Chapter 6 Both Back in the Day #2
Why didn’t she realize he might be here? With Damien and the short stocky kid?
“I’m fine,” she squeaks, pivoting and leaning back against the counter like this is no big deal.
But she misjudges the distance to the sink and almost topples over.
He bounds through the narrow kitchen and catches her as she teeters.
And the conductive heat of his hands on her lower back and arm is, for just an instant, a distraction from the chaos unraveling in her mind.
He peers into her face, close enough so she can stare in wonder at the yellow flecks in his hazel eyes. “You don’t seem… fine?”
She considers trying to play it off. Pretend all is okay. But, as she steadies herself against the counter and he (regrettably) removes his hands and takes a step back, she realizes she has already humiliated herself enough to render her forever unattractive in his eyes anyway. So, she’s honest.
“I’m too high.”
“Oh,” he says, a look of pity coming over his adorable face. “That sucks. Does this happen to you a lot?”
“What? No! If this happened to me a lot, I would never have taken the bong hit in the first place!”
“Right, right. That makes sense. I didn’t know if you were, like, a stoner.”
Fantastic.
“I actually don’t normally smoke pot,” she says.
“Because?”
“Because I’m scared of something like this!” To clarify, she adds: “I am not, like, chill.”
He suppresses a laugh, like this last fact is obvious, then brings a finger to his mouth like he’s having a thought. “You’re really freaking out, huh?”
“I’m really freaking out.”
“Don’t freak out.”
“I mean… okay?”
He studies her intently, his eyes narrowing. “I think I can help.”
“Really? Can you turn back time? Can you find a way? Can you—”
“Who are you? Cher?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turns and opens a cabinet above them, rifling through its contents with his arm outstretched, so that his shirt rises to expose that smooth strip of skin above his Marky Mark boxer briefs.
This again? She wills her eyes up, up, and away, but it isn’t her fault—the drugs made her do it!
If he catches her gawking, he doesn’t let on as he pulls a box of Cheerios down from the shelf.
“Cereal?” she asks, ignoring all the tingles.
“Yup.” He nods, all seriousness. “It’s a little-known fact that Cheerios can cure literally any ailment.”
Nellie eyes him doubtfully. “A cold?”
“Obviously.”
“The flu?”
“Sure.”
“Leprosy?”
“I mean, I haven’t tested that one. But seriously, I don’t understand the exact science of it, but apparently oats can temporarily raise your glucose levels, which—when blended with the protein in milk—can make the high shorter.”
He looks so damn earnest, holding out that cereal box, that she figures it’s worth a shot.
And anyway, what choice does she have, because he is already pulling down a bowl and grabbing a quart of milk from the fridge and so, yes, she is going to eat a bowl of cereal in a stranger’s apartment with the boy she’s been fantasizing about for months.
Maybe she’s hallucinating?
“Is this weird?” she asks, glancing around this unfamiliar kitchen with its French blue tiles and sugar jar in the shape of Garfield. There’s a vintage tin sign propped against the backsplash that reads: FRESH STRAWBERRIES.
He rifles through more drawers looking for a spoon. “Is what weird?”
“Me eating in Ben’s kitchen when I don’t even really know him.”
“Who’s Ben?”
“Your friend. The guy. The person who lives here.”
“His name is Clark.”
“Wait, really?” Her eyes widen. She jogs her memory. Had she used his name when she said hi?
Noah grins and hands her the spoon, gesturing toward the now-full bowl of cereal on the counter. “Nah. I’m just fucking with you. His name is Ben.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
“Hey,” she says, bending to take her first bite, which turns out to be kind of heavenly. “Don’t mess with me. I’m in a vulnerable state.”
“Fair enough,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “But it’s hard to resist.”
Hard to resist like the adorable, crooked smile on his face. His eyes, twinkling in amusement at her expense. The way his arms flex when he crosses them over his chest and watches her eat.
She takes a shuddered inhale.
“Ben is cool,” he says. “He won’t care. Also, you’re pretty cute. I don’t think he’ll mind you being in his kitchen.”
She’s pretty cute? Cute like a drooling bulldog? Or cute like she’s hot?
At this point, probably the bulldog. Let’s be honest.
So maybe she screwed up her chances with this guy forever, she thinks, but, as she closes her eyes and takes bite after bite, at least she is having the best bowl of cereal of her life. Why doesn’t she eat Cheerios more often? They are delicious.
And is it her imagination or does she feel the bedlam in her head starting to quiet as she eats and, if she’s honest, as she talks to this boy?
This Noah. Who, even from a distance, she had known was special.
Who is now standing next to her, his lean but muscular biceps popping as he absently checks his beeper.
“I’m Nellie, by the way,” she mumbles between bites.
