52
CALEB
I’m playing quidditch in the backyard with Alice when she asks me why Adam hasn’t come around. The question nearly causes me to trip over my own feet and I want to run in the house and not come out until she’s forgotten that she asked it. But instead, I gulp in some air, put down the dodgeball we’d been using as a quaffle, and sit on the grass, utterly defeated.
“We…” I start, and Alice comes to sit next to me, bringing her sudden concern with her. “I think maybe we broke up?”
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry—
“What?” she asks, incredulous.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” I pick at the grass. “We just—we got into this big argument about his parents, because they experiment on people like me—don’t tell Mom and Dad”—I point a finger at her as she opens her mouth to say something—“and, I don’t know, it was a bad fight and I said I needed time but now I’m not sure where we’re at because we haven’t spoken since the last day of school when I said, ‘have a good summer,’ and ran away.”
“Smooth,” Alice deadpans, the spike of her worry cutting at my insides. But it hardly registers because my insides are already torn to bits. It’s been one week since I last saw Adam, walking into the library on the last day of school—hours after I went up to him to tell him I was sorry, that I screwed up, that I trusted him more than I’d ever trusted anyone before telling him to have a good summer instead—and each day of that week has been a strange kind of torture. But now too much time has passed to text him and I can’t feel his feelings when I’m not around him so I’m just lost, the summer stretching out before me like an endless wasteland.
53
ADAM
A summer in Ohio. There’s a song about that. If memory serves, it’s about how terrible a summer in Ohio is.
Whoever sang that song was right.
54
CALEB
I’m watching the most recent video Adam posted on loop. Looks like he’s visiting his dad’s family in Ohio. He must be miserable.
I wish he would post a photo of his face.
55
ADAM
Caleb must be posting so many selfies specifically to torture me. Or maybe he’s posting the same number of selfies he always posts and I’m just acutely aware of them now that I don’t get to look at his face in real life.
Whatever the reason, I hate it.
56
CALEB
Adam DM’ed me a photo today. He went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and sent me a picture of ABBA’s name on the wall. An inside joke from before we were even dating. “Super Trouper,” the last song on the first mix he made me. A nickname. A secret.
Did he send it in mocking or as an olive branch?
I stay up all night trying to figure out the answer.
I don’t send anything back.
57
ADAM
Summer is winding down and my boredom wears off, leaving anxiety in its place. I’m going to see him soon. Whether or not I want to, Caleb and I are going to be in the same building, in the same room, completely undefined. We never really broke up, but it’s been crickets from him all summer and the uncertainty is eating away at me. If I thought I dreaded school before knowing Caleb, it doesn’t compare to the dread I feel after losing him.
58
CALEB
I should text Adam. I should have texted him weeks ago. I should have been texting him all summer. And now school starts tomorrow and we haven’t said anything to each other since June except the occasional photo or song.
My heart is making itself sick trying to decide if it’s excited or terrified to see Adam’s face tomorrow.
59
ADAM
That could have been so much worse.
Caleb and I still only have two classes together, thankfully on alternating days (even though I never thought in a million years that he’d want to take AP Latin. The fact that he signed up for it makes dumb stupid hope flutter in my chest), so I only had to see him once today and it was fine.
Well, no, it felt like my intestines were trying to strangle my heart, but I didn’t pass out or anything, so I’m counting it as a victory.
60
CALEB
That could not have gone worse.
I wanted to say something to Adam in Latin—I mean, he’s the only reason I even signed up for the AP course in the first place—but then I saw his face and his dumb stupid freckles and I wanted to kiss him so badly I nearly passed out.
I really just need to text him.
61
ADAM
“Shove over, queerbo.” Bryce pushes me against the locker and my phone nearly drops out of my hand. Adrenaline pours through my body—I don’t know that I can muster caring if my phone breaks, but the idea of the whole hallway getting a glimpse at Caleb’s feed pulled up on my phone is mortifying.
“God, Bryce, how are you more of a dick with each passing year?” I say, out loud. Fuck. I just said that out loud. I look over at Bryce to see him red all over. He seems to be stunned into silence, because he just blinks at me for a few moments.
Like Charlie Brown and the football, I’d had the hope that senior year would finally put an end to Bryce’s regularly scheduled torture. After all, he left me alone most of last semester, though I’m realizing now that was probably just because I was dating Caleb.
“What’d you just say to me?” Bryce blinks himself back into motion and steps toward me, chest puffing out. I really thought I’d make it through high school without getting punched in the face, but I guess we can’t always get what we want.
“Just…” I start, having no idea how to deescalate this situation. “… leave me alone, Bryce. Aren’t you tired of this by now?”
“Listen, freak,” he whispers, getting close to my face, “just because you and Michaels were a thing doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that.”
“Hey!”
