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The party goes on around him. Loud and crowded. Smashing bodies in every inch of free space in the middle of the designer living room. A replacement for the school gymnasium—where he was originally supposed to suffer though prom at. Instead, the original was canceled by some mysterious whoosh of fate. Unsaid reasons by those in charge.
It sent an uproar through the graduating class. Why did you take away our last dance? We demand to know.
Noah knows why.
His friends laugh a couple of feet away, taking advantage of the lack of supervision. Izzy’s already on her second drink: A full bottle of something clear, something strong, and missing a label.
Eva carries her on her left shoulder, strong arm wrapped around her legs to keep the tipsy girl from tumbling head first into the flooring worth more than her upcoming college tuition. Owen giggles next to her, red cup half empty, inhibitions nowhere in sight.
They dance off without him. Too drunk to deal with his bitter words.
A shoulder shoves into him, light—intentional. He sways with the movement. “It’s a party,” Courtney says, playful. “Maybe our last . Lighten up.”
“No thanks.” Noah replies, grim.
Getting drunk full of room he doesn’t trust doesn’t sound like the way he wants to celebrate his senior year. He’s never been partial to alcohol.
The girl rolls her eyes, clearly a bit wobbly on her feet. She is more drunk than Noah initially thought. “Come on. Don’t be such… such a—”
“A you?”
She frowns. “I’m fun.”
“Is that what you told yourself when you downed your third drink?”
The drink in her hand sways and she looks down at it. “No.” She nearly trips on her feet looking back up, “Okay maybe.”
She should not have anymore. Noah takes the cup from her hand, ignoring her protests. “I am not taking you to the hospital to get your stomach pumped, Courtney. Give me the cup.”
She pouts.
“Need I remind you that your girlfriend got real prom canceled?”
Her eyebrows furrow and she lets go of the cup suddenly. The liquid splashes and splatters on the bare of his arm. “Whatever, asshole,” She says, “I’m going back to my totally awesome girlfriend that I am not upset at at all .”
“You do that.”
Empty handed, she fights her way through the crowd. Noah watches her push and shove until she collapses on Gwen with a wonky smile.
Owen laughs extra loud, pulling Noah’s attention. More people have joined their circle. Another girl added to Eva’s free shoulder. They look happy. Friendly.
He rolls his eyes, turning away from the crowd, something sour in his chest. A song wars with the screams of the party goers and lights flicker in and out in a rainbow fashion. It’s all too much.
He needs somewhere quiet.
The cup is slimy on the outside. A layer of sweat that was then covered with drops of condensation from cold alcohol. Yuck. He sets it on a random side table on the outskirts of the room to be forgotten.
Only a few feet away resides a partially cracked, glass sliding door. Noah escapes the house and shuts the door tight behind him. It’s a bit of a warmer night for the spring season, but still has a bit of a nip. It rushes over him. A glass of cold water in the a.m. of the morning. Refreshing.
“Alone again?”
Noah turns at the sound of the voice. Alejandro sits on the ledge of the backyard porch. Feet kicking gently above a garden of well-kept flowers.
Noah’s heart lurches. Of course he would be out here. The universe hates him, after all. “Naturally.” He responds.
Nothing is said for a moment. Only the dull thump of music and laughter bearing the conversation.
“I know the feeling.”
Noah finds that hard to believe, “You? Host of the greatest private replacement prom ever?” He says, faking glee. “I’m sure you could have your pick of the damsels.”
Dancing just in front of the door is a few examples. Leshawna. Lindsay. Bridgette. Smiles ear to ear, heels high, drinks in hand.
Alejandro’s gaze follows his, then slowly comes back to him. He smiles, small and ingenuine, but says nothing. He sucks in his cheek, downcasting his eyes to the front.
No response? Normally, Alejandro already has a snippy reply ready. Has them stored away just waiting for Noah to say something.
A breeze passes over the area and Noah is overcome with a shiver. Why did he let his friends talk him into leaving his coat?
He stares down at Alejandro as his hair floats back into place. His arms rest behind him, palms flat across the wood paneling, holding him up.
It’s been a while since it’s been just them . Months.
Noah patters forward, feeling oddly wistful. The wood under him creaks as he joins Alejandro on the ground. A good couple inches of space between them. “I actually really like this song.”
It’s old. A story of going for what you want and getting it, despite the hardship. A gentle guitar and a gravelly lyric. Upbeat enough to dance to, but not hard enough to ‘thrash.’ It’s one of few love songs Noah has added to a playlist.
It plays muffled in the back a few moments longer.
Alejandro eyes him, his hands clench on his thighs. Then takes in this large breath of air that freeze’s Noah’s chest and instantly sends his brain into alarm.
“You know, I’m surprised, Noah.” Alejandro twists to face Noah, bringing up one of his legs to rest on the porch. His voice isn’t harsh. More questioning—mellow, maybe, but still with the smallest hint of sarcasm. He clears his throat. “As a keen observer of the human condition, I thought you saw through people better than that.”
Noah tilts his head, blinking once.
“I mean, damsels? That’s not me anymore.”
A Burromuerto not manipulating people? Taking advantage of them?
Yeah right.
Noah scoffs, “So, what are you like now?”
“You know…” He laughs sardonically, “Tortured.”
Noah nods his head slowly and casts his eyes out to the large expanse of dimly lit, yet still vibrant, green grass. Alejandro doesn’t change.
“Mm.” He continues quickly, looking to his hands in his lap, “Ever since I had my heart broken.”
The laugh is short and instinctual. “Heather really did do a number on you, huh?”
“Come on. You know I’m not talking about Heather.” When he finishes, he raises his head back up and locks eyes with Noah.
