2 2 - N O A H

I'm sitting at the counter at Mugs and Kisses trying to convince Emma to read over and give me tips on my essay in between orders when my phone vibrates. I reach for it immediately.

Sooooo my dad quit his job

But we're still moving

But not to France!!!

Where are you moving then? I type out as quickly as I can. I hold my breath as I wait for a reply, scared of what he might say but hopeful at the same time. I'm not sure it can get much worse than France, and judging by the exclamation points, I'm hoping that it's good news. But I don't want to get my hopes up. I don't want to let myself hope and then get crushed.

I'm not sure, actually. Apparently, it's about two hours away. My mom said she'd drive me back here sometimes.

I can't decide whether that's wonderfully close or too far, I reply, trying to figure out what I'm feeling. I'm definitely relieved that he isn't going all the way to France, of course, but I'm still disappointed that he has to move. Or angry. Or both.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks me when I don't take the sudden break in customers as an opportunity to pester her. "Who are you texting?" She smirks. "Is it Chance?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"What's wrong?" she asks again.

"He's not moving to France like he was supposed to, but he's still moving somewhere a few hours away."

Emma blanches. "Hold up. He was going to move to France?"

"Yeah, but then his dad quit his job. So now they're moving to find other work."

Emma looks crestfallen. "I don't want him to leave."

"Me neither. I'd never want him to leave. I love him." My breath hitches. "But he'll come back to visit sometimes. His mom can drive him."

"It's still not fair that he has to move around so much," she grumbles.

"Yeah. Oh, speaking of moving around, can you read my essay? It's about immigration." I throw her a wide and obnoxious grin.

Emma sighs. "You'll never stop, will you? Okay, fine. I'll do it after I serve these customers here. It's smack in the middle of the afternoon rush, so just be a little patient. If too many more people come in, you're going to have to give up your seat," she jokes.

"Never!" I joke back, watching her greet the group that just walked in the door.

I don't think I could ever do the type of job she does, the type of job where I'd have to interact with people constantly. Customer service. It seems exhausting. I'm already tired just from interacting with Emma and Chance—not in a bad way, but it still wears me out.

I do like to help other people, though. Emma's always suggested that I should become a therapist if I like helping people so much, but I don't think I'd be very good at that. Chance would, though. I think back to what Chance said about wanting to adopt kids, and this time, that idea resonates more with me. It seems more real, somehow, now that Chance and I are dating.

It still feels really weird to say that out loud. Or in my head. It feels weird just admitting it at all. Because admitting that adopting kids seems more real now that we're dating means that I see a future with him. That I assume a future with him. And that's scary.

"Okay," Emma says with yet another sigh, interrupting my train of thought. "You can show me now."

I turn my computer screen to face her, watching as her eyes shift back and forth, skimming over my writing. Even though I was the one that asked her to read it, having someone read my writing feels awkward. Especially since I've never asked for help with my schoolwork before. I've never cared enough, after all. And now I'm worried that she'll think I'm weird for suddenly wanting to do well.

"This looks really good," Emma tells me once she's done. "I don't know what Chance did to you, but it's working."

"Thanks?" I say uncertainly. "Is there anything I should change?"

"Just proofread and you'll be fine."

Someone walks in the door, making the bell chime, but neither Emma or I turn around because so many people have been going in and out that we've given up trying to keep tabs on anyone. But then they call out.

"Hey!" Chance says with a shy wave.

"Chance!" Emma squeals, rushing out from behind the counter and giving him a hug. He glances over her shoulder at me, his face squished and uncomfortable.

"That was fast," I comment, laughing. "I thought your parents would have kept you for longer."

He shakes his head, or at least tries to, since Emma's still gripping him too tightly. "I think my mom feels guilty. She told me I should go find you."

"Awesome! Emma, you should probably let him go now. He looks...squished."

"I'm not sorry," Emma tells Chance as she frees him. "Maybe if I hold you here tightly enough you won't physically be able to leave!"

"Or you'll just make him want to leave," I counter jokingly.

"You guys are no fun."

The few people that turned at Emma's outburst lose interest, focusing back on their drinks. Chance walks over and sits beside me, but not before he scoots the stool closer to mine so he can rest his head on my shoulder.

"What music were you listening to last night?" I ask him curiously. He pulls out his phone in response, connecting his earbuds and offering me one.

I smile as soon as I hear the music. "I love this song!"

"Really?" He beams. "I've never met anyone else who's heard of it."

Shrugging, I say, "I have a weird taste in music." I take his phone from his hand, searching up another one of my favorites. "Have you heard this one?"

