8 - N O A H

Chance and I finally get back to Mugs and Kisses after I cave in and show him how to get back. If there's one thing I've learned today, it's that he has an absolutely horrible sense of direction. So horrible that I'm not sure any amount of practice we do will fix it. I'm really not surprised he's so familiar with getting lost.

When we pause under the awning to catch our breath—not that we ran back or did anything else remotely strenuous, but I'm exhausted and he's much more out of shape than I realized—we're both shocked to see his mom sitting on the couch talking to Emma through the window. They're both gesturing wildly and don't turn around as we walk in the door. It's only as we step inside and take off our coats that she turns to face us.

"Oh my goodness, Abbie," she exclaims, her eyes widening when she sees his face, cheeks and nose ablaze from the cold. "Where have you been? It's so late already, especially after you asked to stay much longer than you were supposed to! I told you to be back by five this time!"

I can see Chance's face contort, his expression somewhere between annoyance and guilt. "What time is it now?" he asks slowly, as if he doesn't really want to know the answer. Which I suppose he doesn't—the later he is, the more his mom will yell at him, probably.

"Five fifteen!" his mom says indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest with a dissatisfied huff.

"Oh, come on," Chance complains, relaxing. "That's barely late!"

"But it still is," she chides, sighing. "You should have at least texted. But no matter, since I got to see the cafe too."

"She told me where she got her hippo cardigan!" Emma informs us enthusiastically, and I can't tell whether she's trying to ease some of the tension or she's really just that excited. Both, probably. She has a natural talent for diffusing awkward situations with her naturally bubbly personality, and I'm really thankful for that. "I ordered one! It should be here in a few days."

"Great?" I say hesitantly. Emma nods so hard her shoulders shake. I honestly can't understand why she's so obsessed. I just can't. I'll admit that it's fun to marvel at and talk about, but I don't get why she actually wants to wear it. It seems like one of those things that gets ruined by reality.

"So," Chance's mom says, turning her attention to me. "You're Abbie's friend, yes? The one who brought him back to the grocery store last night?"

I shoot Emma a look as soon as I register her brow furrow in confusion, warning her to shut up before I reply. I don't know what she and Chance's mom talked about, but his name obviously didn't come up. I'm surprised she didn't ask for an explanation, considering how pushy she is. "Yeah. I'm Noah. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise!" she exclaims, beaming. Her enthusiasm reminds me a little bit of Emma, except that Emma is very consistently enthusiastic while Chance's mom seems to be erratically all over the place. "It's so nice to see that Abbie has some friends! Were you showing him around?"

I nod and glance over at Chance, trying to wordlessly assure him that I won't say anything stupid. Probably. I won't say anything stupid or embarrassing on purpose, anyway. "Yep! I introduced him to Mugs and Kisses today and showed him to the bookshop today. I'll take him around more when it stops raining, but I didn't have an umbrella today."

She nods understandingly, letting out a loud sigh and tucking a strand of gray hair behind her ear. "The rain really is dreary, isn't it?"

I just nod, not wanting to argue even though I vehemently disagree. I don't think she'd be mad if I disagreed, per se, but seeing as she's expecting me to agree, I'd rather not cause a scene. Not over something so trivial.

She seems satisfied with my response and turns to Chance. "Abbie, we should get going. Dad's at home making dinner, and it'd be disrespectful to be late."

His shoulders slump. "Okay. Bye, Noah. Bye, Emma." He glances at me, his eyes pleading. I nod at him reassuringly, and he relaxes a little bit, but he's still very visibly on edge. He keeps picking at the edge of his shirt, and he's gnawing lightly on his bottom lip. I want to reach out and stop him, because just watching him makes my own lips hurt, but that doesn't seem very appropriate.

"Bye, Chance," I say. "See you tomorrow, hopefully? I'll text you."

He nods. "Sure, see you tomorrow!"

"Bye!" Emma echoes. She waves as he walks out the door and back out into the early evening, though it might as well be night. It's been getting dark earlier and earlier lately, so now that I think about it, it's really good that I finally showed him how to get back instead of insisting that he fend for himself. He'd be even more lost in the dark.

Once he and his mother have left, she turns to me. "So..." she says, drawing out the word. She's started organizing books on the shelf, but she keeps glancing back at me expectantly.

I raise my eyebrow, trying to decide what to say. "So?" I repeat, deflecting the question for a moment longer. I know it's pointless, though, because when Emma wants to know something, she won't stop talking until she gets what she wants.

Emma gives me a look and smacks my forehead gently with the book in her hand. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," I admit, running my fingers through my hair. "I'm just not sure what to say other than that he prefers to be called Chance."

