BooksBarbecue
Back The Infinite Noise
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

But the blueness fills me up, rounds my edges, and clears my head. The black licorice gets replaced with glorious green and, no, I was wrong before—this is what being whole feels like. Adam’s emotions clear out everything; they quiet the infinite noise of the world and let me find the yellow parts of me that hurt. Residual anger here, stress about my math exam there, social anxiety all over. It’s all mine and I haven’t had a chance to look at it the entire day. It isn’t lost—the Picasso painting is actually a face and I’m more content than I’ve been all week.

“Hey,” I hear Adam say, sounding like he’s underwater. I shake my head again as he keeps talking.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m sitting out here.” He comes into focus as the haze clears. “It’s Pizza Wednesday.”

Before I even consciously make the decision, the green is pulling my smile up. The warm, soft feeling grows in my chest, butterflies swooping in as Adam gives me the slightest smile. One corner of his mouth lifts a bit but his eyes are glowing as I swing my legs over the bench seat. I know I’m giving him a big smile and not saying anything like a complete freak, but the rush of butterflies rising into my lungs keeps me from caring. Minutes ago I was drowning in molasses. Now I’m flying.

The other corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to keep the butterflies in too and he glances down at his plate, his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more.

Oh.

Oh.

“Caleb?” He’s far away again as I hear blood rushing in my ears. “Caleb? Are you okay?”

The cold, blue spike of his worry is like dunking my head into a bucket of ice and I snap out of my own thoughts. He’s looking at me again, the sparkle gone from his eyes as they fill with concern.

“Yeah,” I grunt, my voice sounding not like me at all. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I—”

I can’t tell him that I was thinking about leaping across the table and kissing him but I need to say something to explain why I’ve been—I’m assuming—staring at him, open-mouthed and blank, for the last few seconds.

“I just realized I didn’t actually get any pizza,” I say.

“Do you want my other slice?” he offers. That tentative smile is back on his face. He’s looking at me fondly—like he missed me—and I feel like I need to sit down. I am sitting down. Jesus, get it together, Feelings Boy.

“Um, yeah,” I say, “thanks.”