Mags finished her brownie and watched Noel jump around.
Noel was her very best friend—even if she wasn’t his. Noel was her person.
He was the first person she talked to in the morning, and the last person she texted at night. Not intentionally or methodically. That’s just the way it was between them. If she didn’t tell Noel about something, it was almost like it didn’t happen.
They’d been tight ever since they ended up in journalism class together, the second semester of sophomore year. (That’s when they should celebrate their friendiversary—not on New Year’s Eve.) And then they signed up for photography and tennis together.
They were so tight, Mags went with Noel to prom last year, even though he already had a date.
“Obviously, you’re coming with us,” Noel said.
“Is that okay with Amy?”
“Amy knows we’re a package deal. She probably wouldn’t even like me if I wasn’t standing right next to you.”
(Noel and Amy never went out again after prom. They weren’t together long enough to break up.) Mags was thinking about getting another brownie when someone suddenly turned off the music, and someone else flickered the lights. Alicia ran by the bar, shouting, “It’s almost midnight!”
“Ten!” Pony called out a few seconds later.
Mags glanced around the room until she found Noel again—standing on the couch. He was already looking at her. He stepped onto the coffee table in Mags’s direction and grinned, wolfishly. All of Noel’s grins were a little bit wolfish: he had way too many teeth. Mags took a breath that shook on the way out. (Noel was her person.) “Eight!” the room shouted.
Noel beckoned her with his hand.
Mags raised an eyebrow.
He waved at her again and made a face that said, Come on, Mags.
“Four!”
Then Frankie stepped onto the coffee table with Noel and slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Three!”
Noel turned to Frankie and grinned.
“Two!”
Frankie raised her eyebrows.
“One!”
Frankie leaned up into Noel. And Noel leaned down into Frankie.
And they kissed.
Dec. 31, 2014, about nine p.m.
Mags hadn’t seen Noel yet this winter break. His family went to Walt Disney World for Christmas.
It’s 80 degrees, he texted her, and I’ve been wearing mouse ears for 72 hours straight.
Mags hadn’t seen Noel since August, when she went over to his house early one morning to say good-bye before his dad drove him to Notre Dame.
Noel didn’t come home for Thanksgiving; plane tickets were too expensive.
She’d seen photos he posted of other people online. (People from his residence hall. People at parties. Girls.) And she and Noel had texted. They’d texted a lot. But Mags hadn’t seen him since August—she hadn’t heard his voice since then.
Honestly, she couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t remember ever thinking about Noel’s voice before. Whether it was deep and rumbled. Or high and smooth. She couldn’t remember what Noel sounded like—or what he looked like, not in motion. She could only see his face in the dozens of photos she still had saved on her phone.
You’re going to Alicia’s, yeah? he’d texted her yesterday. He was in an airport, on his way home.
Where else would I go? Mags texted back.
Cool.
Mags got to Alicia’s early and helped her clean out the basement, then helped Alicia’s mom frost the brownies. Alicia was home from college in South Dakota; she had a tattoo on her back now of a meadowlark.
Mags didn’t have any new tattoos. She hadn’t changed at all. She hadn’t even left Omaha—she got a scholarship to study industrial design at one of the schools in town. A full scholarship. It would have been stupid for Mags to leave.
Nobody showed up for the party on time, but everybody showed up. “Is Noel coming?” Alicia asked, when the doorbell had stopped ringing.
How would I know? Mags wanted to say. But she did know. “Yeah, he’s coming,” she said. “He’ll be here.” She’d gotten a little chocolate on the sleeve of her dress. She tried to scrape it off with her fingernail.
Mags had changed three times before she settled on this dress.
She was going to wear a dress that Noel had always liked, gray with deep red peonies—but she didn’t want him to think that she hadn’t had a single original thought since the last time she saw him.
So she’d changed. Then changed again. And ended up in this one, a cream-colored lace shift that she’d never worn before, with baroque-patterned pink and gold tights.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring at herself. At her dark brown hair. Her thick eyebrows and blunt chin. She tried to see herself the way Noel would see her, for the first time since August. Then she tried to pretend she didn’t care.
Then she left.
She got halfway to her car, then ran back up to her room to put on the earrings Noel had given her last year for her eighteenth birthday—angel wings.