1 - C H A N C E

I storm down the street, trying to ignore the heavy rain as it beats against my face and drips down my hair and onto my shirt. I don't know the name of the street that I'm on, nor do I care. Heck, I can't even remember what town I'm in. If I were a little more rational now, I'd probably want to know. But as it turns out, right now, I couldn't care less about knowing where I am. I don't care about much of anything right now, to be honest. Sure, being caught outside in the middle of a rainstorm is a little annoying, and I'll definitely be upset about my soaked clothes later, but I appreciate the numbness soaking into my bones. The numb feeling spreads to my emotions, too. It helps me forget.

I know I'm overreacting, that I shouldn't have stormed out on my parents after the argument we had earlier, but I don't have the self-control to calm myself down. Or the desire to do so. Instead, I quicken my pace and glare at the ground. Not that it's offended me in any particular way, but I just feel like being angry right now, and glaring seems like an innocent way to do it.

I'm not an adult anyway. Teenagers are allowed to do this kind of stuff. At least, that's what I'll tell myself so that I stop feeling guilty about lashing out at my parents. It's not like they aren't trying. But when I'm tired, I forget they're making an effort. I forget that they're not making me miserable just for the sake of it. And they're easy to blame.

Something slams into my shoulder, sending my unwrapped chocolate bar flying out of my hands and into a puddle. I look up, my face contorting into a scowl. Though it's someone I've crashed into, not something, it seems, as I make eye contact with an equally soaked and very apologetic-looking boy.

"I'm so sorry," he says, gesturing nonsensically with his hands, his eyes widening as he sees my expression. "I didn't mean to—"

"I don't care," I snap coldly. I don't want to be this rude to him, really. It was my fault as much as his. But I still can't stop the words from flying out of my mouth. "You should have been looking where you were going. I don't have the patience for this right now. I don't need a clumsy idiot on top of everything else. It's pouring rain, cold, and wet. This place sucks." I lower my voice to little more than a whisper. "Should've stayed back in the last town. I hate it here. It's a mess."

The boy nods silently throughout my rant, looking equally scared and annoyed, probably just waiting until I stop yelling at him so he can leave. But his expression changes at my last sentence. "Are you maybe..." He pauses when I refocus my glare on him but continues anyway. "...lost?"

"Even if I am, why do you care?"

"You look kind of frustrated, I guess." He wrings his hands together nervously as he waits for a response, but to my surprise, he meets my gaze instead of looking away. I guess he's not quite as scared as I thought.

"Well, you guessed right," I say sarcastically after a long and awkward silence. "I'm lost. Congratulations. You win."

He sighs. "Do you want help?"

"From you?"

He's been meeting my gaze boldly this whole time, but he flinches at the sudden malice lacing my tone. Not that I've been all sunshine and daisies before, but my mood is getting worse and worse and I'm having more trouble controlling myself.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he bites out, his fists clenching. "And what else are you going to do? It doesn't seem like you know where you are or where you're going, and if you talk to people like you hate them, nobody's going to help you."

I hesitate briefly, shocked by the sudden anger in the boy's tone. "I don't know," I mutter, ashamed for lashing out. Again. "I'll find my way home eventually. Probably. It'd be nice if it wasn't dark."

"You could let me help. What's so bad about that?" He pauses, waiting for a response that I'm not going to give before continuing. "My name's Noah. Nice to meet you, I guess. Kind of. Come on, let's get out of the rain before it turns you into even more of a grump."

"I'm Chance," I mumble reluctantly, mustering some self-control to stop from lashing out as he tugs on my arm, pulling me into a small coffee shop. The sign above the door reads Mugs and Kisses. I snort. What kind of shop would voluntarily use such a cliché name?

The first thing that I notice when I step inside is the smell of coffee. I can't say I like the smell on its own, but even I can't deny that it's cozy when coupled with this atmosphere. In fact, the whole interior of the shop practically screams coziness. The walls are decorated with soft earthy colors, the decorations themselves not quite as important as how well their shades match the shop's aesthetic.

In addition to the regular tables and chairs that I've always found in coffee shops, couches line the walls, decorated with mismatching cushions. Some of the cushions clash horribly with the furniture, either in color or pattern—or both—but somehow not in an offensive way. I'm not quite sure how that's possible, but it's almost more natural than having a matching furniture set. A matching furniture set would seem to fancy and not quite as inviting.

My eyes are also drawn to the fireplace in the corner, casting a flickering orange glow on the floor. It looks inexplicably out of place and is far too close to the bookshelf to be remotely safe, but it still gives off a comforting warmth. And I figure that if it hasn't burned down the building yet, it's probably not a major safety hazard. The shop certainly isn't perfect by any means, but I do have to acknowledge that its quirkiness makes it homey.

"Hi Emma!" Noah greets the girl behind the counter, tearing my exhausted gaze reluctantly away from the mesmerizing flicker of the flames. "Do you have a spare towel?"

