if I squeezed any harder.
“Hello, Noah Jackson. What a delightful surprise!” She shakes my hand faster by the second. “This isn’t weird, is it? It feels a bit weird to me. But what do I know, right? Do you feel weird, Noah Jackson?”
I snort. I’m definitely going to like this girl, her sarcasm, her spunkiness—it’s refreshing. Plus, there’s just something about the way she puts her emphasis on my full name.
She seems vastly different from Roxanne though. Something like a jar of shaken up fireflies while Roxanne is an iceberg, always so goddamn cold and pointy.
“A little.” I release her hand and turn to Roxanne. “But weird isn’t necessarily bad or good. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
I flick my eyes between them both only once before a tight grip on my shoulder makes the muscles along my spine tighten. I swivel my head, eyeing the tanned fingers wrinkling my jacket while I thumb at the ring on my index finger.
“Daniel. His best friend,” the tan hand says. I visibly relax.
Stephanie lets out a low whistle. “Now it’s definitely getting weirder.”
Clearing my throat to cover up a laugh, I glance from Stephanie to Daniel. His eyes slowly rove up and down her, leaving a fucking trail of cookie crumbs as he takes in everything from her white Keds with markered doodles all over them, up to her black denim jacket. When he looks back up at me, a guilty as shit smile is on his face, and he darts his eyes away fast, taking his hand with him too.
Stephanie, on the other hand, looks very pleased with herself for being noticed. Her shoulders shift back, and she lifts her chin up, a pink and black polka-dotted trapper keeper held tightly to her chest. She’s eating this up.
Daniel clears his throat. “I—I uh, I like your shoes.”
Her face lights up as she not-so-subtly elbows at the side of her friend.
Roxanne jolts forward and she finally registers what’s going on. I give her a quick wink, letting her know that she is correct. Daniel is totally flirting with her friend. And doing a piss-poor job of it, too.
The loud ringing of the bell snaps all of our attention. I look at my watch when all the students start scurrying away from their morning spots. Everyone has a designated area—the burnouts by the bathrooms, the jocks outside, the preppies leaning against the lockers on the left side of the hallway, the punks in the corner of a cafeteria. And people like Roxanne… I actually don’t know where people like Roxanne hide out.
My watch turns to 8:28.
“Shit. You two coming?” I ask, looking back at Daniel and Roxanne.
Daniel hesitates, but Roxanne is already walking ahead of me with her backpack gripped tight.
“Uh... yeah,” he manages eventually, his eyes lingering on Stephanie for a second too long like he’s trying to memorize every detail before the bell sends him away.
I shake my head and drape an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to our first class. He still has a goofy smile on his face, but he waves a hand at me, heading off my questions before they can begin.
But I’ve already been plotting ways to give him shit about this later.