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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

“It’s not your problem, Caleb.” He shakes his head and my frustration wanes a bit. That’s the second time he’s said my name, and it makes the fluttering in my stomach rise.

“I’m your friend, aren’t I?” I say gently. “You know you can tell me stuff.”

“Oh really?” he snorts. “Isn’t that exactly what I said to you? And you don’t tell me jack.”

Okay, he has a point there. I know better than to try and win an argument against Adam, but this is so not the same as me not wanting to tell him that I have a superpower. Not that Adam knows that, but still.

“I tell you lots of stuff,” I counter, even though I don’t tell him anything about the biggest thing in my life.

“But you’re hiding something, I know you are.” Adam turns to look at me now, his gaze burrowing into me as the fog makes room for annoyance.

“Well, apparently so are you!”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles.

“Neither do I.”

We’re sitting side by side, arms crossed, not looking at each other, both filled with irritation and sadness, and I’m just about to get up and leave when Adam says—

“We’re being assholes again, aren’t we?”

My body releases a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my shoulders coming down from up around my ears. I turn my head slightly to look at Adam. He glances up at me through his eyelashes, face set and stubborn, his mouth a tense line.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “I think we are.”

“Why is this so hard?” he groans.

“What?”

“Being a person.”

I wish I could answer him, but I don’t know how to be a person either. Sometimes I feel like I’m not even human, but instead some sort of emotion-meter with legs doomed to be crushed under the weight of other people’s problems.

Adam is looking expectantly at me, which flatters me as much as it bothers me. Why should I have the answer? I like that he thinks that I have the answer. But I don’t. I want to.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know.”

He exhales like he’s seen all the woes of mankind for centuries—like he’s carrying the entire world on his bony shoulders. I want to reach out and touch him. Take his hand or smooth down his hair or hold him close until the bags under his eyes disappear.