Intoxicated

Chapter Seventeen

It's like after Alex died all over again. She didn't talk to me before or after, and when I finally get the chance, I mess it up. Except this time, it's somehow worse. I sit at the back of the classroom, tapping my pen against the corner of my book. She's slouched at the front, with the teacher droning on. I feel like it's my fault. It technically is.

Maybe I shouldn't have told her so soon, I contemplate. Or at all. Because now what? How am I supposed to find out what really happened to Alex? Getting her to so much as look at me and talk to me was impossible before, and now it's whatever's beyond impossible. I guess I can't blame her - I do sound insane.

All I can hear is her saying how fucked up it is.

She's right. Not about Jace, though. He's a dick, but I don't think he'd go to the extent of running Alex over out of petty jealousy. Or at all, really. The clock above the whiteboard reads 2:57pm. Still have time to kill. Or would he?

I suppress a grimace. No, that's ridiculous. 2:58pm. I tap my shoe against the bottom bar of the stool. I have to walk Nugget later, I remember, in attempt to distract myself. And I'm supposed to go to Alex's house and go through his stuff. See if there's anything I want.

I just want him back. 2:59pm. Is that too much to ask? Maybe I could talk to Noah more. But he said he told me everything he knows. It's a long shot, and I haven't exactly seen or spoken to him since I ran off crying. I can't help but grimace this time. That's embarrassing. I close my book, and slip my pen into my bag.

3:00pm. RING.

Reflexively, I cram my book into my bag and fling it onto my back. I start towards the door, which Sadie already walks out. A part of me was hoping I'd catch her, bump into her again, maybe - minus the yelling. I step into the hall, watching as she gaps it to her car. If I could take back everything I said, I would. But still, she needed to -

"Jamie," someone beckons, touching my shoulder.

With a small gasp, I whirl on my heel. "Oh, Noah." Speaking of the devil. Instinctively, I clutch either side of my bag straps as he stands - or well, towers over me. I feel like I should say hi. I press my lips together in a firm line instead.

His face twitches slightly, like he's not sure what he's doing. "Hey, I uh, wanted to talk to you about the other day," he starts off, his big hands gesturing awkwardly. His eyes flicker to the side, brows pulling together. He looks back at me. "I just - I wanted to say sorry. I probably should've said everything, like, better or nicer. Just -"

"It's fine," I cut in, shaking my head. But it isn't. Nothing is fine.

He scrunches his face, and turns his head around. He hesitates. "Look, can I drop you home or something?" he asks, his deep brown eyes pleading. "It's just I can't... I can't be seen..."

With me. Inhaling deeply, I nod. "Yeah, okay."

Noah nods, his broad shoulders relaxing a little as he heads out front. I follow, but keeping a sure space between us. Wouldn't want to ruin his rep, I think with an internal eye roll. I guess I can't really blame him - no one wants to be seen with me.

I wait until he hops in his car and everyone else is too preoccupied with their own before I hop in. It's not difficult to make out, being bright red and all. I wonder how he keeps it in good condition, or has one at all considering he works so much. From what I can remember, his father doesn't. Or at least, a job that only just covers the rent. Not that I can say much, of course.

"So, where do you live?" Noah asks as he starts the engine, his eyes on me.

The seats are surprisingly comfy, if not a little dusty. Definitely a sports car. "I'll just point you in the directions," I tell him as he reverses out of the parking lot, his muscles flexing with even the slightest of strain. "What car is this?"

Noah examines my expression, like he doesn't know whether I'm genuinely interested or not. "It's a, uh, Toyota MR2. My dad got it for me, it was like $6000 bucks." He answers, reluctantly turning his gaze to the road.

I knew it. "1991?"

His neck practically snaps towards me. "Uh, yeah, how'd you -"

I turn mine away, watching the street whizz by. "My Dad's a mechanic." I reply, though I thought of saying something like 'girls can know car names, too'. But it didn't seem ideal.

He nods in understanding. "Oh, right, he works at the car repair shop." He recalls out loud.

I give a nod in response, my lips pressed together. His press together as well, and silence settles between us. I contemplate turning down the window, just to have the woosh of other cars make it less awkward. Don't want to touch his precious car, though.

"So, about the other night..." Noah reminds me, shuffling back into his seat. "I just wanted to say sorry. I didn't really mean anything by all of it. I was just... well, telling you what I know. But that's all I know. I don't..." his face tightens again, choosing his words carefully. I already know where he's going with this. "I don't think Jace or anyone did anything. I think there was some shit going on, and none of them knew what they were doing to each other, but what happened was an accident and it was by far the most shittiest one."

I feel the lump forming again. I hang my head, fiddling with my fingers. "I-I know," I say quietly, though I don't. I don't know anything. "But I want to know what all of that other shit was. Even if it doesn't change anything, or mean something about his death, it means something to me. He was my best friend." I lick my lips. I don't want to cry again, especially not in front of him.

Noah looks over at me, his face soft, almost sullen. "I know," he says, and he slowly turns back to the road. I barely hear him when he speaks. "He was mine, too."

What? My brows pull together. "Really?" I say in a quiet voice, because I can't think of anything else. A better question, something to get more answers. Since when? How close were you? Did you notice he ran his hand through his hair when he was nervous or annoyed? Or that he'd show up at my house crying when Nugget ran off, because he loved him so much and was so scared of losing him?

"We weren't that close," he adds, as if backtracking. Maybe he sees the protectiveness in my face, the desperation for relation. "We told each other some stuff, I guess, but we never really hung out. Mostly because of Jace. We talked at parties sometimes -" like Sadie's. He blows out a breath before continuing. "But never had the chance to talk anywhere else. It was really just when I was like drunk or stoned or something. He was always sober." He reassures me.

Or tries to. Except that one time, I think. But of course I don't say that, or ramble on about my possibly far-reaching theories. Because I don't want him to blow up like Sadie did. He wouldn't, an inner voice interjects. He seems to get it - in a way. I wring the hair tie around my wrist. "Did he tell you anything...?"

All I can hear is the breath neither of us take.

His hands drop onto his lap, and I realise we're parked up at my house. How'd he know where I live? But I push the thought aside, and focus on his parting lips.

"He liked you," Noah says simply, not meeting my eyes. "I know I said he liked Sadie, and he did. Or at least, thought he did for some time. But it was different with you. He didn't just care about you, he knew and understood you. You understood him, too."

A tear slips down my cheek. I flick it away, and keep my gaze ahead just like him, both comfortable pretending. Pretending that maybe if we look away, we don't have to face it. "I know," I murmur, my mouth turning dry while my eyes water. "He kissed me."