Mags was talking to Pony when Noel finally arrived. Pony was in school in Iowa, studying engineering. He’d grown his hair back out into a ponytail, and Simini was tugging on it just because it made her happy. She was studying art in Utah, but she was probably going to transfer to Iowa. Or Pony was going to move to Utah. Or they were going to meet in the middle. ‘What’s in the middle?’ Pony said. ‘Nebraska? Shit, honey, maybe we should move home.’
Mags felt it when Noel walked in. (He came in through the back door, and a bunch of cold air came in with him.) She looked up over Pony’s shoulder and saw Noel, and Noel saw her—and he strode straight through the basement, over the love seat and up onto the coffee table and over the couch and through Pony and Simini, and wrapped his arms around Mags, swinging her in a circle.
‘Mags!’ Noel said.
‘Noel,’ Mags whispered.
Noel hugged Pony and Simini, too. And Frankie and Alicia and Connor. And everybody. Noel was a hugger.
Then he came back to Mags and pinned her against the wall, crowding her as much as hugging her. ‘Oh, God, Mags,’ he said. ‘Never leave me.’
‘I never left you,’ she said to his chest. ‘I never go anywhere.’
‘Never let me leave you,’ he said to the top of her head.
‘When do you go back to Notre Dame?’ she asked.
‘Sunday.’
Noel was wearing wine-colored pants (softer than jeans, rougher than velvet), a blue-on-blue striped T-shirt, and a gray jacket with the collar turned up.
He was as pale as ever.
His eyes were as wide and as blue.
But his hair was cut short: buzzed over his ears and up the back, with long brown curls spilling out over his forehead. Mags brought her hand up to the back of his head. It felt like something was missing.
‘You should have come with me, Margaret,’ he said. ‘The young woman who attacked me couldn’t stop herself.’
‘No,’ she said, rubbing Noel’s scalp. ‘It looks good. It suits you.’
Everything was the same, and everything was different.
Same people. Same music. Same couches.
But they’d all grown apart for four months, and in wildly different directions.
Frankie brought beer and hid it under the couch, and Natalie was drunk when she got there. Connor brought his new college boyfriend, and everyone hated him—and Alicia kept trying to pull Connor aside to tell him so. The basement seemed more crowded than usual, and there wasn’t as much dancing. . . .
There was about as much dancing as there would be at a normal party—at somebody else’s party. Their parties used to be different. They used to be twenty-five people in a basement who knew each other so well, they never had to hold back.
Noel didn’t dance tonight. He stuck with Pony and Simini and Frankie. He stuck by Mags’s side, like he was glued there.
She was so glad that she and Noel hadn’t stopped texting—that she still knew what he woke up worried about. Everybody else’s inside jokes were seven months old, but Noel and Mags hadn’t missed a beat.
Noel took a beer when Frankie offered him one. But when Mags rolled her eyes, he handed it to Pony.
‘Is it weird being in Omaha?’ Simini asked her. ‘Now that everybody’s left?’
‘It’s like walking through the mall after it closes,’ Mags said. ‘I miss you guys so much.’
Noel startled. ‘Hey,’ he said to Mags, pulling on her sleeve.
‘What?’
‘Come here, come here—come with me.’
He was pulling her away from their friends, out of the basement, up the stairs. When they got to the first floor, he said, ‘Too far, can’t hear the music.’
‘What?’
They went down the stairs again and stopped midway, and Noel switched places with her, so she was standing on the higher step. ‘Dance with me, Mags, they’re playing our song.’
Mags tipped her head. ‘ “A Thousand Years”?’
‘It’s our actual song,’ he said. ‘Dance with me.’
‘How is this our song?’ she asked.
‘It was playing when we met,’ Noel said.
‘When?’
‘When we met,’ he said, rolling his hand, like he was hurrying her along.
‘When we met here?’
‘Yes. When we met. Downstairs. Sophomore year. And you saved my life.’
‘I never saved your life, Noel.’
‘Why do you always ruin this story?’
‘You remember the song that was playing when we met?’
‘I always remember the song that’s playing,’ he said. ‘All the time.’
That was true, he did. All Mags could think to say now was, ‘What?’
Noel groaned.
‘I don’t like to dance,’ she said.
‘You don’t like to dance in front of people,’ he said.
‘That’s true.’
‘Just a minute.’ Noel sighed and ran downstairs. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he shouted up to her.
‘I never go anywhere!’ she shouted back.
She heard the song start over.
Then Noel was running back up the stairs. He stood on the step below her and held up his hands. ‘Please.’
Mags sighed and lifted up her hands. She wasn’t sure what to do with them . . .
Noel took one of her hands in his and put her other hand on his shoulder, curling his arm around her waist. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, ‘was that so hard?’
‘I don’t know why this is so important to you,’ she said. ‘Dancing.’
‘I don’t know why it’s so important to you,’ he said. ‘Not to dance with me.’
She was a little bit taller than him like this. They were swaying.
Alicia’s mom came down the stairs. ‘Hey, Mags. Hey, Noel—how’s Notre Dame?’
Noel pulled Mags closer to let Mrs. Porter squeeze by. ‘Good,’ he said.
‘You guys really fell asleep against Michigan.’
‘I’m not actually on the football team,’ Noel said.
‘That’s no excuse,’ Mrs. Porter said.
Noel didn’t loosen his grip after Alicia’s mom was past them. His arm was all the way around Mags’s waist now, and their stomachs and chests were pressed together.
They’d touched a lot, over the years, as friends. Noel liked to touch. Noel hugged. And tickled and pulled hair. Noel pulled people into his lap. He apparently kissed anyone who raised their eyebrows at him on New Year’s Eve. . . .
But Noel had never held Mags like this.
Mags had never felt his belt buckle in her hip. She’d never tasted his breath.
Mrs. Porter came back up the stairs, and Noel held Mags even tighter.
‘A Thousand Years’ began again.
‘Did you tell somebody to start it over?’ Mags asked.
‘I put it on repeat,’ he said. ‘They’ll stop it when they notice.’
‘Was this on the Twilight sound track?’
‘Dance with me, Mags.’
‘I am,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘Okay.’ Mags had been holding herself rigid, so that she’d still be standing upright, even if Noel let go. She stopped that now. She relaxed into his grip and let her arm slide over his shoulder. She touched the back of his hair again because she wanted to—because it was still missing.
‘You don’t like it,’ he said.
‘I do like it,’ she said. ‘It’s different.’
‘You’re different.’
Mags made a face that said, You’re crazy.
‘You are,’ Noel said.
‘I’m exactly the same,’ she said. ‘I’m the only one who’s the same.’
‘You’re the most different.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s like we all left, and you let go—and you’re the one who drifted away.’
‘That’s bananas,’ Mags said. ‘I talk to you every day.’
‘It’s not enough,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen this dress before.’