Chapter 3 Noah

It's possible that I haven't blinked once since the incident.

Debatable whether I've even breathed.

I'm just sitting here in a booth at Biggie's Bites, sipping from a glass of water Mrs. Tucker kindly brought me, silent as a stump of wood. I no longer have a crowd of people staring at me and asking me all sorts of questions. I'm just sitting here alone by the window staring outside as the festival carries blithely on like nothing at all happened. Maybe nothing much did.

Except Cole Harding saved my life.

Then fainted on me.

Why did I say all of that about flesh-eating diseases?

Mrs. Tucker told me to "take all the time I need" to recover after my "totally traumatic wooden avalanche fiasco". I thanked her. Or I hope I did. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to recover. And I have even less of an idea what exactly I'm recovering from. Was I really in danger at all? Was I about to be crushed?

Did Cole overreact, or did he truly save my life?

Then the aftermath, when his face was so close to mine, and I saw him make the discovery of what happened to his arm. I still feel his fingers clinging desperately to me, as if they're still there, and how his alarmed eyes locked onto mine, an unexpected note of vulnerability in his face and voice I have a suspicion no one's truly seen or heard before. I don't have any evidence to support this claim. It's really more of a half-baked hypothesis.

Is it my imagination, or was something going on inside Cole? The way he looked at me was so intense. Maybe that's just how he looks at everyone. Seems exhausting.

Am I reading too much into all of this?

I feel like this is happening to a different person. Someone far more interesting than me.

"You holding up?"

I glance up from my glass as if emerging from a dark cavern. Tamika smiles down at me, though her smile looks more like an apologetic grimace. She's the one who recommended I hide here from all the noise. At least I think she did. Everything since Cole's fainting is a bit of a muddy mess in my head.

"Can I sit with you?" she asks. I nod. She slides into the seat across from me. "If it means anything, I overheard that kid and his friends getting their asses handed to them outside. I'm fairly sure they'll be grounded for the rest of their lives. Y'know, for almost accidentally committing manslaughter." I nod again. "Ugh, I'm so sorry. I feel responsible. I made you go across the street and—"

I stir. "N-No, Tamika … This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it, though? I let Burton get to me." She scowls at herself. "He thinks because his dad's the big man, he can push us around. Didn't your father used to run the paper?"

"Grandfather."

"And he has the audacity to treat you the way he does? That just makes my blood boil. If he wanted a story that badly, his ass should've been down here looking for it, too. Instead, we're the ones pressured to do this, to do that, and now you're sitting here in Biggie's drinking a glass of water." She peers at me. "You sure you don't want a soda? Or, like … beer? You're twenty-one, right?"

I nod. "Since February, yes. But, um … no," I say. "Just water's good. I'm fine. I-I promise this wasn't your fault. I should've been more observant."

"Noah …"

"There was a high probability of incident today. It was a risk I took myself to partake of the festival in such a direct manner. I could have sought a story in many other ways. I chose to stand where I stood. I didn't notice the kids running around, nor the precarious stack of items I stood next to. There are just too many variables involved to assign blame to anyone or anything for what happened. Even the kid. I must assume my own responsibility." I clutch my glass, take a sip, then stare at it as my mind races.

Tamika gazes at me thoughtfully as she leans back. "Goodness gracious. When you turn into Robot Noah, I swear all your insides come right out, smooth as butter."

I peer up at her. She's called me that before. "You really think I'm a robot?"

Tamika smiles. "Your brain must be a fascinating place to live in sometimes. Oh, hey! I nearly forgot." She pulls out her phone. "I took some pics from my side of the street. Also, I gathered a few from nearby witnesses, one of whom actually captured the picture frames falling." She rolls her eyes. "I love this age we live in where people would rather record something catastrophic than step in to stop it. Oh, look, you've got a cute expression in this one," she says with a giggle, sliding the phone across the table.

I stare down at a shot of me on the ground, my eyes wide and shimmering with boundless terror, with the athletic build of Cole on top of me, half-cradling me in his arms like a distressed prince he just saved from a tower.

I have no idea what part of this Tamika finds cute. What is this odd look on my face? Is that my allegedly off-putting expression Burton keeps pointing out? Am I angry, constipated, or Martian?

"There you are!"

Tamika and I look up to find Burton, who has appeared out of thin air like a nightmare, as if my thought just summoned him.

He comes right up to the table, towering over me. "Looked for you all over the dang place! Hey, Tamika," he greets her mildly, to which she gives a tightened smile.

I lift myself slightly off of the seat in a failed effort to stand, the booth table in the way. "I-I'm so sorry, I'll pay for the damaged camera, sir, I promise. I just need to—"

"Huh? What? No," he blurts out, confused. "Who cares about a stupid camera? Sit back down, you goof."

