1 9 - C H A N C E

We've only lived in this town for two months before we get a relocation request from my dad's work in the mail. I find the envelope buried in a stack of other mail on the counter, so wrongly inconspicuous and innocent-looking. Like it could pass for any other piece of mail. It makes me angry that they use such a plain, normal envelope to hold such a destructive piece of paper. Because even without reading the paper, just knowing what's inside makes me panic.

I call Noah immediately, for once not caring that he's in school. I know he doesn't want to be there, anyway, and he'd probably welcome the distraction even if nothing was wrong. He answers on the first ring. "Chance? Is everything okay?"

I pull in a shuddering breath. Just hearing his voice makes me want to fall apart, to collapse to the ground and not get back up. If I refuse to get off the ground, I can't move, right? "No. Can you meet me at that park you showed me the other day?"

I can hear the confusion in his voice. "Now?"

"Yes. Please."

"Will you be able to get there okay?"

"I'll be fine. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"No, I'm good. I need the walk. Thanks though."

I hang up and stick my phone in my pocket because I know he'll be calling me back and I don't want to answer. I can't answer, not now. Hearing his voice over the phone without being able to see him is already making me nervous—he feels far too disconnected. I need him to be real, right in front of me. Tangible.

So instead, I check to make sure my mom has left for the store before I walk out the front door. I'd still leave even if she were here, but I'd rather not have to answer questions. Or, even worse, have to run away from her. It's possible she'd chase after me.

The door locks behind me before I realize I didn't bring a key. I panic instinctually at first but then realize it's too late to worry about that now. It's not like I'll be wanting to go back home anytime soon, anyway.

Once I get to the bottom of the driveway, I make a left automatically before remembering that I'm heading to the park, not Mugs and Kisses. I turn back around and head to the right. It's yet another sign of how comfortable I've grown here, how accustomed I've grown to this life. And while that would normally make me happy, all it does right now is tear me apart.

I normally appreciate the trees and flowers beginning to sprout along the road and the busy flutter of the birds that comes with the recent spring weather—it's been raining for so long, after all, and spring has always been my favorite season—but I'm too distraught at this point to appreciate much of anything, so I walk quickly with my head down.

What am I supposed to say Noah? Or more like how am I supposed to tell him? I don't regret getting close to him, but there's still a part of me wishes I never had so I could avoid situations exactly like this one. The part of me that wishes that is small, but I can't deny its existence. It makes me think I would've been better off following the same pattern I always had.

I haven't opened the letter yet, so I'm not sure where they're asking us to move this time, and if I'm being honest, I really don't want to know, because no matter where it is, I won't be happy. But if it is a different country, I think I'll try to have Noah either teach me the language or learn it with me. I don't want to keep isolating myself like I have been. And I'm tired of not knowing what's going on, of being completely powerless wherever I go. Even if I have to push myself completely out of my comfort zone, it'll be worth it, I think. I've learned that from my time here.

I'm also extremely tired of moving. I would've thought I'd be used to it by now, but I still dread the process every time it happens. The hushed conversations my parents have as they debate how to tell me, not realizing that their actions are a dead giveaway, the emptiness of a house or apartment as we pack the old one up and move into an equally empty new one, the lack of motivation to ever unpack anything because I know I'll just have to pack it all up again. I'm tired of it all.

I turn to enter the park, hopping over the low wooden fence and walking towards the swings. After I sit down on the swing, I take a quick glance around, making sure nobody else is around, but the park is completely empty. Not that I would really care that much if someone else were here, except whenever I go somewhere during the school week, adults always ask me why I'm not in school.

Noah comes running down the street a minute or two later, slowing down when he sees me sitting forlornly on the swing with my feet scraping gently against the ground. He waves, but his hand quickly falls back to his side when I don't wave back. "Hey," he says softly, taking a seat on the swing next to me. "What's going on?"

"We got a letter from my dad's work," I tell him. I can't bring myself to put any inflection in my voice, so it comes out monotone. Heavy. Dead. "A relocation notice."

His face falls. "Have you read it yet?"

I shake my head. "No, but I recognize the envelope. It's the same envelope as it's always been. I'm not even sure I want to open it. I don't want to know."

"I don't want you to move," Noah says quietly, scuffing his feet against the ground just like me. "It's way too soon."

"Yeah." My voice is light and shaky now, less heavy and monotone but just as dull. "It is way too soon. This is the shortest we've ever stayed somewhere. I was stupid for thinking we could've stayed for longer."

