2 0 - N O A H

"This is Mushi," I introduce, trying to hold my frantic dog back from smothering Chance with one hand and take my shoes off with the other. It's not very successful, though, because Mushi just ends up pulling me over onto the floor and wrenching himself out of my grasp.

"Oh my gosh, he's so cute!" Chance gushes, not minding in the slightest that he's been tackled to the floor and doused in dog slobber. "And his ears are so fluffy! And his paws are so big. Oh my gosh, golden retrievers are the best!"

"He can give you a high five," I tell Chance, finding the way his eyes widen absolutely adorable. They crinkle around the edges, just a little bit, and it makes me want to run my fingers over the creases. But that would be weird, especially because his eyes are still red and puffy from crying and I don't want to remind him of that, so I restrain myself.

"What? He can?"

I nod. "Yeah, but he misses your hand a lot of the time because he's too lazy and can't aim. Want to see?"

Chance nods enthusiastically. "Of course!"

I squat down, and Mushi follows my lead, sitting down right in front of me. I hold my hand up. "High five," I command. He complies, lifting his paw up and aiming for my hand but falling a few inches too far to the left.

Though his laughter, Chance says, "That's adorable. Kind of pathetic, but also adorable. How'd you teach him that?"

"With a lot of cheese. And even more drool. Our floor was practically a lake by the time I finally got him to do it."

"Your dog is amazing," he tells me. "Where was he when you were sick? I didn't see him."

"He was staying over at a family friend's house. He was thinking about getting a dog and wanted to see what it'd be like, so Mushi stayed with him for a week or so."

"And? Did he like it?"

"I think he was slightly discouraged when Mushi got startled by his own fart, ran head-first into a bookcase because he was trying to run away, and knocked an expensive vase to the ground."

"Have I told you I love your dog?" Chance says with a snort. "Seriously. If I had a dog like him, I'd never be bored."

I nod. "Kind of, yeah. He's not very smart, but he's very loveable. Sometimes I feel like he's so loveable because he's an idiot. It makes him cuter. Anyway, want to go feed him some cheese? If you toss it to him, he can catch it in the air."

"You said his name means insect, right?" Chance asks me as we walk into the kitchen. I'm surprised he remembered. "What insect do you think he resembles the most?"

"Something fluffy," I say, humming in thought. "Maybe a caterpillar? Because he's long and fat and fluffy? I don't know. I've never thought about it."

"Maybe you should," he says lightly as he walks over to my fridge and pulls out the cheese. He grabs a knife, too, and starts cutting the cheese into small cubes.

It's still the small things that really get me—the way he knows where everything is in my kitchen, the way he gets along with Emma, the way he cares so much about me going to school. It's those small things, the things that nobody else would notice or care about, that make me love him even more. I wouldn't say he's perfect—nobody's perfect, of course—but he's about as close to perfect as he can be while still seeming human.

"Noah," he whines, poking my arm. I turn around, feeling a bit guilty for zoning out on him.

"Yeah?"

"Come help me feed him cheese. Stop thinking. You're probably thinking about something depressing, anyway, and we came here to avoid that. No sadness allowed here."

I shake my head. "Nope. I was thinking about how much I love you."

I don't fully realize what I've said until I've already blurted it out, but when I do, regret rushes through me. Not because I don't mean it, but because Chance is already stressed and emotionally fragile right now. I mentally prepare myself for a myriad of different reactions from Chance while mentally berating myself for not thinking anything through. But out of all the reactions I prepare myself for, I certainly don't expect Chance to break down crying. He's staring at me in shock, his face perfectly frozen except for his rapid blinking that sends tears cascading down his cheeks.

"Chance?"

He shakes his head. I see his hands twitch, but his arms stay glued to his side.

"Come on, talk to me," I plead. "Did I say something wrong? Should I not have said that?"

"No." He looks up me, his eyes desperate. "Say it again. Say it. Please."

"I love you," I repeat. "I love you."

He sobs, his calm façade crumbling. And as much as I don't like seeing him cry, somehow, it's a relief that he's not trying to hold it all in anymore. He closes the distance between us and buries his head in my shoulder. "I don't want to leave. It's not fair."

"I know," I whisper.

"I don't want to leave you. Or Emma."

"I know."

"I don't want to be lonely again. I need you."

"I know."

"I don't want to cry, but I can't stop."

"Yeah." I run my hand through his hair like he used to do to me and kiss his forehead. "It'll be okay, Abbie. I promise."

He turns his head up to face mine, connecting our lips as he kisses me. It makes me feel just as giddy as the first time, but it's sadder, heavier. I still get the thrilling rush that comes from our close proximity, but I don't feel the euphoria.

