1 2 - N O A H

When I wake up the next morning, my head feels much clearer, though I still feel slightly feverish. But that doesn't stop me from feeling extremely accomplished, because I just woke up in my own bed after sleeping for the whole night. Without waking up. At all. Not even once.

"Hey," Chance says, smiling up at me from where he's lying on the floor. I hadn't realized he was awake, but he looks pretty alert, so I assume he's been up for a while. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," I say, my tone disbelieving. "Oh my gosh, Chance, I just slept for a whole night! Without waking up! In my own bed!"

"You did!" he agrees, smiling. He looks almost as excited as I feel, and his acknowledgement makes me feel all nice and fuzzy inside. Anyone else would have belittled my sense of accomplishment, either on accidentally or on purpose, reminding me that people do that regularly, but he acknowledged it and didn't make me feel worse about myself.

It really is nice to be able to open up to someone without fearing that they'll make me feel bad about it. I even have a hard time with opening up to Emma—not because I think she'll make me feel bad about myself, but because she knows my parents well, and I don't want her telling them anything. She wouldn't do it intentionally, of course, but she tends to run her mouth without thinking about what she's saying. And there are some things that I just don't want them to know.

"Want to go get some breakfast?" I ask him, my eyes drawn to the way he rubs his eyes sleepily and yawns. Maybe he isn't quite alert as I thought, and I find it strangely endearing. But I push away the melty, fuzzy feeling I get in my chest, not wanting to think about what it might mean. I can worry about that later.

"Yeah," he says. "That sounds good." He sits up, the blanket he used falling off his chest, and I can't help but smile at how he looks wearing my oversized shirt. Oversized on me, at least. It's a bit small on him. But still. It's the thought that counts, right?

"Here," I say, tossing him one of my sweatshirts after I sit up. When I try to stand up and walk, my vision spins and I have to grab at the wall for support. But while I certainly don't like the sudden dizzy spell, it doesn't make me quite as afraid as it did even yesterday. Something about talking it out really, really helped.

"Careful," Chance says, leaping up quickly to brace my shoulder. Once I'm steady, he puts his hand on my forehead and frowns. "You still have a fever. Come on, let's get you some medicine."

"You know," I tell him, the words falling out of my mouth without thinking, "you'd make a great father."

I regret the words as soon as I say them, of course, but the one thing I did not expect is for him to make a disgusted face. "Ew. Children."

I frown. "You don't like kids?"

"I don't like young kids," he corrects. "Older kids are okay, I guess."

"How young is young?"

"Younger than eight or nine. They scare me. Their moods constantly change for absolutely no obvious reason at all, and everyone expects you to know how to calm them down. They're nightmares." He shudders.

I laugh. "True. Well, good luck on having a kid that's skipped the first ten years of life."

"There's always adoption," he reminds me.

I give him a look. "Wow, you've really thought about this."

He scowls, a blush forming on his face. "Shut up."

"No, sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I think that's pretty cool."

He gives me a small smile. "Thanks. Now come on, let's go downstairs. The sooner you eat, the sooner you can take more medicine."

When we walk into the kitchen, I nearly jump in surprise at finding my mom standing by the stove making scrambled eggs. "Good morning," she greets when she sees us. "I heard you walking around up there, so I thought I'd start some breakfast."

"Good morning," I respond. "I thought you said you were going to work?"

"I was going to, but you're sick. I thought it might be nice for me to stay home and take care of you for a day."

I smile and give her a hug. It's been a while since I did that, I realize, which makes me kind of sad. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're most welcome," she says, turning back to the stove. A few seconds later, she says, "Why don't you boys go grab some plates? These will be ready in a minute or so."

"Thank you for the breakfast, Mrs. Brennan," Chance says politely, making his way to the cabinet before I can and handing me a plate. I still don't understand how he knows where everything is in my kitchen now. For someone that gets lost easily, he certainly has an amazing memory.

"Oh, please, dear, call me Claire. Mrs. Brennan makes me feel old."

"Sorry, Claire," he says bashfully. It makes me want to squeal, except that would be extremely weird and entirely inappropriate, so I suppress the urge. "I'll try to remember. But thank you for the breakfast."

"It's no problem at all. It's the least I could do after what you did yesterday."

Chance nods shyly and takes a bite of the eggs. "Yum," he says. "This is great!"

"I think someone's calling you," I say as I feel his phone vibrating through the table. Because if I don't stop him from talking now, my heart will explode into a million tiny pieces.

"Oh!" He pulls the phone up to his ear. "Mom?" Then his neutral expression morphs into a disappointed pout. "Do I have to?"

"What happened?" I ask as soon as he sighs and hangs up the phone. He places it on the table with a thud.

