A different kind of jealousy
885 Words
The festival continued through the weekend, and by Sunday afternoon, Lena had talked about Tyler at least a dozen times.
"He gave me his number," she said, sitting cross-legged on Noah's porch steps, phone in her hand like it was something precious. "Do you think I should text him first, or is that too much?"
Noah leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed. "Depends. Do you want to text him first?"
"I don't know. Isn't there some rule about waiting?" Lena scrunched her nose, scrolling up to look at the number again. "What if I seem too eager?"
"You could wait a day," Noah said. "Makes it feel less rushed."
"See, this is why I ask you." She smiled, nudging his foot with hers. "You always give the best advice."
Every word she said felt like a small stone dropped into his chest, one after another, until it was hard to breathe evenly. But he kept his voice steady, the way he always did.
"So what are you going to say?" he asked.
"I don't know yet. Something casual. Not too try-hard." She chewed her bottom lip, thinking. "What would you say?"
"I'm not exactly the expert on this stuff."
"You're the only expert I trust," Lena said simply, like it wasn't a big deal, like she wasn't handing him a knife and asking him to help sharpen it.
Noah managed a small smile. "Just be yourself. If he doesn't like that, he's not worth texting anyway."
Lena looked up at him, something soft crossing her face. "Yeah. You're right." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Best friend perks."
He nodded, because that was easier than saying anything else.
***
Monday morning, the halls were already buzzing by the time Noah reached his locker.
"Heard Lena Brooks might have a boyfriend," someone said behind him, loud enough to carry.
"No way. Thought she and Carter were a package deal," another voice answered, followed by laughter.
Marcus, a guy from Noah's history class, leaned against the locker beside his, smirking. "Looks like your wife found someone else, Carter."
"She's not my wife," Noah said, forcing a laugh as he shut his locker.
"Could've fooled us. You two are attached at the hip."
"We're just friends," Noah said, adjusting the strap of his backpack, keeping his tone light even as something twisted tighter in his chest.
Marcus held up his hands, still grinning. "Relax, man. I'm just saying."
Noah laughed again, easy and practiced, and walked to class like the words hadn't landed anywhere.
***
By gym class, the teasing had followed him.
"Hey, Carter," a kid named Dylan called from across the gym, tossing a basketball between his hands. "You gonna follow Lena around at lunch too? Or does the new guy get that job now?"
A few people laughed. Noah's jaw tightened, but before he could answer, Lena's voice cut through the noise.
"Okay, that's enough," she said, stepping between them, arms crossed. "Noah doesn't follow me around. We're family. We've been friends since we were kids. Maybe try minding your own business for once."
Dylan raised his hands, backing off. "Chill, Brooks. Just messing around."
"Well, stop," Lena said, still glaring until he walked away.
She turned to Noah, softening instantly. "You okay? Ignore him. He's an idiot."
"Yeah," Noah said. "I'm fine."
But her words were still echoing in his head. Family. Nothing more. She'd said it so easily, so certainly, like there was no version of the world where it could mean anything else.
He smiled anyway. It was the only thing he knew how to do.
***
That evening, Noah didn't go to dinner.
It was the first time in years he'd missed it—the Tuesday dinners that had become as routine as breathing, the two families crowded around one table like they'd always been one family instead of two. He told his mother he had a headache, which wasn't entirely a lie.
He sat in his room instead, door closed, phone buzzing once on his nightstand.
Lena: you skipping dinner?? that's like, illegal
Lena: you good?
He stared at the messages for a long moment before typing back.
Noah:yeah just tired. see you tomorrow
It wasn't the truth, but it was easier than the truth.
He set the phone down and sat there in the quiet, the events of the day pressing down on him until it felt hard to sit still. Family. Nothing more. The words wouldn't stop replaying.
He thought about the first time he'd realized it wasn't just friendship for him—fourteen years old, sitting beside her on the bus ride home from a school trip, watching her laugh at something stupid he'd said, and feeling something shift so quietly he almost hadn't noticed it happening. Three years now. Three years of feeling something she couldn't see, watching it grow heavier every year while she stayed exactly the same—easy, warm, completely unaware.
He reached under his bed and pulled out an old notebook, one he hadn't touched in months. The cover was worn soft at the corners. He opened to the first blank page and picked up a pen.
He wrote slowly, like the words cost him something.
*Letter One.*
Dear Lena,
Today I realized I'll probably never tell you I love you.
- Writer
