1 1 - C H A N C E

I'm downstairs in Noah's kitchen making him another grilled cheese sandwich for dinner when a woman walks into the kitchen and screams. I jump, whirling around to find her looking at me menacingly with her keys held out.

"Who are you?" she demands, clenching her hand tighter. I hold my hands up to assure her I mean no harm and back up out of her punching range. Or, in this case, keying range.

"I'm Chance. Chance Taylor. I'm here for Noah. He's sick and lying in bed upstairs, so I'm making dinner."

She relaxes her arm a little bit, lowering it and loosening her grip on her key, but still stares at me suspiciously. "How come I've never met you before?"

"I just moved here last week. I'm sorry for not asking Noah to tell you I was here. And if you're worried about the dishes, I promise I'll wash the pan when I'm done."

"It's alright," she says, looking a little bit calmer. "I guess someone wouldn't break into my house to make a grilled cheese sandwich, let alone do the dishes afterwards, so I'll trust you."

I smile. "Thanks," I say. "I wouldn't trust someone in my house either. I'll take it up to him in a minute. You should come see him. He was in pretty bad shape when I first got here. He looked like he was about to cry. But he's doing a bit better now."

"How long have you been here?"

I glance down at my watch. "Six hours, about?"

She nods, her eyes widening in surprise. "That's a long time. Thank you so much for coming over. I hadn't realized he was in such bad shape. Let me put my stuff away and then I'll be up to check on him, okay?"

I take the sandwich off the stove, put it on the plate, and head back upstairs. When I enter Noah's room, he blinks up at me sleepily. "Where were you?" he asks. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I made you dinner. Except it's the same thing that you had for lunch because that's the only thing I can cook."

He smiles and lets out a small chuckle. The bags under his eyes are much less pronounced, I notice, now that he's taken two decent naps today. His color is a little bit better, now, too. He looks much less like a ghost. "That's okay. Thanks. Here, come sit down."

I hand him the plate before sitting down on the edge of his bed and feeling his forehead. "I think your fever's gone down a little. That's good. You should probably take more medicine after you eat, though."

"Hey, Noah, how are you feeling?" his mom asks as she walks in the room. When she sees Noah looking up at me without panicking, she breathes a sigh of relief. "Good, you really do know him."

Noah looks at her in confusion. "What do you mean? Of course I know him."

"I freaked out when I came home and saw him in the kitchen because I'd never seen him before, and I didn't know he was going to be over. But then I realized someone wouldn't break into our house to make sandwiches, and he said he knew you, so I figured I'd trust him a little bit. And now I can trust him completely."

Noah shakes his head. "You're weird, mom. But yeah, we only met a few days ago. He just moved here."

While they were talking, I'd gotten out the medicine for Noah. "Here," I say, holding out two pills to him in the palm of my hand. "If you take these now, hopefully it should last long enough so that you still feel better when you go to bed tonight."

"Thanks," he says, using the water I got him earlier to take it. He makes a face. "It hurts to swallow."

"Do you want more hot water? I can go get some for you."

"No, I'll go get it," Noah's mom interrupts. "I feel bad about not coming home sooner. I should have stayed home today. Give me a chance to be the mom."

"Okay," I reply, figuring it would be best to agree as she walks out the room.

"Sorry," Noah says once she's gone. "She's kind of weird."

"That's okay," I laugh. "She seems nice. Like she cares about you."

"Yeah," he agrees. "She does. She really does." He pauses. "Um..."

"Yeah?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Thanks for earlier. I can't remember it all, but I remember some of it. And I feel a lot better now. Lighter. So, thanks for listening to me and putting up with my stuff."

I frown. "I'm not just putting up with your stuff, Noah. I can't say it makes me happy that you have to talk about all of this, because it means you've been hurting, but it makes me happy that you feel like you can talk to me. Thanks for opening up to me. You aren't burdening or disturbing me, okay? I'm more bothered when you don't say anything, because it makes me worry."

"Thanks." He leans forward and rests his head on my back. We just sit there in silence for a minute or two before his mom walks back up the stairs, her rhythmic footsteps making the floor creak. There are quite a few creaky floorboards in their hallway, and since I don't know exactly where they are yet, I always manage to step on every single one of them. It sounds like his mom manages to do the same, even though she's lived here for at least as long as Noah's been alive.

It mystifies me how some people can just do things like step on creaky floorboards without getting bothered. I get bothered by a lot of little things; I always have to drink from the same place when I have a glass of water, for example, and I have to make my bed every morning or else it feels weird when I try to go to bed the next evening. I also have to dry my hair completely after I shower, because I can't stand having my shirt wet. I wish I could just walk through life without caring about those things, because not only do I have to annoy myself with the small details, but I also get annoyed when other people do those things. Which is a lot, since hardly anyone else seems to care.