"I have to go home. I'm supposed to start schooling today. I completely forgot."

"Aww," I sigh. "Okay. Have fun, maybe? Good luck? I'll walk you out."

"Alright, thanks. I'll go get my clothes from upstairs." He walks out of the room while I continue to eat in silence, shoveling the last of the food into my mouth before it gets cold. When he comes back down, I stand up and follow him to the door.

"Thanks so much for being here with me," I say, watching as he puts his shoes on. He loses his balance as he stands on one leg, though, and nearly falls over into the wall with a yelp.

"It's no big deal," he says, managing to regain his balance and stand up. He brushes off the knees of his pants from where he'd been kneeling on the floor and throws me a sweet smile.

"No, it really is," I say. "I don't think you understand how much that meant to me. I—" I break off, not knowing how to express in words what I want to tell him. Instead, I wrap my arms around him in a hug, making him stiffen awkwardly at first. But then he relaxes in my embrace, letting me hold him for a few more seconds than might be considered socially appropriate before squeezing and letting go. "Just...thanks," I finish.

He smiles, a light dusting of red making its way across his face and settling atop his ears. Emma always tells me I always look so happy when I make someone else happy, and although I've always understood what she meant, I've never really seen that for myself. But right now, the way Chance looks must be exactly what Emma sees in me. It's really not good for my heart.

He waves at me shyly one last time and walks out of the house, shutting the front door gently behind him. I watch him walk down the street from the window until he disappears from view before heading back into the kitchen.

"He seems like a nice boy," my mom says through a mouthful of food. "Chance, right? Where'd you meet him?"

"He got lost in the middle of town. He got in an argument with his parents and stormed out because he was sleep deprived and tired of moving. He was in a really bad mood when I first met him, but I don't blame him. I think this is the tenth time he's moved."

"Wow, that's a lot. I wonder how he deals with it all."

"Me too," I agree. "But I helped calm him down and introduced him to Emma. And then we hung out a few days ago. But then I got sick. Apparently, I texted him and asked him to come over while I was tired and exhausted. I woke up and didn't remember that he'd come over, so I was so surprised. I feel bad, though. I hate being sick."

"You'll get better," she says firmly.

"I know."

She looks surprised in the resolution in my voice. "What changed?"

"What?"

"Normally you'd give me a look and say you know to get me off your back, but you actually sound like you mean it this time." She gives me a knowing look. "Don't try and deny it. I know when you're trying to get me to stop talking and don't actually mean what you say. But this time, you really mean it, don't you? I'm not wrong, am I?"

"You're not wrong," I confirm. It's almost surreal to realize that I actually mean what I say. I've gotten so used to insisting that I'm fine on reflex that those words stopped having a meaning. They'd lost their weight. Which is why I'm so shocked to realize that the words aren't quite so empty anymore.

"Talking to him really helped, didn't it?" she asks. She's going somewhere with this, I can tell. Kind of. She's dropping hints, that is. She won't say it outright. But I decide to play along, because it's time I try.

"As much as I hate to admit it, it really did. And I don't feel as guilty as I thought I would about telling him about everything and forcing him to listen to me."

"That's good," she replies, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

We fall silent for a while, and I fiddle with my fingers, trying to figure out how I should say what I want to say without making it seem like a big deal. But of course, she turns it into a big deal anyway. She's been dropping not-so-subtle hints for months.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there any way I could...go talk to someone?"

"Finally!" she exclaims, coming around the table to give me a hug. "I've been waiting for you to say that for forever."

I already knew that, but I make a face anyway. "Why?"

"I've been thinking for a while now that you really need to go, but I didn't think you'd get very much out of it if you didn't want to be there. I wanted you to be the one to ask for it." She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Took you long enough. I was getting to the point where I was seriously considering forcing you to go, but I knew you'd hate me for it."

"Yeah, I would have. So, thanks."

She smiles and wraps her arms around my shoulders, gently rocking me back and forth. "You're welcome."

I push her away and jokingly scowl. "Get off or else you're going to get sick."

She pouts, playing along. "But you let Chance sleep in your room last night. What if he gets sick?"

My eyes widen. "Oh my gosh I didn't think about that. I should have thought about that. I hate getting sick."

"I'm sure he thought about that," she assures me. "And since he decided to stay anyway, I'm sure he thought it was worth it. Don't worry so much. I'm glad you have a new friend. Though I do have to say that I'm surprised at how close you guys are. You only met this week, right? Did you cuddle with all of your old friends, too?"

"Mom," I groan, "stop. Not you too. Emma's already enough."

"Emma teases you too?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I like him."

"Because what now?"

