The Election Connection

Chapter 6

"Hello?" I push open my house's front door.
My Mom's sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV.
"Day off," she explains to me as we make our way to the stairs. "Hi Noah!" she says, pausing her episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta.
"Um, is it okay if I let Noah change into one of my shirts? As you can probably tell, he spilled ice cream on himself."
"Of course! And leave the door open a little bit," she responds, eyeing our interlocked hands. I quickly drop Noah's hand from mine, and Mom resumes her TV-watching. I guess I've been enjoying my time with Noah more than I expected. Anyways, he follows me up the stairs to my room, taking in all the little details as he walks past them.
"This is my room," I show him, closing the door slightly.
He looks around at the posters adorning my room.
"Lemme find a shirt for you," I say, rummaging through my closet.
I finally find one that he'll probably like; it's a maroon T-shirt with a yellow star in the top left corner, which is hopefully big enough to fit him.
"This should do." I hand it to him, and he pulls off his ice cream-stained shirt, giving me a clear view of those six-pack abs. I quickly turn around, to give him privacy. All I can think is: Damn, Noah Ackerman is shirtless in my bedroom!
"Thanks, man," he says to me, sitting down on my bed.
"No problem, really," I brush off, sitting down next to him.
"I love all your posters," he gestures around the room at my various book and movie posters. "And your huge book collection! I mean, that bookshelf is practically overflowing."
"Well, I do love a good book."
"I used to," Noah says with a wistful glint in his eye. "I would stay up all night, reading. I remember the adventures I would go on every time I turned a page. They were so magical..."
"Why'd you stop, if you don't mind me asking?" I inquire.
"It's just that, when I joined the football team, practices would end so late that I was too tired to read. I slowly started reading less and less, and I ended up prioritizing sports over reading."
I nod sympathetically.
"This is kinda random, but do you ever get this feeling that everybody has this idea of you that is so grand and amazing that you can't live up to it? Like, sometimes I worry that everyone sees me as this amazing jock that's just a caricature of me. Granted, a caricature that they love, but still. I just wonder, have any of them ever even considered that I loved reading? That I'm more than just a sports player?"
I silently shame myself for putting him in the same box that everyone else at school does. Then, I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
"Sorry, I'm rambling aren't I? You don't have to answer that."
"No, it's fine!" I tell him. "I completely get what you're saying. I'm so entrenched in trivia club, math club, and other 'nerdy' things that people would be so surprised if I joined a sports team, even though they have no idea my opinions on sports."
"For what it's worth, and I can't believe I'm saying this..." I begin, already regretting what I'm about to say. "You're so charming and charismatic that I'm sure everyone at school would still be obsessed with you even if you quit sports and joined the Worm Lovers Club or something."
"Thanks," he says, holding back a smile.
He pulls a graphic novel off my shelf and sits down on the bed beside me.
"I loooove this one," he announces, flipping it open.
"This page-"
"Oh my god this scene is like my favorite," I interrupt.
"This panel is so good," he gleefully adds, pointing it out on the page.
"This one too," I say, our fingers brushing as I point out the other panel.
We look up at each other, our fingers still softly touching. He looks like he wants to say something, but a buzz from his phone disrupts the moment and he looks away.
"Oh, that's my mom, she's out front. I gotta go," he says, grabbing his balled-up ice cream-stained shirt.
We go downstairs to the front door, and he steps out onto the porch. His eyes connect with mine again. Instead of the usual cold piercing feeling I get when those blue eyes stare at me, his gaze feels warm and comforting.
"Thanks for coming," I start to say,  but suddenly, we're both leaning into each other, his lips on mine. His kiss is soft and delicate and sends sparks through my body. I feel him pull away, and when I open my eyes, he's hurrying down the front steps. He gets in the car and it drives away, leaving me standing in the doorway, with nothing but the taste of his lips.