1 3 - C H A N C E

When I walk into Mugs and Kisses the following evening, Emma looks happy to see me. Far too happy to be normal, even for her bubbly self. She's practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Did something happen?" I ask cautiously as she waves at me so enthusiastically that she smacks her hand on a cabinet, wincing slightly but ignoring it for the most part. She grins in response, letting out an excited squeal.

"I won the bet!"

"What bet?"

"Emma, don't you dare," I hear Noah warn, his tone much darker than I've ever heard it before. I whirl around to find him sitting on one of the chairs, which explains why I didn't notice him when I first walked in. Normally, he's over on the couches, not sitting on the chairs in the far corner, so when I saw the couches were empty, I'd assumed he wasn't here.

Or really, he's slumping, not sitting, using the armrest and a blanket for support. He looks utterly exhausted, worse than I've ever seen him. Which is saying a lot, because he looked absolutely awful when he texted me to come over that morning. I suppose that explains his response to Emma.

"Noah, what happened? Are you still sick? You look exhausted."

He grimaces, sinking down further into the chair. "Kind of. My cold's gone, at least. I'll probably be good enough to go to school tomorrow. I just couldn't sleep last night. At all."

"Are you sure? You look pretty flushed. You could still have a fever or something."

"I'm fine," he insists. "I checked my temperature earlier and it was normal."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "That's good! I hope you get completely better soon."

"So," Emma says, interrupting our conversation. "Noah, are you going to tell him about the bet?" She wiggles her eyebrows, smirking.

He scowls and looks away pointedly. "No way."

"Why not?" I ask. "Is it about me or something?"

"No," Noah says, shaking his head.

"Yes," Emma says at the same time, nodding.

I glance at them warily, scared by their opposite responses. "Did I do something bad?"

"No," Noah says, shaking his head quickly. "It's nothing like that."

"It's more like you existed," Emma adds.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. "That's helpful."

"Good. I do try, you know," Emma jokes.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me what it's about, will you at least tell me what you win?" I ask her curiously. "Does Noah owe you something?"

"She wanted me to go to a therapist and talk to someone. But joke's on her, because I already decided to go before she won."

"More like you decided to go before I knew I won," Emma corrects, smiling smugly. "I'd still won by that point."

"It's great that you agreed to go," I say, ignoring their bickering. It's a bit strange finding myself in the role of mediator, since they so rarely argue seriously. But right now, Emma seems to be really getting on Noah's nerves, and I can tell that he definitely doesn't need that right now. "I hope it'll help. And if it doesn't, that's okay, too. It's not for everyone."

"Thanks for making me want to go," he replies, though his voice is somewhat bitter, and I don't know why. I don't think I've done anything wrong, but I can't come up with any other reason for why his mood is so much worse than normal. I'm trying not to take it personally, since I know he's severely sleep-deprived, but it's hard. "And for not making me feel like a freak."

"You're welcome?"

"Yeah." He nods. "I think I'm going to try to go take a nap on the couch over there, sorry. I'll talk to you later." He walks over to the couch right next to the fireplace, putting in his earbuds before laying down and closing his eyes. After a few tosses and turns, he goes still, settling into what I hope is a restful sleep.

I don't realize I'm just sitting there staring at him until Emma taps me lightly on the shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

I sigh. "Noah. I just—I wish I could help him more. I don't know why, but I really, really want to help him. He doesn't deserve any of this, and I don't like it when he's sad. If anything, I should be the one feeling like that. I deserve it much more than he does, because he's a much better person than I am. And he's already put up with so much."

"I think you've already helped him more than you know," Emma says. "A few weeks ago, he didn't have anyone to talk to besides me and his parents. He refused to even consider therapy. And now he's opened up to you about things I don't think he's ever told me, even though I've known him for years. Besides, he wouldn't want you to feel that way, either. If you were in pain, he'd gladly take your pain from you and deal with it on top of what he already has so you could feel better."

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "That's what he said. That he hadn't talked about that stuff with anyone else in the way he talked about it with me."

"Is he always that word-vomity when he's with you?"

"Only when he was sick. He kept mumbling stuff that I'm sure he would never say if he wasn't both sick and sleep deprived."

"What did he tell you?"

"He kept asking me to stay in the room with him because I made him feel safe and he didn't notice the walls as much." I think for a bit and then add, "Oh, yeah, and he told me that I was pretty nice, that I was wonderful, that you're not as nice as me because you refuse to give him junk food, and that I'm his new favorite person. And then he told me that he thinks he likes me right before he fell asleep."