She laughs. "You know where they are, so get one yourself. They're practically yours by now with how often you use them."

"Thanks!" He turns to me. "I'm going to get a coffee. Want one?"

I wrinkle my nose in disgust instinctively before realizing that he might think I'm rude. Or, since he already thinks I'm rude, he might think I'm even more rude. "I don't really like coffee."

Noah turns around from where he'd been trying to force open the door to the cabinet, his eyes wide in mock horror. "No way. Everyone loves coffee!"

"It's kind of gross. Don't ask me why."

Noah sighs, and I can't tell whether it's out of mock disappointment, actual disappointment, or exasperation. "Okay, I guess. Here." He tosses me a small hand towel. "Go dry yourself off and take a seat by the fire. I'll be over in a minute."

I do as he asks, rubbing the towel furiously over my hair and then dabbing my face as I walk over to the fireplace. I relish the feeling of the warmth growing stronger with every step. This certainly isn't where I imagined I'd be ten minutes ago, but it's nice. Almost too nice.

I don't really understand why I'm here; I yelled at Noah just a few minutes ago and probably terrified him. Or offended him. Or both, from what I could tell based on his facial expressions. So why is he walking towards me with a towel slung over his shoulder and a small, soft smile on his face, holding a mug of steaming liquid out towards me?

"Hot chocolate," Noah says simply. "Even if you don't like coffee, there's no way you can't like hot chocolate."

I consider making a face to freak him out but decide against it, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward than it already is. "Thanks." I take the mug and cup my hands around it, blowing gently onto the surface and letting the steam warm my face. "Mugs? Not cups?"

"I figured we were going to stay for a while. Might as well dry off by the fire."

We sit in silence for a while, Noah sipping his coffee while I alternate between drinking my hot chocolate and staring suspiciously at him. Because while not having slept at all for twenty-four hours doesn't make me any less capable of realizing that I've been a major asshole, it does make me more paranoid.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Noah lets out a quiet sigh. "Do you like to read?"

"What?"

"The bookshelf isn't just there for decoration," he explains, reaching out to run his hand over the dark wood. "You're free to take whatever book you like off the shelf and read it as long as you don't take it out of the shop."

"Oh. That's nice, I guess." I can't bring myself to respond any more than that. My whole head feels heavy from exhaustion and sitting next to a warm fireplace isn't exactly helping me stay awake. Quite the opposite, really—I can feel myself getting sleepier by the second. It's a major struggle to force my eyelids open, and my eyes are burning from the effort.

"It is!" Noah exclaims. "I found my favorite book here. It's not the type of book I would've imagined myself ever reading, but Emma suggested it. I was surprised by how good it was. It was such a pleasant surprise. I never thought I'd like romance books, because romance seems weird to me, but the character development was just so good, and..."

I just sit there, in a strange room in a strange city, listening to him talk. Or more like listening to his voice, because I'm not exactly sure what he's actually talking about. This all feels so surreal that I'm half sure I'm dreaming. His voice is soothing in such a way that I could sit here for hours and not get bored of listening. That thought only makes me feel even more guilty about losing my temper a few minutes before.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I whisper, so quietly that for a second, I wasn't sure Noah heard. But when he stops talking, I look up, meeting his eyes reluctantly.

"Don't worry," Noah replies with a small smile, stopping his rant. "It's fine."

Something about the accepting tone of Noah's voice makes me angry. "No it's not," I say bluntly. "You don't deserve to be yelled at. You didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't have gotten upset at you."

"But I did," Noah insists. His brow furrows. "I ran into you and made you drop what you were carrying."

"And then you brought me inside so I could dry off and you bought me hot chocolate. And it's not your fault that I wasn't looking where I was going or that I'm practically a zombie because I haven't slept in a whole day."

"So, you finally admit it!" Noah crows, slouching back against the couch cushion as he grins triumphantly. His sudden change in mood startles me temporarily, but then his smile fades. "It still was partly my fault though. Sorry."

"Why are you even helping me? If I were you, I wouldn't want to help me."

"You looked sad," Noah says quietly. "And lost. At first I thought you were lost in a more figurative sense, but it turned out you were literally lost as well. I wasn't going to help you at first, because you were being kind of scary. But then I realized that if I was having a really bad day, I'd want someone to be nice to me. And if you were lost, I thought maybe I could help."

Suddenly, I'm very aware of the music playing quietly though the speakers. I wish it was a bit louder. Something about his honesty and kindness makes me feel hopelessly inadequate, almost unworthy of being in his presence. And that scares me. "Yeah. I just moved."

"Oh. From where?"

"Tokyo."

"Oh my gosh, that's so cool! I've always wanted to go to Japan. How long have you lived there? What was it like?"

"Three months." I want to stop here and leave it at that, but I keep going, pushing myself to make an effort in return for Noah's help. Even though I'm so tired that my words are starting to slur together. "That's the fourth country I've lived in. I was born here in the states, but I've also lived in the UK and Spain."

