Page 27 of It Was Always You

The game started, and I was just beginning to wonder if Noah had changed his mind when I saw him standing near the back entrance wearing his blue-and-white letterman jacket. He seemed to be studying the pep band, so I waved. A moment later our eyes caught, and he smiled and waved back. My pulse throbbed when he started walking toward me, passing the cheerleaders on the floor and only giving Raven a nod before stepping onto the bleachers and climbing up to sit by me.

"Sorry I'm late." He scooted next to me and shrugged out of his jacket, his cheeks rosy from the cold outside.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided not to grace me with your presence after all," I said.

He rubbed his hands together to warm them. "Yeah, sorry. The line at Subway took forever."

"Do you ever eat at home?" I asked. Seriously, it seemed like he was always eating all the food out of myfamily's fridge, or I was finding take-out wrappers stashed in the backseat of his car whenever he gave me and Easton a ride home from school. Maybe his mom just didn't cook?

But his face became guarded, and it made me wonder if there was another reason for why he wasn't eating his meals at home.

"I was busy." He shrugged, like there was nothing wrong. "I just grabbed something on my way here, so I wouldn't be too late." He eyed Harrison on the other side of me, and then put his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me against his side. "Plus, I wanted to spend as much time as I could with you."

He winked, but as much as he was trying to make it seem like nothing was wrong, his smile didn't reach his eyes.

He barely spent any time at home from what I could tell. During football season I'd run down to the girls’ locker room before a game and had overheard him say something to Ashlyn about someone not pressing charges and that he could move in with his dad if he wanted. I hadn't been able to hear any more, since Luke Davenport had angrily stomped up the stairs past me, forcing me to relinquish my hiding place before it became obvious that I was eavesdropping.

I hadn't been able to keep that snippet of conversation out of my head and had watched Noah for the next few weeks. But things seemed to be okay, aside from him beingmoody. And he never said anything to Easton about moving in with his dad.

Butwaseverything okay? And who was not pressing charges against whom?

Was Noah in trouble?

The Drum Major stood on the floor when the other team called a time-out. She counted four beats, and I put my trumpet to my mouth to play the notes on the sheet music before me. By the time we were finished playingHawaii Five-O,I was out of breath.

When I sat back down, Noah was looking at his phone.

He groaned. "It's supposed to get below zero tonight." He handed me his phone. The weather app showed that it was twenty degrees right now, but it would get down to negative two tonight.

"Is that the coldest it's been so far this year?" I handed his phone back, and my skin tingled and burned where our fingers touched in the exchange. I quickly put my hand in my lap, hoping he didn't notice my reaction to him.

"Yeah, I think so. It makes me cold just thinking about it."

"Thank goodness for insulation and heaters." I shrugged. Sure, it was cold during winter in New York, but as long as I didn't have to spend too much time outside, it wasn't that bad.

"And don't forget that warm, cozy bed," he said. I would have normally expected him to say it with some sort of innuendo attached, since he couldn't seem to turn off the teasing when he was around me. But instead, there was a darker tone in his voice, and I couldn't figure out why. Was his bed not warm and cozy?

What else could it be?

He sighed, and before I could ask him about why the cold bothered him so much, he pointed to my trumpet in my lap. "How do you play so many notes with just three buttons?"

I shrugged. "There are only three valves, but you can play them in multiple combinations."

I showed him the different finger combinations that I used when playing a scale. "And then you also tighten and loosen your lips to control the pitch of the music as well."

"Interesting." He took the instrument into his hands, running his fingers over the brass curves. Then he played with the valves, as if trying to discover all the different combinations he could. "You must have to do a lot of the tightening and loosening of your lips to play all the notes I just heard."

"You can try it if you want," I offered when he continued to play with my trumpet.

"Show me what I'm supposed to do with my lips first."

I took my mouthpiece out of the trumpet, not wantingto make too much noise when I wasn't supposed to be playing a song.

I held the mouthpiece up. "To make the lower tones, your lips have to be looser." I showed him and blew into the mouthpiece. "And with the higher notes, you tighten them up really tight."

As I demonstrated, I suddenly became self-conscious at the thought of him watching my mouth.

He seemed to realize what I was thinking because he gave me a half-smile. "I guess it's a good thing you're really talented with your lips then." He winked, and I felt myself blush.

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