Allyson In Between ✔︎

Chapter Twenty-One

| photo by Toa Heftiba from Unsplash |

Noah's shoulders lift as Samantha and I approach the tiny table he's claimed for us. The glass storefront hums behind him, vibrating along with the thunder—like a bad omen. I drop my gaze to the vanilla milkshake, untouched and sweaty with condensation, because I don't have a response for the question in his eyes. Or at least, not the response he wants to hear. I am definitely not okay.

Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to give in to Samantha's demand.

She sits, leaving me the chair that's been added—which is practically blocking the path to the counter. Noah reaches for my hand. The contact gives me goose bumps, but not necessarily in a good way. Samantha said I wasn't planning to keep this secret from him before my accident. But I'm finding that hard to believe, because some instinct is telling me to respect Noah's wishes—to bury the truth about Lindsay and the phone call and keep moving forward—but I don't know if it's the right thing to do. I can't tell which Allyson is sending the message.

"I have to be at work by noon," Samantha says, high-pitched and urgent. I flex my fingers. Noah takes the hint and releases my hand. I have to sever my connection to him. To close my eyes against Samantha's tight-lipped expectation. So I can think about what's best for my little sister.

My brain replays an image from yesterday in the school office: Lindsay, freezing like a statue when she saw Noah. Then shrinking away from his friendly greeting. She damaged both of us the day she answered my phone and she knows it. Samantha is right. Lindsay's going to need his forgiveness too.

So. "Yeah, um." I open my eyes and focus on Noah. "Remember how I told you I might've been lying when you called from Georgia?"

He nods, but his jaws are tight, like he's clenching his teeth. Bracing himself for something he doesn't want to hear. 

"It was a lie," I say. "But it wasn't me. I never even knew about the phone call, because my sister..."

Noah's eyebrows go high with like, this split second of shock. But then he shakes his head. "I would've known I was talking to Lindsay."

"They sound a lot alike on the phone," Samantha says. "It used to drive Ally crazy, remember? Her dad couldn't even tell them apart."

"Okay-yeah, but..." His face contorts and his eyes close on a wince. I recognize the devastation, but it's tinged this time. He stands, hissing a curse, then half-turns to stare at the entrance. His hands are fisted and his body is... I don't know if I'm seeing actual movement, but I get the impression he's wavering. Like he's fighting an intense urge to walk out that door.

I scoot to the edge of my chair, wishing I'd never let go of his hand. I want so badly to reach out, to latch on and force him to stay.

Or to get up and go with him.

"Sit down, Dodge."

Samantha's tone is surprisingly calm—it kind of reminds me of Dr. Greene. But Noah brands her with a glare that is surely the visual equivalent of the foul words he yelled at me in the lunchroom that day. Then he looks at me and says, "Why now?"

I don't know exactly what he's asking, but I feel like I need to explain why I'm digging up all this ancient history. And so all the details I've been holding back erupt from my mouth—Lindsay's weed-smoking tunnel in the trees, her flask of wine and all the expert lies she's concocted to cover her tracks—and Noah just stands there with his mouth hanging open. Trapped in the path of this deluge of thought and frustration that can't possible make sense to him, because my words are rushing out so fast they're tripping over each other.