“Hi Nellie.”
“We’ve actually met before.” Is this weed laced with truth serum? If so, she’s in trouble.
“We have?”
“Yup. On the street. Outside my drawing class.”
“When you were not high.”
“When I was not high. Or eating cereal. When I was a happy, well-adjusted person who wasn’t going to have to be institutionalized and could hold a conversation.”
“Wow,” he says. “I’m so glad I got to meet you at least once before the downfall.”
Nellie nods. “Me too. I was an excellent human.”
In no time, the bowl is empty of all but the dregs (which she has just enough self-control not to pick up and drink). And she feels notably better.
“Thanks for this,” she says.
“It’s not my cereal,” he says. “It’s Clark’s.”
She shoots him a mock dirty look.
Noah points his thumb toward the kitchen doorway. “Want to come back with me to the other room? I can escort you safely.”
“No way,” she shakes her head. “I’m better, but not that much better. I can’t interact with others. I can only talk to you. For the rest of eternity.”
He shrugs, takes a step closer to her, so they are only about a foot apart. “That works for me.”
And they are standing there, eyeing each other not quite shyly, the air between them percolating like steam from a kettle, when Sabrina calls Nellie’s name from the foyer just outside the room.
“In here!” Nellie calls.
Though she is grateful for her best friend, who she wanted so badly only minutes before, now she mentally wills her away.
To no avail.
Sabrina pops into the room, her eyes widening ever so slightly when she spots Nellie with this random boy she knows from school.
“Hey Noah,” Sabrina says. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Yup. Just… talking to your friend Nell.”
“She’s a good one,” Sabrina says. “Too good.”
“Seems that way,” he agrees.
Behind her, Lydia snorts.
“I think we’re gonna take off,” Sabrina says to Nellie. “If that’s okay? You can stay if you want.”
“Me? Stay? Here? Without you? Nope. Not a thing.”
There is no way in hell. No matter how cute this boy is.
Sabrina laughs. “Okay. I guess not, then.” She frowns, lowering her voice. “And I guess Sebastian wasn’t the future Mr. Hurwitz?”
Noah’s lips part, as his eyes narrow. “Sebastian? For her? Them together?” He shakes his head, gesturing toward Nellie. Draws a hand across his neck—like it’s a death sentence.
“Why not?” Sabrina demands. “He’s hot.”
“Yeah!” Nellie adds, a little more indignantly than she intends. “Why couldn’t he like me?”
“Oh, he could like you. I’m sure he does like you. But not as much as he likes weed. You’d have to carry Cheerios with you everywhere you go.”
“Cheerios?” Sabrina’s brow furrows, reasonably. Then she shrugs and takes Nellie by the hand, leading her out of the kitchen. “Whatever. We gotta go.”
“Later, stoner,” Noah says.
If he waves goodbye, Nellie is gone before she can see.
The girls wait for the elevator in a hallway that smells of simmering garlic from some other, more civilized apartment.
Sabrina scrunches her nose. “What was all that about Cheerios?”
“Long story,” Nellie says.
“That’s the guy we ran into on the street a while back, right?” Lydia asks.
Nellie nods, turns to Sabrina. “Honestly, I think I might be more into someone like him than that Sebastian guy.”
“Who? Noah?” Sabrina asks, eyebrows raised. After all, Nellie hasn’t confided anything about her obsession, even to her closest friends. And Sabrina wasn’t even around when they met on the street.
“Yeah,” Nellie sighs, propping herself against the pockmarked wall. “Unfortunately. Since I just totally humiliated myself in front of him.” She looks up at her friend, hesitantly. “Do a lot of girls like him?”
Sabrina bites her lip. “Honestly? Yes. A lot of girls like him. All the girls like him. And I think he likes them all back. He’s like… a jock. Like a white-hat frat boy type, sort of. You guys have nothing in common.”
“Duh,” Lydia snorts again. “He’s hot.” She twists a strand of her hair around her finger like she’s trying to cut off blood flow. “No offense, Nellie, but, like, he’s kind of out of your league.” She turns and presses the already illuminated button again, leaving Nellie’s heart to drop behind her.
Noah grabs a handful of Cheerios before he leaves the kitchen.
He’s eating them out of his hand as he walks back into Ben’s crowded bedroom and leans against the doorjamb.
This is one of those classic New York apartments, old and stately, but in need of some love. Paint is chipped along its deco edges.
Mostly, this gathering is a sausage fest. Dudes everywhere. Most of them high as kites. Hip-hop blares, loud and careless. As Noah scopes out the room now, his eyes can’t help but wander toward Sebastian and he feels an unwelcome—not to mention irrational—pang of jealousy rise in his chest.
He coughs to clear it.