We spend the next hour or so trading songs, the silence punctuated by occasional comments. Chance tells me one of the songs I play for him sounds like old lady music—his words, not mine—and I respond by telling him his songs sound like something a wannabe rebellious teenager would listen to. We both laugh.

Eventually, Emma interrupts our playful bantering. "Do you guys want some dinner? I can make you some now, if you want, before the evening rush. Otherwise, you'll have to wait a few hours."

Chance checks his watch and shakes his head. "My family's going out to dinner tonight. To celebrate." He sighs. "Is it selfish to not feel like there's anything to celebrate? They've went through all this trouble, and it's probably because of me, since they don't mind moving that much. And I don't even feel that grateful for it."

"I think that's okay," Emma tells him.

I nod in agreement. "Yeah. They wouldn't have had to go through all this trouble if they'd found a different job in the first place. And I'm not blaming them for this or anything—they were probably doing the best they could—but this thing isn't your fault."

"Thanks, guys," Chance responds, but I can tell he isn't convinced. But he switches the topic. "Remember when I barely used to talk? I was kind of stupid back then."

I shake my head. "You weren't stupid; that was just what you were used to. But I'm glad you started talking more. You're pretty great. I love you."

His face flushes, and Emma squeals. Again. "Oh my gosh, I'm dying of cuteness. Noah, you should hug him! It'll be adorable!"

I happily oblige, pulling him so close to me that I can feel his heart racing. It makes my heart beat faster, too. I close my eyes but snap them open when I hear a click. My eyes narrow as I turn to Emma. "Did you just..."

"You bet I did," she says, a proud smirk appearing on her face. "And I'm going to set it as my phone background. And yours. And Chance's."

"But mine's already the other one," Chance protests. "The first one you took, before we were dating. I like that one."

"Fine, you can keep it," Emma relents. "But maybe you could put one of them as your home screen and one of them as your lock screen?"

"If you insist," he says, grinning. "Send it to me. But I really have to go soon. To celebrate." His tone deadens.

Now that I think about it, I've never really heard him get angry about something. Sure, he can get a little frustrated, sad, or disappointed, but he's never been truly angry, except for maybe the first time I met him. Remembering that now, it's almost like he's a completely different person.

"Why don't you ever get mad?" I ask him. "Like, so mad that you want to scream and punch something?"

"I have. Remember that one time I told my parents to leave the room or else I'd scream? And that time I threw pillows across the room? And the day I met you?"

"Threatening to scream but not actually screaming doesn't count, but the others do, I guess. Kind of. Actually, not really. Only the throwing pillows one, but that was still kinda lame."

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm not really sure," I admit. "I just realized that I can't imagine you getting angry. I physically can't. Whenever I try, my mind just goes blank."

"Oh. That's weird. I've definitely gotten angry before, I can tell you that. Just not recently, I guess." He pauses. "As much as I don't want to say this, I really need to get going. I have to be home by five thirty."

"Come back tomorrow!" Emma orders. "I'm going to give you a hug every day until you leave, so you'd better come here. If not, I'll hunt you down. I promise."

He smiles, but it doesn't last. "I will." He waves as he walks out the door, breaking out into a jog once he reaches the end of the parking lot.

"Since when does he voluntarily run?" Emma asks. "Didn't he hate it?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen him run either. Maybe he needs a distraction."

"Yeah. I probably would, too." Emma looks around, scanning the shop to make sure everything's still in order. "Most people are gone now, so I'm going to go ahead and do some cleaning."

"Can I help?"

"Of course!" She eagerly hands me a can of wipes. "Can you take care of all the counters and sinks?"

I take out a wipe and drag it along the counter until it's too dirty to do anything but spread the filth around. Then I grab another and repeat the process. It's tedious, but it also gives my mind a break. I'm not used to working on schoolwork so intensely or for such a long time at once, so I'm pretty tired. Wiping counters, on the other hand, doesn't take any mental energy.

It takes me about forty-five minutes to wipe down everything. I'm about to ask Emma for something else to do when my phone vibrates. I wipe my hands on my pants to dry them and take my phone out of my pocket.

I'm kind of in the ER right now

Everything's okay though

Just thought you might want to know

Even though he says everything's okay, I still panic. What happened???

I broke my finger

Oops

WAIT WHAT HOW

I was frustrated on the way home

And we were talking about being angry earlier

So I decided to be angry

And I punched a tree

And it beat me up

...that's kind of lame

I agree

It's really hard to type with one hand

Which ER are you at?

I'm not sure. The name wasn't memorable because it's not a pun.

Okay. I'm coming over.

Can you bring a snack? We never got to dinner.

Yep!

