Chapter Five
“You”re the best.” Noelle plucks the lollipop out of my hand, unwraps it, and plops it straight in her mouth. I get her candy from the corner store pretty much every day.
“No prob.” I shrug. Even though I don”t love sweets that much, she does, and it kinda makes the air smell nice when we read together. Is that weird? Probably.
“I made you something.” Noelle’s hands are cupped closed. The lollipop moves from one side of her mouth to the other.
If this was one of my brothers, I’d already be prepping to fight because it”d definitely be a stinky beetle or poisonous toad or something horrible. But Noelle is too nice for that. When her fingers unfurl, a multi-colored strip of handwoven threads lays across her palm.
I’m . . . confused.
“It’s a friendship bracelet.” She seems a little nervous at my stunned reaction. “Sort of. I mean, it is a friendship bracelet, but I made it a little bigger because I didn’t really know if you’d want a bracelet. I figured I’d make you something different, because we’re kind of different, you know?” She’s rambling. Her hands take up the motion, rolling and poking at the air as she talks. “So anyway, I was reading this new craft book, and it came with these supplies already part of the whole book set thingy, and I saw this really cool design and was like — Rom needs this! It took a while, and I kind of flubbed part of it, but I think it’s—”
“It’s awesome.” I grab one end and feel the texture beneath my fingers, so soft. I can’t believe I was the first person she thought to make a friendship bracelet for, even if it’s not a bracelet, I guess. “Thank you.”
The woven craft is about the length of my outstretched palm and fingers and a couple inches wide. Too big for a bracelet, sure. The design is an intricate pattern of gray, white, and blue. There’s a blocky “R” on one end and an “N” on the other. White blobs stitched in the middle draw my attention — shapes that seem to connect the two letters. It almost looks like . . .
“Are these hearts?” I ask. My pulse races. N 3 3 3 R. Does she like me, like me? I know I like her a lot, but we’re friends, and I’ve been too afraid to say—
“What? No!” She chuckles and leans in to look closer at her design as if it”s crazy I said that. I turn away, embarrassed. Of course. I’m ugly. Besides the scars, I barely have an ear on one side, and my nose doesn’t line up right anymore. I definitely don’t look anything like the few demon boys who have girlfriends at thirteen.
Noelle is just creative and super thoughtful. Clearly, she didn’t mean it like that. I bet all the guys at her school have a crush on her too.
She traces the white shapes, looking at the design closer. “These are the snowy tops of the mountains, like Mount Winter Bliss and the BZB.” She turns her head this way and that. “It does kind of look like hearts though. My art teacher would call that a beautiful oops.”
I brush my thumb over the “N” end of the braided item, still feeling kind of dumb. She holds the other side and slides her thumb over the “R.”
A friendship bracelet. Or something.
Leaning forward, she grasps my pinky finger with hers. Bright brown eyes meet mine. Her red hair is so pretty and wild when little pieces come out of her ponytail.
“Best friends forever?” she asks.
I take a breath. Everything is alright. We’re cool. Just because I have a crush on her doesn’t mean it has to be weird.
I nod. “Best friends forever.”
When she smiles again, I do too. It’s impossible not to. She drops the handmade gift in my palm, and I trace the long design again, seeing what she was going for. It looks like home. A mountain range. Snow and big skies. An “R” for Rom and an “N” for Noelle.
“If it’s not a bracelet, what is it?” I loop the whole thing over and over around a finger, then unloop and repeat. I decide it’s definitely the nicest gift I’ve ever gotten.
“Something you’ll use more.” She grabs the book from my lap and flips to where I marked my place with a ripped off page of my school notebook. She tosses it to the side and holds the book back out to me, fully open.
I lay it in the crease between the pages. “A bookmark?”
“A friendship bookmark.” She waggles her eyebrows. “This way, if someone takes your book after you leave, they’ll see it and know it belongs to someone, then turn it in to lost and found. But I’ll be here, and I’ll let them know the book is already checked out to my best friend who’s coming back tomorrow, and they’ll just have to find something else to read.”
My chest feels tight. “That’s smart.”
Noelle’s just nice like that, thinking of others, often in ways that don’t make any kind of sense to me. But in her own way, she’s trying to help everybody all the time. I don’t tell her that I hide my book behind the dustiest stack of Farmer’s Almanacs in the Rare Books section. No one ever finds my treasures.
“It’s the best friend code,” she says. “We look out for each other.”
I nod. “We do.”
She’s avoiding me.
I mean, Noelle is the soul of politeness, always has been, even when we were kids.
But the kiss.
No.I shake my head. Get a grip. She regretted it. I mean, she left in a flurry of motion and excuses. Before I could catch my breath, her moped was careening down Last Hour Road.
I glance at myself in the hall mirror, a mess of jagged scars and half-torn ear and crooked nose.
It was a pity kiss. You were talking down on yourself. Noelle was always too nice for her own good. I grit my teeth and try to see it from her perspective. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I can play it cool.
