Sometimes It Happens (18 page)

“No,” he says. But his eyes shift to the clock on the wall, like he’s trying to figure out how long he’s obligated to talk about this before making his escape. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because you’ve refused to talk to me all day.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.” I wait, and when he doesn’t say anything, I give up. If he’s going to be a total asshole about this, then I’m done. I grab another magazine and start to read angrily. Well, I’m not sure you can really read angrily. But you can make it clear that you’re upset by sighing a lot and ruffling the pages. Which is what I’m doing now.

“I’m not mad at you,” Noah says after a few minutes of page ruffling.

“You already said that. And I don’t really care anymore.” Which is kind of true, kind of not. At the moment I don’t care because I’m pissed. But later I’ll probably end up caring a lot.

Noah keeps talking. “And if I
were
mad at you, I wouldn’t ignore you. But I’m not, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, good.” I keep reading, skimming an article about how to make an apron out of an old sheet. It’s actually pretty complicated and involves a glue gun, which I guess you should already have, otherwise you should probably just go out and buy an apron.

We read our articles in silence for a few minutes, and then Noah slams his magazine shut. “Can I talk to you outside for a second?” he asks.

“Why? There’s no one here except for me, you, and Judge Judy.” I fold my hands and look at him expectantly, waiting.

“Never mind,” he says, this time sounding annoyed.

“
Fine
,” I say, rolling my eyes, “We can go outside.” I’m suddenly nervous. Going outside to have a talk? That sounds serious. And hot. Like, temperature-wise, I mean. “Well, we can talk. But can we go to the cafeteria or something? I’m thirsty and it’s too hot to sit outside.”

So we leave instructions with the triage nurse to tell Lacey to text us when she’s done. (The triage nurse is this older woman who couldn’t believe we would text each other such important information—I didn’t have the heart to tell her that about five people I know have been broken up with by text message, and that it’s how one girl I know found out her parents were getting divorced.) Then we head up to the hospital cafeteria. I grab an orange juice from the cooler and a turkey club out of the case, and plop them onto a tray. Noah gets a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which is kind
of funny. And a chocolate milk, which is even funnier.

“You’re getting chocolate milk and peanut butter and jelly?” I ask as we wait for the cashier in a line behind two middle-aged doctors I’m hoping aren’t in charge of Lacey. That’s because while they’re waiting in line, one of them shuts his beeper off without even looking at it. Which definitely cannot be good. I mean, what if there’s some kind of surgery or something only he’s qualified to do? And he misses it because he’s too busy enjoying his roast beef sandwich? I know doctors have to eat, too, but still.

“Yeah.” Noah looks down at his tray. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” I say. “If you’re seven.”

“I don’t think that ageism should be applied to food,” he says. “I think people of all ages should be allowed to enjoy peanut butter and jelly. And Boost.”

“Boost?”

“Yeah, you know, Boost? Like Ensure? It’s a meal supplement old people take. It makes a very good after-workout protein shake.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, “I’m not seventy.” I’m trying to be haughty since he
did
ignore me all day, but inside, I think it’s kind of cute. While most guys would be all macho and drink something like Muscle Milk, or whatever it’s called, Noah’s drinking Boost after his workouts. After his workouts, when he comes home all sweaty, his muscles bulging under a tight tank top. Not that I’ve ever seen Noah wear a
tank top, but he probably wears them to work out, right? A tight one that stretches across his stomach and—

“Seven ninety-five,” the cashier says, yanking me out of my daydream. Which is probably a good thing, since it was headed in an R-rated direction. I dig into my wallet and hand her my debit card.

We find an empty table in the middle of the cafeteria, away from the evening sunlight that’s streaming through the windows. I take the seat across from Noah, careful to keep my tray from touching his and my legs on my own side of the table. I don’t need any of my body parts accidentally brushing against his, thank you very much.