I snag a bagel from the fridge. "I'm going," I call out to Emma. "I'll pay you for the bagel later. Chance needs a snack. He's in the ER."

Emma's face drains of its color. "Hang on, what? Is he okay?"

"Yep. He lost a fight with a tree though. He hasn't had dinner yet."

She relaxes. "Okay. You can just have that, then. You don't need to pay me back. Tell him I said hi!"

"Will do."

Chance texts me as I jog, but my hands are too full to respond while I'm running, and I don't want to end up in the ER, too, so I force myself to wait until I've stopped to respond.

The doctor laughed at me when I told her what happened

She said she'd draw a tree on my cast

I feel attacked

A few minutes later, as I'm waiting to cross the main street to get to the hospital, I get another message.

Apparently she has no artistic skill

She drew a practice tree on a piece of paper and it looks more like a lamp

You should let me draw it! What room are you in? I respond before the crosswalk sign turns and I have to run again.

When I walk inside the building, I make my way towards room four where Chance told me he'd be. I don't think I'm allowed to just wander back here like this, but it's better to ask for ask for forgiveness later than ask and be denied. The door flies open immediately when I knock.

"Hey!" Chance greets, waving with one hand. The other hand sits on his lap, purple and swollen.

"Hi," I reply, less enthusiastic. "That looks painful. Here's a snack."

"Thanks!" He takes the bagel from my hands and forces a huge bit in his mouth. Around the food, he mumbles, "It's not as painful as it looks. Once I get a cast on it, I can go home."

"Where are your parents?"

"Out front talking with the doctor. They should be back soon."

As if on cue, the door opens, and Chance's parents and the doctor step inside. The doctor eyes me warily but relaxes once Robbie and Veronica greet me.

"It's time for your cast now," she tells him. "Are you ready?"

"Nope," he says, shaking his head, but he goes with her anyway.

"Noah is going to draw the tree on my cast," I hear him tell the doctor as they walk away. "So you don't have to."

"I'm sorry," I say immediately after Chance leaves. "This is kind of my fault."

"Your fault?" Veronica repeats. "I don't think this could possibly be your fault, Noah."

"No, I think it is. When we were together earlier, I mentioned that I'd never seen him significantly angry and couldn't imagine him being that way, either. When he texted me, he told me that he'd tried being angry like I'd mentioned." I hang my head a little. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Robbie eyes me amusedly. "You didn't actually tell him to punch a tree, did you? It's fine, Noah. It's nobody's fault but Chance's."

"I guess," I reply, still unconvinced.

We sit and talk about meaningless things until Chance comes back into the room, holding up his arm to display his new cast.

"It's even tree-colored," I tease. "Perfect."

"Noah," he whines. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope," I exclaim with a smirk. "Now come over here. I need to draw a tree."

He sits himself down in my lap, which is slightly awkward because he's so much taller than I am. But somehow, he manages to shift around so that neither of us are significantly uncomfortable, and then he holds his arm out for me.

"Here," Veronica says, handing me a sharpie. "Use this."

"Thanks," I say, gently taking his arm and holding it with my left hand so I can draw with my right. I start with the trunk of the tree and then move on to the leafy part. It's definitely not gorgeous, or even remotely good, but it makes him smile, so I don't care.

"That doesn't look like a tree either," he says. "That looks like a cloud on a stick."

"It's almost the same thing," I joke, waving my hand around flippantly. "Just use your imagination. Here, let me draw another one. You can have a forest!"

He groans but doesn't protest or try to move his arm away, so I take that as a sign to continue. I draw a bunch of smaller trees surrounding the bigger one, hoping that the smaller I draw, the less likely it is that the trees can be disproportional.

Unfortunately, I'm wrong. Drawing smaller doesn't make the trees any more proportional; it only makes them smaller. But it's the thought that counts. Soon enough, his cast is covered in tiny little trees, and every time he glances down at it, he smirks.

"I'm never going to forget how this happened now," he jokes. "They're all going to be watching me wherever I go."

"They're waiting to get their revenge!" I exclaim teasingly. "You shouldn't have punched one, Chance. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

"Shut up," he says, gently poking my shoulder. "You don't think I'm strong enough to fight off a tree if it comes after me?"

"I mean..." I gesture to his cast. "Evidently not."

"Shut up," he whines. "It's embarrassing."

"Then you shouldn't have done it," I chide, waggling my finger. "Punching trees is bad for you, you know."

"Oh my gosh, Noah, stop."

"Okay, fine," I say with a smirk. I bring my arms up around his chest so I can hug him and then lean in so my mouth is right next to his ear. "Love you," I whisper, watching in satisfaction as goosebumps appear right where my lips just were.

"Love you too," he whispers.