Sometimes It Happens

  Sebastian notices the girl too, so he opens up his binder to a fresh sheet of paper, then takes out a pen and writes, “I still really miss you.”

  I don’t say anything, because I’m not sure what to do. And then Sebastian reaches over and takes my hand. I want to pull away, I know I should pull away, but I don’t because for just one second, it feels nice—safe and secure, even though it’s a false sense of safety I know won’t last. But right now Sebastian’s really the only person who wants to be around me, who actually misses me, who’s actually trying to be nice.

  I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his hand around mine just for a second. And then I open my eyes and pull my hand away. But it’s not fast enough. Because when I look up, there’s Noah, standing in the doorway of the guidance office, right in front of Rosie’s desk, watching me and Sebastian.

  The Summer

  “What did he want?” Noah asks the next morning. He’s standing in my driveway at five a.m., a full hour before we have to be at work. Not that he was supposed to pick me up anyway, so it makes no sense that he’s here. The only reason I’m even up at this hour is because after I kicked Sebastian out last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I was tossing and turning until I finally gave up and spent the rest of the night writing in my journal and messing around online.

  My head was a complete and total mess. I couldn’t stop thinking about why Noah was at my house at one a.m., about what he wanted to say, about what he was thinking. I wasn’t even thinking that much about Sebastian. And at about four this morning, I decided I definitely need to stay away from Noah because nothing good can come out of the situation. Although my new plan to stay away from him isn’t off to a very good start since he’s, you know, in my driveway.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m standing on the porch, barefoot and in my pajamas, because when I heard Noah’s car pull up, I ran outside, not even bothering to put on shoes. Now he’s standing halfway out of his car with the door open, and a song I’ve never heard is playing through his iPod.

  “What did he want?” Noah asks again.

  “To talk,” I say.

  “So why’d you let him in?”

  He sounds angry, which makes me angry, and the next thing I know, I’m yelling. “You know, you have a lot of nerve showing up here at five in the morning questioning my choices,” I say. “Newsflash, Noah. I can talk to whoever I want, whenever I want.” I stop and take a breath. “And besides, what were you doing here at one in the morning? And what are you doing here now? I thought we weren’t supposed to talk ever again, remember?”

  “I never said that,” he says.

  I turn around and open the front door, so done with this.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “I have to get ready for work,” I yell over my shoulder. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Okay,” he says, sounding amicable. “I’ll just wait here for you.”

  “No, thank you,” I tell him. “Lacey will be here in an hour.” Or an hour and fifteen minutes, or whenever Lacey feels like she can finally pull herself out of bed. But Noah doesn’t need to know that.

  “No she won’t,” he says when I’m almost out of earshot. “I told her not to come.”

  I whirl around. “You what?”

  “I texted her and told her that I would pick you up.” He shrugs and then lopes up the cobblestone walk after me, checking his watch. “Starbucks is open,” he says. “Do you want to go with me?”

  So half an hour later, against my total and complete better judgment, we’re standing in line at Starbucks, which is surprisingly busy for five-thirty in the morning. I mean, what are all these people doing here? I guess they’re all on their way to work. And some of them look really perky. A few of them are even in workout clothes, which is just wrong. Although, now that I’m back on the market maybe I should start thinking about working out a little more. Or, you know, a lot more since right now I don’t work out at all. It never hurts to get in shape.

  “The usual?” Noah asks when we’re almost at the front of the line.

  “No,” I say, mostly because I’m annoyed with him and in a cranky mood. He still hasn’t told me why he showed up at my house last night. And the way he says it, the way he just asks me if I want the usual, it’s almost like he wants me to order the same old boring thing. So I decide to shock him and get something completely different. “I’m going to have a soy latte.”

  “A soy latte?” he looks at me skeptically.

  “Yes,” I say emphatically. “A soy latte. I’ve decided that I’m limiting my intake of diary products.”

  “You do realize that ice cream is a dairy product, right?”

  I ignore him and shuffle forward with the line. But he’s kind of persistent. “Do you even know what soy is?”

  “Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. Which isn’t really true. I mean, I know that soy milk isn’t dairy, and that people who are vegan drink it. But I don’t know exactly where it comes from or why it’s supposed to be so good for you. “Do you have some kind of problem with soy?”

  “No,” he says. “It’s just surprising, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “Because usually the only people who drink soy milk are, like, thirty-year-old hippies who are into being green.”

  “I’m into being green,” I say. The line moves forward again. “And I might just become a hippie. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “So your ageism when it comes to food is limited to peanut butter and jelly?”

  “I don’t eat things,” I say, looking him right in the eye, “that are childish. I’m very mature for my age.” Which is a total contradiction, since that’s actually a very childish thing to say.

  When it’s our turn to order, I’m so excited about my soy latte that I step right up to the cashier and blurt it out, “One large soy latte.” I almost add, “with cream and sugar” but then remember that if I’m limiting my dairy, I wouldn’t be adding cream. Plus, I’m not sure you can even add cream to a soy latte, since I’m not sure how that would taste. Is it like mixing Splenda with regular sugar? Or worse?