"You're doing it again," she giggles as she walks back into the room.

"Doing what again?"

"Getting all cuddly when you're sick. First me, then Emma, then Chance."

Noah jerks his head back up so hard he smacks it on the wall behind him. "Ouch." He turns to me. "Sorry."

Smiling, I reply, "It's alright. I don't mind."

His mom turns to me. "Are you cuddly too? Normally, people are supposed to get more antisocial when they're sick, but Noah does the opposite."

Noah whips around. "Stop asking him such weird questions, Mom! You're embarrassing me!"

She laughs. "Good. That's what moms are for. But I'll put you out of your misery and leave now. Sleep well, okay? I hope you feel better tomorrow. Your father and I will probably be at work by the time you wake up tomorrow morning, but I'll call you in sick again tomorrow so that you don't have to worry about going to school."

Noah smiles tiredly. "Thanks, Mom. See you tomorrow evening."

"Okay. Thanks for coming over, Chance. See you guys later!" She walks out the door, pulling it shut behind her. I glance over at Noah.

"Do you want me to go open that?"

Even though I can clearly tell by the panicked look on his face that he wants me to, he still shakes his head. "No, I want to try to get through this. Leave it closed."

"Would it be more helpful if I talked or stayed quiet?" My hands dangle uselessly by my side, desperately wanting to do something but not knowing what. I feel helpless again, like I did when I first arrived, even though I know why he's freaking out.

"Stay quiet. Just—I don't know. Can I see your hands?"

I hold them out, palms face up. He takes one hand and places it on his chest, right over his heart, and I can feel his heart racing, trying to break its way out of his chest. Then he takes my other hand, places it on top of my other one, and clutches it tightly. He closes his eyes, and soon after, I feel his heartrate start to come back down, though it's still much higher than it should be.

Since I can't move and he doesn't want me to talk, I just sit there, staring at his face. He has a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks that I hadn't noticed before, maybe because he's much paler now than he usually is from being sick. But looking this closely at his face makes him seem even more like a stranger. Like I don't know him at all.

What am I doing, sitting in this almost-stranger's house while he's sick and holding his hand as he works through one of his deepest fears? A fear that he told me about when he told me about his past, something he said he hasn't ever talked about with anyone in the way he talked about it with me? What am I doing, with my mind stuck on the way he told me I make him feel safe, on the way he told me he likes me? What am I doing, wanting to do absolutely anything to make him feel better?

What am I doing?

It's funny to remember my life even just two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I hadn't had someone I could call a friend in years. Two weeks ago, I hated my life and was absolutely terrified of the upcoming move. Two weeks ago, I would've given anything to never have to move again. But now, I'm thankful beyond words that we moved here. And I'm absolutely terrified beyond words that I'll have to move again. I think that would ruin me.

I'm startled out of my thoughts when he suddenly squeezes my hand. My gaze drifts over to him to find his eyes wide open, darting around the room in a near panic.

"Hey," I say gently. "What are you thinking?"

"The walls," he says frantically. "The walls, they're—"

"The walls are fine. You're fine." I move the hand he isn't grabbing from his chest back up to his head, hoping it's comforting rather than annoying since I've already done it so many times today. But once again, he leans into my touch, so I continue.

"I can't do this with my eyes open," he says. "And even if I'm not looking at the walls, I still feel them. I know it's stupid and irrational, but if I know they're there, it doesn't matter if I can't see them. They still feel suffocating."

"It might be irrational, but it's not stupid," I tell him. "Everyone's afraid of something, but most people just refuse to acknowledge their fears."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Moving," I say without hesitation. "You'd think I would've gotten used to it by now, but every time my parents talk about it, it makes me sick to my stomach. One of the reasons I didn't learn Spanish or Japanese was because I didn't want to think about how I was overseas, because then I would stop and have to ask myself where I was overseas from. I don't even remember the town I was born in, so it's not like that matters. It's scary not being tied to a place. Not to have a place to think of as home."

"Were you scared to move here?"

"Of course. I'm always scared before I move."

"Are you scared now?"

"I'm scared that I'll have to move again, because I don't want to leave you or Emma. But I'm also glad I'm scared, because it means I have friends. People I can trust outside of my family. That hasn't happened in a while."

"Oh." After a few seconds, he asks, "Can you open the door now?"

"Yeah." I walk over and pull it open, only to find his mom sitting outside in the hallway.

"Oops," she says, a sheepish grin on her face. "I didn't mean to get caught."

Noah sits up and glares, though he doesn't look very menacing with his cheeks flushed and his hair sticking up all over the place. "Mom, what are you doing?"

