Page 59 of The Secret Of Us

His non-answer should annoy me, but there’s something in his eyes that gives me a small glimmer of hope—hope that maybe he feels the same way I do about him.

“My bag is over there,” I tell him, gesturing toward the desk as I rotate so my back is pressed flat against the wall. I don’t want to test him anymore.

The door closes behind him as he shuffles past, careful not to bump into me. He picks up my bag from where it’s resting on the floor next to my desk and throws it over his shoulder. It’s only now I realise how broad they are. He has our bags on the same shoulder but they fit comfortably.

“Do you need anything else?” He grabs my crutches without me having to ask.

“My phone should be somewhere there, too.”

I watch Noah as he moves around my room. When he left last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I didn’t expect him to tell me the reason he came to Coates. I also didn’t expect it to make me so sad. Noah isn’t a bad person, and I hate that he thinks he is because of one incident. I don’t know how I can make him believe that, but for as long as we’re doing whateverthisis, I want to try.

Noah walks back over to me, giving the room one last glance before passing me the crutches. I find my balance, adjusting them under my arms as I take a tentative step.

“All good?” Noah stands next to me, his head dipped low as he watches me move around awkwardly.

“Yeah, just getting used to them.” I readjust my arms so the crutches fit more comfortably.

“I can carry you again, if you want,” he offers, nothing but kindness behind it.

As much as I want him to, want to hide my face in his neck again and feel like he’s shielding me from everything, I know it’ll make me feel worse in the long run. A lot of people saw him do it yesterday, so it’s not like we need to put on a show for everyone again.

But the biggest reason I can’t let him do it again is that I don’t trust myself enough to be that close to him and not do anything stupid.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, and he nods, stepping past me to open the door. He flattens himself against the wall as he holds it open, giving me enough space to pass by him and leave my room before he follows after me.

Noah stays by my side as we slowly make our way to the main building, bypassing the dining hall that people are still trickling out of from breakfast. I woke up early enough that I probably could have made it there if I tried, but I couldn’t muster up enough energy to actually get out of bed.

By the time we get to homeroom, my stomach has rumbled a grand total of five times. I hope one of the girls has a breakfast bar or something in their bag that I can steal.

I shuffle through the desks until I reach mine, Noah still trailing behind me with his hand on the small of my back. I tripped over the steps coming up to the main building, and his hand hasn’t moved from there since he reached out to steady me.

I stand next to my chair, and Noah leans past me to pull it out so I can sit down. I drop into it, laying my crutches flat on the ground. Noah’s already put my bag on the desk, but as I go to move it, there’s something on top. A small box and a carton of apple juice rest on top.

“You weren’t at breakfast,” he says, and that’s explanation enough.

“Thanks,” I tell him as I open the box to see a stack of three pancakes covered in syrup.

My favourite breakfast food. Noah passes a fork to me that he must have stolen from the dining hall, and I start eating. Even though they’re cold and I’ve eaten them hundreds of times before, they’re the best pancakes I’ve ever had. Noah pierces the straw through the top of the carton and passes it to me so I can take a sip. I try to focus on eating, but I can feel Noah watching me the whole time.

This has to be real for him, too. Why else would he get my favourite food when he noticed I wasn’t there? Why else would he come all the way to my room—the complete opposite direction of homeroom—just to walk with me?

But I can’t let myself be too hopeful. Noah is wonderful, and I’m sure he would do this for anyone in his life—fake girlfriend or not.

When I’m finished, he takes the empty box and carton from me and puts it in the bin at the front of the classroom. I open up my bag to double-check that I’ve got everything I need when I hear the most irritating noise.

“Isabelle, are you okay?”

“Leave me alone, Ryan,” I say, not even bothering to look at him as I check that I’ve got the right books for today.

“I’m just checking on you. I heard you fell over pretty bad yesterday.”

I don’t respond to him, hoping that he’ll take my silence as an answer and finally leave me alone. He tuts before letting out a sigh.

“You should have called me,” he adds.

“For what?” Noah’s voice startles me. There’s a harsh tone to it that I’ve never heard before. It’s completely at odds with the boy who’s been nothing but soft with me.

“This is none of your business,” Ryan says, and his voice is suddenly deeper. I have to stifle a laugh at how he’s trying to sound more intimidating.

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