4 - N O A H

I sigh as I receive Chance's final message. I can't tell if he's actually mad at me or if it's just the way he texts. I feel pretty guilty for bring up his name after seeing how extremely he responded, but on the other hand, he didn't seem mad—just embarrassed. At least, I hope so. But I guess I'll drop it for now.

Not that it doesn't make me curious. Abbie Chance Taylor. As girly as it sounds, it's also strangely fitting. Somehow, it captures his shy, timid nature. I wonder why he hates it so much. But even though I'm dying to know, I don't want to push it. I'm afraid I'll scare him off, and by the sound of it, he really doesn't need that right now. And to be honest, neither do I.

Good night, weirdo, I send back, knowing he won't answer. It's late, almost midnight, and after traveling all day, he's almost definitely asleep. On the other hand, I know I won't be able to fall asleep for hours, even though it's already late; I just have a hard time falling asleep. Though that's a bit of an understatement.

As I lay in bed, the stuffiness in the air begins to press in on me, so I stand up and open my door, clinging on to the hope that it will help even though I know it won't. Opening the door never manages to stop the air from thickening, never stops making it hard to breathe. Not anymore. It never stops the walls from feeling like they're pressing inward, growing ever closer to my body and squishing me until I can no longer draw in a breath.

Like I expected, I begin to feel even more claustrophobic, which is stupid. Because it's not like I've ever had any traumatic experiences with small or spaces. I haven't had any family issues, either. I've had absolutely no past experience that should evoke this fear of small spaces, this fear of being crushed by the walls around me. The claustrophobia I feel is inexplicable, and that's part of what makes it so utterly terrifying.

Instead of trying to go back to sleep, I throw on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, grab my wallet and keys, and head downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible so I don't wake up my parents. It's not that I'm sneaking out—they know I always go out when I can't sleep, although they don't like it, of course. Because what parents would be perfectly okay with their kid wandering around town all night? But I think they've realized that it eventually helps me sleep, so even if I'm only getting a few hours, at least it's better than none.

My breath forms billowy clouds in the winter air as soon as I walk outside. I take a moment and just stand on my front porch, watching the edge of the cloud until it finally dissipates into the surrounding air. Watching it calms me down, in a way. There are no walls that stop it from expanding or from disappearing. It simply vanishes. Which is exactly what I wish my fear would do.

I unlock my car, sitting in its usual place on the curb. Normally, it's nice to have my car outside so that I don't have to make noise and open the garage door when I go out at night. But during the winter, it means that the steering wheel freezes my hands as I drive, and my teeth start to chatter within seconds.

Shaking my hands a little in a futile attempt to rid them of the chill from the car door handle, I get in, shivering a little bit as I put my hands on the plastic of the steering wheel. Though it gets warm here during the day, even in winter, it really cools off at night. And it doesn't help that my car's heating is broken. But whenever I complain, my mom tells me to suck it up and be glad that I have a car in the first place. And don't get me wrong, I am glad, very glad—but that won't stop me from wishing that the heat would work.

Before I pull away from the house, I take out my phone and, pulling up the chat I have with my parents, type Heading to MK. Texting is one of my parents' rules for letting me out of the house—I always have to tell them where I am, even if they're not awake. That, and I have to "not give them any reason not to trust me." Whatever that means. So when I go out, I normally stick to one of two places: Mugs and Kisses or Always Booked, a bookstore that's open twenty-four seven.

The name makes me think of Chance, and what he'd think of the name. I personally think that Always Booked is actually a fitting name, and not too stupid either—it is always open, after all. And it's always full of books. Why someone would want to own a bookstore that never closes, I'm not sure. Who else besides me would want to have a bookstore that's always open, no matter how late or early it is? Who else would need a book at three in the morning? Nobody ever comes in the middle of the night, anyway.

But I'm thankful that it's there. It gives me somewhere to go at night if I don't feel like hanging around Emma. Because even though she's my friend, sometimes she talks too much. Tonight, though, I don't think I'll mind her chatter, so I start the car and back out of the driveway, turning left towards the shop.

Five freezing minutes later, I'm pulling into the parking lot. As I turn off the car and get out, I see a light go off on the second story, and a few seconds later, Emma walks out the door to greet me.

"Rough night?"

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." I grimace.

"Your phantom claustrophobia again?"

I nod. "Opening the door didn't help, so I left."

One of my favorite reasons for coming here on nights when I can't sleep is that I don't have to explain anything to Emma anymore; she already knows. She already knows about how I have a hard time sleeping, about how I always feel claustrophobic even when I'm not in any enclosed spaces. She was the one who started calling it "phantom claustrophobia" in the first place, and now we both use the term. And she doesn't constantly tell me to go get help like my parents do; I don't feel ashamed about whatever's wrong with me here.

