The You And I Wars

Chapter 3 - Knock Knock

“Anyone?” Mrs. Eckerman surveyed the classroom, her arms crossed and her lips pouted in a strange and fish-like exasperation. “No one knows where Noah lives?”

Technically, Mrs. Eckerman was not allowed to give out a student’s home address. He wasn’t in school and if he didn’t get his over-the-weekend quiz, he would be hurtled into a world of acute failure, chronic depression, and would die a sad, uneducated death. At least that’s what Mrs. Eckerman made it seem like.

When class let out, Sam knew she had to walk up to her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Eckerman?”

“Yes?” she said, and Sam wondered if her teacher’s voice would come out clearer if her glasses weren’t pinching the tips of her nostrils shut.

“I know where Noah lives.”

Mrs. Eckerman beamed up at Sam. “I knew some lucky girl did. Of course, I should have guessed it was you.”

Sam’s mouth twisted into a confused scowl. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Because,” she said, taking a sip of coffee even though class was over and it must have been ice cold. She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Because.”

Oh so now we’re in elementary school, where ‘because’ is an acceptable answer? Sam took the quiz and as she was about to leave, winced at Mrs. Eckerman’s reminder to let Noah copy her lecture notes.

Sam rang the doorbell at the Parson’s residence three times before she realized it wasn’t working. She only had to knock once before the door opened and she was moving her fist back and forth against the air like an idiot.

“May I help you?” The woman who answered the door had her hair swept up away from her face, though blonde and gray strands hung loose about her temples. She had what Sam called a heart-face, with her chin ending in a soft point. Her voice was gentle, and it reminded Sam of having your back rubbed when your stomach hurt.

“I’m looking for Noah.” She opened her backpack and tried to balance it on her knee, hoping she could hand off her notebook and the quiz to the lady without seeing him. “I have some assignments he missed.”

But the woman opened the door and smiled. “Please, come in.”

Sam couldn’t say no, and before she knew it, she was in Noah’s kitchen. It was smaller than she expected even though it was connected to the living room, with a narrow wooden staircase taking up a large portion of the space. The stove and fridge took up so much room that Sam wondered if the fridge door could even open all the way with the table so close to it.

“You should have a seat,” the woman–Noah’s mother, she guessed–said as she removed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with a dark purple liquid from the refrigerator. She handed the glass to Sam, poured one for herself, and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

“Noah isn’t home, but he’ll return shortly.”

Sam sat down as well, albeit reluctantly, and jumped when she realized that she wasn’t alone in her chair. She reached under herself and pulled out a book–a tattered copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

“I apologize,” the woman said. “My husband is an avid reader; he’s also an incurable mess maker.” She took a sip of the drink. “You go to school with Noah?”

“Uh…yeah.” Sam squirmed a little bit, aware of how strangely uncomfortable she felt in the dimly-lit kitchen, with the pretty but reserved mother of her handsome but reserved classmate a few feet away from her. “I can just leave this stuff here for him and get it back later at school.”