Page 83 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“I’m so happy for you,” he sighs when I finish. “Really, this is the best thing ever. I feel so relieved. By the way, how does Noah feel about you and the you-getting-auctioned-off-like-a-piece-of-art thing that’s about to happen?”
“Noah’s the one who wanted me to keep us a secret until this is all over with. He seems to be okay with it.”
“It wouldn’t be theworstthing to admit that you’re seeing someone. Celebrities get ‘auctioned off’ in fundraising events all of the time,” Malcolm points out. “People know it’s just an innocent night out. You’re notmarryingthe highest bidder or anything.”
“Don’t say that around Nadine. She’ll think it’s an idea.”
“Touché,” he mumbles.
“Still, I have to respect Noah’s wishes and keep this secret.”
“Do you think he’ll mind that you told me? Oh, this is fun,” he realizes suddenly. “Keeping a secret about Mr. Picture Perfect that no one in town knows. Howscandalous. Cole, I am literally getting goosebumps. Look.”
I chuckle. “No, I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“Do you see the goosebumps?”
“Yes, I do,” I answer with another chuckle, “and I’m glad that my predicament is making your skin gobumpy. I think the bigger deal with Noah is all the attention it’d get him if people find out. I can handle the spotlight a lot better than he can.”
“Hmm, I see. But you know, that might not be avoidable, even after the event. There will be follow-up stories. Interviews. There’s no telling if other publications might catch wind and want to do their own thing on you or the other guys. Who knows? What if all of Texas wants in? It can blow up a lot bigger than you realize.”
My smile slowly fades. “You … You really think so?”
His phone buzzes. He pulls it out and gives it a look. “Sorry, I gotta take this. I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry.” He gives me an apologetic wince. “But you may want to warn Noah. You might be just a few weeks away—or less—from becoming a local celeb.”
I stare back at him, out of breath.
“It’s beengreatcatching up,” says Malcolm with a warm smile, then points at his phone. I nod, understanding. He brings it to his ear and saunters off as he talks. “Is this the Queen? Queen Nadine? Oh yes, ma’am, you bet I just finished up with the boys here at the McPhersons’. I’m on my way to your place, and yes, Iwilltake you up on that offer of tequila you haven’t made yet.”
Chapter 15
Noah
“Why didn’t you tell us you almost died, Noah Lawrence Reed?!”
I’ve never seen my mom’s face so red with rage. It’s suddenly possible her ears might emit fire, which would make her look like the gelatin dragonhead treats she made this past Halloween. For the record, they tasted a lot better than they looked.
But the last thing I wanted to do today was confront a living gelatin dragonhead. “Mom, I didn’t almostdie.”
“That’s what it said! That’s—That’s whatyousaid in yourownarticle thatyouwrote up! Do you want me to read it to you to jog your memory, young man?” She ejects a bizarre sound from her body I can only describe as something between a crow squawking and a cat hissing with demonic anger. “I was such aflippin’ foolthat whole day long, goin’ about my business, not knowin’ in the least what’d almost happened to my baby, my poor, sweet baby!”
“I knew you’d overreact and didn’t want to worry you.”
“Do you know howembarrassingit was today, to get the paper and read about my own son’s near-death experience? I just ‘bout fell out of my darned body! What if I had gone out and talked to the neighbors beforehand? Y’know how Miss Clair is! She always reads the paper first thing and chews my ear off ‘bout it. What if I went out there to get some fresh air and … and looked like anidiot, not knowin’ about—about my own—ooh—!” She slaps a hand to her forehead suddenly. “Elmer, hon, I’m ‘bout to pass right out.”
My dad, calm as ever, comes to her side and guides her to a chair at the kitchen table where he rubs her back. He peers at me with a sad look in his eyes. “Noah, really, this is …” He sighs. “This is so out of character for you.”
“Articles are supposed to be embellished and over the top,” I point out. “It’s how you keep the reader’s attention.”
“You still should’ve told us,” says my dad.
I cross my arms and shrink into my turtle shell, feeling a cold combination of shame and frustration.
That frustration is quickly interrupted by the sound of deep, rhythmic thumping. My parents and I look up at the same time, hearing it. Even my mom perks up, her dramatic fit ending in a swift instant upon picking up the noise.
It persists.
Thump…thump…thump.