Noah’s small smile drops. Not heather? He looks him up and down. Shirt crumpled, an extra button undone than normal. Hair misplaced. Disheveled, in a way Noah has never seen. His heart hammers in his chest as he realizes. The beat obstrucks his hearing. Ever-louder in the silence of Alejandro’s confession.
Alejandro exhales, heavy, expression serious—no, desperate. “I thought our story was epic, you know?” He looks away and finishes, “You and me.” Like he doesn’t want to see Noah’s reaction. Like he’s not saying it to get something in return.
“Epic how?”
“Spanning years and continents. Lives were ruined. Bloodshed.” He gestures outwards with both his hands, “ Epic .”
A constant battle since freshman year, even on field trips and quarters abroad. Co-ed classes at the other high school for early college credit. Even when they teamed up to knock down other contenders for Valedictorian. Or got in fights with each other after. Alejandro was always there.
He drops his hands. “But summer’s almost here. And then we won’t see each other at all. We’ll leave town and then…” Alejandro shakes his head, “It’s over and…”
“Alejandro—”
“I’m sorry.” He grins, big and sorrowfully, then closes his mouth—smiling leaving once again—and nods sharply, “About last fall.”
When Alejandro turned on him. Made the fair fight unfair. Throwing every once of trust he had in him out the window. Despite their obvious disagreements, Noah came to favor him—a lot—come junior year. They were unstoppable.
It was supposed to be him and him until the end. An honorable winner in the end. Whoever deserves it, gets it.
Alejandro cares too much about what his family thinks.
“You know, If I could do it over…” He lifts his weight with his hands, scooting closer.
Noah looks away, heart beating at the proximity. “Come on!” He laughs nervously, “Ruined lives? Bloodshed? You really think a… relationship should be that hard?”
He shrugs, unconfident in his movement, “No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.”
Noah’s face falls.
Seizing the moment, Alejandro scoots forwards again, till his hand knee is pressed painfully into Noah’s thigh—just barely. His gaze is heavy. Unwavering on Noah’s face. It makes Noah want to flee at the intensity, Hide in his room and not come out for three weeks.
Breathing comes harder. Like a process he has to think about, rather than naturally. He doesn’t know where to look. The dirt, the fountain, the fence. Hurt aches inside him for every second he meets those green eyes. It gets worse the longer he lingers.
Noah liked Alejandro.
His humor. His wits. The way he laughed at Noah's jokes. Sometimes so hard his dorky laugh revealed itself between fits of smooth handsome laughter. It always spurred Noah on more, until they were both doubled over trying to catch their breaths.
Noah didn’t even mind his pretending. It gave him a reason to look into his eyes. Alejandro’s never lied. Always saying what they truly felt with the slightest of actions. Alejandro could never figure out how Noah almost always knew what he was thinking.
In private, he was outwardly cocky. In an annoying way, that steadily grew on Noah in a cute endearing way. Hands on his hips, chin jutted high. A vocabulary built solely to praise himself.
Noah liked his nose. His cheeks. His shoulders and chest. He even liked his stupid soul patch. He liked how warm he always was. Disliked it too. His touch would have Noah fighting to sink into it no matter the time or place.
Alejandro leans closer, eyes skittering across Noah’s face.
A hand brushes his cheek, pushing a small strand of hair to the side along the way—like he’s some girl.
Noah inhales, cheek alight with warmth and nerves. It burns.
But that was then.
The hand stays, thumb resting gently on his chin, fingers his cheek. Pressure brings his gaze back and the hand dips towards his neck once Alejandro regains his attention. Alejandro swallows, eyes dropping to Noah's lips, then rising back to his eyes. He grows closer, hesitant. Nervous.
Noah stares at Alejandro's lips as they near. Head too foggy to think clearly, even sober.
What game is he playing?
He lets his eyes close— this isn’t fair —but as the heat of how close Alejandro is hovers over his lips, memories flash into his mind. All smiles and whimsy. Heat beating down on them through the car window as Noah sat in the passenger seat. Music loud in the store parking lot.
Alejandro had turned it down and twisted to him, looking out of breath and tense. Noah remembers being worried and confused. Asking what’s wrong ? Everything was going well. Their plan to take down Courtney had gone fine. Duncan punched the ever living daylights out of Scott, (Whose nose didn’t end up healing for two weeks.) and Gwen had slapped Courtney. But everyone got out alive .
It was a bit different, the way Alejandro tried to kiss him then. He had reached forward, hand shaking, and twirled a strand of Noah’s hair on his finger. Gave Noah his best smirk—at least, that’s what Noah assumed he was going for—it was a bit too rounded at the edges. Soft. His leg bounced under the steering wheel and Noah’s heart soared at Alejandro possibly being anxious because of him.
Noah just chalked those little things up as nerves. When he should have paid attention and read them as what they were. Hints to the game he was playing.
He took his face in both his hands and leaned over the center console and kissed him.
And then he stole his English essay the next day. Told Owen a bunch of lies, sent him a faked recording of Noah’s voice, that made his best friend avoid him for two weeks.
And dated Heather the day after that. A fresh bruise on his face.
Alejandro never liked Noah.
No, Noah isn't stupid.
Alejandro just didn't like him more than he likes the approval of his father.
Lips skim the tips of Noah’s own. Noah snaps back just enough to whisper, “I have to go.”
Alejandro pulls away, nothing but a sad puppy, his hand stroking Noah’s cheek. “I really lik—”
“I have to go.” Noah whispers again, even quieter.
Alejandro looks like he wants to say something, looks like he’s going to break down crying—Noah doesn’t let him. Doesn’t want to see. Cuts him off by bringing his legs up and standing all in one foul swoop.
He rushes through the glass door and back into the humid party. The social spores clog his throat.
Summer will come, then college. And he’ll forget all about him.
Maybe, eventually, he can even laugh about it.