  “You mean a Venti,” Riker Strong says from behind the cash register, giving me a smile and punching in my order. I didn’t realize he was the one taking my order, otherwise I wouldn’t have been so cheerful when I gave it. I would have given him the cold shoulder that he deserves.

  “What?” I ask

  “A Venti,” he says. “That’s what we call larges here. You know that, Hannah.”

  “Well, whatever,” I say, my bad mood deepening. “Whatever you call them, that’s what I want.” They should just call them larges. How stupid.

  “And what can I get for you, Noah?” Riker asks.

  “I’ll have a Tall caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “Isn’t that kind of girly?”

  “Oh, so now you’re sexist when it comes to food as well as ageist?”

  I glare at him, then take my drink from where Riker has slid it across the counter, and march over to the condiment station where I dump four sugars and a bunch of cocoa and cinnamon into it. Since I have no idea what soy milk tastes like, I figure it’s probably wise to mask the taste as much as I can. I take a small sip. Not bad, although not as good as real milk. Not even close.

  Up at the counter, Noah’s holding his Grande-Venti-caramel-whatever while he and Riker hold up the line and joke around like they’re good friends. What a jerk. I mean, you’d think that Noah would show a little more respect. He shouldn’t be palling around with some guy that stalked Ava and cheated on Lacey.

  I can’t even watch this ridiculousness, so after another minute I stomp over to a table in the corner and sit down.

  “Hey,” Noah says a few minutes later. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” I walk out the door and head toward the car. “I was waiting for you. And why were you talking to him anyway?”


  “Who?” Noah asks.

  “Riker!”

  “Why wouldn’t I talk to him? Because of what happened with him and Ava?”

  “Yes!” Seriously, is he that stupid? Probably. I mean, if there’s anything I’ve learned about teenage boys in my (admittedly very limited) experience, it’s that they’re pretty oblivious.

  “I don’t care that he broke up with her,” he says, shrugging. “Ava’s over it, so shouldn’t I be, too?”

  “He didn’t break up with her.” We’re at the car now, and Noah unlocks the doors. I slide in, being careful not to spill my latte. I wait for Noah to get in, and as soon as he does I say, “She broke up with him. And then he totally stalked her for, like, ever.”

  Noah sighs, then shifts the car into gear. “No, he didn’t. He broke up with her, and Ava was really upset about it.”

  I look at him. “No, he stalked her.” But there’s a weird feeling in my stomach because, when I really think about it, I never saw any evidence of Riker stalking Ava. I mean, she told me that he was sending her five million emails and texts a day, and she told me that she caught him following her to the mall and driving by her house. But I never saw any of these alleged texts or emails, and anytime I saw Riker around Ava, he seemed perfectly nice. But I just thought that’s what made him more creepy—you know, that he would be nice when he saw her, like nothing weird was going on.

  “No, he broke up with her. Ava was really upset about it for a couple of weeks, but then she met me and got over it,” Noah says. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Ava told you this?” I ask incredulously.

  “Yeah,” he says, and shrugs. “So wait, she told you that she broke up with him?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “And that he was stalking her.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Probably because it’s the truth.” But I can also think of another reason. She was probably embarrassed that she got dumped.

  The thing is, I’ve always looked up to Ava when it comes to boys—the easy way she blows off their phone calls, the way she doesn’t obsess about them, the way she always has that perfect comeback for some guy that’s being a douche. I, on the other hand, am a complete disaster when it comes to boys—trying my best to keep them close, falling apart in bathrooms after they cheat on me, thinking I might have a crush on my best friend’s boyfriend. . . .

  Ava loves being the one I look up to, the one who has it all together. It’s our dynamic, and one we’re both comfortable with. But if she couldn’t even tell me that Riker broke up with her, then what does that say about our friendship?

  We’re pulling into the parking lot at work now and I turn to Noah, getting ready to ask him about all of this, and about why he was at my house last night, when Lacey comes running out of Cooley’s, her face flushed and her hair a mess. “You guys,” she says. “You have to get inside. Now. Danielle’s here and she will not go away.”

  “What do you mean she won’t go away?” I ask.

  “I mean, she’s, like, refusing to leave.” Lacey bites her lip and glances over her shoulder toward the diner fearfully.

  “Okay.” I sigh and get out of the car. “Come on.” I can’t believe it’s only six a.m. and there’s already been this much drama.

  The First Day of Senior Year

  Noah looks at Sebastian. Sebastian looks at Noah. Noah looks at me. I look at Noah. Noah opens his mouth, like he’s thinking about saying something, but then he turns around and walks out of the guidance office. And before I can stop myself, before I even know what I’m doing, I’m running after him.

  “Excuse me, young lady,” Rosie yells after me. “Once you’re in guidance, you stay in guidance. You cannot just start prowling the halls; you need to—”

  But I ignore her and keep going. Noah’s far ahead of me already, his long legs giving him a head start.

  “Noah!” I yell. He doesn’t turn around, he just keeps walking, not varying his speed, but his long, quick strides carry him down the hall and away from me.

