Page 38 of The King Contract
Girl, run.
It’s true what they say about there being a real person behind the photos. It hits differently when hundreds of people are putting their two cents in on your appearance and basing that on whether you’re a good match for their sporting hero.
Noah told me not to obsess over what I saw online and not to read comments if I could help it. But I’m a sucker for punishment.
“Hey.” Noah’s soft voice pulls me from my trance. “You okay?”
My gaze drifts to him across the small table at the edge of the dimly lit room. He looks so handsome this evening, in a crisp white dress shirt, brown chinos and slip-on shoes. I wasspeechless when I saw he’d swapped out his surfing attire for something so formal.
I nod. “I’m fine.”
Noah quirks an eyebrow. “We’re not meant to lie to each other, remember?”
“It’s not a lie. Iamfine, it’s . . .”
His brow creases. “It’s what?”
“It’s a lot,” I admit. “People talking about us, wondering who I am. I’ve got hundreds of friend requests from people who’ve found my profile and some guy came up to me as I was getting out of my car yesterday to ask about us.”
Noah scowls. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I’m telling you now.”
The sharpened edges of his jaw look dangerous in the candlelight as he glowers at me. “Be serious. You have to tell me if anything like that happens as soon as it happens. Your safety isn’t a joke.”
“Thanks dad, I’m well aware,” I snap, my cheeks flushing. “My safety is important to me too, you know. He wasn’t dangerous. It’s the online stuff that concerns me the most. The comments from people I’ve never met, and don’t even start about the whole not looking online. Of course, I’m going to look.”
Noah looks contemplative as he chews on his steak, glancing around the room. The restaurant is private, with fake candles turned low and tables with plenty of room in between. One would almost call it romantic if we were an actual couple and people weren’t casually peering at us every other minute.
“I should’ve picked somewhere more lowkey,” he admits.
“I figured you’d choose somewhere with people. I didn’t expect you to choose the fanciest place on the Coast every busybody goes to.”
Noah grins. “You clearly don’t know me well enough yet, Maelstrom. I live for the attention.”
“And you clearly don’t know me well enough yet, either. I donot.” I sip my wine, relishing the warmth it brings to my cheeks, which feel as though they’re constantly warm from the spotlight.
Noah’s lips twist in thought. “You prefer to be behind the camera.”
“Bravo,” I sigh.
“No, youactuallydo. You took nearly every photo in our yearbook.”
I tilt my head, confused. “You act like this is brand new information.”
“I had no idea you’ve been into photography this entire time,” he explains, continuing to hack away at his meal. “You took some great shots. I’m even in some of them.”
I blink at him in surprise. I only started taking photos more consistently in the past few years. There wasn’t any dramatic reason I stopped. Life happened. After high school, Ellis and I enjoyed the new world of being eighteen and meeting new people. I studied for four years and helped out in the store when I could. I took photos here and there, but never as much as I did at school. When Donna got sick, taking care of her became the most important thing in my life. Photography always took a backseat.
But that’s not the reason I blink at Noah in surprise. It’s that Noahtrulyhas no memory of me from school. At all.
He doesn’t remember me taking photos of him winning age champion at every swimming carnival. Or getting up at sunrise to snap him and his friends surfing at school camp. He doesn’t remember any of the awards I received for my photographs or that my work was featured in a newspaper when I was sixteen.
I wasn’t popular at school, but I wasn’t an outcast either. I knew I was in the far reaches of most people’s thoughts anddidn’t stand out, but that didn’t bother me. I’ve never liked the attention.
But realising with clarity you had zero effect on someone’s past when you remember their key achievements, is a sucker punch to the gut. We are the typical stereotype of popular boy meets nerdy girl.
My throat tightens. “You don’t remember me taking any of those photos?”
