Leuthold Preparatory | ✓

Chapter Six

Clutter

   A bizarre and invasive buzzing jolted Noah awake and his eyes screwed shut to the morning light that came in brightly across his window. He had been so tired when he arrived back at the dorms that he had barely put away his uniform before he took his blanket and collapsed onto his plastic-covered mattress.

    He had never had such an alarm clock before. For years, the noises of his father being awake were enough to wake him. After that, his phone had had an alarm on it able to wake him much more peacefully than the screaming death-trap that Noah saw on his bedside. It felt nearly personal as Noah scrambled to figure out what to do, thinking that it was certain to wake everyone in the house. 

    He had thrown himself back into the wall near his bed at the noise, it was no better than Ms. Rae screeching her head off at him. Thankfully, the moment he grabbed onto it, the noise was only an echo in his ears. He set his alarm clock back down, wondering when it had been put on a timer or if he had done it himself--he doubted he had. 

    Across the room, Liam was already gone. Noah had returned to their dorm so late that all the doors were shut and Liam was quietly sleeping. At least he didn't snore, Noah remembered thinking before he had gotten into bed; his mind still playing the tune of the pianist he had seen the night before, trying to block out Headmaster Berg and Ms. Rae scolding him. Music had long-since been an escape for Noah to his parents and their scoldings, it calmed him all the same to repeat the same lines over and over to himself. 

    Noah kept putting himself back in the theater mentally, wishing he could have heard more of it, that his mop hadn't fallen. He remembered its tune when he got dressed in another set of his autumn uniform after he went into the bathroom on Liam's side and cleaned himself up, his dark circles were already getting worse. If he were home, he thought, he would have put on a bit of his mother's makeup to hide them.

    But he was not home, the empty hallway and sound of boys' voices downstairs told him that much. He froze and tried to go back into his bedroom as he heard loud stomping coming up the steps. It was too late when he heard a boy's voice shout:

    "Sinclair!"

    Noah looked to see a teenager about his age coming to the top of the steps, it looked as though he had tripped as he had his hands on the landing and was looking around the hall. Their eyes met and Noah felt himself want to cringe at the innocent, brown eyes that looked at him from beneath a shag of blond hair. The other was clearly not fully dressed and didn't seem to care. His eyes were pleading with him and Noah wished he had taken a minute longer to get out of his room, let the rowdy boy do whatever it was he was doing. 

    "Oh!" The boy said, "You, um..." He snapped his fingers.

    "Noah," he replied quietly. He felt as though he were caught, unable to move and unable to deny whatever request or event this boy was bringing with him. 

    "Right, right, Noah," another English accent filled his ears. His voice was higher, spoken through his nose. "Get Sinclair, will you?" He pointed to the other wall.

    Noah looked across from his door and saw the door that had been open the day before. He knew that the bed was just on the other side, that the easel was still there. At least, he hoped that they were.

    "Sinclair?" Noah pointed to the closed door.

    "The lug always sleeps in," the stranger continued loudly, clearly annoyed. "I've woken his majesty ten times by now and he's still not outta bed! Just get him up already!"

    With that, the stranger pushed off the landing and Noah heard his heavy footsteps disappear back down and disappear into the quiet roar of voices that clouded the first floor. He was glad he was gone, but not-so-happy with his coming and going. Especially not-so-happy with the task he assigned him.