Summer's Last Breath

Part 17

I sat in art class, resting my chin on my book bag, waiting for Noah to arrive. 


Eighteen hours had passed since I'd stood, hand linked with Jamie's, defying my dad. Eighteen hours since Jamie had left without a word. In other words, the worst eighteen hours of my life. 


I was worried. I knew Jamie was upset, and possibly angry at me. I couldn't live with him being angry with me. I'd felt nothing but hollow since running down the stairs, hearing the door click shut, and realizing Jamie had left without saying goodbye. I also felt a little foolish.


I'd told my dad I loved him. 


The tardy bell rang, and before my heart could sink further into this unfamiliar territory of despair, Noah burst through the door, sliding onto the bench beside me, bringing the smell of a hot summer day with him. I missed Jamie's smell already.

 
"Made it," he said, expelling a relieved breath. "Mr. Foley is threatening detention if I'm late again." 


"You're such a hoodlum."


"I try." He winked and plucked his charcoal pencil from behind his ear, loosening his long strands of hair. They fell over his cheek in a gentle wave, obscuring his profile. 


"Here, Pretty Boy." A rubber band popped Noah in the back of the head and fell to the floor.


"Grow up," I said, turning to glare at Derrick over my shoulder.

 
"What?" he asked, his full cheeks flushed, his stare insolent. "No telling what lives in that mess."


"Ignore him," Noah said, bending over his manilla paper, using the edge of his pencil to sketch the beginnings of a wave. I didn't want to think about the beach, because it only made me think of Jamie, not that he wasn't in my mind all the time anyway.


"How's Jamie? Did you see him last night?"


"Not getting involved," Noah said, keeping his eyes glued to his work.


"So you did see him. Did he tell you what happened?"


He paused in his sketch and set his green eyes on me. "I'm not getting involved. Not taking sides."


"I just want to know if he's okay."


"So text him," he threw at me, "or call."


"I did," I said, sounding slightly pouty. "He won't respond."


"Sorry," he said. A pelican took shape in his drawing, flying low over the ocean. The speed at which he could make his picture come to life was breathtaking. He smirked. "You want me to beat him up for you?"


"Maybe I'm the one who needs beating up. I handled this all wrong." Noah was making me see the situation more clearly without even trying. 


"Jamie was mildly irritated last night. Then he left and I haven't seen him since."


"What do you mean?"


"He never came home. But that's not unusual. He doesn't sleep in his bed much."


"Where does he sleep?" I laid my head back on the table. A nap sounded good right about now. I felt totally drained and not at all happy Noah was being so infuriatingly unhelpful. Why wasn't he more concerned?


"The beach. The Deep. Not at all." Noah cut his eyes at me and sighed. "He's not big on being indoors. Drove my mom and dad nuts when he was a kid."


That I believed. Jamie possessed an unrestrained nature, which had drawn me to him from the beginning. A true wildness, a wandering spirit, a soul that refused to be tamed.


"My dad suspended him from the team," I said dejectedly.


"I know. I overheard him and my mom arguing about it."


"Oh God," I groaned. "Now she must hate me."


This whole situation was getting messier by the minute. We were both at odds with our parents. I hadn't meant to cause trouble for him, especially not with his mom. He'd taken the suspicion hard, of that I had no doubt. But I wasn't ready to give up. We wanted to be together. I didn't get why that was such a big deal.


My eyes were slowly starting to close when Noah nudged my foot. I peered at him, brows furrowed. He subtly jerked his chin toward the supply cabinet against the wall. What I at first thought was a mouse skittered from under the cabinet, scuttling its way under Derrick and Tyler's table. It was a palmetto bug. A big one. Black and hideous, the sight of which caused me to shiver. Another one silently followed, like a tiny ninja, and I sat up, biting my lip to ward off a grin.


"You didn't," I said out of the corner of my mouth. "Did you?"


Noah possessed a particular talent. Don't ask me how or why, but he was the Dr. Dolittle of marine creepy-crawlies, a crustacean whisperer. I had assumed it only worked with aquatic insects, but maybe I was wrong, and delightfully so. 

 
"What the..." Derrick vaulted from his seat, knocking the table over. The big bad football player screamed like a little girl, drawing the attention of the whole class. Spinning around to witness the debacle, I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Derrick danced around the room, grabbing at his pant legs. His hands flew to his belt buckle, and in a matter of seconds, his pants were down around his knees, the two creepies scuttling up his hairy legs and toward his whitey tighties. Derrick's face flamed, eyes flaring. He swatted the bugs away, which provoked another round of chaos as Charlene, along with a couple of other girls, jumped on the bench. Lots of squealing and hyperventilating ensued.


"You sonofabitch," Derrick said to Noah through clenched teeth. Noah's expression remained impassive and unimpressed. He hadn't even cracked a smile. 


"What man?" he asked, still working on his sketch while Derrick's almost bare ass was showing. Mr. Foley was swatting at the now retreating bugs with a broom. 


"I thought that only worked with sand fleas and crabs," I said.


"Distant cousins." Noah shrugged.


Derrick finally pulled his pants back up and everyone more or less settled down. Mr. Foley called Derrick to his desk and they were involved in a heated conversation. Derrick kept glaring and pointing at Noah. Noah ignored them both. 


"Thanks," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder, knowing his little performance was more about cheering me up than getting back at Derrick. "I needed that."


"Did it help?" he asked his voice laced with genuine concern.


"Not really." I sighed. "But thanks for trying."


If anything, I felt worse. I spent the remainder of class with my head on Noah's shoulder, hypnotized by the subtle movements of his pencil. When he finished, he'd drawn a beach scene I thought people would pay money for. It was that good. It made me want to cry and I was so not a crier. At least, I didn't used to be.


The bell finally rang, and as usual, Noah made a beeline for the door. For the first time since I started playing volleyball, I wasn't looking forward to practice.