“So,” I say as Noah opens his chocolate milk. “What do we need to talk about?” Please let it be something about work, please let it be something about work, please let it—

“Look,” he says, sighing. “I don’t want to make a big deal about it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you and I hang out.” He’s watching my face carefully for my reaction, but all I say is “Oh,” mostly because I don’t know what else to say. Honestly, I’m a little bit shocked. I never thought he would just come out and say it like that, like “you and I shouldn’t hang out anymore.” I mean, I knew something was up, but . . .

“Do you mind telling me why?” I ask before I can lose my nerve.

“I just . . . I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he says. “I guess it kind of freaked me out that I asked you to lie to Ava
last night.” He shakes his head, then unwraps his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and takes a bite, his face thoughtful.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “But why did you do that?” I take a sip of my drink. “I mean, who cares if Ava knows me and you were hanging out. She’s the one who told you to look out for me, remember?” But even as I’m saying that, I know it’s different. Like, Ava wanted Noah to make sure I was getting out of bed every day. I don’t know how she’d feel if she knew he was taking me out to concerts, where there was fun and beer and lots of stomach flipping whenever Noah got close to me.

“Because of our problems,” he says. He looks down at his tray, an embarrassed look on his face.

“Our problems?” I ask. “But we don’t have any problems.” Well, besides the fact that every time he’s close to me, I feel like I want to pull him closer.

“No, not
our
problems, me and you, our problems, me and Ava.”

Oh. Right. Of course he didn’t mean that we were an “our.” We’re not an our, we’re just Noah and Hannah. Noah and Hannah. That kind of has a nice ring to it, in a weird, biblical sort of way. Not that I’m religious or anything, but everyone knows about Noah and the Ark, and I’m pretty sure Hannah is some kind of religious name. Which is funny when you think about it, since my mom is, like, the least religious person ever. Actually, I might be thinking of the name Sarah. I wonder if there’s a Sebastian in the bible.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “What problems?”

“The problems Ava and I were having,” he says. “You know, the reason she went away to camp for the summer?” He must be able to tell by the blank look on my face that I have no idea what he’s talking about. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Ava told me she was going away because her mom’s friend needed a last-minute replacement,” I say. I pick up my sandwich and force myself to take a bite, not sure how I feel about this bit of information. Noah and Ava were having problems? Why didn’t she tell me?

Noah nods. “She probably didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Probably,” I say, even though it’s not true and Ava could probably care less if I hated Noah. In fact, if Ava really
was
having problems with Noah, she would definitely want me to hate him. “So do you want to tell me what’s going on?” I try to act nonchalant, looking away and picking at an imaginary piece of lint that’s supposedly on my shirt.

“I don’t know,” he says. He takes a sip of his chocolate milk and another bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Ava probably wants to tell you herself.”

“Probably,” I say, knowing it’s not true. If Ava wanted to tell me, she would have done it already. “But if you and I can’t hang out, and if you want me to lie to her about where we were last night, don’t you think I have a right to know what’s going on?”

“I guess.” He looks uncomfortable, but I can tell he’s about to crack, and for some reason, this makes me feel a
little panicked. I mean, let’s take a minute to summarize the situation, shall we?

1. I am at the hospital waiting for my friend with Noah. Which is a very couple-like thing to do. All you have to do is watch any teen drama—anytime one of the characters is close to death and/or in a coma, the boyfriend/girlfriend teams always end up at the hospital together.

2. We are eating together. (Another coupley thing to do.)

3. We are talking about my best friend, his girlfriend, and their secret problems that she somehow neglected to tell me. Which means that Noah is the one telling me secrets that even my best friend won’t.

4. I like it. All of it. Being here, eating food, telling secrets, everything.

This definitely needs to stop. I need to finish this illicit sandwich and get out of here ASAP. I shouldn’t even have come to the cafeteria in the first place. I should be downstairs waiting for Lacey. I came here to be with
Lacey,
not to be eating food and sharing secrets with Noah, who ignored me all day.

But before I can put an end to all this madness, Noah starts to talk. “It all started a couple of months ago,” he says.
“I was hanging out with my friends a lot and Ava didn’t like that.”

