Allyson In Between ✔︎

Bonus Material!

Author's Note: My first "complete" draft of ALLYSON IN BETWEEN was written with two points of view, alternating between Ally and Noah. Ultimately (after a painful attempt at a second draft), I realized this wasn't the best way to tell Ally's story. Since then, all of Noah's scenes—the backstory and voice I had so much fun creating—have been collecting virtual cobwebs in an abandoned Word doc, never to be seen again.

Or so I thought.

Now that I'm a Wattpadder, (Have I told you how much I love being here? ❤️) all it takes to share extra content is a little courage. So I've mustered some up and I'm going to post a few of Noah's POV scenes. As you read, please keep in mind that these chapters come from a draft that was HEAVILY revised. There are significant plot and character changes that don't align with the published draft. 

Content Warning: There will be a few F-bombs. Because Josh.

Noah | Deleted Scene 1

A shriek of laughter warns me to steer clear of the pack of kids crowding the diving board. But then, my focus goes right back to the pattern of dark tiles wavering at the bottom of the pool. In my mind, she's still there: face pale, eyes closed. Hair floating around her head.

Drowning.

The smell of chlorine used to calm me down, help me get my head in the right place—focused and ready to compete. Now it's a trigger for my weak-ass stomach.

Josh calls my name. I give him a chin-lift salute as I pass his lifeguard stand but I keep walking. My detour through the pool complex takes three minutes. For three minutes, I can keep my shit together. I can walk past the scene of the crime without anyone knowing what's going on in my head. They all think I'm some kind of hero because I pulled Ally out of the diving well. She's the only one who knows I'm the reason she was in there to begin with.

But from what I've heard, she doesn't remember.

"Dodge?"

This voice stops me. It raises the hair on the back of my neck—even though I know who it is and who it can't be. I've always hated how much Lindsay Clark sounds like her sister. I'm tempted to keep walking but I don't. I need to know if the rumor is true.

"I heard you weren't working here anymore," she says.

"I'm still at the club. I work over at the golf course now."

"Oh." She twists around to look at the cart shed, a rectangular building that sits next to the pro shop—a hundred yards from the black metal fence that surrounds the pool. I used to get paid to sit in the sun and drool over hot girls in bikinis. Now I clean dirt and spilled beer out of golf carts for a bunch of old guys.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

The Clarks aren't members of the country club. Neither is my dad. The only reason I got a job here is because Josh's dad put in a good word. Nobody knows that favor was extended to include Ally—except for Mr. Porter and me.

"I'm here with a friend," Lindsay says, pointing to a girl I recognize from my time on the lifeguard stand.

"How's...your sister?" I ask. Then I hope she doesn't notice the way I stumbled, the way I couldn't say Ally's name.

"She's weird. It's like..." Lindsay shakes her head, shifts her eyes away from mine.

"It's like what?"

She lets out one of her bullshit tragic sighs but she doesn't make eye contact. So I guess it's not all for show. "Ally is brain damaged. It's impossible to have a conversation with her because she gets distracted—like you can be talking to her or whatever and she'll just walk over to the window and tune you out. Or she'll hear a word she doesn't know and open this huge dictionary she carries around all the time."