Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“N-Noah …?” I finally manage to say. “Noah Reed?”
He only continues to stare back at me, paralyzed and silent.
Maybe the fall scared him. It was rough. “You okay? Close call. You almost got buried by an avalanche of pretty picture frames.”
He still remains silent.
Eyes unblinking.
He looks so adorable right now. His innocence literally blooms from his sweet, tiny eyes. Even his lips look innocent somehow. Slightly parted. Their plush, heart shape.
Is it terrible that my very first instinct right now is just to kiss him? To know what his lips feel like, after all these years?
Is it just my current frame of mind that has me so charged up and yearning for things I have no right to yearn for?
And those lips combined with his wide-opened eyes behind the modest frames of his glasses. It almost hurts to look into them, to realize I’m a potential source of his frightened state right now, to have slammed him to the ground so harshly. Perhaps I could’ve been more gentle. But it all happened so quickly, there’s no telling whether I had even a fraction of a second to spare.
I should probably ignore my inappropriate desire to kiss him for now. “Are you hurt?” I ask. It’s a question I silently asked in my head countless times throughout our high school careers. From across cafeterias and crowded classrooms. Are you hurt? Are you okay? Can we please have a second shot at being friends? All of these questions swam laps in my head for so many years.
He must be a hell of a lot more spooked by this than I realized.
He can’t even muster up a single word.
Shadows fall over us. I look up to find a crowd having formed around the picture frame debris—and us. Phones are out. Cameras, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the festival came to a halt to investigate what happened on the curb in front of Biggie’s Bites.
I grimace. “Sorry, Noah, but … it seems like we’ve just earned ourselves the attention of the entire town.”
Noah’s lips flinch—but no sound comes out.
Perhaps I couldn’t hear him. I lean my face in closer. “What was that?”
His eyes grow wider. Terrified. Am I terrifying him? Is all of this too much? Is the sweet guy even breathing?
“D-Did I hurt you? Are you injured? I’m sorry for pushing you the way I did, but I—” I’m getting concerned. I’m rambling. All the words spill out at once. Am I still thinking about kissing him? “I just saw that enormous pile of picture frames tipping over, and I needed to get you out of harm’s way, and no one was watching those dang kids, and everything happened so fast, so I just—Wait. Can you even move at all? Did I paralyze you? Did I break you in half? Oh, no … I swear, I don’t know my own strength …”
His lips flinch once more. Again, no sound.
Why do his lips insist on looking so damned kissable?
“You gotta speak up,” I beg him. “Tell me if I hurt you. Did I hurt you, Noah?”
His lips stretch wide. Then they go crooked.
Then, in the tiniest of squeaks, he speaks.
And I still don’t understand what he says.
We’ve been on the ground for a while now. “Don’t worry,” I quickly decide. “I’m gonna get to my feet and help you up, okay? The clinic is just down the road, and I doubt lying on the sidewalk is comfortable for you.”
I gently release my arm out from under Noah’s head, find my footing, and take hold of his hand. We rise from the pavement with surprising ease.
Our hands still clasped, I gaze down at his camera. I am rather horrified to find part of it smashed up. “Noah, your camera!”
His eyes, however, are elsewhere: “Cole, your arm.”
I blink, stunned by his first words, then peer down at my arm.
At first, I’m honestly not sure what I’m looking at. It’s like I just acquired a wide, jagged tattoo all in red and black across my forearm. I don’t know what this tattoo even is. An animal? Tribal mark? Dramatic interpretation of Sagittarius in the starry night sky? All I know is it’s the same arm I swung around the back of Noah’s head to protect it from hitting the cement.
My mind doesn’t compute that this is actually my forearm.
This red nightmare I’m staring at.
Here’s a little-known fact about me: I’m virtually fearless. Not squeamish about spiders, cockroaches, snakes … you name it. I can stand on a mountaintop with outstretched arms. I can hop in front of a crowd, dance terribly, and sing at the top of my lungs. I’ll head into a haunted house without reservation, explore a dark cave, go swimming in the ocean, or even try skydiving. I have no fears.
No fears—except one.