“Ava didn’t like that?”

“No,” he says. “Which was totally understandable. I mean, I wanted to spend time with her, she was my girlfriend.” He realizes his mistake, that he’s referring to Ava in the past tense and quickly corrects himself. “
Is
my girlfriend. But the problem was, she didn’t really want to do the same things I did.”

“Like what?” I ask, thinking about his comment the other night that Ava was going to end up marrying some rich doctor.

“Well, like shows for one.”

“She didn’t want to go to shows?” I say. “But that was so fun!”

“I know,” he says. “But they’re not really Ava’s thing, you know?”

“True,” I say. Ava doesn’t like crowds and being hot and getting sweaty. Which is why it’s weird that she went away to work at a summer camp.

“So we started getting into fights a lot. I would always invite her to things, but she didn’t want to go. And then, finally, one night I didn’t feel like dealing with a fight.” He takes his straw wrapper and plays with it, twisting it around his finger. “So I lied to her about where I was going. And she found out. Two days later, she told me she was leaving for Maine.”

“But you guys aren’t fighting now,” I point out. “You guys are still talking all the time.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s the thing. She never said specifically she was going away because of what happened. I never even got the
feeling
she was doing it because she was mad. She just . . . I feel like she kind of wanted to punish me.” He leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair. “Does that make sense?”

“No,” I say. “But yes.”

“No, but yes?”

“No, it doesn’t make sense, but yes, I could see Ava doing something like that.” I could, too. Ava’s very passive-aggressive like that.

“I just wish that sometimes she would talk more, you know? It’s like she shuts down every time something comes up. I just . . . It’s so frustrating.”

“Yeah, I can definitely understand that.” I kind of want to ask him why he’s even with Ava if he’s so frustrated with her, and more about why she went away, and if he’s mad that she just left, but there must be something in my tone that makes him realize what I just realized a few minutes ago—that we’re here, sharing sandwiches, and talking about things his girlfriend doesn’t want me knowing.

Because all he says is, “Yeah, well, I’m sure it will all work out. She’ll be home in a few weeks anyway.”

“Totally,” I say, forcing myself to smile. My cell phone beeps then. Lacey.

“Where r u?! Turns out it was just hives!! Have Benadryl & m ready 2 go home!!!”

“Lacey’s ready,” I say. “It was hives and she wants to go home.”

Noah smiles, then picks up his tray and mine, dumping the rest of our sandwiches in the garbage on the way out of the cafeteria. I follow behind, feeling like, even though we’re talking again, things are even worse and more complicated than they were this morning.

After Ava slaps me, she stands up and walks out of Cooley’s, leaving me sitting at the booth by myself, both of our plates of food still on the table. I’m so shocked that I don’t move for a second. I take a couple of deep breaths, and turn to look at myself in the mirrors that line the wall behind the booths. There’s an angry red splotch on my cheek where Ava hit me, and I reach up and touch it. It doesn’t really hurt, but it stings a little. And seeing it, thinking about it, the shock of it and what it means, makes me eyes water.

“What was that about?” Cooley asks, walking by. He’s wearing his trademark white pants with a red silk shirt that’s unbuttoned to midchest, and three heavy gold chains with huge Cs on the end. “Did that girl just heet you?”

“Yes,” I say. “She did just hit me.”

“Wowiee wow wow wow,” he says. He starts clearing away our dishes, which is the first time that I’ve ever seen Cooley bus a table. Which is a sure sign that he wants gossip. “You should have kicked her ass, Hannah,” he says.

“This isn’t the UFC, Cooley,” I say, sighing. Cooley loves the UFC. He orders the pay-per-view fights on the TVs at the diner so he can write them off as a business expense. Which I’m pretty sure is illegal.

“Who was that girly anyway?”

“That was Ava,” I say.

“Ava, your best friend, and Ava, Noah’s girlfriend?” Cooley’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. I guess he’s been paying attention after all.