"Let's go inside," she says, rubbing her hands together and breathing on them in an attempt to warm up. I nod, turning my head upwards and breathing out, watching my breath form a cloud and then fade away one last time before I follow her inside.

She walks toward the fireplace, taking another log from wood pile and putting it in the fire. "That should warm up again soon," she says. She sits down and pats the couch beside her. "Sit down, stay a while. Do you want to talk? Do you want any hot chocolate?"

I sit down and shake my head. "No. Not about this anyway. But hey, what do you think about that guy from earlier? Chance?"

"Oh, him! He was so nice! He didn't seem annoyed by all my talking. Actually, I think he's the first person I've ever met besides you who appreciates it. Did you know that he's moved ten times? That's more often than once every two years!"

I nod, my eyes wide. "I knew he moved a lot, but I didn't know it was that many. No wonder he was so grumpy. I'd be that grumpy if I had to move that often."

Emma hums. "Yeah, moving once was bad enough for me. Never again." She shakes her head. "He seems so lonely. I don't think he's ever tried to make friends before."

"He doesn't like talking to people in general," I say. "He said he got yelled at by this one lady in Spain—"

"And apparently, he knew all the swear words but nothing else!" she gushes, then gets more serious. "I probably shouldn't think it's so funny. I'd be terrified if someone did that to me. Especially if I didn't manage to get home until the next afternoon. And he said his parents didn't even look for him."

"He said all that?"

"Well, no. I asked if his parents looked for him and he gave me a one-word answer. But same thing."

"How do you know more about him than I do? You were only with him for ten minutes!"

"I asked a lot of questions. It probably wasn't very considerate, but at least I didn't make him answer very much. You probably didn't ask him stuff because you didn't want to bother him, right?"

"Yeah, except about his name. But he wouldn't answer."

"What about his name? He didn't tell me anything about his name."

I look away, knowing I probably shouldn't tell Emma anything about it, especially since he didn't even seem comfortable with me knowing. "I just thought it was interesting, that's all. It's a less common name than Emma or Noah. But he got all mad at me when I texted him."

Emma grins. "He gave you his number?"

"No, I gave him mine. But I made him to promise to text me once he got home since his parents looked like they were ready to murder him. Well, his mom at least. His dad didn't seem to care."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. Oh, did I tell you that his mom has a hippo cardigan?"

"A what?"

"A hippo cardigan!" I get a blank stare. "A cardigan? Like a flower cardigan but instead of flowers it was hippos."

"What the heck? Where would she get something like that?"

I shrug. "I have no idea."

Emma clenches her fists and looks me in the eye. "I want one."

"Emma..."

"I want one," she repeats stubbornly. "And I'll get one, even if I have to make it myself."

"You can't sew or knit or anything like that," I remind her.

"Details, details. Don't sweat the small stuff. Maybe his mom will give it to me then," she says. "If she ever comes by, I'm definitely going to get on her good side."

"Well," I say, chuckling, "if he ever comes back here, you should ask him to bring his family. Or at least his mom. She's the one with the hippos."

Emma laughs. "I can't believe we're talking about hippos at twelve thirty on a Monday morning."

"Me neither. Sorry for bothering you."

She frowns and smacks my shoulder. "I told you, you're not bothering me when you come here. You're welcome whenever you need to be here. And you have a key, so if I was too tired, I wouldn't have come down."

I'm about to respond when my phone buzzes, so I settle for nodding as I reach into my pocket to grab it. Emma leans over and asks, "Who's texting you this late? I didn't think you had anyone else's phone but mine, your parents', and that one guy at school who goes to bed at like ten thirty. Oh, and Chance's. But he should be asleep too, right? Apparently, he hasn't slept since yesterday afternoon—oh wait, it is him. That's weird."

I nod again. Why are you still awake? I type.

Can't sleep, he replies a minute later.

Oh, that sucks.

"Ask him if he knows where his mom got her sweater!" Emma says excitedly.

Emma says to ask you if you know where your mom got her hippo cardigan.

Excuse me what

How does she know about that?

Also I have no idea

That's what I was thinking about when I was getting lectured lol

Wait you're with Emma?

YOU SAID LOL ARE YOU SURE UR OK

Also yeah, I can't sleep either. I'm at MK right now, and somehow, we ended up talking about your mom's fashion choices lmao

Did you know that Emma lives at MK? Her house is upstairs!

Your parents let you go out past midnight? And what's MK?

"So?" Emma looks up at me expectantly.