Both of our faces whip around so fast at the sharp voice our noses nearly graze each other. Caleb is standing a few feet away, jaw clenching in a familiar way that tells me he’s trying to keep his shit together. Uh-oh.
“What?” Bryce barks, and anger flashes in Caleb’s eyes.
“Leave him alone, Bryce,” he grits out, fists clenched at his side.
“It’s okay, Caleb,” I say calmly, not wanting to handle this on my own but wanting even less for Caleb to do something stupid and heroic that will land him another suspension. “I’ve got this.”
“Yeah, Michaels, he’s got this,” Bryce mocks, and Caleb takes a step toward us.
“Besides,” Bryce continues, “I thought the two of you were over.”
That stings more than anything else, even though Bryce is really just stating a fact, rather than trying to take a jab. Caleb flinches and I wonder if he’s feeling my sting or is barbed by it himself.
“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb says, and I want to drown. “You should still leave him alone.”
“Why do you always have to be in everyone’s business?” Bryce is getting in Caleb’s face now and I could easily scurry away to my next class but I’m stuck to the floor.
“I’m tired of you stepping on everyone, Bryce,” Caleb spits. “You pour so much toxic shit into this school every single day and you don’t even realize it.”
“What the fuck are you—”
“And if you don’t get your own bullshit under control,” Caleb says, steamrolling over him, large and looming and full of terrifying strength, and a shiver runs up my spine, “I’ll crush you into the small, pathetic bug that you really are.”
They stare at each other, barely breathing, until Bryce breaks, rolling his eyes and stepping back. He opens his mouth, probably to deflect and say “Whatever” as always, but Caleb beats him to it.
“I mean it, Bryce.”
Caleb is unmoving and steely-eyed. Without saying another word, Bryce adjusts his backpack on his shoulder and walks away. He’
s halfway down the hall before Caleb’s shoulders collapse and his fists unclench. I want to reach out for his hands—still white-knuckled and stiff—but he just glances at me from the corner of his eyes, mumbles, “Um, sorry,” and takes off in the opposite direction.
I think that’s the end of it. The vanquishing of my bully as the last act of affection Caleb will ever show me. I’m grateful, but seeing him fighting what must have been so much emotion makes me miss him like a physical ache.
I think that’s the end of it until, later that night, I get a text.
Hey. Can we talk?
* * *
“Mom? Dad? Can we talk?”
My parents look up from their reading—medical journals for both, like the consistent dweebs that they are—and squint into the setting sun to meet my eyes. They’re ensconced on the patio, trying to soak up the last moments of summer, and I can read the surprise on their faces. We haven’t exactly been talking very much this summer.
“Of course, sweetie, what is it?” my mom asks earnestly.
I sit down, leaning my elbows onto my knees, my hands clasped together like I’m delivering terrible news. They both lean forward as well, and the air instantly becomes tense.
“Caleb texted me,” I blurt. That wasn’t at all how I wanted to begin. I’d been aiming for Serious Adult Conversation here and ended up at Son Freaks Out About Ex-Maybe-Still-Current-Boyfriend Telling Him They Need to Talk After Saving Him from School Bully Like a Goddamn Hero.
“That’s … good,” my dad tries, and my mom nods in solidarity. They like Caleb. They’ve made a point of telling me so over and over again this summer, which, as you can guess, was actually the opposite of helpful.
“Yeah, maybe. But here’s the thing—no matter what he says or what he wants—” I swallow around the hope that’s been clogging my throat since the moment I heard my phone buzz “—I need you guys to be … cool about it.”
“We’ve always liked Caleb,” my mom says earnestly, and I roll my eyes, “and we’ll be happy as long as you’re happy. You know we don’t have any problem with you dating as long as we get to know the boy first.”
“Yeah, believe it or not, that isn’t actually what I’m talking about,” I bite, running my hands over my hair. I can’t let my parents steer this conversation away from what I actually want to talk about. I have to be the one to stay in control.
“I’m referring to the fact that you both work for an organization that hurts people like Caleb—”
“Now, son, you know that isn’t true—” my dad interrupts, and I want to groan in frustration. Yes, I know that isn’t what my parents do, or so they say. They spent the whole summer telling me that they’ve only done a couple of projects with the AM and that they’ve always involved volunteers. That the experiment with Frank was a military operation and it went wrong but Frank knew the risks. That my parents want to help Atypicals and that sometimes means doing radical things.
I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced anything as jarring as no longer trusting my parents. I believe that they love me, that they want the best for me and the world, but I’m not sure we have the same ideas on how to go about ensuring that. I’ve played it cool, listening carefully as they talked at me all summer, explaining how all their work is legal and safe and totally aboveboard. And I know that they believe that. I’m just not sure if they should.
“I just need to know that you’re not going to do anything to him.” I raise my voice to talk over their protestations and they both turn silent at the stern look on my face. “I need to know that you’re not going to tell anyone about him or do—I don’t know, anything that could make him feel more different than he is.”
