Page 83 of Chasing Infinity

Noah did show up the following morning, but he was out of sorts. I wasn’t brave enough to bring up our argument because he was acting so out of the ordinary. I didn’t want to make things even more awkward by making him talk about something he didn’t want to. But things haven’t been the same since. He’s been dealing with something, and I can’t hold my curiosity back any longer. I need to find out what’s happening with him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him, unsure.

“Goaway, Parks,” he repeats with a growl. Then, as if that takes too much energy, he lets his head fall back against the wall. His eyes squeeze shut, crinkles forming in his eyelids with the effort. “Please.”

My jaw falls open at the request. I’m positive that something is going on with him now. So I do the opposite of what he asks—of course—and walk closer to him. I set my backpack a few feet away and lean against the wall, sliding down until I’m sitting right next to him. Noah stiffens when I get in his space, but he doesn’t fight me on it.

As I settle on the floor beside him, I can’t help but notice he smells good. Clean. A mix of cologne and a fresh apple scent. Until this point, I haven’t been close enough to catch it. But I like it.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. Noah’s emotions are radiating off of him in waves, but I can’t place my finger on what it is. I can’t identify if it’s anger, sadness, or a mixture of both. But I let my intuition guide me and just sit there in silence with him. I stare out the hallway windows and notice there are birds in the trees. I find different things to focus on as Noah stews on whatever’s bothering him.

As time goes on, I become less and less sure that I’m doing what’s right. Noah still hasn’t said a word. Every few minutes, I peek over at him to see if he’s moved, but nothing. He’s still sitting there, head against the wall and eyes closed, breathing in air deep into his lungs. Though he outwardly appears relaxed, I notice his muscles are taut, like he’s getting ready to recoil at the first hint of danger.

I weigh my options and decide that this was a mistake. I’m not positive about what I thought this would lead to, but I was obviously wrong. Just as I’m about to call it quits and get up to leave, he speaks.

“He won the election,” Noah murmurs, softly enough that I almost don’t hear him.

“Your dad?” I whisper back, even though I know the answer. I saw the results last night.

“Yup.”

“And that’s not a good thing?” I ask, trying to fill in the missing pieces. I’m not familiar with Noah in this capacity. I am in uncharted territory. All I know regarding Noah and his family is that it’s complicated, and I should stay out of it. The McCoys put on a good show from the outside, making everyone think they are one of the perfect Founding Families. Given what I’ve witnessed in the past, and now sitting here with Noah, I’m starting to think that’s the exact opposite of his reality.

“No, Parks,” he replies. “It’s definitely not a good thing.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, unsure what else I can offer in words of comfort.

“Yeah.”

I reach down and find his hand resting between us on the cold tile floor. Gauging his reaction out of the corner of my eye, I lace my fingers through his, not saying a word. To my complete and utter amazement, Noah doesn’t fight me on this. He allows me to wrap his hand in mine.

We sit there, hand in hand, for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything. It’s a pleasant contrast to how our interactions typically go. I continue to watch him, and my heartbeat seems to pick up with every minute. Noah’s staring out the hallway windows, barely blinking, almost as if he’s numb. I wonder if he’s looking at the birds now too.

On a day-to-day basis, his dark brown hair is neatly arranged. Today as I look at him, I notice his hair is unruly as if he’s been running his hands through it incessantly. A few strands fall across his forehead and into his eyes, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at this moment.

After a few minutes pass, Noah lets his head rotate against the wall until he’s looking at me. Those same blue eyes which have haunted the last few years of my life bore into me. “What are we doing?” he asks into the silence.

“Sitting?”

“No, I mean—” he pauses and shifts his position, so he’s more comfortable against the wall but doesn’t move his hand out of mine, his eyes still heavy on me. “Why do we always argue with each other?”

“I’m not sure,” I say with a shrug. “That’s just how it’s always been. You started it, by the way.”

Noah chuckles under his breath, but it sounds defeated. “Yeah. I know. And now I’m ending it. We don’t have to be friends, but I’m done. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of fighting with you for no good reason, and now I’m done.”

“Noah, are you okay?” I ask him again, hoping I can find out what’s bothering him. The way he’s talking has me worried, and right now, our past aside, I just want to help him.

“No, I don’t think so,” he mumbles, casting his eyes towards our hands. He gives my fingers a light squeeze, gently enough for me to wonder if I imagined it. “My dad is…you were right.” I frown at him in confusion. I usually am right about things, but I’m not sure what it was this time. And I’m not sure if I should want to be right about this one. “He’s not very—” Noah falters with his words before finishing his thought, “Not very nice.”

“Oh.” That’s all I can say, remembering Noah’s reference to what I said the day after he and his family visited our café for the first time a few years ago.

“And now that he’s the mayor, he will have more sway, more pull over just about everything that goes on in this town. And it won’t be good for any of us.”

I stare at him for a beat, still not knowing now to navigate this situation. Finally, I settle on, “I’m sorry.”

Noah sighs and looks at me. “Yeah, Parks. Me too.”

I’m struck then by this side of Noah that I’m meeting for the very first time. I’ve known Noah for three years, but all this time, he’s been the stuck-up mean kid. Aside from that one-off moment on Halloween last year, I haven’t seen this side of him. In that instance, I wondered what he might be like if he was that way more often, and now I realize I’m experiencing that right now. I struggle to string together a response as I stare at him.

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