"Wow, I feel replaced. I'm almost jealous," Emma coos. But then she pauses and stares at me with wide eyes. "Hang on, what was that last thing you said?"

"He said, 'You're my new favorite person. I think I like you.' Is that what you meant?"

"Yep." She nods her head vigorously and squeals quietly. "Oh my gosh, I love it when he loses his filter. It's adorable, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I agree. "It kind of is. I think it embarrasses him though, so I've been trying not to mention it. But it makes me happy that he feels like he can trust me."

"Why?"

Picking at a loose string on my sweatshirt, I say, "I know this sounds kind of stupid, but I've always imagined having a friend that needs, or at least wants, to rely on me. I like the idea of being someone people feel safe with because the idea of helping people makes me happy."

"That doesn't sound stupid at all, actually. I think that's really sweet. I wish I was more like you and Noah."

I look up at her in surprise. "Really? Why?"

"Yeah. I talk too much. I'm not good at listening. I'm pretty self-centered, too. Not on purpose or because I think I'm great or anything, but I just don't know what else to talk about." She laughs. "See? I'm doing it again. I just go on and on and on about myself."

"I think that's helpful for Noah, though. He doesn't really like talking about himself most of the time, and if you naturally talk about yourself, it's more comfortable for both of you. I like it, too. That night when I first came here? You have no idea how much I needed someone to just talk at me without really expecting me to contribute anything."

"Thanks," she says, sighing. "I really needed to hear that."

I'm about to respond when the bell to the shop entrance rings. Emma and I look over to find Noah heading out the door. Though maybe storming out the door would be more accurate—his face is dark, and he slams the door open with a vicious kick.

"Noah?" I call out, confused. Everything seems like it's spiraling out of control, and I don't know what to do. "Where are you going?"

He shakes his head, pushing the door shut behind him before breaking into a run. Emma swears under her breath. "Wait here," she says. "I'll be back." She races out the door behind him, calling out his name.

I watch as he stops and looks back at her, then back at me through the window, and then back to her. His shoulders relax slightly and he stops running, but he makes no move to come back inside. I watch as Emma walks up to him and tries to reach out, but he backs away. I watch as he buries his face in his hands after yelling something to Emma. And then, before she can respond, he turns around and runs off again.

Emma shakes her head before turning back around and coming back in the door. She flips the sign on the front from open to closed after checking to make sure nobody else is inside.

"What are you doing?" I ask. "Are you even allowed to do that?"

"This is my shop. I can do whatever I want. And we need to talk," she says with a sigh. "I really hoped I wouldn't have to do this. He'll hate me for this, but I think I'll hate myself more if I don't do anything."

"I didn't do something wrong, did I? You're scaring me."

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. And he hasn't, either. He's just...confused. Apparently, he wasn't actually asleep or listening to music. He was listening to our conversation, and now he's freaking out." She tugs at her hair. "Ugh, I really don't know how to say this other than just to say it."

"Say what?" I can feel my heartrate steadily climbing, and my palms are getting sweaty. I have no idea what she's about to say, but she's tiptoeing around it like it's a bomb that's going to detonate at any second, and it's making me nervous.

"He likes you."

"Okay."

"No, I don't think you understand what I mean. He likes you. Like-likes you. In a more-than-friends way."

I blink again. "Oh. Okay."

"Okay?" she repeats. "That's it?"

"I mean, I don't really know what else to say. Were you expecting me to say something else?"

"You don't think it's weird or anything? He's been hating himself for this for the last few days. He's terrified of what you'd think."

"I mean, I think it's weird because I can't think of any reasons why someone would like me like that. I'm not a great person. But other than that, no."

"Thank goodness," Emma breathes, and I can see her entire body relax. I hadn't realized she was so tense. "Oh my gosh, I was so worried."

"Why?"

"What was I supposed to tell him if you were disgusted by it?"

"Why would I be disgusted by it?" I ask, almost offended at the thought. I get that she doesn't know me very well, but I'm still upset that she might think that I'm one of those people who wouldn't be accepting.

She gives me a weird look. "Have you never heard of homophobia?"

"Of course I've heard of it. I've even seen it. But I think it's stupid. And ignorant."

"Good. Because if you thought anything else, I'd kick you out." Then she looks at me curiously. "Has it ever been directed towards you?"

"Nope. I've never been attracted to anyone before, so there's never been a reason for people to target me. But I've seen stuff online and it makes me really sad."

