Allyson In Between ✔︎

Chapter Nineteen | Part 2

| photo by Steve Dimatteo from Pexels |

"Where are you?" Mom asks, sounding a little frantic.

"I told you last night that Noah was picking me up this morning—we're meeting Samantha at that coffee place?"

"When did he get here? I didn't hear the doorbell—I looked everywhere for you, Allyson."

"Okay, yeah," I say, grimacing at Noah. "You were um, busy and I...went into the garage—to look at my car—but then Noah pulled up in the driveway and I just went outside. I'm sorry, Mom. I wasn't thinking..."

"That I'd be worried?" she asks—in pretty much the same tone she was using with Dad. "You could have left a note, Allyson. Or sent a text. I looked everywhere for you." She huffs out a derisive breath. "Everywhere but the garage."

"It wasn't something I planned, Mom. I just..." Needed to get away from her.

"I want you to spend time with your friends, Allyson—you know I do. But you have to let me know when you're leaving the house. I need to know where you are at all times, do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She's quiet for a moment. Calming herself down, I guess, because when she says, "Okay, honey," she almost sounds normal. "Are you at the coffee shop now?"

"We're on our way," I say. Deliberately vague.

"Text me when you get there and before you leave, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I love you, Allyson."

"Yeah. Me too. Bye."

I end the call, drop my phone in my purse and press my cool palms against my cheeks.

"Do you need to go home?" Noah asks.

"No, it's fine. But I have to text her from the coffee shop. So. You should maybe—if you still want to—tell me about the um..."

"Right. Where'd I leave off?"

I shake my head, still a little flustered. "Just start over. If you don't mind."

"No problem," he says. "You barely spoke to anyone the first day you worked here. They make lifeguarding sound like it's this huge responsibility when you're in orientation. It only takes a week or so before you realized you're just a glorified babysitter."

Noah's eyes shift away from the pool, and when they connect with mine he smiles. And it's so close to the one from my dream that my arms prickle with goose bumps. I cross them, rubbing my skin to generate friction, but that only makes Noah smile wider. So it's a wasted effort.

"One day I climbed onto one of the stands and took off my shirt," he says. "And it was like all of a sudden you were there, checking me out. I wanted to climb right back down and kiss you, but I wasn't sure you were thinking what I hoped you were thinking."

The swim team image pops into my head: half of Noah's muscular chest, one sturdy arm, a long powerful leg. And yeah, I think it's safe to say I wanted Noah to climb down and kiss me.

"On our next break, I jumped in the water to cool off," he says. "Only I did it with a one-and-a-half somersault off the diving board—to challenge you. That's something we used to do back in ninth grade. We were always challenging each other to do stupid stuff."

"Like what?"

"I could jump off a swing the farthest. But you were a faster milkshake drinker. You were impervious to, uh...frozen...drinks and stuff."