between the pages

Chapter 3

Noah, Age 18

How are you so good at this?" I asked, my eyes not believing what they were witnessing.

Braden's Multivariable Calculus homework was laid out in front of me, and he finished with all the right answers. I didn't know whether I should be jealous or appalled. We were sitting at a picnic table outside the campus library, enjoying one of the rare sunny days Seattle had to offer.

"It's really not too horrible, you just have to practice the problems a lot," he said with a smile.

I looked at him incredulously, "Yeah, you're crazy. I don't know a single person this good at math. I personally feel like the Grim Reaper is coming for me every time I even look at numbers."

He turned his body toward me, a serious look on his face.

"You see, when I was younger," he said, "I wanted to be a bond villain but I was incredibly shitty at fighting and bartending so I figured if I knew how to do math, that could be my thing."

"Your bond villain thing?"

"Yuh-huh."

"And what would be your Bond Villain Name?"

"Auric Goldfinger."

"I think that's taken."

"Well, then there's no point in even trying!"

I side-eyed him, trying to stifle my laughter, and gave a light kick to his leg.

The sun shone through the trees splaying over the papers spread out on the picnic table and I went to reach for my iced vanilla latte, not caring that it had already been watered down. I donned my white ribbed t-shirt and some denim shorts with my white Air Forces, not really caring to dress up to study. I'd been prepared for the tears to ruin how I looked anyway.

Braden sat beside me in his blue athletic shorts and Mt. Rainier Park sweatshirt. His eyes narrowed on the math problem he was looking at, almost as if he was trying to talk to it. We'd been hanging out for a couple of weeks. What started as him seeking refuge in my dorm ended in us becoming pretty good friends.

Although the act of becoming friends with a man, made my body physically recoil, Braden was something completely different. Talking came so easily with him, words would flow out faster than I could think of them, and eventually, when the conversation plateaued, we'd devolve into fits of laughter until we couldn't breathe.

We're friends. I like him. A lot. So much so that I'm willing to leave my life as a hermit to hang out with him.

Noah, Age 24

"I'm gonna kill you. I am going to kill you dead."

I ran around the couch with one of my black stilettos in hand, ready to lodge it in Riya's colon. Despite having been friends with her for six years, there were multiple times in which I was ready to snap her in half. This was one of those times. The dinner debacle, as I called it, happened three nights ago and I made the fatal mistake of telling Riya about my "proposal". The whole concept was still incredibly insane and if I let myself sit with it for too long, I felt a growing tinge of regret inside of me.

Riya was on the opposite side of the living room trying to dodge my very pointed rage.

"Braden and Noah kissing in a tree--"

I chucked the first shoe straight at her head but she ducked.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Riya!" I yelled over her chaos.

"I can't believe you guys are dating, finally!" she said, her voice going ultrasonic from the excitement. it was no surprise she was excited; she was even more delusional than I was and that was saying something.

"We're not actually dating!" I retorted with conviction, "It's for research!"

"Yuh-huh, yuh-huh, so tell me if this; if it's actually for research, then why'd you ask him!" Her eyebrow raised dangerously high, "It would've been easier to hire someone or date some rando, or, OR, you could've just watched "Pride and Prejudice" again. That always gets you going".

I sighed and collapsed on the couch, Riya falling next to me, her long, black hair splaying over my face as she landed.

"I don't know okay? It seemed like a really good idea at the time. I mean, of course, I'm terrified that this will make things weird or mess things up but my books mean everything to me, you know that." Just the thought of not writing anything made me want to die.

Ever since I could remember, I loved writing and reading. I would drift off during class to some alternate reality where everything was less...stressful. Hours of my day would fall toward imagining myself anywhere but the real world.

I would put everything I thought of, everything I felt, just everything on paper. Since I was 4, I've let it all flow into bound journals, and writing my own books was...everything. I wasn't going to let it go without a fight.

Riya spoke up, a softness to her voice, "I know Noah, I do," she paused, "and I love your writing, but I just want to make sure you two aren't denying anything between you when you do this, okay? I know how much Braden means to you and I don't want you guys to get weird and start lying to each other."

"We don't lie to each other," I said, "and I'm gonna talk to him about...the weirdness before we start with anything." I sighed shakily, "It's going to be fine. It's just for a little while until I can get enough for my book, and then, everything will go back to normal and this will all be a joke."

Riya nodded at me, seemingly unconvinced, "If you say so."

I smiled reassuringly, trying my hardest to avoid the nausea rising inside of me. I didn't know that everything was going to be okay. I didn't know if we would be okay again. But I knew one thing; if this didn't work out, I would be crushed.

Riya got up and grabbed her purse from the coffee table before speaking.

"I should get going, I have a meeting with a client tomorrow morning and I need to call my mom for her birthday," her voice brightened again, "It's gonna be fine, okay? I love you!"

"I love you too," I said as she walked out the door, leaving me alone with my anxiety.

Anxiety.

It was a complete bitch to share an apartment with.

I walked over to the edge of the living room feeling light-headed and picked up Cowboy from his bed. I collapsed back onto the couch laying him on my lap.

"You don't think this is a bad idea, right?"

He side-eyed from his position on my lap. I have no idea where he learned how to do that, but dear god was it annoying (and adorable).

I pulled him to my chest and planted a kiss on his head, trying to distract myself from everything, but it wouldn't work. The nausea kept coming and I was trying my best to keep it down.

My breathing became shallow and I couldn't help but just...cry.

Cry for what I was putting at risk.

Cry for my writing which, for the first time, wasn't working.

Cry for the loss of Braden, which was bound to happen if I kept up with this horrible, horrible, plan.

I couldn't pretend that this was normal or that I could ever casually let this happen.

I needed to talk to Braden. I wasn't stupid enough to believe that everything would work out perfectly.

I needed to call this off. Immediately.

I got up, Cowboy still in my arms, and grabbed my keys as I walked out the door.