Compass

Noah had lived with her grandmother since she was six years old. She had lived on the shores of the Tennessee River in the old cozy home nearly as long as she could remember. The house was cozy and comfortable, filled with mismatched fabrics and wood paneling, it wasn’t fancy, but it was home. The rugs were torn at the edges, and small stains adorned the lighter colored ones, but each stain had a memory from some strange incident of food being dropped on it. The kitchen wasn’t large, by any means, but it was big enough for the family when they all showed up. None of the dishes matched; the coffee mugs were brightly colored and all sorts of styles, and none of the plates were the same shape or color. The counters weren’t the perfect shade of granite that everyone seemed to be looking for, but the blue tile was unique, and that was the best thing about them.

Noah’s room was the most chaotic and mismatched room in the house however, the second floor ‘tower’ of the otherwise single story house, was round, and filled with books and shelves and posters and rugs. Tapestries hung from walls and windows and the raised ceiling. The windows covered the walls all around, although most were obstructed by the tree branches growing close to the house. Some of the windows were foggy with age, but you could see the lake and the dock. Her large bed sat against one of the walls with multiple blankets strewn across it haphazardly. All over the room there were books and papers and just about everything Noah owned, nothing was organized, but she liked it that way.

It was typically around three o’clock in the morning before Noah reached her bedroom, half asleep, and usually under the influence of something. Wandering inside the house, she attempted to be quiet, but it was three in the morning, and she was fairly drunk. It was extremely hard to be quiet when everything around you was absolutely silent, let alone drunk in a pair of high heels. Her grandmother had never been one to go to bed early, but Noah hadn’t expected her to be wide awake sitting in the kitchen.

As Noah passed through the kitchen in an attempt to get to the family room where the stairs were to her room, she stumbled right into the island and found her grandmother sitting, sipping on a mug of hot tea. She shook her head at her drunken granddaughter, smiling slightly.

“Hello there Grandma,” Noah slurred out, grinning. She was putting most of her body weight on the counter in front of her to steady her balance.

“Hi Noah,” the older woman laughed. The teenager in front of her giggled, tossing her long dark hair out of her eyes. The shaved spot on the side of her head was exposed as she threw her head back in an attempt to get the hair out of her eyes. A short black dress with a sweetheart neckline hugged her waist, flaring out around her hips.

“How was your night?” her grandmother smiled, taking a sip of tea.

“It was nice,” Noah giggled, “I had a lot of fun.”

“I can see that,” she smiled, “Why don’t you head up to bed, dear. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Goodnight!” Noah called out, dragging out the letters as she stumbled out of the kitchen, clutching onto any piece of furniture near her until she reached the stairs.

Getting up the spiral staircase into her room proved to be a challenge any time she drank, and by the time she had made it into her room, Noah barely had enough energy to get to her bed before she passed out, face down in a pile of pillows.

~

The next morning, Noah woke up to a pounding hangover, only worsened by the sunlight pouring in through her bedroom windows. The tapestries covering a few of the windows did little to help, and the sun seeped through the trees and right into her eyes. Groaning, Noah managed to pull herself up from the face down position she had passed out in last night. Her heels were abandoned on the ground, and her black dress was wrinkled from sleeping in it. From downstairs, she could smell breakfast cooking and hear her grandmother singing along to the radio. Every Sunday morning her grandmother cooked breakfast. She cooked most other mornings too, but she cooked every Sunday morning, no exceptions. No matter how many people were over, or how few, there was always plenty of pancakes and bacon. Most Sundays Noah’s friends turned up, still hung over, and all settled in for breakfast at precisely ten o’clock in the morning.

Glancing at her clock, Noah sighed. It was only nine thirty, but there was no way she would be able to fall back asleep anymore. Climbing out of her bed, she felt the soft rug against her sore feet, stretched, and stepped out of her dress. Grabbing a bikini from the top drawer in her dresser, she tied the strings around her neck and pulled a tank top on over top. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she pulled her hair back into a messy bun, tucking the loose ends up. Letting out a yawn, Noah headed downstairs to the kitchen. Her grandmother stood in front of the stove, flipping pancakes into a stack next to her. Rounding the corner from the living room into the kitchen, Noah was surprised to see someone else in the kitchen.