I return his stare, equally confused.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, pushes me back down to my seat, then leans in closer. "Noah … I told you to get us a story. The last damned thing I expected is for you to become the story."

I lift my eyebrows, taken aback.

Tamika too, appearing as puzzled as I am.

Become the story?

"It … is … perfect," he hisses at me excitedly. "How'd you know somethin' like this is exactly what the Spruce Press needs? Maybe I should take the credit, huh? This is basically what I'd told you to find. ‘Local hero saves unaware cameraman from certain doom'," he recites with a dramatic spread of his hands. "Or, uh, however you guys would word it. I'm a shit writer. Hey, how did you get those picture frames to fall? Were the vendors in on the act?"

"Wait, wait," I stop him. "I … I don't want to be the story. I—"

"Of course you do," he cuts me off. "Wasn't that the point? Besides, who doesn't want to be the story? I just want to know if we gotta compensate them for the broken picture frames or not."

While I sputter, unable to respond, Tamika speaks up for me. "Burton, none of that was an act. That was real. Noah was almost seriously hurt."

"In any case, we'll worry about the details later," he decides, dismissing her. "You made me proud today, Noah. My dad's gonna eat this up. Don't even need a pic of the reverend or mayor. You'll be the story, you and this … what's-his-name."

My face? On the front page? My Martian face? "B-But sir—"

"‘Picture perfect nightmare turned into a dream'," says Burton, still trying out titles. "Hmm, wasn't the mayor nearby? Maybe we can still incorporate the Strongs somehow. I think we would get a lot more readers that way."

I'm still caught in the moment with Cole, barely able to hear whatever Burton's saying. I don't think the moment ever ended, in fact. When Cole fainted, I held him in my arms for half a second before realizing I lacked the strength to hold him up. Then I sat by his collapsed side, dazed, staring down at his face.

He looked so peaceful, as if the task of saving my life was so exhausting, he just fell asleep right there.

Tamika clears her throat. "Burton, I'm not so sure Noah feels comfortable being the headlining story. Other interesting things happened, too. The mayor bought a huge piece of art at the other end of the street, a big sculpture made out of recycled car parts. Everyone was talking about it."

"So? You want us to run something about art? No. This is what everyone will be talkin' about. ‘Is he okay?' ‘Why did he jump in front of him like that?' ‘Is there a secret thing between them?'"

I gape at him. "S-Secret thing …?"

Burton shrugs. "Whatever gets people talking. We'll find the best angle. Look, you have to see the gold in this, Noah. You gotta be the story. Take one for the team, alright? For the paper?"

I glance at Tamika. She's always standing up for me. I think she understands I'm not the best at speaking when it counts.

But the Spruce Press is in a state of decline. People don't read it as much anymore. Despite how I might feel about Burton, I know he's desperate to do something good for the paper. Of course he has his own more selfish reasons, including wanting to impress his dad, and maybe win the respect of this Cindy person he thinks no one knows is his crush, but if the Spruce Press does well, isn't that good for all of us involved?

Even my grandpa would be happy.

Isn't this also for him, too?

I look at Tamika. "What do you think?"

She parts her lips, appearing surprised for a moment that I'm tossing the ball into her court—my own ball. She gazes back and forth from me to Burton. Finally her voice breaks. "I … I guess it … would make sense to write about this. People are still out there talking about it … a little." She fidgets. "But if you aren't—"

"Then it's settled!" exclaims Burton with a clap of his hands, startling both me and Tamika. "As soon as you're done sippin' on your water, get back to the building and type somethin' up fast. Your time peopling here at the festival is over. You're welcome for that, by the way."

I turn to him. "You want me to write up my own story, too?"

"Of course. Isn't it a great idea? Make it real personal, Noah. ‘My life flashed before my eyes,' blah, blah, somethin', somethin'. ‘My savior saw me and ran as fast as he could, time was against us, the crowd was in the way, but he came to my rescue! If it wasn't for him, I'd be a …' Whatever, you get the point, I'm not the writer. I bet this'll be a story even Fairview will catch wind of."

"But … won't it make Martha and her family look bad?" I ask.

"Martha who? Oh. The picture frame vendors? I thought they were in on the whole thing."

"No. It was real. Like Tamika said. I … I could've been crushed for real."

"It's the same story whether it's real or not. They'll love the publicity, I'm sure of it. Maybe it'll get them business, win-win. Hey, maybe we can get them to donate some picture frames to the building. It'll be a follow-up story. A redemption arc for their … hmm … ‘negligent festival mishap', we'll call it."

"It was apparently a few kids running around that caused it," points out Tamika.