"Are they definitely going to accept?"

"I don't see why they wouldn't. They always have. They never even complain about it."

"Damn it," Noah mutters, kicking the ground. "I really want to punch something."

I look at him pleadingly. "Please don't. Aggression never helps. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Can you come over here?" he asks. I do, and when I get close enough, he reaches out and pulls me so I'm sitting on his lap, making the chains of swing shake.

"Noah?"

"Shh," he whispers, clutching me so tightly it hurts, but I don't complain. If anything, I'm gripping him harder than he's squeezing me, finding comfort in the dull pain. I feel the gentle puffs of air from his breath on my shoulder, his hair tickling my neck, the warmth from his hands on my waist. Everything about the moment itself is perfect, but the context is all wrong. And no matter how hard I try, I can't separate myself from the context enough to enjoy it.

"Is there any way you can refuse to go?" he whispers. "I know I'm being selfish, but I really want you to stay."

"I really want to stay, too. But if they leave me behind on my own, where will I stay?"

"You could stay at my house," Noah offers, but hopelessly. I can tell that he doesn't actually think it'll work, that he's just grasping at straws. I shake my head.

"I couldn't do that to your family. Besides, I don't know what I'd do for schooling, either. I couldn't possibly ask your parents to homeschool me."

"You could come to school with me."

I shake my head again. "Noah, I can't. As much as I want to, I can't just stay behind. If they decide to move, I have to stay with them until college."

"Okay," he mumbles defeatedly.

"Can you not go back to school today?" I ask him. "I don't want you to leave."

"I wasn't planning on going back anyway. Of course I'll stay."

"Thank you."

He laughs lightly, but there isn't any happiness in his tone. "Did you really think I wouldn't stay? You know how much I hate school."

"Well, no, but I'm still glad you agreed."

He hums. "Where do you want to go? Are you planning on staying here all day?"

"That sounds nice, but it looks like it's starting to rain. Look at the clouds. They're all dark. And I just felt a drop. But I don't want to go home, either. I can't face them, not yet."

"We could go sit under the slide and watch the rain," he suggests, nodding his chin towards the play structure. I follow his gaze, starting at the slide. It's old and dirty, its green plastic faded and cracked. But it is big enough to shelter us from the rain, I supposed. It seems safer to sit under it than it does to sit on it.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Fair enough," I say, a small smile pulling at the edge of my lips.

"Come on," he says eagerly. Or about as eagerly as he can given the current circumstances, anyway. Which isn't saying much. All it means is that his voice isn't as monotone as mine is. "Let's move before we get soaked."

"This is so strange," I comment as we walk over, trying to lighten up my voice as much as possible to force myself out of the hole I can feel myself spiraling into. Fake it until you make it, or something. Though somehow, I doubt it's going to work. "I've never done anything like this before."

"There's a first time for everything!"

"You're weird," I deadpan. "What is it with you and rain?"

"It's cozy! Didn't we establish this already?" He sits down pulls me into a sitting position on the ground so that I'm sitting in between his legs. He rests his head on my shoulder and wraps his arms around my chest, and I sit back so he's supporting my weight. "But it is though, right? Just looking out at it? Listening to it? I love it."

My hands find their way to the ground, brushing over the woodchips that cover the playground. They're going to be everywhere after this, I can tell. They're covered in tiny little splinters that grab onto my clothes, and I have to tug a few off my sleeve from where it touches the ground. I take one from my sleeve, and instead of dropping it back on the ground like the rest, I turn it around in my hands before snapping it in half with a satisfying crack.

"What are you doing?" Noah asks as I pick up another, from the ground this time since the ones on my sleeve are all gone.

"What does it look like?" I reply dully.

He doesn't reply, just stares at my hands as I snap the second one in half, and then another, and then another, and another, gladly letting myself zone out for a while. I don't want to feel. The numbness washes over me, and I can feel myself receding further and further into the depths of something, but what it is I'm not sure. I know it's not good, and I know I should make an effort to force myself out of it, but I just can't.

Eventually, after I've made a small pile, Noah places his hands over my own. "Stop," he says. "You're bleeding."

"Oh." I look down at my fingers, noticing the scratches all over them for the first time. "Oops. When did that happen?" I don't sense any pain until Noah accidentally brushes his finger over a cut, making me flinch.