So, I dive into the books. The first in the series has smooth worn edges and a few pages in the middle nearly falling out, but damn it smells good. A nostalgic mustiness combined with ink and a light floral note that must be the library. No, the scent of Noelle. She mentioned rereading it recently, and it was probably this exact copy.
I lay on the couch for a moment with the book across my face, just breathing it in like a lovesick dolt. Pathetic. I shake some sense into myself and start reading.
Four hours later, I’m slack jawed. This book is kind of insane — high fantasy with a unique twist. The political intrigue and upended power dynamics are so gripping, I can barely tear myself out of my seat even though my stomach has been growling for the past half hour.
Noelle knows her books. She may not be aware of the current buzziest books on social media, but hot damn the woman has taste. And this particular storyline sets off a million questions in my mind. What does she like about it? The intimate scenes are intense, to say the least. Should I be taking notes or is her interest purely in the plot? Does she swoon for male romantic interests like this guy — stoic and duty bound?
I stand up to make some dinner and straighten my clothes. I connect with the character in some ways, but how would I be described if I were a hero in a story?
The magic spark character. Pfft. No way.
But she kissed me.
I kissed my childhood crush!It doesn’t feel real. For the umpteenth time since she left, I rub my lips together. The taste of her fruity gloss still lingers, and it’s the sweetest kind of torture. I want more of her, however I can get it.
As I continue reading, I text her my reactions to the first book. When she finally responds hours later, it’s a thumbs up emoji. Oof. I’m no expert in flirting by any stretch of the imagination, but a thumbs up emoji?
That”s as platonic as you can get.
Rather than blowing up her phone, I lose myself in reading. Before I know it, I’m closing the cover on book six and three days have just flown by. I’m a little disoriented, and my body feels kind of stiff from disuse.
A solo vacation to a cabin in the woods sounds nice in theory, nothing but me and my books and the silence of nature, but by the end of day three, I find myself making my evening tea and realize I haven’t uttered a word since Noelle left.
I like my alone time, but an illogical thought pops into my head. Can someone lose their voice if they stop using it? I emit a noise just to reassure myself, and it comes out as a sad, hoarse croak.
Yikes. Hermit time is over. I need to get back into town.
For practical reasons, of course — groceries, more firewood, and a strong enough Wi-Fi to upload the social media posts for my bookish accounts. If it’s also an excuse to stop by for another personalized recommendation from my favorite librarian, I mean, who can blame me?
I head into town. It’s a couple days before the big human gift-giving holiday, Christmas, and storefronts have window displays and last-minute sales running. People rush from store to store with gifts. The excitement for the holidays is electric. I know from here on out, the town will be bustling until the big festival on New Year’s Eve, advertised by a massive banner with a charming fire and ice theme that hangs across Main Street.
Man, it’s good to be back in my childhood hometown, but why on Earth is everything so small? It almost looks like a fake Western town version of the places I used to know. The buildings are so tiny and look older than I remember. Two grown people can barely fit on a sidewalk we used to walk three across as kids.
This place is familiar but different. I guess that’s the price of growing up.
And the price of parking? Astronomical. I pull my car into a lot advertising an hourly rate that’s equal to a healthy kidney on the black market.
The weathered orc running the lot is a tough negotiator, but I’m tougher, growling and flashing the scarred side of my face. One thing I learned as I got older is how to use my fearsome looks to my advantage. It mostly pays off in intimidating these kinds of guys or during tough business deals, not so much with romantic prospects. Once I get a spot, I sit in my car for a few minutes because the cell signal is strong enough to finally catch up on social media. I upload my posts, check on a few of my friends, and get a sense for the newest book taking the community by storm.
But I can only doom scroll for so long. It’s time. I’m going to ask Noelle out for coffee. Shoot, there’s no coffee shop yet. Uh, brunch? Yeah, I’ll ask her to brunch and gauge her response. Maybe she’s just not that into me.
I stroll up to the library’s stained-glass windows and hype myself up. My hands tremble as I smooth down my hair, re-tie my braid, and straighten my glasses, giving myself an inner pep talk worthy of an inspirational poster.
If she brushes me off, it’s okay. I’ll survive. I’m just visiting anyway. Rejection will hurt worse in person than being ignored through text, but at least I can put this infatuation behind me.
A sign at the front drop box for books still reads: If library is open, please return inside. The sign isn’t just a way to avoid damaging the books with repeated drops, but a chance for the staff to ask how we liked a book or what we’re looking for next. Small towns are nosy, but it’s not always in bad ways.
I open the door. There’s no bell chime or announcement of entry. The library is a quiet place, yet somehow always primed for conversation. A straight-back chair sits beside the front desk for chats with staff on duty. I remember as a kid how random people would stop by and chime in with their thoughts. Soon enough, an accidental book club discussion had begun.