  I run to catch up with him.

  “What’s your problem?” I say, stepping in front of him so that he can’t go anywhere.

  He looks at me like he can’t believe I would even ask such a question. “What’s my problem?” he says. “You were in the guidance office, holding hands with Sebastian, and you ask me what my problem is?”

  “I’m surprised you care,” I say, shifting my bag on my shoulder and crossing my arms over my chest. “Seeing how you told me that I shouldn’t have told Ava what happened last night.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “It is what you said.”

  “No, I said that I never wanted you to ruin your friendship with Ava because of me.”

  “That’s the same thing!” I’m almost yelling now, and we’re about one step away from getting yelled at by a teacher, which would not be good, especially since I don’t even have a pass to be here or in guidance or anywhere. Technically, I’m supposed to be in social media, and that’s where I’ll be sent if we get caught.

  Noah must realize we’re getting loud, because he takes my hand and pulls me around the corner to an alcove under the stairs that lead up to the science wing. It’s a small space, so we’re forced to stand close, our chests almost touching. “Look,” he says. “After what happened last night, for you to be in there holding Sebastian’s hand is inexcusable.”

  “I wasn’t holding his hand!” I protest. My heart is beating so hard I’m afraid it might pop right through my chest. It doesn’t help that I can see Noah’s face up close, the curve of his lip, the stubble on his cheeks that tells me he didn’t shave this morning, the way his hair flops over his forehead.

  “That’s what it looked like to me,” Noah says.

  “He took my hand,” I say, hoping that will make a difference. But it seems to make Noah mad.

  “You let him,” he says.

  “Not really,” I say.

  “Hannah.” He looks at me, the same way he looked at me last night in the diner, with longing and sadness, and it’s like everything I’m feeling I can see in his eyes. I want to kiss him so bad it hurts, but I know I can’t. So instead, I tear my gaze from his and look down at the ground.

  “Don’t be mad,” I say.

  “I’m not.” He takes a breath and lets it out slowly, then runs his fingers through his hair.

  “You’re not?”

  “No,” he says. “Not at you.” He seems like he’s thinking about something for a second, and then, before I can stop him, he’s leaving the alcove and walking back toward guidance. Oh, Jesus. What the hell does he think he’s going to do? Go into guidance and fight Sebastian? That’s the worst plan ever, especially since when you get in trouble for fighting, guidance is where they send you. So starting a fight in guidance is like going to a police station to commit a crime.

  “Noah,” I yell, running after him down the hall. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to end this,” he says.

  “Noah! You can’t just barge in there and start threatening him.” I’m struggling to keep up, my bag banging against my hip as I go.

  “Oh, I’m not going to threaten this time,” Noah says.

  “No,” I say again, stepping in front of him. But before I have to worry about how I’m going to stop Noah, who’s twice my size, the bell rings and the hallway fills with kids. It’s like the noise and traffic breaks the spell, and suddenly Noah’s face changes.

  For a second I think he’s going to reach out and take my hand, I want him to reach out and take my hand, I want him to pull me close to him right here in the hallway and tell me everything’s going to be okay, that we’ll be together, that whatever happens with Ava, we’ll figure it out together.

  But before I can see if any of that is going to happen, there’s a hand on my shoulder and someone’s whirling me around. Hard. For a second, I think it’s going to be Ava, back to finish what she
started in the diner and kick my ass. But it’s not. It’s Lacey.

  “Hey, Lace,” I say, trying not to let my voice betray what’s been going on for the past few minutes. Then I realize I don’t have to worry about that because Lacey doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for a chat. Her green eyes are flashing, and I forget about Noah instantly.

  “Is it true?” she asks.

  “Is what true?” I’m a little confused and having trouble moving from one conversation to the next, and, honestly, so much crazy stuff has happened this morning that I really have no idea what she’s talking about. Still, the tone of her voice makes me really nervous, and my stomach flips into an anxious tangle.

  “That you slept with Noah.” She’s talking a little louder now, and a couple of girls in our class turn to stare, then completely stop and huddle over by the wall, watching us.

  “Lacey,” I say quickly, grabbing her arm and trying to steer her down the hall. “Let’s get out of here, let’s go somewhere and talk about—”

  “No,” she says, wrenching her arm out of my grasp. “Is it true? Tell me. Now.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Ava,” she says. “Ava told me.” Figures. Now that Ava’s pissed at me, she probably decided she would tell Lacey and ruin my friendship with her, too. They probably sat together at lunch or in class, bonding over what a horrible person I am. I picture the two of them becoming best friends, wearing matching sweaters and going on double dates, filling up each other’s Facebook walls with private jokes. Suddenly the room is spinning and my face is really hot, and I feel like I can’t control my thoughts. But I know, at least, that there’s no sense in lying, so I take a deep breath and say, “Yes, it’s true.”

  I wonder if Noah’s still behind me, watching, if he’s okay with me telling people what happened, if he’s mad that Lacey is probably going to hate him now, too. And I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I think I hear the two girls who are watching the drama gasp.

  “How could you?” Lacey asks.