It was getting crowded inside Noah's head. After his failed dumpster dive attempt, he thought he needed a change. He mulled things over, broke them down to shards he could carry, saw them reflecting light in his dimming mornings. He refused to succumb to thoughts of death. It was tempting, however, to let go, to have some peace, and he knew the cycle could begin any minute.

The cycle went from panic to numb.

Too much.

Collapse.

Destroy anything in his wake.

His mind was wired wrong. There were times when he'd wondered if he'd been born this way or if it had happened over the years because from the outside he could fool anyone into thinking he was intact.

He'd thought when he was a child, everyone was the same as he was. He thought people would have weeks on end when they would feel nothing. Or that their heads too got too loud. It was what made him come undone. Those swarming sharp thoughts, barreling, cascading towards him.

Then came the day he was meant to stand in front of his class and read out the assignment. He was standing, and then he was on the ground, screaming and thrashing.

The school had called his father, and he'd been right to...

Noah slammed the mental door on those memories with a thud. He shivered against the invisible impact, shifting the rusting gears of his brain to focus. He had the chance to live outside of his room. The voice of the imaginary gentle Malik was calling to him. It was like a safety blanket, and Noah grabbed it and threw it around himself to ward off the oncoming storm.

It worked.

The real Malik, however, was peering at him.

"Uh. Could you repeat that, please?" he said.

Malik grinned beside him. "You sure space out a lot."

Real Malik was making him feel safer than the imaginary version.

"Sorry," Noah mumbled.

"It's cool," Malik said. "I was saying should I read this out loud?"

Noah's breath hitched. "No. Please read it when I'm not around."

Noah's plan had made sense at the time. He'd written down when he was still unfeeling. It was a way to prove Malik was just another human being who would disappoint and at the same time, prove there was nothing to be afraid of while he loitered. He had to bide his time until he could attend the art show. Then he would be on the move again, a ghost passing through bustling cities.

But he didn't want to sit while Malik rattled off the silliness he'd written.

"Huh," Malik said. "No one wrote me a letter before. Does it start with dear?"

"No."

"It should've. There are rules."

"There are not!"

"I feel special."

Noah gaped at him and Malik smiled. Without warning, he reached for the top of Noah's head.

He stilled, bracing for a strike. But Malik did the damndest thing. He reached his head and...ruffled Noah's hair.

No one had done this to him except his mother. While recovering from the shock, Noah wished he could've leaned into Malik's hand. Let his cheek nuzzle...

"I was messing with ya," Malik said.

Noah smiled again. It was foolish. Sitting here, pretending they were friends. Pretending they had secrets between them.

Which they would, Noah's mind countered, if Malik agreed to the contents of the page.

No. They were not friends. No one could get to know Noah and accept him, a sick freak who heals like monsters. At best, they could be acquaintances if Malik doesn't turn out like other people.

And if he could stomach being around me, Noah thought.

"I think I should go," Noah said and rose from the bench," and thank you."

Malik lounged in the empty space Noah had left. His taut muscles were defined underneath his sports shirt. He furrowed his slightly mismatched brows at Noah. His expression was still bemused.

"For what?"

Noah felt heat creep in his cheek. He wished he understood why every moment with Malik seemed so important. Like he should grab them and put them in a jar. Savor them for later.

"For the other day," Noah said, "and for today too."

"I can't imagine what it felt like." Malik's voice softened.

"Can you not? Can we pretend I didn't spaz out?"

Malik waved the torn page as if waving a flag.

"It's your business. Wanna get breakfast and go through this?"

Noah was starving, but then again the feeling never left him. He'd be different shades of scarlet while Malik read. His plan was foolish, and he didn't wish to hear it aired out.

He shook his head.

'Alright," Malik said. "I'll read this alone."

***
It took another long walk to get to Mid City's community college. Noah couldn't help the thrill coursing through his veins at the sheer amount of students bustling their way to find the right class or building. They were wide-eyed, full of gusto.

Noah drank the different styles the students adorned. It was different from school where the dress code had been conservative. Excessive piercing, shorts, short skirts, and flip flops were frowned upon. Here the students rejoiced in their newfound freedom, from the t-shirts and jeans to blue dreadlocks. A girl with freckles and a mass of wavy hair caught Noah's eyes as they were both checking out the guy with the blue dreadlocks. She gave him a shy smile and hurried inside the building.

Noah blended with the crowd. He pretended he went there too. Same as he pretended Malik was his friend a few hours ago. It didn't matter. He had a plan. He was going to do this right.

He wasn't going to die.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. It drowned between the impatient noises the students and faculty members made.

"Are you lost?"

Noah turned. A girl with a high ponytail and freckles was giving him a sheepish smile. He realized he'd been standing like an idiot in the middle of the hallway.

"Uh. Yeah."

"What class do you have?" she said.

"Oh," he said. "I'm actually looking for the administrative office?"

"Huh," the girl said. "It's on the other side of the hall."

