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

Adam is giving me the most incredulous look he has (which is pretty incredulous) as I step out of my bathroom in my dad’s old prom suit.

“Nope, no, no way.” He punctuates each word with a shake of his head. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed and absently spinning a hat between his hands. The sight makes something squirm in my stomach, but in a good way. I’m a little surprised at how comfortable he seems—how well he fits into my space—but I think … I think I like it.

Things started out awkwardly—we didn’t know how to behave around each other outside of our lunch bench, my parents were too eager and too polite—but once we got into the bad-movie montage of me trying on different outfits and Adam realized I don’t mind when he laughs at me, it started to gel. It got easy. I’m actually actively enjoying spending time with another human outside of my family, and I know in my bones that Adam is having a good time too.

“What, you don’t think powder blue is making a comeback?” I spin around to show the suit off and Adam chuckles. Something warm blooms in my chest and fans outward, like it does every time I make him laugh. Might be his, might be mine, might be both of ours.

“No offense to your dad, but I don’t think powder blue was ever cool.” He laughs.

“Well, that’s the last of it,” I sigh as I flop down on the floor next to him, undoing the top button of the ancient tuxedo shirt. “We’ve officially gone through all my remotely nice clothes. So unless I can show up in my football uniform…”

“Hey, with how you look in it, she might not mind.” Adam snorts and I blush, uncertain. He goes still—hot, embarrassed anxiety filling the space between us. The hat, which had been spinning in midair like a pizza, drops to his lap. He looks at me sideways before snapping his eyes forward and stammering out, “I just mean—I see the way the cheerleaders look at all you guys when you’re in uniform. Guess it’s a cliché for a reason. Personally, I don’t get it. With the red and white, you all just look like massive candy canes.”