Mushi barks and jumps up, placing his front paws on my shoulder. He licks the side of Chance's face, making him smile a little bit.

"Ew," he groans, wiping his face with his sleeve. But despite his comment, he lets go of me and wraps both arms around Mushi, burying his face in his fur. He stays like that for another minute or so until Mushi starts to wiggle in an attempt to escape from Chance's grasp. Because while Mushi might be a good teddy bear, he can only stay still for so long before he has to jump around. Like a toddler, almost, except cuter and less terrifying.

"Can I take you home?" I ask Chance. "I'll stay with you there if you want me to, but I think you should go talk to your parents."

"I don't want to."

"I know," I tell him. "Trust me, I know. But you can't avoid them forever, and it's getting pretty late. I'm sure they're worried about you. Come on."

He lets me lead him back out to the car after he gives Mushi one last hug and a large chunk of cheese. And he doesn't talk the whole car ride back. I can't decide how to feel about that. On the one hand, he's stopped crying, but on the other hand, I can see him shutting down again like he did earlier today. And that kind of scared me.

I also can't decide if he's mad at me for making him go back so soon or if he's just withdrawing in general. I don't want either to be true, of course, but I especially don't want him to be mad at me. Other than his parents, he really only has me and Emma, and I don't want him to feel like I'm not on his side. Because that couldn't be further from the truth.

As soon as we pull into the driveway and get out of the car, his mom comes bursting out the front door, her classic hippo cardigan draped over her shoulders. "Where have you been?" she demands, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling.

"It's okay," I assure her with a small wave. "He was with me."

"Oh." She blinks. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there. Hello, Noah."

"Hello."

She turns her attention back to Chance. "So?"

"So what?" he responds. His voice shakes, and Veronica peers at his face.

"Is everything okay?"

"What do you think?"

She sighs. "You saw it, didn't you?"

Chance nods helplessly. "Of course I did. What did you expect, just leaving it out on the counter like that? Did you want me to notice?"

"Did you read it?" she asks, ignoring his questions.

"I didn't want to open it," he says. "I didn't want to know."

"Let's have you come inside," she says to Chance, glancing at me awkwardly. I take that as a dismissal and move to go, but Chance grips my hand harder, preventing me from walking away.

"Noah's coming in, too. Or else I'm not coming in."

"Okay," she agrees with yet another sigh.

I follow Chance inside, nodding an awkward hello to Robbie, who looks just about as uncomfortable as I feel. He hovers awkwardly in the entryway as we all come in, trying to move out of the way but just making the situation worse.

Chance pulls me over to the couch, settling in beside me as soon as I sit down. His parents join us a few seconds later, sitting on the couch opposite from us. It makes me slightly uncomfortable, since this sitting arrangement makes it seem like it's me and Chance against his parents. It seems too confrontational, too cold.

"It's France this time," his mom blurts out, making me wince. Not just because of the distance, but also because that was not a gentle way to start the conversation. I feel Chance slump beside me, the little energy he was using to hold himself together fleeing his body. It's like his body has lost its shape.

"That's so far away," he whispers. "You can't do that."

"We don't want to, either. But what choice do we have?"

"Refusing?" he retorts, somehow managing to sound harsh even though his voice is completely monotone.

"And then what?" Robbie interrupts quietly. "I'll lose my job. And you know we can't afford that."

"It's not fair," Chance mumbles. I wrap my arms around him and pull his head into my chest, not bothering to think about feeling embarrassed for acting intimate in front of his parents even though Veronica is bad at handling awkward situations. If they're going to do this to Chance, they can deal with a little hugging.

"I know it's not fair," Veronica replies, sighing for the umpteenth time. "I know, but—"

"Stop." Chance shakes his head, breaking both his hand and his body out of my grasp and holding his palm out like he can't bear to even look at her. "Just stop."

She frowns. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go away before I throw something at the wall."

She glances at me questioningly, and I nod, even though I'm not sure why she's looking to me for approval when she's known him much longer than I have. But once she sees my nod, she stands up and walks out of the room, pulling an awkwardly bumbling Robbie along behind her.

As soon as they leave, Chance stands up from the couch with the pillow beside him clenched in his fists. He throws it across the room with both arms, heaving it over his head and shoulders, and it falls to the ground after making a satisfying thud on the wall. He picks up the next pillow, and then the next, resorting to repetitive actions like he did earlier with the woodchips. Each one makes a louder thud than the last.

Once he's thrown the last of the pillows, I can see some of the tension leave his body as his shoulders relax and he lets out a sigh. Then he turns back to me. "I guess you're going to have to teach me French."

