Avery
I'm just done wearing my clothes and am about to do my makeup when someone rings the bell
" Avery, can you go check the door!' My mom screams from downstairs
As a response I scream back " okay mom!"
I fly downstairs- literally , I have a habit of jumping of the stairs I don't know why though
I open the door and see Noah," oh ,hi I didn't think you would come this early, well im almost done i only have to do my makeup now , I'll be right back you can stay in the living room " i say
" I think you look pretty without makeup" he says
" umm, thank you?" I say awkwardly, that sounded more like a question
He smiles at me and it was too much awkwardness for me so I run back upstairs to do my makeup
I finally finish my mascara—trying not to poke my eye out because my hands are still a little shaky from Noah's comment—and head back down.
But then I hear someone laughing - it's … my mom? Huh how can Noah make her laugh like that?
Noah sees me and smiles and asks 'ready ?'
"Ready," I mumble.We get to his house and spread our giant history posters across his kitchen island. We're actually making progress—I'm highlighting dates and he's drawing a surprisingly good map of the colonies—when the front door slams open."Yo, Romeo! I forgot my—"A guy with messy hair and a gym bag freezes in the doorway. It's Leo, Noah's best friend from the soccer team. His eyes dart from the poster to Noah, then land on me with a massive, mischievous grin."Oh," Leo says, his voice dripping with fake realization. "So this is the 'History Project' you were talking about, and this is Avery ? You didn't mention she was actually coming over, man."Noah's face turns a shade of red that matches my highlighter. "Leo, shut up. We're working.""Right, right. 'Working,'" Leo winked at me, leaning against the counter. "Just so you know, Avery, he usually hates history. Suddenly, he's a scholar. Real strange, right?"
" shut up, Leo " Noah says
Leo didn't just drop the bomb; he pulled out a chair, flipped it backward, and sat down right at the edge of our project."Don't mind me," Leo said, reaching into a bowl of fruit on the counter and taking a loud, crunchy bite of an apple. "I'm just here for the... educational atmosphere. So, what are we learning today? The chemistry of the 1700s? Or just the chemistry between you two?"Noah slammed his highlighter down on the table. "Leo, I'm going to throw you out the front door. We have to finish this by Monday.""Relax, Romeo. I'm helping!" Leo leaned over, squinting at our poster. "Avery, has he told you yet that he spent twenty minutes picking out that shirt? He literally texted me a photo asking if it made him look 'too desperate' or 'just right.'"My heart did a weird little flip. I looked over at Noah, whose face was now a shade of red I didn't know was humanly possible. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole."I did not," Noah hissed, though his voice cracked just enough to prove Leo was telling the absolute truth."He did," Leo nodded solemnly at me. "He also practiced his 'cool guy' lean against the doorframe. How'd that go for you, buddy? Did she swoon?"I felt my own cheeks heating up. I tried to focus on the Stamp Act of 1765, but I couldn't concentrate with the thoughts that were coming to mind."I... uh, I think the lean was fine," I managed to mumble, not daring to look Noah in the eye.
Leo was just about to reach for Noah's backpack—likely to hunt for more "evidence"—when his phone buzzed violently on the counter. He glanced at the screen and his eyes went wide."Crap! Is it 7:30 already?" Leo jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over. "The gym closes in thirty minutes and if I miss leg day, the coach will actually murder me."He grabbed his bag, but stopped at the door, pointing a finger at Noah. "Don't think I'm done with you, Romeo. And Avery? If he starts acting too 'scholarly' again, just remind him about the hair gel incident of ninth grade. He'll fold immediately.""LEO, GET OUT!" Noah shouted, actually standing up this time.With a wink and a chaotic salute, Leo slammed the front door shut.The silence that followed was heavy. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the scratching of my own pen as I tried—and failed—to look like I was still reading about the Boston Tea Party. My heart was thumping against my ribs. Did he really pick out his shirt for me?Noah cleared his throat, his face still a dusty pink. He didn't look at me; instead, he started obsessively straightening the markers on the table."He's an idiot," Noah muttered, his voice low. "He just... he likes to make stuff up to get a reaction. Don't listen to him."I looked up, catching his eye for a split second before he looked away. "The part about the shirt too?" I teased softly, surprised by my own sudden boldness.Noah froze, his hand hovering over a blue marker.