"Some kids … wind … an act of God. There's probably a dozen different stories floatin' around out there for how it happened, even from the eye witnesses themselves. Best part of our job is we get to decide which one they believe." He pats me on the back so forcefully, I nearly spill my water. "I'm gonna go have a chat with my dad. We're gonna have one hell of a paper, I can already feel it. Tamika, look around to see if anyone got some shots of the—"

"Already have them," she says mildly, wiggling her phone.

"Great! And find some filler for the rest of the paper if you can, too. My bud Harrison brought some weird-lookin' chairs and furniture stuff he's selling near the church. I'd love to give his new business some publicity." He pats the table, then starts to head off.

I fidget, then lift my head with a sudden thought. "Do you know if Cole's okay?"

Burton stops. "Who?"

"Cole. That's his name, the guy who saved me. Cole Harding. We … We went to school together. He was in my graduating class."

"Oh. You knew each other?"

I avert my eyes. "Well … not really."

He thinks on it, then shrugs. "No idea. Didn't think to ask. I'm sure he's fine. He was taken to the clinic, last I heard, probably bein' looked at, gettin' his arm bandaged up. Wished I was here to see it all," he confesses suddenly.

Tamika lifts an eyebrow. "Where were you anyway?"

A flicker of defiance crosses Burton's face at being questioned. Then he thinks the better of it. "I was just … out. On a business thing. A business lunch thing."

He's a bad liar. I know it. Tamika knows it. But we stay quiet.

"Happened to see Cindy there," he then adds, half to himself. "She didn't seem to notice me at all. That's my story … story of my life. Heh. Anyway, thanks, both of you. Good boy." He gives me a vigorous pat on my head like I'm his puppy he's proud of. "You did well today. Oh, a call," he exclaims as he pries his phone out of his tight jeans pocket. "It's my dad. Gonna see if he's caught wind of this yet. Damn, today's a good day. Hey, Dad?" He saunters off, phone against his ear. "Oh, yeah, you bet I got you a story …"

I watch him take off, trapped in my semi-permanent daze. At least it's apparently safe to say I'm no longer in danger of losing my job; I've upgraded to being Burton's pride and joy now.

An unintended genius who solved his problem.

But I feel like I created many other ones. What if the kid only hit the frames because I was standing in the way trying to get a good shot? Maybe the kid was forced to run around me. And what if I had chosen to stand just a few feet more to the side? I wouldn't have been in the path of the falling frames. Cole wouldn't have had to charge across the road. Because of that, he injured himself.

I feel more guilty about everything than I do relieved.

"You take care of yourself, Noah," says Mrs. Tucker when we make our way out of the diner. "Don't even think about standing next to any picture frame, even one hanging up on a wall, alright? Now skidoo!" She swats playfully at me with a rag, then winks. I thank her again for the water and much-needed respite.

Before we part ways near the park, Tamika says, "Y'know, if it bothers you, maybe just think about all the people who'll read the story and feel a rush of hope and relief that you're safe. You'll be putting smiles on so many faces, Noah! Can you imagine? You're like the happy ending no one realized they needed today."

I know she's trying to help. But the thought of having all that attention on me, all that pressure, all that spotlight, I might as well be right back on that high school stage again, humiliating myself in front of Mrs. Joy and the theatre department. Except it won't just be a high school auditorium; it'll be the whole town.

"Oh. Are you okay?" she asks. "You're breathing funny."

My eyes flick to hers. "I am?"

"Yeah. Like you're hyperventilating, only … in a weird way." She winces. "Did I say something wrong?"

I relax my body, deflating like a balloon, and lean against the park bench next to me. "I'm not sure about anything right now."

"I can help you write the article," she offers. "Though, to be honest, I think that's where you excel. At the computer with your photos and your words. You're a great storyteller, Noah."

I look at her. "I am?"

"You just gotta believe in yourself some more. Keep that big, brilliant mind of yours open to possibilities. Hey, what if this story causes your career to take off?" She gasps, a hand to her mouth. "Imagine what everyone will say! They will all want to know more about the amazing Noah Reed and your brave hero Cole …"

Me, the damsel in distress. And Cole, the hero in shiny armor, defending me against the evil onslaught of falling wooden squares and rectangles.

She smirks. "I bet they'd even ship you guys. Aww, wouldn't that be cute? ‘A near tragedy turns into a love story …' Now that's sure to get some readers around here excited."

I make a face and look away, staring off at the trees swaying in the wind. Even Tamika is writing headlines in the air. Ships, whether figurative or literal, couldn't be farther from my mind.

Besides, he didn't even know I existed back in high school and hasn't had a thing to do with me since. Until today. It's a statistical certainty that people like Cole Harding don't think twice about awkward, forgettable nobodies like me.