"Then why does his mom call him Abbie?"

"I think it's his first name. Chance is his middle name. But please call him Chance. Don't mention Abbie, he hates it."

"Okay." Then she pauses. "How do you know?"

"I don't, really. I'm guessing. I heard his mom call him Abbie yesterday when I took him to the store and then texted him about it and he got really defensive. He thinks it's too girly, I'm assuming. And his mom probably wouldn't call him that if it wasn't his name, and she probably wouldn't call him by his middle name because she was the one who named him."

"Well, aren't you Mr. Detective," Emma teases, but then she grows more serious. "Are you sure he's not having issues with his family?"

I wince. "I'm not sure. Not that I know of, and I hope not. He's already lonely enough, so it'd be horrible if he felt like he couldn't talk to his family either. Maybe I should ask, but I'm not really sure how. I also don't want to assume anything because I know how much that annoys me."

We fall silent for a while, Emma returning to the counter to wash the mugs and put a few more pastries in her display window. I stare in her direction, but I'm not really watching—I'm more lost in thought. Thoughts about Chance and why he gets so upset about his name, because even though I do have to admit that it seems girly, I think it suits him. Thoughts about how much longer I can last on so little sleep before I fall apart. Thoughts about how I was able to sleep earlier. Thoughts about why.

Thoughts about what that might mean.

I can't help but wonder why he hasn't pressed me for more details or made me explain my issues when that's all everyone else seems to do. Why he's trusted me about not having family issues when nobody else has. Why he hasn't bothered me too much about missing school beyond the occasional push to go or asked about me not having many friends. Why he seems to understand.

Not that he's known me for very long, of course. But he's been extremely conscious of my boundaries so far, and I can't really imagine that changing. I can't bring myself to imagine it, simply because I don't want it to be true. The more people pressure me about my problems, the more they try to dig and insert themselves into my life without invitation, the more I pull back and run away. But eventually, I'll run out of stamina.

I wish he was willing to tell me more about his past, about his family, his thoughts. He keeps switching between being bold and extremely shy and socially awkward, but in an adorable way. I don't find it off-putting at all. He'll confront me about something or yell at me over text and then be so frantic about apologizing and regretting it that he'll practically melt from embarrassment. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

Emma waves her hand just inches in front of my face. I start. "Emma! What was that for?"

"I've been trying to get your attention for the last minute, and you weren't responding!"

"Sorry," I mutter. "Just thinking."

"About what?" she asks, smirking. She has that look in her eyes again, the one that screams she's up to something. "Chance?"

"Yeah."

She gives me a weird look, momentarily pausing from reorganizing the decorations in the counter window. She's finally removing the Christmas decorations and replacing them with something more suitable for spring, but she's a bit late—it's already March. "You're not denying it?"

"Why would I deny it?"

"People normally deny thinking about their crushes."

I furrow my brow, confused at her accusation. A wave of emotion rushes through my body, but I can't quite tell what it is. Fear, maybe? Dread? Whatever it is, it certainly isn't pleasant. "Well maybe I didn't deny it because it isn't a crush. What the heck, Emma?"

She nudges my shoulder playfully. "Don't lie to yourself. Come on. I know you too well."

"I'm not lying," I retort, trying to discreetly wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants. "I've literally known him for less than two days. I met him last night. There's no freaking way I have a crush on him. That'd be shallow."

"Oh, you'll see. It'll happen. Emma knows everything. Besides, it wouldn't be a bad thing, right? He seems like a really great person."

"It wouldn't be bad," I say, though my pounding heart and wide eyes clearly think otherwise. "It's just scary."

"Oh my gosh you just said it's," Emma squeals. "That's present tense, Noah! Deny it all you want, but it won't work. I can tell. I'll even make you a bet. The deadline is in one month. If you figure out you like him sometime in the next month, you owe me."

I raise my eyebrow, trying to figure out why she's being so adamant about the whole thing. Also because I'm hoping that a raised eyebrow makes me seem more confident and nonchalant that I actually am. Unlike Chance, I actually can raise one eyebrow at a time, and I love to make use of that talent. "Sure, that works. Because there's no way I'm losing. Also, can't I just not tell you? You're at a pretty big disadvantage here, you know."

Emma laughs. "Well then, if you're so sure, that'd better reflect your bet." She pauses for a second, rubbing her chin as she thinks. Then she says, "Okay, I have my idea. But you say yours first. I don't want you backing out of this."

It's my turn to think. After a few seconds, I look up at her, a large grin making its way over my face. "When I win, you have to give me free deserts, not just free healthy food."

