The Twins & Me

Noah

We don't talk about what happened in the bathroom, and I'm glad for it because I'm not even totally sure what happened. What possessed me to walk up and hug Ollie like that, and what possessed him not to swat me away?

A weird spot has moved into my heart, and I'm just hoping it's not him trying to weasel his way in.

Regardless, I'm going to have enough emotions this week—it's Thanksgiving, and Lila and I are going home. The twins didn't take the news lightly. We'd been spending almost every day together, and leaving the comfort of their bed every night is getting harder and harder. I think Lila has an idea of what's going on in the sense that I'm seeing "one" of them, but I refuse to introduce either as my boyfriend, especially if Ollie tries to pull the same stunt he did with Felix. No thanks, I'd rather be single.

On the three-hour ride north to our little hometown in Connecticut, a bombardment of texts from the boys floods my phone. They keep asking about my town, what we do there, my house. At first I thought nothing of it, especially given the fit they threw when I told them we'd be gone all of break, but now I'm feeling suspicious.

Why do you want my street address? I ask in the group chat.

Silence.

And then, because I don't trust Ollie: You're not tracking me, are you?

More silence.

If you don't answer, I'm turning my phone off.

I just want to make sure you get there ok, Ollie replies almost at once.

My chest burns. I knew it—it's him trying to weasel his way in. My phone's off for the rest of the day. Consider it a punishment.

:(

"You better not be glued to your phone the whole time we're here," Lila warns as we pull up to our house—home. "Mom will know something's up."

As soon as our bright yellow door comes into view I forget all about my phone, anyway. I almost forgot what our front yard looked like, and I half expected it to be different than when I left. Except for the leafless trees in the yard and frost-covered foliage, everything is the same.

Lila puts the car in park, and as I open my door, Mom and Dad come out of the house in their slippers.

I'm not prepared for the tears that well in me seeing them after a few months—it takes all I have not to burst out crying. I hurl myself towards them like I'm five again coming home from a scary sleepover and they meet me with smiles like I actually am five years old.

Mom wastes no time ushering us inside and helping us unpack, and within the hour she's already lecturing us on my tooth gem. It's comforting in its own way.

"Hey," Dad hisses to me from the living room as I try to sneak into the kitchen after leaving Lila with Mom upstairs.

"What?" I whisper back. "I'm starving—Lila doesn't feed me."

He grunts as he lifts himself from the couch. "Let's escape into town." He glances up the stairs with a wary look, scratching his beard. "I need to go to the hardware store anyway."

I grin in response.

His ancient truck groans and gurgles all the way to town. The roads are icy but his Ford's a pro at these pot-holed streets. I try to take everything in, everything I took for granted. I missed having no traffic, only a few stoplights, friendly people who stop and chat on the sidewalks as they walk their dogs. I even missed Main Street, with its rows of local stores, ornate streetlamps and benches. They've put up the Christmas lights and wreaths early, and I can't be more grateful.

"So how're you doing, kid?" Dad asks me as we creep down the street, looking for a place to park.

I nod noncommittally, looking out of the window. "Good. Keeping up with school. Made some friends."

"I'm glad. We weren't sure how you were gonna do in the city."

"It takes getting used to," I agree.

"Well, if it does get to be too much, you know we're here for you. College isn't for everyone."

I smile at him. "I know. Thanks, Pop."

We find a spot half a block down from Charlie's Hardware Store, in front of the Corner Diner where... Noah and I used to go for burgers. All at once the memories hit me; he always opened the door for me, stole sips of my strawberry milkshakes, held my hand over the table. There's a tight wrenching in my gut as I remember it all. And suddenly I feel like I'm in high school again, having never left this town before, imagining the rest of my life with the boy.

As we climb out of the truck I can't help but think if I'd be in there right now with him if I hadn't gone to school.

But then I wouldn't have met Arlo. Or Ollie. Wouldn't have known the kind of touch that makes me knees shake and my slit drip.

Dad, noticing how I'm staring at the neon sign of the diner, with its wide windows, slips a hand into his pocket. "Here," he says, pulling out a five dollar bill. "Forgot Lila doesn't 'feed you,'" he winks.

I take the bill with shaky fingers, suddenly not hungry anymore, but I'm afraid if I open my mouth some weird sounds will come out.

"I'll meet you back here in ten," he says, and saunters off down the sidewalk.

I stand awkwardly on the sidewalk, letting people pass. Just when I decide to go inside and get something to-go, the door opens with a chime from the bell above, and two very familiar faces walk out.

Noah. With Cece. Cece who was a friend. Cece who hosted the party where Noah and I had our first ever kiss. Cece, who's holding Noah's hand.

Noah sees me first. He literally stops dead in his tracks as his eyes flash me up and down, as if not sure I'm really real.

I'm not even sure I'm really real right now.

Cece stumbles into him, laughing, but then she sees me, too. The laugh fades.

"Hey," Noah says. His auburn hair is clipped short—something he only did in the summer. Stubble spreads across his cheeks. I wonder if his hands are still rough.

"Hey," I say back. I can't take my eyes off of their linked hands. For some reason, the only thing I can picture is how Ollie grabbed my hand when we went to meet his father. When he put his hand on mine in that bathroom.

"You back for Thanksgiving?" Noah asks.

What else would I be back for? "Yeah," I answer. "For the week."

"You go to Laurent, right?" Cece asks, letting go of Noah's hand, being polite.

I nod. "Yeah."

"You look good," Noah says, not casually enough to keep Cece from looking at him.

"Thanks," I say, almost on auto-pilot. "You, too. Both of you."

Noah watches me, and it's so unsettling to have his eyes on me now, after so much time has passed, when he used to look at me all the time.

But then his eyes slide off of me, to behind me, and I don't have time to react because two pairs of hands grab me around the middle and lift me up.

His scent washes over me—that familiar, warm, comforting scent that only Arlo Levitt has.