"Yeah," she agrees. "It makes me sad too." We fall silent for a while, and then she asks me the question I was hoping she wouldn't ask. Not because I'm sensitive or anything, but just because I don't know. "What do you mean you've never been attracted to anyone before? Does that mean Noah shouldn't get his hopes up?"

I shake my head helplessly, disappointed that I don't have an answer. "I really don't know. I mean, I can acknowledge that people are aesthetically pleasing, but I would never describe people as hot or sexy like everyone else seems to. I've never had a desire to date anyone else before."

"What about Noah?" she asks, leaning forward.

"I don't know. I find myself looking at him a lot. Especially his face and his hair. I like his freckles. Which is kind of unusual."

"What, his freckles or the fact that you like them?"

"The fact that I like them. That's never happened to me before."

She hums. "I won't tell you what to think about that, since I honestly have no idea. What I can say is that I can't believe you're saying all of this with a straight face."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't believe you're not dying of embarrassment right now."

I frown. "Why would I be?"

"I don't know, most people would be. Crushes and attraction seem to be embarrassing topics for a lot of people, and I'm not sure why. But if it's not for you, I think that's really good."

"It's probably just that I haven't interacted with enough people to learn to be embarrassed about it, then," I say with a short laugh. "Oh well."

"And now that I've told you all of this," Emma continues, "I might as well tell you what our bet was about."

I lean forward. "Really?"

"Yep. Basically, I told him that he liked you because I noticed early on. But of course, Noah being Noah, he denied it. So I made him a bet that he'd figure out he liked you within a month, and if he did, he'd have to consider therapy. And I knew he'd lose, so it was even better. But I guess you beat me to convincing him to go get help."

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't really think I did much. He didn't talk about it at all when I was over at his house, so something must have happened after to make him want to go. But wow, that's a weird bet. Do you not feel guilty betting on him? I can understand a lighter bet, but this one seemed really serious."

"I know, right? But it worked. I do feel kind of guilty, of course, but at the same time, I've been looking for a way to convince him to get help for ages, and this seemed like a good opportunity." She pauses. "Hey, what do you think about going to talk to Noah? Help put him out of his misery?"

"I think that would be really awkward," I admit. "I'm not immune to awkwardness, even if I don't get embarrassed about a lot of stuff. But if you think it would help, I'll do it."

"Do you think you can do it without hurting him?"

I frown. "I'm not sure. I'll try my hardest not to, of course, but I can't guarantee anything because I can't read his mind."

"Fair enough." She nods. "That's not the answer I was expecting, but honestly, I'd rather have you say that then promise me you won't hurt him when there's no guarantee. I'll call him and tell him you're going over to his house, so he'd better get back there too."

"Now?"

"Is that okay?" She's looking at me so expectantly that I can't possibly disagree.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just a little surprised."

She takes out her phone and calls Noah. He doesn't answer the first call, but when she tries again, he picks up on the first ring. "Hey, are you home?" she asks, waiting for a response before replying. "Good. You'd better stay there because I'm sending Chance over right now. If you leave, I'll murder you." She pauses, laughing. "How much did I tell him? Almost everything. Enough."

Guilt is coursing through my body right now, even though I keep telling myself that nothing is really my fault here. I didn't try to get him to like me, and I didn't tell Emma to make the bet. But it still all seems to revolve around me, which means the cause of Noah's misery is centered around me. And that makes me feel horrible. I don't know what I did or didn't do, but I wish I could take it back.

I can hear him swearing over the phone as she takes it away from her ear and hangs up. "That's the first time I've ever heard him swear," I note, trying to take my mind off the idea that I'm somehow at fault for all of this. It's not working very well, though.

"Yep, he doesn't swear often. He says something about how it makes him feel weird to use swear words for things that don't deserve it, so I guess he thought this was somehow deserving. But anyway, do you remember how to get to his house?"

I nod. "Yeah. And if I get lost, I have his address."

"Great." She wraps her arms around me in a hug, which doesn't do anything to make me feel less guilty. Because even though I know she's trying to help Noah, she's the one that created this whole bet drama, so it feels a bit like I'm conspiring with the enemy. "Thank you, Chance. Thanks for being there for him. He really needs that right now."

"You're welcome," I say, detangling myself from her grasp after a few obligatory seconds. "I guess I'll go now. I'll text you later and tell you how it went. And if it's safe for you to call him or not."

"Thanks," she says, and I wave over my shoulder before walking out into the rain.