Allyson In Between ✔︎

Noah | Deleted Scene 3

|photo by Jon Tyson from Unsplash|

Author's note: It's an AIB alternate reality from here on folks. :) In this draft Ally spent a lot more time at Faircrest, resisting the idea of going home. (This is before I learned how to plot. lol) So the rehab center and its employees and residents were a bigger part of the story—and Noah visited her multiple times.

I can't say whether or not Ally recognizes me. But I know she's never looked at me like this—with such blatant admiration, I feel like I should warn her. But damn, I can't say I don't like it. I've always wanted this girl to look at me this way.

"You look good," I tell her. "Healthy."

Healthy? What a dumbass thing to say. She looks amazing.

Ally lifts her hand, works her fingers into her long hair. Right in the spot where her head hit the board. Before she dropped into the pool and sank like a stone.

I take a breath. Through my nose, like my brother taught me. In. Out.

Focus on what's in front of you.

She's here. Alive and beautiful. She asked me to come. 

"I don't remember," she says. So quiet, I'm not sure she meant to say it out loud. But she's touching her scar. So I think it's safe to assume she's talking about the accident.

"I think that's probably good," I say. "I sort of wish I didn't remember."

She drops her hand and tilts her head to the side. It's a classic pre-high-school-Ally look and I... Damn. I want to go back to that summer night when we walked around her neighborhood and I reached for her hand and she let me hold it. This time, I swear to God I'd stop before we turned into her driveway and kiss her. I wouldn't give a damn if it was better or worse than the other guy's. I'd kiss her and she'd know how I felt and that would be that. Good or bad we'd know where we stood.

"How long do you have to stay here?" I ask.

I don't care if I don't deserve it. I want the do-over. I want her back in Summerfield, back in her house, back in my life.

Her head shifts, back and away, like the question offends her. "What I mean is..." I scan the room, look for an explanation. The casings and chair rails—all the woodwork in this house is crazy wide and hand-carved—and that staircase is insane. Halfway down from the second floor, it splits into two identical curved sections that form an arch over the center hall. "This place is huge," I say. "Fancy. Do you like staying here?"

She glances at the front door. Then moves around the foot of the left staircase, climbs the first step and turns back, like she's gonna ask me to follow, only she doesn't say a word.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm sort of nervous and..." I let go of a breath. Relax my shoulders. "I'm really not used to you being this quiet." 

"Oh," she says—but without the sound. It's more of a shape she makes with her mouth. "I got distracted. By the sound of your voice. It's different. The way you pronounce words."

My heart exaggerates a beat, like a warning but I have to keep talking. I have to know for sure. "I moved here from Georgia when I was thirteen and..." I hold the pause to see if she'll crack a smile but she doesn't. She holds on with me, waits for the punch line. "Uh, yeah, so I guess the accent moved with me."

Badumpbump.

"I moved here from North Carolina," she says. Like I don't already know.

Like she never told me how hard it was that first year, starting middle school without one single friend. That's why she was so nice to me when I started in seventh grade. She designated herself as my own personal welcoming committee. And I fell so hard I never recovered.