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It’s not that Noah necessarily dislikes working as Chris’ assistant. The pay is surprisingly good, the work mostly consists of coffee runs, and as it turns out, Chris really plays up the egotistical sadism for the cameras. He still is an egotistical sadist, but less so to ridiculous proportions.
But there are still plenty of people ready and willing to make Noah’s life hell. He's been assisting Chris on the set of his new reality show, Total Drama Dirtbags. True to its name, all of its contestants are nasty, mean, and arrogant. Noah’s sharp tongue had been more than a match for the occasional insult flung his way, until Chris had told him to knock it off.
“They keep complaining to me,” he said. “Not that they aren’t all scumbags, but we kinda need them for the show. I could always just get Chef to do your job.”
“You’d better not!” Chef bellowed from the kitchen. “I’m cooking three meals a day for these jerks, I got enough on my plate!”
Chris chuckled. “Nice pun, dude.”
“Ugh, I suppose I could stop,” Noah said.
“That would be best, thanks. What’ve they been saying to you, anyways?”
“Mostly that they hate my clothes.”
Chris eyed his ensemble— corduroy pants, hiking boots, and a sweater on top of an oversized plaid shirt. “You know, I can see where they’re coming from…”
Noah gave him a look.
“But yeah, if you could refrain from making our stars want to quit, that’d be great. I’ve gotta go work with makeup for Butterscotch Bailey’s drag show— she’s gonna really lay into Pernelle after yesterday’s dentures incident.” Chris handed a stack of papers to him. “If you could just drop these off with Alejandro, that’d be great.”
Alejandro is, perhaps, the most confusing part about Noah’s job. Chris claims he’s a “main character” in the show, and is constantly making Noah deliver notes on how to best mess with the other contestants. Or, on occasion, one of their personal items to hide and then plant on someone else.
That’s not what confuses Noah— he knows just how “real” reality television actually is. (Back during the Aftermath, Geoff’s “bad guy” personality switch was from some script cooked up by the producers to bring drama to the show. Each show, the minute they were offstage, Geoff did a lot of apologizing.) (And making out with Bridgette.) (Ew.)
What confuses Noah is Alejandro himself. Because on Dirtbags, Alejandro is absolutely brutal. He’s destroyed at least three blossoming friendships, and charmed at least four women and one man before stabbing them in the back. He once brought someone to tears with an insult so cleverly worded that Noah had actually burst out laughing. (Which probably didn’t help the crying contestant, but whatever.)
When Alejandro turned to see Noah bent over, gasping for breath, he had smiled. Like he was delighted. And whenever Noah found him to drop off notes, Alejandro actually thanked him and asked him some random question. Like what he thought of Hayden’s hair (hideous) or how he didn’t get hit when Xander pulled out a paintball gun yesterday (a lot of practice dodging various objects thrown by his older sisters).
Noah had briefly mentioned it at a game night with Izzy, Eva, and Owen. “He keeps asking me stuff. I don’t get it.”
“It sounds like he’s trying to be your friend,” Owen scooped up a few fake dollars. “You said he was around our age, right? And that a lot of the other contestants were older. And mean. He’s probably lonely.”
Noah shrugged. “Could be. Though he can be plenty charming when he wants, I don’t see why he’s going after me.”
“Maybe he likes you,” Izzy suggested. She had contorted her legs into an impressively uncomfortable position. “Maybe he’s trying to get to know you before he asks you out.”
“Pfft.”
“Maybe you like him.”
Noah scoffed so loudly, Eva actually jumped. She glared at him. “Don’t do that. I’m still pumped up from my sparring matches.”
“You’re always pumped up. And I do not like him— even if the guy is hotter than Justin.”
“Oh, Justin,” Owen sighed longingly. “…Sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Noah’s boyfriend,” Eva said. Noah leaned over to flick her, then thought better of it.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a guy I work with that I can’t figure out. Not that it matters.”
“It really doesn’t,” Izzy trilled, “because I just won! Pay up, suckers!”
“It’s not real money,” Noah grumbled, but he did so anyways. Izzy likes to throw the fake cash in the air like confetti.
Anyway, confusing contestants aside, Noah doesn’t have much against his job. That is, until Chris announces through the intercom that every crew member is gonna have to stop what they’re doing to scrape tar off the ceiling of the entire first floor of the Dirtbags’ mansion. And that means everyone. Noah decides that wandering around the third floor will be a much more pleasant waste of his time. (How tar even ended up on the ceiling, he has no clue, but it is a Total Drama show.)
