Should I call Noah ...?
I hesitate. My thumb hovers over Noah's contact name for a full minute before I pull it back again. Then I bring it close. Then pull it back.
This is ridiculous. I feel like a teenager again.
He drove me home. He held my hand. He smiled when I gave him the keychain. He said we'd hang out today—well, this is already past midnight so technically it's Monday now. Calling him now wouldn't be weird. It'd be normal. Reasonable.
Except ....
What if he's tired? What if he's not in the mood to talk? What if I'm just bothering him? What if he wants to be alone?
I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The radiator hums faintly. I close my eyes and try to talk myself down from the nerves curling in my stomach like lazy vines. He's probably just driving back. Or taking a shower. Or eating. Or getting ready to sleep. Or—
It's already been over thirty minutes since he dropped me off. I check the time again. Thirty-seven minutes, to be exact.