"Sorry," he apologizes immediately, removing his hand. "I have bandages back in my car. Let's go get some."

I take his hand back from where he'd put it in his pocket, needing to feel his hand in mine to keep me distracted. To assure myself that he's real, that he's not going anywhere. That he'll stick by me for as long as possible. "Okay."

He stands up and pulls me to my feet, careful that neither of us hit our heads on the slide. I've zoned out again at this point, finding it easier recede into my thoughts than stay completely present. It's as if I've put up a glass wall in between myself and the world. I can still see and hear everything, but I have little desire to interact. My jaw feels heavy, frozen shut almost, making it too much effort to speak. It prevents me from feeling, and I need that right now.

Noah doesn't try to speak to me as we walk. He's probably sensed my mood shift, even if he doesn't completely know what's going on. And I'm thankful for that, even if I don't know how he understands so well. This was probably what he felt earlier when he asked how I was able to do the right thing every time, and I understand why he was so unnerved. But at the same time, I'm glad he knows what to do.

I notice a raindrop land on my nose, but I don't react other than to blink until I feel Noah drape his fleece over my shoulders. But instead of accepting it, I shrug it off for reasons that I'm not completely sure of, shaking my head. I just don't feel like taking it right now. And even though I can see him looking at me questioningly, he doesn't speak. He just takes the jacket back, slipping it back over his own shoulders.

His car is still in the school parking lot, one of the only few cars left. I'm initially confused by the emptiness of the lot until I realize that his school must have gotten out a long time ago. I've lost track of how much time has passed, and I can't even remember when I left the house. Everything's a blur.

He unlocks the car, opening the door and sitting me in the passenger seat before closing my door and walking around to the other side. "Here," he says, finally breaking the silence as he opens the glove compartment and pulls out a first aid kit. "There are bandages in here."

I nod ever so slightly but make no move to open the box. He sighs, opening it himself and taking out four small bandages. "Can you hold one of your hands out?" he asks, tearing the wrapper off of one. I comply, and he wraps it around the pad of my finger, making sure to be extra gentle. Once he's done with one finger, he does the other three.

"Thanks," I whisper, forcing the words out even though it would be so much easier to stay disconnected. Because I want him to know how much I appreciate him, how much I need him.

"You're welcome," he replies, reaching out and wiping away a drop of water from my forehead. I reach up, patting my hair, and I'm surprised to find it so wet. I hadn't noticed it was raining so hard.

I pat my pocket, making sure my phone is still there. When I find it, I take it out, wiping the water off the screen before setting it face up on the dashboard.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Noah asks. "Your mom's been calling you for a while."

"How do you know?"

"You have a ton of missed calls. They're on your lock screen." He glances over at my phone again. "She's calling you again now. You should probably answer."

"Do I have to?" I grunt. He nods, and I scowl. "Fine."

"Thank goodness," my mom breathes when I accept the call. "Where are you?"

"Not home."

She sighs, her voice crackly because of the poor connection. "I know that. Can you come home? We have something we need to talk about."

"Eventually." Before she can argue with me, I hang up and slam my phone back down on the dashboard, face down this time. She doesn't really need me home right this instant. In fact, it's probably better for everyone if I don't go home right now, because I'll just end up doing or saying something I regret.

"Am I taking you home now?" Noah asks me.

"Eventually," I repeat. "Unless you have somewhere you have to be. But I'd really rather not go home right now."

"And your parents?"

"They've made me move around for the last seventeen years. They can wait a few hours."

He grins, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. He's forcing himself to act okay for my sake, and I can tell. Not that I don't appreciate it, but still. "That's the spirit. Where do you want to go? We can just sit in my car for a few more hours, but that doesn't seem very fun. Or comfortable."

"You have a dog, right?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah. His name is Mushi."

"Mushi?"

"It means insect in Japanese," he explains, laughing. "Don't ask. I was a weird twelve-year-old. What a surprise. Do you want to come see him?"

"I'd love to! I love dogs. They're the best."

"I agree!" Noah turns the car on and pulls out of the space. "He'll love you. It'll be great. And you'll get free cuddles!"

"I already get free cuddles from you," I point out, smiling a little when I see his cheeks flush. That never gets old, and I don't think it ever will. It still makes me feel like mush.

"Then you'll get two sets of free cuddles," he tells me cheekily. I laugh along with him.

"That doesn't sound so bad."