The Principal's Son

chapter eleven | fall formal yet more problems

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I can't believe this. How can they not tell him? Mr Harvey, Noah's father, assured me that he knows, that I'm pretty sure about. At least he said he's pretty sure that Bianca told him, who'd tell me that she thought Harvey told him.

This leads to another cycle of horrible communication. What happened an hour ago was... interesting, if you ask.

"Oh god, your parents didn't tell you." I try my best not to freak out.

"Tell me what?" He presses, a frown now resting on his pretty face.

I take a deep breath and let it out, "That I have a place to stay. Well, that place is here."

"You're kidding me, right?" He laughs, looking around. "Does my parents know that you're here?" He waits for me to reply, but nothing comes out of my mouth. He realises that I must be telling him everything and starts to walk towards the kitchen, where Mr and Mrs Cadwell are.

I knew this wouldn't go well. I follow him to the kitchen, because what can I do standing in front of the restroom? Pondering about life? I'd rather not since it's a great possibility that I'll get kicked out very soon.

"Dad, would you mind explaining what's going on?" He questions and crosses his arms before his chest.

"Yeah, we'll be there in thirty minutes, yes, for four. Alright, cheers, bye," Bianca walks in, hanging up the phone for the lunch reservation at a very bad timing. "Oh hey, Noah, you're back early."

"Ran a little faster than usual today." He shrugs and turns to his father once again, "so? How come I only know about Allie moving in until right now?"

"Didn't your mother tell you?" Harvey frowns, and it is clear that Noah's signature frown comes from him.

"Don't you blame it on me, Harv." She pouts playfully. "Sorry about this, honey, I thought you knew. Now, we have a lunch reservation to get to, so please change, you smell awful."

"Fine," Noah turns away, off to god-knows-where.

Lunch doesn't turn out exactly nice although the food is amazing.

Later in the afternoon, Harvey goes back to the school for inspection rounds while Bianca has some friends over at the living room, giving me an opportunity to talk to Noah in private.

I knock on his bedroom door and try to be as polite as possible.

He replies, "come in."

I open the door to a crack, peeping my face into the door frame. "Hey, it's me. Can I come in?" Noah is at his desk, typing a lengthy document on his computer. Next to his large, spacious desk is his—yes, you guessed it—enormous king-sized bed. His room smells like aftershave and, um, fresh soap? I don't know how to describe it, but it smells considerately clean. The walls are painted white, except one that is painted like a grey cement wall. I have to admit, it looks really nice. There are some posters of bands that I've never heard of on the grey wall, and concert tickets sticking beside some of the posters. Then you have the closets, cabinets, and bookshelves on the other side of the room.

"Yeah, I know it's you. Others wouldn't have the courtesy to knock." He jokes and steps away from his desk.

I laugh as I walk inside, mainly because I don't know what to reply. The both of us don't speak for a while, and the atmosphere is quite tense.

"I'm sorry, it's not that I don't want you here. I must have acted like an arse." He says suddenly, "I'm just tired of them always making decisions without ever telling me."