Page 50 of When We Crash

“I’d like you to be my girlfriend,” I blurted out to Noa.

“Are you asking me?” she asked, tipping her head to the side. And now she was herself again—the girl who created beauty from paint and wanted to punch me when I bumped into her.

“I don’t know that you have any say in the matter anymore.” I tucked the loose strands of her blue hair behind her ear. I noticed there was more dark brown peeking out from her roots these days.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

I smiled as I leaned against the counter with a nod.

When I looked away, I noticed Tracey had left the room—a plate of bacon and eggs set on the counter.

After breakfast and Noa’s insistence that I help her eat because there wasno wayshe’d finish it all on her own, she came upstairs with me and waited while I got dressed.

“What were you doing this morning?” she asked from bed as she watched me change after spilling coffee on myself.

As I threw my wet sweater and shirt in the hamper in the corner, I tried to think about what she was asking. Was she referring to where I went? When I reached into my drawer to grab a fresh shirt and hoodie, I decided to answer with the easier option.

I turned back toward her, tugging my shirt down the rest of the way. I didn’t miss the way she looked at the space above the waistband of my boxer briefs. “I was doing programming homework,” I said, pulling a new hoodie on that I’d recently bought. When I was done, I pulled my pajama pants up a little.

“What’s it like?” She seemed curious, doing a little bounce in her seat on my bed.

“What’s painting like?” More and more, I wanted to askherquestions. To know whatshewas like.

“Hm. It’s like taking all my passion, my hurt, mythoughts,and putting it onto a canvas and leaving all that energy there for the world to see.” She scratched at her neck. “Sometimes I just feel so much. And I don’t know what to do with it. It’s a curse.”

“I don’t think it’s a curse.” I sat down beside her. “And programming is like…okay, so we have our language, and a computer has its own language. Programming is me speaking to a computer, telling it what to do. And different languages make the machine do different things. Machine language, assembly language, smart lang—your eyes are glazing over. I’ll stop now.”

She smiled. It was honest, and with the sun behind her, she looked so happy.

“What?” she asked, after I’d been staring at her for a little while. Still, she didn’t hide her face or move away. She just closed her eyes and leaned back a little.

I loved that about her. In some ways she was terrified, afraid of everything I wanted. But in other ways, in ways it seemed most people were afraid, she was unashamed, ready to see and be seen. She didn’t need to tell me she felt too much. I knew she did.

“Ready to go?” I grabbed her hand and pulled her against me.

“Just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean you get to manhandle me,” she said through a giggle.

“That’s exactly what it means.” I kissed her quickly before pulling her up.

The drive to her place was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that bothered me. Noa played music from her phone but leaned her head against the window most of the ride, watching the town pass us by.

When we stopped in front of her apartment building, I looked over at her, not ready to let her go. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight?”

“You aren’t sick of me yet?” Thankfully her voice was light, carrying the joke.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for that to happen.” I tugged on a loose strand of her blue hair. “So? Will you?”

She nodded and leaned forward, her eyes on my lips before the impact of our kiss. A sweet, short one that I wanted to prolong. But she sat up straight again and I was grinning, happy enough.

“Pick me up at seven?” she said.

“Sure thing.” I watched her make her way to the front door of her building. I waited a few moments, hoping to see her standing in her window. When she didn’t appear, I put the car in drive and headed home.

Tracey was waiting for me on the front steps. “Seems like she feels better,” she called out as I walked up.

“Yeah. Thanks for taking care of her.”

“I’ve been young and stupid before,” she said with a flick of her wrist. She patted the ground next to her, and I sat. “But, I’m thinking this wasn’t just a wild night for Noa. I’m thinking she’s handled hangovers aplenty, which worries me. She’s only seventeen, Dex.”

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