"Fair, fair," she acknowledges, though she doesn't look pleased. I know how much she hates giving me free junk food—she's always worried about my mental and physical wellbeing because of my insomnia, so she hates doing anything that might worsen my already fragile health. If it can even be called health in the first place.

Also, she technically loses money every time she gives me free stuff. I'm not quite sure which issue is a higher priority. Not that she cares about money more than she cares about me, that is, but if she gave me all the free stuff I wanted, she'd have to go out of business. There's a good reason that she has clear rules about what I am and am not allowed to take.

What can I say? I don't care what it is. If it's free, I want it. Especially if it's food.

"Okay," she repeats. "Now promise you won't back out."

I look at her warily. "What are you going to say that's going to make me want to back out so badly? A bet is a bet."

"Well, I'll just say you're not going to like this. Chance will, though, probably. And your mom." She stares at me for a minute, almost nervously, before she says, "If I win—when I win, because I've practically already won—you have to go see someone about your insomnia and phantom claustrophobia."

I stare at her in shock for a few seconds before my stare morphs into more of a glare. "Yeah okay, you're right. I am backing out. That's not fair at all!"

"Whatever happened to being sure you're going to win? Besides, what's so bad about going to see somebody?"

"You know what happened two years ago," I remind her, clenching my fist angrily. "When I was sick. They thought I was making stuff up. They tried to put me in a mental institution. Told me I was just delusional. An attention-seeker. And guess when this whole insomnia thing started? Back then with everything else. When they didn't know what was wrong with me, so they told me it was all in my head. Why would I go back and try again?"

"Because you aren't in the state you were two years ago," she retorts, not backing down like she normally does. That shocks me. We almost never seriously argue, since both of us hate conflict and like to make the other happy. And that means that when we do argue, she's extremely serious about something. A force to be reckoned with. "You don't need them to find out what was wrong with you then. You need them to figure out what's wrong with you now. Why you can't sleep. You need to talk to someone about your claustrophobia. That's one thing. And that's something you can do."

"And what if they tell me it's just in my head?"

"As much as you might not want to hear that, that's kind of the point of therapists. But they won't tell you it's all in your head as an excuse to not help you—they'll do it to help you. To help you understand that you don't have to be afraid." Her voice cracks, and she rubs at her eyes frantically. "Please, Noah. I know you don't want to do this. I'm just asking you to consider it." She looks up at me and smiles, but that does little to reassure me. "Be willing to consider it if—when—I win. Okay?"

I hang my head, knowing she's right but not wanting to admit it. "Okay," I mumble. "If—not when, if—you win, I will be willing to consider it. But that doesn't mean I'll automatically do it."

Emma breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Noah. That really means a lot. I get why you're reluctant, I really do," she assures me. "I promise I do. But I think there's much less harm in trying than there is in not trying at all. I'll even do some research for you. Heck, I'll even drive you there. Just please, please think about it."

"Fine," I grumble. "But the way you're talking about this like it's going to happen bothers me. Why the heck are you so sure that you're going to win?"

She just throws me a smile. "Trust me. I know. Even if you can't see it yet, I know."

"That's suspicious," I tease. "You're not a fortune teller or anything, right? No hidden supernatural abilities you've been hiding from me?"

"Not that I know of. But there are plenty of signs. You let him upstairs with you, which never happens with anyone else. You even cuddled with him. You skipped school for him. You can't deny that there's at least something. And honestly, I think you'd look cute together. So I want it to be true." She looks at the clock and purses her lips, seemingly surprised by what she sees. "But anyway, you should really get home, it's later than I thought."

I decide to ignore her comments about me and Chance, not wanting to start yet another argument. "Kicking me out, huh? Alright. No offense, but hopefully I won't see you until tomorrow."

She giggles. "No offense taken. I hope so, too."

"Bye," I call out, waving as I walk out the door.

As I head back home, I try to figure out how I'm supposed to interact with Chance now that Emma keeps telling me I like him. Because even though I don't actually like him, now that the idea of it is planted in my head, I won't be able to stop thinking about it.

But am I actually afraid of liking him? I can't really tell. I don't care that he's a boy, since I've had crushes on boys before, but I'm afraid of how fast it'll be. Not that I've always had to know people really well before I can like them like that—I had more than my fair share of stupid and shallow crushes as a kid—but if Emma's right, then this is much sooner than I would've expected. Does it make me shallow to like someone that quickly?

And honestly, I'm terrified of how awkward it's going to be. I don't want it to be awkward between us, especially now that we're starting to grow closer. With my situation getting worse, I really need a friend right now, and from the way he's always so sad about being lonely, he could use a friend too.

I just have to hope that this doesn't ruin everything.