I clamp my hand over my mouth, horrified. "I mean—she's convinced that I do, and she keeps teasing me about it, which is completely pointless because I don't, but she's even made a bet with me and—"

My mom breaks into a full-on laughing fit, clutching her stomach and bending over until she hits her head on the table. She's doing that thing where she sticks her tongue out a little as she laughs because she's laughing at me, but in a joking way. "Sure, sure, keep lying to yourself," she forces out once she's calmed down a little bit. "I can see why Emma teases you. It's hilarious."

I scowl. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why do you like gossipy stuff so much? You act like more of a teenager than I do."

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this to happen." Her cheeks are still rosy from laughter, and her eyes are sparkling. I'm taken aback when it dawns on me that I haven't seen her look this happy in months. I hadn't realized that my unhappiness had made her this unhappy, too, and I'm really glad that she looks happier. Even if it's at my expense.

But of course, I don't want to just say that, because then she'd make a big deal out of that, too. So instead, I just retort, "Why, to see me all embarrassed?"

"Well, maybe a little bit. It's my job to embarrass you, after all. But I also want to see you be happy."

"I won't be happy if you keep teasing me," I mutter.

"Oh my gosh, I can totally see it," she gushes, ignoring my comment. "And you're so obvious, too! I can't believe I didn't notice it before. One of those things that you can't unsee once you know about it, I guess."

"What do you mean?" I ask, glowering. "I'm not obvious because there's nothing to be obvious about."

"There totally is. You kept staring at his face, and the way you look at him is adorable. You wanted him to stay over, even though you used to hate sleepovers. You texted him when you were sick before you even thought about texting me. And you let him touch your face and your hair and cuddle with you and you like it."

"I don't—I'm not—"

"Don't bother denying it. And you obviously trust him, since you went and told him everything. I don't think you've even told me or Emma everything. And now you're willing to go to therapy because of him."

She's practically vibrating with glee at this point, but her happiness does nothing to abate my embarrassment. In fact, it's making it worse. My skin feels like it's on fire, and weird prickles are crawling all over my body. My heart pounds in my ears, the blood roaring around until it's all I can hear. Hot flashes course through my body.

I finally give up and bury my face in my hands. "Fine. I get it. Stop. I'll admit it if you stop." Just saying that out loud makes me want to go crawl in a hole and hide for eternity. Sure, I'd be bored, but at least I wouldn't be embarrassed to the point of physical discomfort.

"Okay." The gentle smile is back on her face, all signs of playful teasing gone. "I'm happy for you, Noah. I really am."

"I'm not." I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm myself down. "Emma's going to hold this over me for the rest of my life. Dang it, what am I going to do?"

"Just don't listen to Emma's teasing. Tune it out like you tune out my teasing."

I look up at her. "No, you don't understand. What am I going to do?"

"Whatever you want to do. Within reason, of course. It's okay to like someone, Noah. It really is. The world isn't going to end."

"It might as well. I'm going to go die of embarrassment."

"Why? Because you think he's cute?"

"And because I'm having this conversation with my mom," I add, not wanting to admit it but being unable to deny it. Ignoring her comment seems like the best bet. Then, before she can respond, I cut in, saying, "I'm going upstairs to take a nap. You can go to work if you want. I won't mind at all."

"I took a sick day, so you're not getting rid of me," she calls cheerfully as I practically sprint up the stairs.

When I get to my room, I slam the door shut out of habit before I realize that it's really not a good idea. Just because I was able to somewhat stand it with Chance by my side doesn't mean I can do it on my own. And now that I've associated a closed door with a positive experience, for once—or a not negative experience, at least—I don't want that to go to waste by rushing myself. I open it again quietly before collapsing on my bed.

I have absolutely no idea how to face Chance now. As I think back, replaying our interactions, a lot of what I said and did makes so much more sense when I look at it like this. Why he helped me fall asleep, why he was able to calm me down. Why I find his awkwardness adorable. Why I always felt giddy in his company.

At the time, I'd attributed it to simple happiness caused by meeting someone new. The rush that came with something new to look forward to. But this makes so much more sense. So much more sense, in fact, that I feel like an absolute idiot. No wonder Emma was so confident.

And what if he finds out? That would probably kill me. I feel a little bit ashamed for liking him since I've known him for a little less than a week. I still can't get over how it seems kind of shallow. I don't want him to think that I'm gullible or that I haven't taken the time to get to know him properly first. What if he hates me for it? What would he think? And now I have to figure out how to tell Emma that she won. Either that, or she'll find out from my mom. I'm not sure which one is worse.

I groan into my pillow, unable to sleep with all the thoughts running through my head. It would be a welcome change from my regular paralyzing fear, except that those thoughts are filling me with a different type of paralyzing fear. A fear that I'm not used to, moreover, which will make it so much harder to deal with than the kind I'm used to.

This is going to be a long, long day.