Her uncle sits in the old chair today, chatting with two teenage student workers, pointing this way and that. The surly one of the pair, a dark-haired demon girl scoots away, working at the computer and typing in returns. The other, a fae boy with lavender skin and bright green eyes, nods and smiles enthusiastically at Mr. Goode’s stories.
I hold my breath as I approach. Will he recognize me?
As I stand behind someone checking out, he glances up. His face is older, hair lighter with stark streaks of silver. He seems shorter too, but I know it’s just because I’ve grown taller. His smile is the same though, which he flashes at me briefly before turning back to the fae boy.
He doesn’t know who I am.
I rub my chest, surprised how much it hurts. I shouldn’t expect him to remember me on the spot like that, should I? So much has changed. At the same time, he was such an influential person to me as a kid. He knew all my favorite books and how my grades were doing semester by semester.
Now? Nothing. I’m a stranger. Forgettable.
And probably not just to him. Do I really expect to pick up where I left off with Noelle too? Surely, I’ve been gone too long.
She doesn’t date outsiders.
“Is Noelle in?” I ask the young fae.
Her uncle cocks his head at me. “You know Noey?”
“An old friend,” I say, too embarrassed to give my name and risk him making a halting apology or worse yet, genuinely having no memory of me.
Mr. Goode nods, but his gaze is a little distant. A friendly-looking orc woman comes up and touches his shoulder, taking away his attention. The way she smiles and watches him so carefully, it almost seems like she’s helping him. But he’s not elderly enough to need coddling, maybe in his early sixties?
“Sorry, Noelle just left.” The fae answers me with a smile, both hands busy crocheting demon horn warmers. Adorable holiday tradition and entirely decorative. Horns don”t need warming. “She’s had a lot going on with the big fundraiser on New Year’s Eve.”
Hmm. The fundraiser. That’s right. I paid my $200 to get her up to the cabin but didn’t really dwell on it. She does sound busy.
“Thanks.” I knock on the countertop and head out, still a little unsettled at how Mr. Goode took no notice of me.
After a quick trip to the general store for supplies, I catch a flash of red hair and neon green as I load up my rental car.
Noelle zooms down the sidewalk in her roller skates, doing a little twirl to avoid colliding with a gaggle of kids. She gesticulates and points to the library, looking like a living marshmallow in her puffer jacket, all sweetness and curves.
When she darts into the general store, I follow.
“Rom!” Her hand flies to her chest.
I duck my head, suddenly nervous. Angling the good side of my face her way, I stuff my hands in my pocket. “I finished the series.”
“No, you didn’t!” Her mouth falls open. “It’s only been a couple days.”
“You forgot I was a speed reader?” I paste on a confident smirk. Maybe she’s forgotten as much about me as her uncle. “They were excellent by the way. I mean, I skimmed the second trilogy if I’m honest, but you can expect a 5-star book report.”
“That’s great.” She smiles, but there’s a tightness in her expression as her gaze darts around. “Listen, I gotta grab a bunch of stuff. Storybook circle is starting soon, and I’m so behind.”
“I’ll help.” If she’s trying to brush me off, I’ll just call it a day and—
“Oh, please.” She sighs. “Thank you so much!”
We split the list. I take on the craft supplies while she grabs food. She needs drawing pads, glue, markers, ten different colors of thread, and the list goes on. When she gets to the checkout, I step up and slide my credit card through the payment reader. $225. They really inflate the cost of everything in these small towns. Definitely something I need to factor into Perkatory’s menu prices.
“I can’t let you pay for all this.” Her hand covers mine, and even though demons run hot, she still feels warm to me, like our temperatures are perfectly calibrated.
“Consider it my next donation. I need more books, after all.”
“I really owe you a good one then,” she says, bagging up everything in a flash. “Man, I’m not sure I can top the last series.” The little checkout countertop is so small that as she fills each bag, I try to juggle holding them. By the end, I run out of room in my arms and start looping the bags over my horns, balancing two paper bags on each side of my head.
When she looks up, holding the last bag full of wrapping paper, she doubles over, laughing. “You used to crack me up so hard when you’d do that.”
“Happy to serve.” I bow lightly and the bags swing, nearly crashing together in front of my face.
She laughs harder, and we make our way back to the library.
“I had a thought about a good story for you last night just as I was falling asleep,” she says as she comes back from putting groceries away. “But FWOOP, it just shot straight out of my head. If I don’t make a note of it, I swear I’d never be able to hold on to a single solitary thought.”
Her voice goes a mile a minute. I forgot how fun it is to just listen to her ramble. Her brain twists and turns in the most interesting directions.
“I know I can come up with something, though.” she continues. ”I’ll sit down after this next class and think of a really good one for you. I promise. It’s just that I’ve been so, so, so. . .”
“Busy?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She sighs and her posture wilts, like the weight of the entire world is on her shoulders.
Noelle isn’t avoiding me. After hearing about everything she’s got on her plate, I ditch the plan to ask her for brunch. It feels a little selfish. I’ll meet her where she’s at and try to help her with whatever she needs. It’s what a friend would do.