Oh fuck, please don’t cry.
That would be just my luck—the tears start pouring and then Honey turns up.What the hell have you done to my kid?
So, I quickly continue, throwing out a smile I hope will coerce even the smallest of ones from him. ‘’CauseI’myour friend, and I’m the coolest friend you could ever have. You’ve already hit the jackpot.’
His laugh is half snort, half giggle. ‘You’re too old to be my friend, Sawyer.’
‘Uh, that’s rude. I’m not old.’ I cross my arms, pouting back at him, but Noah simply raises his brows at me, as if to say,sure, you keep telling yourself that.The cheek of him. ‘How old do you think I am?’
Blue eyes scan my face, really inspecting every inch of it. He narrows them for a second before he announces, ‘Forty.’
‘Fuck off, I am not forty,’ I cry back, extremely concerned the stress of the last month has given me more wrinkles thanI realised, then I immediately smack a hand over my mouth, realising I just told a kid tofuck off.
Mouth forming a perfect O, Noah just stares at me with wide eyes. But it only lasts a short moment before he falls back onto the couch in a fit of giggles and shrieks, ‘Sawyer! That’s a bad word, you can’t say that!’
‘Shit, I’m sorry—fuck!’ I rub my palms over my face. ‘I can’t stop!’ My head snaps back down to watch Noah try to compose himself amidst his laughter as he sits up again, and I beg, ‘Please don’t tell your mom.’
‘Momma hates swearing.’
‘I’ll do anything.’
Possibilities filling his eyes, Noah bunches his mouth to the side as he regards me. Then he offers, ‘I won’t tell her if you let me ride a bull.’
Jesus Christ, this kid ain’t playing.
‘I don’t have any bulls you can ride, but I do have a cow that you can play fetch with,’ I suggest.
Noah considers the counteroffer for too long given that there was never a chance in hell I was going to let him ride a bull. I’d much rather Honey found out I swore in front of him than he had a matching broken leg to mine.
Eventually, Noah declares, throwing his little hand out, ‘Deal.’
We shake on it and Noah scrambles off the couch, abandoning his masterpiece on my cast and leaving me with half drawn cows gracing my leg. He even grabs my crutches for me, holding them out as I swivel off the couch, and I wonder what it’s like to be overflowing with so much kindness and passion like him. Even if he doesn’t talk topeople like he does to me, I bet he leaves a damn big impact on everyone he interacts with.
‘Sawyer?’ he calls up to me just as I’m about to move. When I look down, his bright eyes are filled with awe and what scarily looks like hope. ‘Thanks for being my friend.’
I almost stumble from the weight in my heart at his words, and the realisation that I think I rather like trying to make this kid smile. Just like I did with his mom.
8
Sawyer (Flashback)
November, Senior Year
He was the only one who ever understood the real Georgia Hart.My eyes scan over the words Honey scribbles vigorously into her notebook—not the usual pale-yellow one she’s been using during our tutoring sessions over the last month, but one with deep-red leather binding. Her hand hovers at the side of the page to block prying eyes, but my height gives me a good advantage over where she’s sat at our table. It’s beside the largest window and overlooks the track and field, and it’s slightly hidden by one of the taller stacks of books, making it a private little sunlight trap.
It’s somewhere I’ve come to associate with being a safe space now, giving me sanctuary and understanding in the form of Honey Goldman.
Whatever story is spilling from her has her chewing on her bottom lip with concentration and so enraptured that she doesn’t notice me approach. Passion radiates from heras she writes, eyes widening and narrowing with each word that flows across the page, a spark of a smile when she finds whatever word she was stuck on.
I’ve never seen her like this before.
It’s like I’ve stumbled upon one of the more timid horses on the ranch running wildly through the pastures—Honey Goldman letting herself be free for once, animated and uncaring of the world around her. It’s … mesmerising, in a way. I want to know what I can do to make her like this more.
But, when I see that name pop up in her notebook again, my mind can’t help but latch onto it like it does with random things, and I ask, ‘Who’s Georgia Hart?’
Honey starts as I drop into the seat opposite her, a squeaky gasp rushing from her lips, and she immediately scrambles to close her notebook with the kind of speed we could use on the football team. Fear momentarily rips through her eyes like lightning as she glances up, until she realises it’s only me.
I instantly regret creeping up on her like that—the pang of hate for myself hitting me straight in the chest and making me dig my nails in my palms. I should know better than to spook the little mouse who’s probably always on edge. Just becauseI’mused to most blows coming at me in heated exchanges, rather than unexpectedly, doesn’t mean Honey has the same experience.