He’s only just finished climbing the steps before he hears footsteps behind him. And then chatter of Chris and Chef, who will most definitely send him downstairs to clean if they find him. Noah yanks open the first door he sees and dives into the room.
Unfortunately, it’s not a room, but an empty closet. And there’s already someone inside.
Alejandro stares as Noah quickly shuts the door. “What are you—”
“Shh!”
“…just saying, I miss those kids,” Chris’ voice grows louder. “Maybe if they don’t win…”
His footsteps fade away, along with his voice. Noah can faintly hear Chef say, “That’s a crazy plan— I love it,” before a door slams shut.
Noah slides to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief. He looks up, only to be reminded by the boy sitting across from him that he’s not alone.
“Ah, hi,” Alejandro says, looking half pleased, half mystified. “Would you like to tell me what that was about?”
“I really don’t want to clean tar off the ceiling.”
Alejandro’s eyebrows furrow, and then rise. “I can see how that would be undesirable.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Noah says, but there’s not any bite behind it. He appreciates Alejandro not ratting him out— though why he’s in an empty closet with the lights on, Noah has no idea.
Alejandro must read the question in his expression, because he says, “I just needed a break. From the others.”
“They’re the worst,” Noah agrees. “I think you’re the only one who hasn’t said something nasty about me— to my face, at least.”
“Why would I? I’ve seen how mean you can get. Telling Hayden his hair looked like the love child of a spider and hyena that got run over and thrown up on? Brilliant. I haven’t laughed that hard in weeks.”
“You heard that?” Noah asks. He vaguely remembers handing Alejandro some notes and then passing Hayden in the hall, where the exchange had happened, but he never realized the laughter coming from the next room had anything to do with him.
Alejandro grins. “I did. And I have to say, I can’t tell you how much your wit keeps me from insanity. It’s nice to know that not everyone here is as shallow as a kiddie pool.”
“I suppose there are very few of us.”
“Exactly! We have to stick together.” Alejandro is still smiling, and Noah finds his lips quirking upward as well. Huh.
“So why are you here anyway?” Noah asks. “If everyone is so awful. I’m guessing it doesn’t have to do with the money, considering your boots probably cost more than the grand prize.”
“They’re not that expensive, but you’re right, it’s not about the money. Honestly, I just wanted to get out of the house.”
Noah raises an eyebrow. “You must really hate your family, to come here.”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started on my older brother, he’s the worst. But what about you? You said you had sisters, right?”
“Yeah.” He remembered that? “Eight. And they all play some kind of sport, which really isn’t my thing.”
“Eight?! I can see why you’d want to get out of the house, then.”
“Nah, it’s not that. They’re all older, so only two are still at home. It’s quieter than it’s been in years. I actually came here for the money.”
Alejandro tilts his head to the side and purses his lips, like he’s confused. It’s cute, Noah thinks. In a purely objective manner, of course.
“Oh, right, because you’re getting paid to work. Duh.” Alejandro rolls his eyes. “Sorry, we kept talking about the contestants, I was trying to figure out whether Chris would bring you on halfway through the season or something.”
“God forbid. I’d set Izzy and Eva on him in a heartbeat if he tried that.”
“Are those your friends?”
“Yeah. They could definitely pummel Chris into a pulp if I asked.”
“They sound violent.”
“Eh, I mean, they’re both strong. Eva has anger issues but she’s trying to work on those. Izzy is just batshit crazy.”
Alejandro chuckles. “You keep strange company.”
“You are strange.”
“Oh?” Alejandro’s tone is playful. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Noah shrugs. “I’m keeping you, aren’t I? Wait, no, that sounds weird. It’s just— we’re talking and hanging out, so you’re company I’m… keeping, I guess. Ugh. I swear, this stupid set is making me lose IQ points by the minute.”
“I’m sure you have plenty to spare.”
“A hundred and eighty, to be exact.”
Alejandro’s eyes widen. “Wait, but— doesn’t that well over-qualify you as a genius?”
“Does it?”
“Anything over one-sixty, I believe,” Alejandro hums. “And here I was, so proud of one-sixty-three.”
“Meh, I know I’m smart, but I don’t really believe in those tests. They’re faulty. And biased. Plus, Izzy has an IQ of one-eighty-eight and called me yesterday asking if wanted to come over and put spaghetti into a food processor to see if it would make spaghetti-o’s.”
“…I suppose that would lend some doubt to the credibility,” Alejandro mutters.
