BooksBarbecue
Back The Infinite Noise Save as PDF
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

I feel full with a happiness that’s laced with impatience. My knuckles have turned red from a combination of the cold and my constant hand-rubbing, but I’m reluctant to put them into my pockets. Adam’s hands sit on top of the table—constantly moving, picking at the corner of his juice carton, curling into the edge of his watchband—and I like looking at our hands on the graffitied wood slats of the table, inches away. I can’t feel the warmth from his hands but just imagining it drives me to distraction. It would be one quick move to put my fingers through his but I’m too paralyzed with fear and the fragile hope that’s bloomed inside of Adam (inside of me? I’m beyond being able to tell). He’s happy. He’s happy that we’re talking, that we’re here, sharing space and being.

And I’m happy. I’m happy for those same reasons or maybe because he’s happy but I’m not sure there’s a difference.

Far too soon, the bell rings and we start to make our way back inside. There’s a string between us, drawing me closer to him as we walk through the doors, and my stomach is churning at the thought of breaking that connection and going to my next class. I don’t want to go away from him.

And then Adam asks me if I want to hang out this weekend and he smiles in that way that sits more in his eyes than in his mouth and I can feel the warm rush of joy, pure blue-green ocean water filling me up and clearing the anxiety away, and I realize that I’m not strong enough to break the string, even if I wanted to.

30

ADAM

I wake up with a dull throbbing behind my eyes. I keep them closed, breathing deep, hoping it will go away. It doesn’t.

I should check my phone—did my alarm go off? Why am I awake? What time is it? Do I need to be at school? Panic climbs my ribs like a ladder. I should check my phone. I don’t.

I could roll over. That would be so easy. Just roll over, open your eyes, reach one hand out to grab your phone. That’s nothing. You can do that. You don’t even have to leave your warm blanket cocoon.

Turning my body one hundred and eighty degrees is completely impossible. I’m too tired. I didn’t get enough sleep. I got too much sleep. I should go back to sleep. If I have school, my parents will come get me. I should get some rest.

I don’t.