We Make Mayhem [boyxboy]

Chapter Thirty-Four

The next morning, my alarm clock betrayed me. I woke up naturally and immediately noticed that my bedroom was far too bright. I grabbed my phone. It was a full hour later than I should have woken up.

I leapt out of bed, grabbing some semblance of an acceptable outfit, showering faster than a Nascar pit crew, stopped by the office for a late slip on my way into the school—everything until I was seated in History class was a complete blur. Noah usually met me for a quick kiss before second period, but he wasn't there. I waited by my locker for the whole break between classes, until the very last moment, but he didn't show.

Because of that, I was late to my next class and had to go to the office for a late slip for the second time in a single day. Mrs. Downing clicked her tongue as she wrote me the pass.

"I hope this isn't the beginning of a habit," she said sternly, holding the pink slip out to me.

"Just a bad day," I said.

Because it was. Noah's absence was unsettling in a way I couldn't have anticipated. I sent him a few texts, but they went answered. When I passed along the second floor south hallway before lunch, I glanced out the window, but the Edison wasn't in the parking lot. I spent lunch in the studio, editing podcasts, and tried to convince myself that that was a good use of my time. It didn't really work.

Riley: Where are you? You okay?

Still no answer.

My unease hadn't passed by art class. Ms. Warren told us about a photographer from Amsterdam whose latest exhibition was a series of photos of people who had met their Temptr match. I sat there, looking at the slides of happy couples, feeling some profound energy radiating from Noah's empty seat.

"I know Temptr is a sensitive subject," Ms. Warren said, "especially at WVAA. But regardless of what you think about the app, I don't think you can look at these photos and not feel the depth of emotion in them. Look at this one." She switched the slide to a black and white photo of a young woman, beaming, with cat's eye glasses and a polka dot dress, and an older woman whose care-worn face looked stern but serene. "The younger woman looks so happy, practically glowing. Very youthful, very energetic. She has her arm wrapped around her partner's shoulders, like it was flung there joyfully. The older woman looks more guarded, but look at her hand—she grasps her partner's knee so firmly, so protectively. These people clearly come from different worlds, but Temptr brought them together. Against all odds, it seems."

Ms. Warren flipped through photo after photo—elderly people, teenagers, people at every age in between, people who cross boundaries of age, sex, and nationality. There didn't seem to be any pattern. Each match was unique and gorgeously rendered.

I sketched out how I thought Noah and I would look through the eyes of this artist. I drew myself with my legs spread in a power stance, Noah pressed up against my side, hand splayed against my chest, looking over his shoulder at the viewer as if he had just deigned to notice them. As an afterthought, I drew my hand resting against the small of his back, edging towards his ass—I didn't think any representation of me could resist.

Once I was done, I tried to look at it objectively. How would Noah draw us? Would he draw himself in the power stance, with me as the slinking minx pressed up against him? I realized I had kind of objectified him in my portrait. He looked like a Bond girl. Would he like that?

When people looked at us, what did they see? Did we looked like we belonged together? When Decker Lord watched us dance in his family room, what did he see?

Did it scare him enough to try to separate us?

I texted Noah again.

Riley: Missing you in art class. Wondering how you would portray us in a portrait. In fact, consider that homework for the class you're currently missing. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.