“So what’s your deal?”
“Pardon?”
“You’re always asking questions about me,” Noah says. “Why?”
“Would you believe it’s because I’m a naturally inquisitive person?”
“Nope. I’ve never once seen you talk any way but professionally to the crew here. You’re not exactly asking Georgia about her personal life.”
“…Who?”
“Exactly.”
“Does it annoy you? I can stop if you want.”
Noah huffs. “The only annoying thing is that I don’t understand why you do it. And don’t give me some fake answer,” he says, when Alejandro begins opening his mouth in a certain way, “because I’ve seen you charm your way around the cast, and I can tell if you’re bullshitting me. So don’t. I’ll stop answering if you do.”
“Most people don’t pick up on that.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“And even less pick up on that.”
“Still deflecting.”
“Okay, okay,” Alejandro runs a hand through his hair, and Noah has the strange urge to touch it. “You seem funny, and very intelligent, and I’m… kind of lonely. I was hoping to get to know you. So we could maybe be friends.”
“I can’t believe Owen was right.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Noah nudges Alejandro’s foot with his own. “You’re not so bad yourself. Actually, you’re definitely the only person here who’s somewhat tolerable.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“My friends are meeting up at this pizza place tonight. You should come. I mean, they’re insane, and they’ll probably annoy you, but you should still come.”
Alejandro’s face splits into a soft smile. “I would love to.”
“Cool,” Noah says, something fluttering in his chest. “You think it’s been long enough? Because I’m getting a little claustrophobic.”
“Just stick with me. If anyone asks you to clean, I’ll just tell them you’re helping me with something.”
“Deceit for the sole purpose of slacking off? I approve.”
Still smiling, Alejandro stands and offers a hand to Noah. “Shall we take our leave, mi amigo?”
“Let’s get outta here,” Noah takes his hand and pulls himself up. For a brief moment, he’s standing impossibly close to Alejandro, whose green eyes he’s just noticed have flecks of brown in them. Their noses are mere inches away.
And then the door opens. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
Noah squawks, Alejandro jumps, and they both turn to face a vaguely amused Chris McLean.
“Ah, Chris!” Alejandro says. “We were just—”
Chris cuts him off. “Spare me the details, but if you’re gonna make out with my assistant, do it after his working hours, okay?”
“That’s not—”
“We weren’t—”
“I know the kids call me gay and homophobic, but I’m not. Homophobic at least, jury’s still out on the gay part. Look, I don’t have an issue with it, you guys, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the show. Speaking of which, we need all the Dirtbags downstairs in five.”
Alejandro is a dark red, and Noah’s sure his face is a similar color. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“We were just talking,” Alejandro adds.
“You’re both terrible liars,” Chris says, already trotting down the stairs. “Ter-ri-ble!”
“I am not,” Alejandro mutters sulkily.
Noah just huffs. “So that just happened. Is our friendship instantly destroyed?”
“I would hope not,” Alejandro says. “I was looking forward to pizza.”
“…It’s kind of a cheap place, though.”
“That’s fine.”
“And my friends are weird. Like not, “ooh so quirky!” weird, actual weird.”
“I can handle weird.”
“And—”
“Stop trying to scare me off,” Alejandro says, “and find me once we’re done filming so we can head there together. Deal?”
“Yes. Sure. Deal.”
Chris’ voice rings out over the intercom. “All contestants, please head to the living room pronto!”
“I’d better go,” Alejandro takes a few steps toward the stairs before turning around. “You’re really okay with me tagging along, though, right?”
“I’m fine with it. Seriously. I just don’t want you getting the wrong impression about me. Because I literally have no standards when it comes to most things.”
“And I think you’re getting the wrong impressions about my standards,” Alejandro twists one of his silver rings, and Noah gets the vague impression that he’s nervous. “I don’t have a lot of actual, genuine friends, never mind ones that are witty and intelligent and can see right through me. So I don’t really care if there are dead rats on the floor— actually, that would be kind of gross. But what I’m saying is that I just really want to spend some more time with you.”
Noah just stares at him.
“…Was that too much? I’ve been told I can lay it on thick, and I did mean all that, but if I’m making you uncomfortable—”
“No!” It’s nearly a yelp. Noah shakes his head. “No, no, you’re fine, it’s just. Um. Yes. After filming. Dinner at seven. With you. And my freaky friends. Sounds good.”
Alejandro gives him one of those beaming, real smiles, and Noah feels like he’s melting. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”