Secrets

Chapter 2

Saturdays suck when you're grounded.

Like, seriously!

I was so sure that Noah was just in a mood last night, but oh no!

He took one look at me this morning and out of nowhere told me that I wasn't allowed to leave the house until Monday.

It's not fair!

I mean, I'm not a chronic liar or anything, yet Noah never wants to believe me!

And really, wasn't it punishment enough that I had to sit there after ten minutes of arguing last night just to listen as he ended up called a few of his friends to ask what'd happened?

It was so embarrassing!

And when they couldn't confirm or deny anything that I'd said -of course- Noah just decided that if I really had almost gotten hit, then it was because of my own stupidity, and therefore I should remain grounded.

I was so mad that I skipped dinner, and this morning, I couldn't even find the appetite to eat breakfast.

I just turned around and ran back upstairs to my bedroom, where I've been ever since.

Now, at almost 8:00 in the evening, I sit at my small, dark wood desk and stare out the only window in my pink bedroom, toward the empty street outside.

To my left, the brown folding doors of my closet stand wide open, clothes spilling out onto the floor from inside.

To my right is my bed, a simple twin size cloaked with two yellow covered pillows and my favorite yellow and white patchwork quilt.

Tapping my fingers against the scrap notebook paper that I'd pulled out a few minutes ago, I roll my eyes and lean back in my black cushioned chair.

"I give up!" I groan, crossing my arms over my chest.

I'd meant to begin the rough sketch for an art assignment, but nothing's come to mind.

A moment later, the door creeks open behind me, and though I'm slightly startled, I don't turn around.

"Rose?" Noah asks softly.

When I don't reply, he sighs and walks over to me, the sound of his tennis shoes on my hard wood floor reminding me of horse clops.

Noah's hand falls onto my shoulder a moment later, and he spins me around to face him, guilt obvious in his sad gaze.

See, that's the thing about Noah.

He's strict and jumps the gun a lot, but in the end he can always own up to making a mistake when he's gone too far.

Well...almost always.

"Look, will you please come downstairs?" He begs.

I just glance away, still upset with the jerk.

"Come on, Rose! I-...we can eat in the living room tonight."

This gets my attention.

Normally Noah is a stickler for formal dinners at the dining room table, and only when his guilt is really eating at him will he offer to let us eat in the living room, where we don't have to talk about school or work...

Hopping off my chair, I brush Noah's hand from my shoulder and walk past him without a word.

Skipping steps to get downstairs faster, I run to the couch and plop down -bouncing a bit before snuggling into the cushions- and roll my eyes as the evening sports reports run across the bottom of the TV screen.