Nightlife ✓

24 | league

"I understand that. This is me announcing my surrender, by the way," he chuckled humourlessly into his drink. "But it's a little rich, coming from you."

It was my turn to stare confusedly. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you were wasting my time. You could have just told me straight up that you weren't into me. In person. Over the phone. You had so many chances."

"You can take a hint."

"Maybe. But that's not why I'm here. Quen doesn't take hints. Quen is not the type to pick up on your banter and sly looks. You can spend as much time as you want around him, but he's not like us," Noah explained loftily, slurring every second word. His eyes fell on the toes of his sneakers, squinting intently at them. "He's honest, and in turn, he takes things at face value. But, sure, I'm the one wasting my time."

I arched an eyebrow. "There is no us, and you don't know anything about me."

"Really? You've been an overachiever all your life. You keep excellent grades, low maintenance jobs and a huge public profile," Noah listed, taking his own sweet time counting off on his fingers. "Everything just falls into your lap. Even men. You know how to play the game, and Quen doesn't. He isn't confident around girls." His tone grated my nerves. "And you're way out of his league."

At that, I wanted to wring his neck. I couldn't care less about the assumptions Noah made about me. People did that all the time. Being locally famous and attractive, I tended to be judged by my appearances day in, day out. My friends had done that before they were my friends, so I knew it wasn't always malicious—or even conscious.

But Noah was supposed to be Quen's friend. He owed Quen his respect.

"Are you kidding? He can't play the 'game'—whatever the hell that is? He's not confident around women? I'm out of his league? Should I instead go for someone suspiciously identical to you, Noah? You're such a patronising dick."

"Hey, I didn't say Quen was not a nice, smart dude," he justified smugly, like I'd taken the bait. "He's great. You're great. Except you're in totally different leagues. Someone who likes the attention you get, someone with high energy to match yours."

He dropped his voice low, "That's what you need. Maybe that's not me, but it sure isn't fucking Quen. So leave him alone."

"I think he can decide for himself! You're making it sound like he's some sexless nerd who can't handle his own love life."

Quen was part of the marching band. Studying hard Physics. Into Star Wars. I'd seen the stereotyping happen to Asian kids my whole life, devaluing their masculinity, and I wasn't going to take this thinly-veiled barb from Noah.

I barrelled on, the back of my neck flaring with heat. "And how can you talk about your friend like that?" I hissed. "Quentin is one of the most incredible people I've ever met. He's got so many talents, and he's still humble about it."

With a pointed look at Noah and his bottle, I added, "Some people have less, yet think more of themselves than he does. He doesn't need you to bat for him."

"You're right." Noah let out a bitter laugh that sounded rather choked. "He doesn't need me to bat for him. He can reject you on his own."

I shot a glare at Noah, who seemed completely unperturbed by my rising hostility. "You are scum."

Noah raised his bottle to his lips and drank for an inordinate amount of time. His eyelids drooped more and more as he gulped. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I almost thought he would drink until he passed on out the porch. But then he stopped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked away from me.