“Of course, darling,” my mom says, her eyes big and pleading. “We’d never want to hurt Caleb. Ever. How could you think that we would?”
“I know that we’ve kept you in the dark a long time,” my dad says, laying his hand over my mom’s in solidarity, “but we won’t do that anymore. We promise.”
My mom nods fervently in agreement. There’s still an open wound that hasn’t gone away since I first learned about what my parents do. I still don’t trust them completely and, while that injury may never heal, their promises will have to be enough to keep it from bleeding.
62
CALEB
The crisp, warm scent of fall is in the air and I try to focus on the leaves crunching beneath my feet instead of the warring emotions inside of me. I’m nervous, excited, worried, sad, hopeful—the whole damn spectrum. The fact that it’s all my own doesn’t make it better.
“Hey,” I say, trying to contort my face into something resembling a smile. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Yeah.” Adam is looking at his shoes, scuffing them against the concrete.
“Do you wanna sit?” I ask, gesturing to the bench. Our bench.
We sit and I stare at the path in front of us. The path where we first kissed. It feels like a million years ago. It was a million years ago.
“Sorry that we haven’t really been able to talk at school,” I begin, heart pounding in my chest like it’s going to flop out and die on the path where it first felt full. “I just—it’s been kind of a crazy two weeks with football and classes and my mom getting on my ass about college applications—”
“It’s fine, Caleb, I get it,” Adam interrupts, and I hit a wall over and over again. “I’m actually kind of surprised you wanted to talk to me at all.”
“Of course I wanted to talk to you,” I say, “I miss you.”
“Yeah,” he says, “so you texted.”
It’s like we’re back where we started except worse. I can barely feel anything from him, my own nerves drowning everything else out.
“Didn’t you…” I don’t want to ask the question but I have to know or I might die. “Did you miss me?”
I immediately regret it and rush to put the words back into my mouth.
“No, never mind.” I wave my hands around like that will literally clear the air between us. “Forget I asked—”
“Yeah, Caleb,” he says, and the wall cracks slightly. “Of course I missed you. Can’t you—can’t you feel that?”
I feel an aching longing, yeah, but I’ve felt that all summer. I have no way of knowing if it’s his or if it’s mine. I explain this to him and he repeats himself.
“I have missed you,” he says, breathing life back into me. “A lot.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’ve said that yet. I’m really sorry.” I can feel a rant building but I don’t care, I have to get this out. “I freaked out and fucked everything up and I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend—” My breath catches in my throat as any tentative hope is crushed under the weight of reality. “Well, I guess I haven’t been much of a boyfriend at all and I just … I’m sorry, okay?”
Every word I say is like a small hammer chipping away at his walls but I’ve barely made any progress. He pivots his body away from me and it stings.
“What do you want from me, Caleb?” he asks wearily. “I don’t hear from you for months and then you stand up for me with Bryce and now … Why did you ask me to meet you?”
Time to just lay it all out there.
“Dr. Bright says I can’t make decisions for you. And I think that’s what I was trying to do,” I say, admitting that I didn’t get here on my own, I needed help from my fucking therapist. I take a deep breath before diving into the next part, cracking open my chest for him to do whatever he wants with it. “I care about you so much and I didn’t want to make your life more complicated or make things harder for you so I guess I just … I shut you out.”
Another shuddering inhale. God, this is hard. His blue warmth is starting to bleed through the cracks in the wall and I want to cry with relief.
“I was a fucking coward,” I finish. And then—just when I was hoping a dam would burst—the wall just dissolves, letting the blue-green wash over me, clearing out the muck in my veins for the first time in months.<
br />
“I feel like I should apologize too,” Adam starts, and I immediately jump in to stop him.
“No, just let me,” he insists. Another deep breath in for both of us. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this—about us. And I think I was too wrapped up in my own shit before. I was so worried about making you feel sad that I didn’t think. I didn’t let you in. And I put a lot of pressure on you to be the stable one—the normal one—in the relationship, which is pretty fucking ironic. Your power is cool and everything but I don’t need you to be my superhero. And I’m sorry if you felt like you had to be. I don’t think you’re a coward.”
Leave it up to Adam to come out with an entire articulate speech while I sit here with random words spilling out of my mouth. I try to take it all in—really process what he’s saying—but my brain is stuck on one thing.
“But I want to be your superhero,” I say, my hand itching to take his but uncertain if we’re there yet. “I want to make things better but … I’m just not sure I always can.”
I’m crippled under my own black sludge but a sliver of affection cuts into it, lifting it off of me.
“You make things better just by being there,” he says, really looking at me for the first time since we sat down. He laughs despite himself and my heart soars. “I mean, I never thought I’d even be friends with you, let alone…”
The Infinite Noise Page 29