"Yeah. Now?" As much as I want to be able to take his mind off of all this, I'm not sure he should be completely ignoring the situation like this. I feel like he'll just end up regretting it all later. But I also don't think it's my place to tell him what to do right now; he's had to deal with this far more times than I have, of course, and I just want him to be happy.

He shrugs. "Sure, I guess. I have nothing better to do. I can't really do any schoolwork, since if I think too much about my parents I'll scream."

"Fair enough."

He takes me by the wrist and pulls me towards the staircase, pointedly ignoring the concerned glances of his parents from where they're peeking around the corner of the hallway. I nod at them politely but don't speak, not wanting Chance to think I'm more on their side than his. That really couldn't be more wrong. I do love his parents, I really do. And they're both really nice, too, but I just can't understand why Robbie's job is more important than providing a stable home environment for their son.

Chance walks over to his desk to grab his computer as I take a seat on his bed, dangling my legs over the edge. He joins me a few seconds later, lying down and pulling me down with him. As I get settled, I look at the clock and blink in surprise. It's already six.

"What do you want me to show you?" I ask him as he moves his laptop from his hold to mine. He shrugs.

"I don't know. Teach me stuff!"

"How?"

He shrugs again. "You were the one who offered to teach me."

"Yeah, but that was before I realized I don't know how to teach."

When he laughs, it's much more authentic than I would've thought. It's still kind of dark and bitter, but there's something bright about it, too. A little sparkle. "That's okay. Just figure something out. How'd you learn?"

"I learned in school. Let's start with vocabulary! Say a word, any word, and I'll translate it. We'll make a list."

"Okay!" he exclaims, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Let's use colorful pens!"

I nod. He stands up, walks over to his desk drawer, and comes back with a toaster-sized cardboard box completely filled with pens. There have got to be at least one hundred pens in here, no joke. And they're somehow almost all different colors.

"Here!" he says playfully, dropping the box on the bed. It makes the mattress bounce.

"Why the heck do you have so many pens? I can't believe you judged me for having a lot of books."

"Pens are smaller," he defends. "Besides, I like colorful pens. They're fun to write with." He grabs a handful off the top of the pile. "We'll use these for now."

"Okay," I agree, a small smile playing on my lips. "Are you ready yet?"

"Yep! How do you say turtle?"

"Turtle? Why turtle?"

"Because I want to." He looks up at me expectantly.

"Fine. Tortue."

"Umbrella?"

"Parapluie." I glance down at his paper. "You spelled that wrong."

"Spell it for me?"

I do, and then he asks for another word, and then another. I give him words until I can no longer see anything outside of his window because the sun sets and everything goes dark. Eventually, he stops writing down the words I tell him, and his words start to slur.

"Sleepy?" I ask. He nods.

"Crying always makes me really tired. Can I go to bed now?"

"Of course. You don't need to ask me first. You can go to sleep whenever you want."

"But you were helping me! That would be rude."

"It's okay."

He shifts under the covers, and I reach out with one hand to brush his bangs off his forehead before getting up to turn off the lights. I briefly think about mentioning that he should probably have dinner and brush his teeth before he goes to bed for the night, but I don't want to ruin his fragile happiness. Brushing his teeth can wait for one night.

"Good night," he says, lifting his hand up to wave.

I wave back, smiling. "Good night." I watch him shift again, bunching the covers so he has something to hug. And once he settles, I step quietly out of his room, shutting the door gently behind me.

As soon as I come down the stairs, Veronica and Robbie turn around from where they'd been talking quietly in the kitchen and stare at me with wide eyes.

"Goodness," Veronica says quietly, putting her hand over her chest. "I'd forgotten you were here. How is he?"

"Pretending to be okay," I reply, trying unsuccessfully to keep the frustration out of my voice. Veronica looks a little hurt.

"We hate moving as much as he does," she tells me. "So we understand how he feels."

"I think if you really understood how he felt, you'd do something about it," I shoot back. They exchange a look, and suddenly I remember who I'm talking to. "Sorry for speaking to you like that," I hastily apologize. "But I still mean what I said."

"No," Veronica says, shaking her head. "You're right. Thank you."

Robbie nods in agreement. "No problem at all. No offense taken. Want some dinner? We have some leftovers, but nothing fancy."

"No thanks," I decline. "I told Emma I'd meet up with her for dinner tonight. And I should call my mom so she knows where I am. But thanks for offering!"

"Anytime," Robbie replies, patting me on the back. "You're always welcome here, you know. Don't forget that."

"Thanks." I wave to them over my shoulder as I walk out to the door, slipping my shoes on and heading out towards Mugs and Kisses for what I already know will be a very long and painful night.