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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

“Well? Tell me about them!” she demands after a moment. Why haven’t I made up some imaginary homework by this point and escaped upstairs? How is this how I’m starting my weekend?

“I don’t know, it’s not a big deal, Mom. I was just in an argument with this guy in my English class and this other guy intervened and it was kind of nice. So I guess you’re right—people can be nice and I should give them a chance. Cool, good talk, Mom, I’m gonna go upstairs now,” I say all in a rush, moving toward the doorway with my head down.

“Wait just a minute, young man. What kind of argument?” she asks, crossing her arms and getting back into stare-down mode.

“It was nothing.” I plaster a fake smile over my face. “Just about our class presentations.”

“Adam, darling, are you being bullied at school?”

“Jeez, Mom,” I groan, “are you trying to hit on every single after-school special tonight?”

“I’m just—”

“Worried about me, yeah, I get it,” I snap, and my mom’s face crumples up just a little. That’s not fair. You’re not supposed to feel bad for your interrogator.

“I’m just tired, okay? It’s been a long week,” I say by way of explanation and pseudo-apology.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her face softening as she pushes my curls off my face again. “Go and relax. But I want to hear more about this new friend later!”

She calls the last bit out to me because the moment I heard “go,” I bolted. I know not to turn down a clear opportunity for escape.

I rush up the stairs and into my room, flopping down on my bed and burying my face in my pillow. Why did I tell her about Bryce and Caleb? Now she’s going to mention it to Dad and I’m going to get the two-pronged questioning tomorrow.

Caleb isn’t my friend just because he got in between me and Bryce. His intervention wasn’t even all that nice. Why did I tell her that it was? Is my wishful thinking just running that wild? Am I really so pathetic as to pretend that I made a connection with someone who I’ve had exactly two terribly awkward encounters with?

I grab my battered headphones off my nightstand, turn on Jónsi, and burrow into my blankets. Maybe if I stay in bed long enough, I’ll just cease to exist.

15

CALEB