“Morning Grandma,” Noah mumbled, vaguely attempting to figure out who the boy sitting at the kitchen counter was.

“Morning Noah,” her grandmother beamed; she always was a morning person. “Oh, Noah, this is Mason, he brought your cell phone back for you. You forgot it in his car when he drove you home last night?”

Staring at the boy in front of her, Noah began to piece together the details from the previous night. The party she had been at broke up at around three o’clock in the morning, and she had been left without a ride home. Her friend had managed to disappear, and his car was nowhere to be found. Mason had found her sitting on the front stairs of the house, and offered her a ride home. He had been completely sober; obvious by his composure. His hair was shaved on the sides, and the top was slightly longer and slicked back. The previous night he had been wearing a pair of jeans and a t shirt, but this morning a hat covered his obviously messy hair, and he was dressed in a pair of board shorts and a sleeveless shirt.

“Oh, I forgot about that. Thanks,” Noah smiled, taking her cell phone from the boy’s hand. No new messages. Of course her friends had been too intoxicated themselves to notice she had gone missing at some point that night.

“I’ve invited him to stay for breakfast, is anyone else coming?” her grandmother asked. Of course she asked him to stay, nobody got to leave their house on a Sunday morning without breakfast.

“I’m not sure if anyone else is conscious yet,” Noah laughed, taking a seat at the island next to Mason. He sat there, awkwardly fiddling with this thumbs.

“So Mason, where do you go to school?” Her grandmother asked, flipping another pancake high in the air. She had perfected that many years ago.

“I’ll be a sophomore at the University of Pittsburgh this fall,” he bit his lip nervously.

“No way, same here,” Noah laughed.

“Funny I haven’t seen you around before, but I just moved here with my parents in May so I’m new to this area I guess.”

There was a few minutes of awkward silence where Noah fiddled with her phone and Mason watched pancakes flying through the air. The music still played softly in the background, and Noah could hear the boats on the river. All the windows in the house were open, as always, allowing the calls from birds into the house and a steady buzz from millions of insects outside. In the living room, the news was playing on the television softly from earlier that morning, although nobody was in the room any longer.

After several awkward moments of silence, a few bangs came from outside the front door. Car doors slammed and a few people yelled as they approached the house. Without knocking, the front screen door slammed open and several teenagers poured into the house.

“Morning Noah, morning Grandma, morning Mason,” the first boy in the door screamed, plowing into the kitchen, “Wait, what the fuck are you doing here Mason?”

“Morning Carter,” Mason laughed at the boy, “I drove Noah home last night and she forgot her phone in my car.”

Carter made an ‘o’ with his mouth, settling down into the bar stool next to Noah. Two more teenagers pushed their way into the kitchen, Carter’s twin Connor looked exactly like his brother; the same scruffy brown hair and hazel eyes, and the identical charming smile that always seemed to get them exactly what they wanted. The only other girl in their usual group of friends, Noah’s best friend Ella, was just about as hung over as Noah, glaring at the two boys she arrived with.

“These idiots are immune to hangovers, I swear,” she grumbled, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen off of the kitchen counter.

“Connor and Carter, I believe it’s your day to set the table,” Noah’s grandmother announced as she poured more batter onto the pan in front of her. The two boys hopped up from their seats, one of which was quickly overtaken by Ella, and grabbing dishes out of the cabinets.

With the additional teenagers, there was a lot more noise in the kitchen. The twins argued over what was the proper way to set a table, both equally as stubborn in their ways, Ella had struck up a conversation with Mason, obviously having known him from the party, and Noah was still half asleep.

“Noah how do you not know Mason he’s been at every party we’ve gone to since we got home from school,” Ella laughed, poking fun at her friend.

“Every party we’ve been at since we got home from school I’ve gotten trashed at,” Noah shook her head, sipping on the apple juice in front of her.

“You have a problem.”

“You have problems.”

“No I don’t.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Noah mumbled, pressing her face into the cool tiles on the counter top.

“Breakfast’s ready kids, come and get it!” Noah’s grandmother announced, carrying several large plates of food over to the kitchen table.

Noah groaned, pulling herself off of the kitchen counter and to the breakfast table.