"Which country is your favorite?"

"Probably the US, but not for any meaningful reason. It's just that people in the UK treated my family weirdly when they found out we weren't tourists despite our American accents. And Japan and Spain would've been a lot better if I could speak Japanese and Spanish."

"Why didn't you learn?"

"Didn't seem worth it," I say, unwanted bitterness creeping into my tone. "I knew we weren't going to stay for very long anyway. Japan lasted three months, but Spain only lasted two." Seeing Noah's questioning expression, I answer before he even had a chance to ask. "My dad's work keeps moving him around to different branches. Something about giving him more experience or some crap like that. I could be and probably am biased since I hate moving, but I feel like they're taking advantage of him because he never refuses. We keep moving every few months and I'm just so tired of it all."

I look down at my hands, playing with my fingers to keep myself calm and keep the burning in my eyes at bay. The last thing I want is to start crying here. But I think Noah interprets my fidgeting as awkwardness and breaks the silence. "What's moving like?" he asks curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this might not be the best time to say this, but I've never moved before," Noah admits. "I've always wanted to. Isn't it exciting?" When I don't answer, Noah sighs. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have asked."

"Yeah."

The silence resumes, but it isn't as uncomfortable as before. It's still awkward, of course, and I'm still slightly wary of him, but it's better now that I've apologized. But he still seems far too trusting, too nice, especially for a stranger.

I turn my gaze away from Noah and towards the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle around. The flames are almost hypnotic with their bright colors and frantic movement, and I feel my eyes begin to grow heavy. But I don't want to fall asleep here in front of him, so I pinch my arm and force myself to sit back up.

A few minutes later, Noah reaches over my head and pulls a book off the shelf. "Here." He holds the book out to me. "This is my favorite book. The one I was talking about earlier. If you feel like it, maybe give it a try? I thought I'd hate it, but I didn't, so don't judge by the cover or the summary."

"Thanks," I say, reading Dragons and Flies on the cover. Sounds cheesy. Just like the name of the shop. "But I really should get home. I don't want my parents to worry. We kind of fought earlier, and I don't want them thinking that I ran away." I pause. "Wait, I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, nodding, though he makes it sound more like a question than a statement. "I get weird after I haven't slept in a long time too. Will you be able to get home?"

"Eventually, yeah," I say. "But I don't even know my address, so it'll take a while."

"Text your parents?"

"I left my phone at home."

Noah rolls his eyes. "You're not making this easy. Any landmarks or something near your house?"

"I just got here earlier today, so I'm not sure. My mom said something about a grocery store. Some sort of small one. Not a chain, but some local one. With a weird name."

"Oh, I think I know what you're talking about. It hasn't stopped raining, though. Want a lift? I have my car parked a few blocks away."

"Depends on how far it is."

"Three minutes to the car, and then a ten-minute drive. If you wanted to walk, it'd probably be about fifteen minutes."

I shrug. "Okay, sounds good. You're not going to kidnap me or anything, right?" I'm not exactly serious, but I'm not completely joking either.

He rolls his eyes again. I'm not even sure he realizes he's doing it at this point, but he does it a lot. "Of course not, why would I do that? Then I'd have to feed you, and I'm too hungry to give you any of my food."

I smile for the first time all afternoon at his joke, or at least at what I think is a joke. His face is schooled into such a serious expression that it's hard to tell. "Just thought I'd check. Where should I put the towel?"

Noah holds his hand out. "I'll take it." He takes both towels and heads towards the back room, putting his mug in the sink on the way. "Emma, I'm going to toss these in the wash, okay?"

"Don't worry about it," she calls back. "I don't have enough other things to wash to make a full load. Just give them to me so I can put them in the basket and wash them later."

"Are you sure?" She nods, and he pouts. "Emma, come on! I'll feel bad if you don't let me do something."

"It's not like you're bothering me. There's nobody else here. But fine, you can put them in the basket. And I can give you some stuff to do next time you come."

"Okay, thanks! And thanks for the drinks!" He disappears in the back for a few seconds and comes back out, walking back towards me. "Okay, Chance, ready to run to the car?"

I frown. "Do we really have to run? I'd much rather walk."

"If you want to get soaked again, sure. It's pretty far off." I must have made a face, because he sighs. "Okay, I'll go and bring the car over. Wait here."

As much as that sounds nice, I'd feel guilty if he did that because I'm just being lazy. But before I can voice my objections, he's already out the door, walking away. I sigh.

"Don't worry about it too much," Emma says from behind the counter, tucking her black hair behind her ear. "It's just what he does. For everyone. Sometimes it's nice, but other times it drives people crazy."

"I can see why," I grumble. "I am lazy, I'll give you that, but I'm not that lazy. I just like complaining."

She giggles. "That's good to know. I never actually introduced myself. I'm Emma. Emma Paik. Nice to meet you."