I shake my head in mock remorse. "He has no idea. What a shame." Turning my attention back to my phone, I'm not really sure what to say to that without making it sound like I have family issues. He seemed to believe me the first time I denied it, but giving him more reason to doubt me won't be helpful. MK is Mugs and Kisses, the coffee place from before. And they know. They don't like it, but they realize it's important for me.

"Well," Emma says, puffing out her cheeks a little bit, "if you're just going to be texting now and ignoring me, I'm going to head upstairs to bed. You're welcome to sleep here if you want. I'll toss a blanket down. If you decide to leave, lock up."

"Thanks, Emma," I say, looking up from my phone to give her a tired smile. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," she says, yawning as she pads up the stairs. A few seconds later, I hear a thump. "There's your blanket," she calls. "Good night, Noah!"

"Good night," I call back, grabbing the blanket from the bottom of the steps before getting settled on the couch and wrapping the blanket around me. When I turn back to texting, I can almost feel Chance's concern seeping out from the phone; his typing indicator keeps appearing and disappearing. It makes me smile. Don't know what to say? I type.

Yeah, he responds. I can almost hear his defeat from here. It makes me feel all fuzzy and weird inside. I'm not really used to someone actually caring about me that isn't Emma or my parents.

Don't worry about, I say back. It's not anything like what you're probably imagining. Our family functions normally and everything like that. I just leave at night sometimes.

That doesn't sound normal.

We've all gotten used to it. They've set up rules for me, and it's not like I go anywhere suspicious or do anything strange. I go to the same two places most of the time.

Where?

One of them is MK. The other is a bookstore. Can you guess what it's called? :DD

...is it a pun

what do you think? :p

Okay I'll take that as a yes.

A few minutes go by before I get a reply. I wonder what he's been doing, but then he sends me a whole list of answers.

I love my shelf? Cliff hanger? Spelled checks? Cooked books? Hypertext?

Lol did you just look up a list of book puns

Yes. I couldn't think of any on my own because it's almost one in the morning.

Oh yeah oops sorry

Nope none of those are right,,,,,

It's called "Always Booked"

Because the store never closes and it's always full of books!!!!

See, this name actually fits!

I guess it's better than the store. And the coffee shop.

OMG NEVER TELL EMMA THAT SHE WILL DIE

SHE'S SO PROUD OF MK

Okay, I won't. I'll tell her it's better than the grocery store next time I see her.

Good, good

Okay I should probably let you sleep soon BUT

You either need to bring your mom to MK or ask her where she got that sweater

OR BOTH that would be great too

bc otherwise Emma will ask me about it until my ears fall off

I'll ask tomorrow.

Awesome, thanks! See you soon, hopefully! And I hope you fall asleep soon!

Thanks, you too! Bye

I turn my phone off, put it face down on the table next to the couch, and pull the blanket Emma gave me up over my chin. I'm slightly puzzled, trying to figure out why Chance's texting style suddenly changed. Either he was severely more sleep deprived than he was an hour and a half ago, or he was finally figuring out that he didn't need to text how he speaks. I'm hoping it's the latter.

I catch myself staring at the fire. The jumping flames cast flickering shadows over the bookcases, creating the perfect balance of light and shadow so that I don't feel enclosed by the darkness and I also don't notice the walls. The walls aren't as bad during the day, but at night, it feels like they're pressing in. That's why I love coming here at night—the walls are farther away.

Maybe my parents are right. Maybe I should get help. Because like Chance said, sleeping at a coffee shop because I'm afraid of the walls in my own house isn't exactly normal. But it's always been like this, at least since what happened a few years ago, and since I've gotten used to it, I don't mind it as much as I should.

As I lay there in the semi-darkness, my thoughts keep drifting back to Chance. To be honest, it scares me a little bit. I haven't ever been this intrigued by someone before, and acknowledging that makes me terrified of everything that could go wrong. My brain keeps jumping to the worst-case scenarios, and I can't turn my thoughts off. They're constantly bombarding me, sending slight prickles of anxiety down my spine.

But at the same time, it's exhilarating. I haven't felt this excited or happy about something for years. Since I got sick exactly three years and seven months ago, to be exact. Not sick as in a cold, but something much more serious that lasted for months and ruined my ability to function. And as much as one half of my brain is screaming at me to be wary of any sort of change, the other half is encouraging me to embrace the feeling, to try and befriend Chance as much as possible and see where it goes.

Having a new person in my life gives me a feeling of freedom. It releases a little bit of the pressure on my back from the weight of the past. Because Chance didn't know me before I got sick. He didn't know what I used to be like, what I used to do, what I used to love. He can't compare my past to my present and realize what a failure I've become. He'll see me for how I am now, and that's refreshing.

So for tonight, instead of worrying, I let my thoughts free and let myself be excited for once. But even so, it's still around three in the morning before I finally fall asleep.