"Sure?"

She smiled. "Yup. Scrooge just kicked me out." She wrinkled her nose at the mention of Scrooge. "I was hoping you knew where pre-calculus is?"

Noah shrugged. "Sorry."

"Ugh. See you around."

The girl bounced her ponytail, shining under the fluorescent light. Noah followed her advice and the opposite side of the hall proved right.

A simple metal sign hammered into a plywood door said: Administration.

Noah knocked on the door. A man with a balding head and thick-rimmed glasses opened the door.

"Yes?"

Confidence, he thought. No um or ah.

"I was sent by Haven of Hope-"

The man scowled. "No."

Noah took a step back. Had he messed up already?

"We are not giving donations." The man was about to close the door.

"No," Noah held up the printed email, "I came here for the interview. With Mrs. Forester."

The man took the paper, muttering under his breath.

"What's your name?"

"Noah. Noah Davis."

The man gave him a curt nod.

"Wait here."

He shut the door.

Noah swallowed. What if he was on the phone with the hostel?

No worries, he thought, I'd just feign confusion and leave.

Noah paced, counting the hallway tiles as far as his eyes could see. He saw a spider's web at the crook of a corner and hoped the web would remain unnoticed for as long as the spider needed it. Noah was about to hum when the door was flung open.

"Mr. Davis," The middle-aged man said. "Come in."

Noah cracked his knuckles and straightened his back.

The office was surprisingly lively. The desk was a standard rich brown but this is where the formalities ended. The walls were lined with bursting shades of electric blue. They were reflecting time periods with a kaleidoscope of haphazard picture frames. The pictures the frames encased were of students, and faculty members from the fifties until today. The walls of the room were not just a display of pictures, they were a celebration.

"A graduate student redecorated as part of an assignment," The man said, indicating to a chair opposite his desk for Noah to sit on.

"I haven't introduced myself. I am Gerald Hancock. I am the administrative manager here. What I want to know is, why would a strapping young man want this job?"

Noah wondered for a brief moment about the absent Mrs. Forester.

"I want to be a productive member of society," Noah said. "I'm responsible-"

"Stop right there. Don't give me textbook bullshit. Why do you want to clean toilets? Because this is part of the job description."

Noah's fingers tightened on the fabric of the sweater. His demeanor, however, betrayed nothing.

"I need the money. My family can't support me anymore, and I need the job."

Mr. Hancock stared behind his thick glasses. "Good. Now have you finished high school?"

"Yes," Noah said unzipping his backpack. "I have it here."

Mr. Hancock looked at Noah's original transcriptions, his bushy eyebrows rose at the sight of Noah's grades.

"You were home-schooled?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Lie. lie. lie.

"My parents wanted to control the information I was exposed to. They wanted to be on top of things."

What am I saying?

"I see. And you're seventeen?"

"For only a few weeks."

Seventeen meant fewer working hours. Should he imply he'd work extra?

"Have you ever done any internships? Any part-time jobs?"

"Not exactly. I sold portraits sometimes and did volunteer stints."

Back when he was allowed to meet people he didn't know.

"What about college? With your grades, you could apply for a scholarship."

"I..."

I wouldn't dare, Noah thought.

"I'm not sure of what I want. I'm taking a gap year until I do."

Mr. Hancock smoothed the transcripts. He stared hard at Noah until the ticking of Mr. Hancock's wristwatch was echoing in the office.

"I'll be frank," Mr. Hancock said. "We don't hire slackers. We get recommendations from Haven, yes, but we are not a charity. Laziness will not be tolerated."

Mr. Hancock stared.

"Yes?" Noah hesitated.

"Good. Do you have a permanent address?"

Did this mean I got the job?

"No. I'm staying with a friend."

"Swell. Fill those up and write down your information and your friend's address."

Great. How was he going to lie his way through this?

"Can I do it tomorrow? I want to ask my friend if it's okay to put down his address."

Mr. Hancock waved a hand. "You have until tomorrow noon."

Mr. Hancock stood. He shook Noah's hand, squeezing it a bit. Noah didn't flatter.

He had no idea how he was going to resolve this. He was a hair away from getting a job, in a place where he'd be surrounded by people his age all day. It didn't matter if he never spoke to them. He could hear their stories and watch their lives unfold. He would no longer be forced to live in isolation.

He was hoping to bump into Malik again, but he left without seeing him. It was ridiculous how much he wanted to gush, tell him that things were looking up. His plan was going well.

Yet part of his plan involved Malik's agreement. Noah needed an ally, a shadow of a friend in case hell came for him.

By the time Noah dragged his feet back to Windsor Park, his stomach was growling. He had to bite his tongue to keep from slipping to the ground. He had to stay awake until Malik came back. Noah would know Malik's decision based on the embarrassing paper he'd given him.

Unless Malik had seen through him.

Noah's plans to escape home and get a job were working. Could the plan be the charm too?