"I realized I closed your door and came back to open it, but I heard you guys talking. He knows, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. I've told him."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Good for you," she says. "I really mean it. That's a huge step."

"Mhm," Noah grunts. "Okay, I'm getting ready for bed now. You can go."

"Alright, alright," she agrees. "But I'll be back to embarrass you more later. Look forward to it!" We both watch her as she walks down the hall and down the steps to make sure she actually leaves this time.

"Your mom seems cool," I tell him. "Are you going to be able to sleep tonight? Because you're not in good enough shape to drive yourself to the cafe or the bookstore, and if you can't sleep here, you'll be in bad shape in the morning."

"I can always try," he says doubtfully, "but I haven't been able to sleep here for weeks now."

I take out my phone and text my mom, and she replies only a few seconds later. I grin. "My mom says I can stay over."

"Really?" he asks in surprise.

"Yeah, I think she's happy I'm just talking to someone—wait, I just completely invited myself over, and you're sick. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have just—"

"It's really okay," he assures me, smiling briefly. "It'd be great if you could stay. You help me sleep, as weird as that sounds. I'll find you pajamas and a toothbrush and stuff. Come on."

We stand up and head to the bathroom. Noah digs through one of the drawers before handing me a toothbrush, still in its wrapping. "Here, brush your teeth while I go find you pillows and blankets and stuff."

As I brush my teeth, I head back into his room to grab the box of medicine and bring it back into the bathroom where I found it earlier, leaving the bottle that he's using in his room. And when I'm done brushing my teeth, I start organizing the stuff on the counter out of habit until Noah sticks his head in the door and gives me a strange look.

"Why are you cleaning my bathroom? That's weird. Come on, I have stuff ready for you." I follow him into his room and find a makeshift bed on the floor. He gestures to it apologetically. "I would offer you my bed, but I've been sick and sleeping in it all day so I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"It's fine, thanks for setting this up."

"No problem. Here are some pajamas you can wear. You can change in here while I go use the bathroom."

I change into his clothes once he leaves, finding them a little bit smaller than I'm used to but still a good size. He is much, much shorter than me, after all. I'm not sure why he has stuff that fits me. Then I check my phone to make sure I don't have any other messages from my mom before I turn my phone face-down on the floor next to me and nestle myself into the bed of blankets on the floor.

Noah comes back into the room a minute later, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "It's only eight thirty, but it feels so late," he comments. And even though I'm not sick, I have to agree. "Wake me up if you need anything," he adds.

"Same here," I respond, nodding. "Don't feel bad about waking me up because that's why I'm staying over. Also, if you wake up in the middle of the night, you can take those pills on your nightstand after midnight."

"Thanks, Chance," he says as he turns off the light and gets into bed. "You're wonderful."

I listen to him toss and turn for the next half an hour or so, but after that, he seems to have fallen asleep. I try to drift off too, but despite how tired I am, I can't seem to fall asleep. It's still quite early, after all, and I've barely moved all day. I'm not exactly surprised.

I pull out my phone and turn on the screen, wincing slightly at how bright it is. But that doesn't stop me from unlocking it once I see a text from Emma.

How's Noah doing? she asked.

He's doing a lot better now, I think, I respond. We talked. A lot. I think that helped.

You talked???? she responds almost immediately. About what?

About his sickness and stuff. And what happened a few years ago.

Oh my god, really?? How'd you get him to tell you? I've almost never heard him talk about it. He always refuses.

Um, I just asked him about it?

Wow. That's really great. How much did he tell you?

I'm pretty sure he told me everything? When his mom asked him if I knew everything, he said yes. But I'm not sure.

Wow, she says again. I still can't believe it, but I'm so happy for him.

Thank you so much, Chance. He really needed that, I think. He told you about the wall stuff, too, right?

Yeah, I confirm. About that, can you stop calling it phantom? I get why you call it that, but I think he's using that to tell himself that it doesn't matter and it's not good for him.

Is he really? I didn't realize, I'm so sorry. I'll definitely do that from now on.

Thank you again, Chance. You're seriously amazing. And Noah probably agrees. Is he asleep right now?

As far as I can tell, yeah. He's snoring a little bit.

Aww, that's adorable

Yeah, I admit, it kind of is.

;), she sends back.

What?

Oh, nothinggg

I should go close up now. It's getting a bit late. Come by soon, okay?

Okay, I'll try! Good night.

I turn off my phone again, plunging the room into darkness once again. Noah's still sleeping peacefully as far as I can tell, and I'm feeling much more tired now as well. So I let myself drift off too, wondering how much of this he'll remember in the morning.