Written with Love

08 In the Spirit of Friendship

Noah

I didn't see Annie again until Friday.

Our class was canceled Wednesday, with a terse email and instructions to submit our first writing exercises by midnight, and I spent the hour we would've been in class taping my phone on to check if she'd sent anything, drafting fake mental responses to possible messages she definitely didn't send, and channeling my subsequent frustration into our homework.

Thursday passed in a denial-fueled blur, as I told myself I was only bothered because I was expecting to see her sooner. That argument felt weak, even as I was making it, even to my own ears, but I chose to ignore that fact.

I arrived early to class on Friday -- not for any specific reason, of course, just because I like to be on top of things. So early, I was one of the first people there, and every time the door swung open something lifted in my chest, my heart beating just a little faster, and every time I looked and it wasn't Annie it deflated again. Like clockwork, or one of Pavlov's dogs.

Mostly I was worried, I guess, about the way we'd left things. I'd thought I was doing the right thing, didn't want her to feel any kind of pressure, but something about the way the word "friends" landed in her expression -- a deepening of the crease between her brows, a slight flash of an unreadable emotion in her pretty-

No, Noah, stop it.

- her deep brown eyes, had me worried.

Not only about that though, but also how shaken she'd looked after coming out of the bathroom. I caught a tremble in her fingers as she reached to open the door back into the theatre, and felt a stab of worry right through the chest.

I had to remind myself that I hadn't known her for that long, but there was something strange and ill-fitting about that fact. Like pulling on an old sweater only to find it shrunk from the wash. Like it didn't matter, because now that I did know her, I wanted to keep knowing her. Or something like that.

I had to remind myself it wasn't my business, not yet anyway. Now that we'd agreed to be friends, it could be. Maybe one day I'd find the courage to ask.

"Noah?" A voice snapped me back to the present. Right back to a familiar pair of pretty brown eyes. Eyes that were staring right at me from Annie's place across the table, a pink tint to her cheeks.

Shit. I'd been staring. And now everyone was staring at me.

"Yes?" My voice sounded a little squeaky, squeezed with embarrassment, and I cleared my throat.

"It's your turn," Professor Hayes said, and I noted the mild impatience in her voice. I felt a hot flush creep up my neck and tried not to wonder how many times she'd said my name.

"Right, uh-"

"Your 'Getting to Know You' piece."

"Right." I gathered the stack of papers in front of me, passing it to Vivian, who sat to my left. There was a question in her expression that I answered with a slight eye roll of dismissal, trying to say tired, embarrassed, and mildly hard of hearing from my years as a 14-year-old heavy metal enthusiast all in one movement. It probably came off as a twitch.

"Would you like to share what inspired this piece?"

"Uh- yeah. I guess, well- it's about my grandfather. We spent a lot of time together growing up." I didn't look at Annie while I said it, but I could feel her eyes on me. I bet if I met them there'd be a cute divot between her brows, a look of soft, careful concern. I wanted to look. But I didn't.

Instead, I read my story aloud to the class. The assignment was to turn a pivotal moment from your life into a one-page narrative, and I'll be honest, I'd been pretty proud of mine when I wrote it. It was a good story. Grounded in real emotion.