Chapter 16: Hannah
The lights were blinding as Noah and I took our seats behind the long judges’ table, our names displayed on plaques before us. I squinted, trying to discern the rows of empty seats soon to be filled with pageant attendees. My heart pounded—not from nerves, but from the simmering tension between Noah and me. I wanted to kiss him and wring his neck simultaneously. The incident in the makeup room only intensified this, adding to the throbbing ache in my forehead.
Zoe and Drake joined us, sliding into the remaining chairs with practiced smiles and waves to the backstage crew. I couldn’t help noticing Zoe’s proximity to Noah; their arms nearly brushed. Swallowing hard, I smoothed my sleek black dress. I needed to focus—to be professional. Our appearance together aimed to show the world we were on good terms, that there was no bad blood, and that we fully supported each other.
Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. But we had performed this charade before, and we would again tonight.
“Alright, ladies and gents,” the stage manager’s voice crackled through my earpiece. “Five minutes until showtime. Ten contestants tonight; each of you asks one question per round after their introductory speeches. Three rounds, three questions total. Got it?”
We murmured assent. I felt Noah’s gaze burning into the side of my head. Peripherally, I saw him uncap his pen and open a small leather journal.
“What’s that?” Drake asked, nodding toward the journal.
Noah shot him a withering look. “A journal.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Drake chuckled. “What’s it for?”
“Notes.”
Drake and I exchanged amused glances. Zoe remained impassive, staring at the curtain concealing the contestants. The auditorium fell silent as the audience settled. My knee bounced anxiously until Noah placed a hand on my thigh. I tensed, meeting his frown.
“You’re shaking the whole table,” he murmured. My mouth went dry. I could only nod, forcing myself to still my leg. He wasn’t comforting me; he was annoyed by my fidgeting.
“Good evening, friends and family. Welcome to the annual Nightcrest Beautiful Hearts Pageant!”
The announcer’s words cut through my thoughts as the crowd buzzed with excitement. Plastering on a smile, I rose and waved when my name was announced.
As the preliminary portion concluded, I found myself distracted by Noah’s rapt attention. His brow furrowed in concentration, his chin resting on one hand as the other swiftly scribbled notes.
Since when had he taken this—Luna stuff—so seriously?
Throughout the pageant, I watched him, taking in the stern set of his jaw, his unwavering focus. He looked so engaged. My throat constricted with the memory of our past connection, of my attraction to his passion. It hadn't changed much over the years.
Clearing my throat, I forced those thoughts down and turned back to the stage as the last contestant finished her opening speech. The first round of questioning began.
Noah went first, leaning into the microphone. “In your opinion, what is the most pressing issue for underprivileged youth today? And how would you address it?”
The contestant thoughtfully replied, mentioning the lack of educational opportunities in inner cities. Noah scribbled furiously, nodding to himself.
Maybe he was actually considering her words, rather than simply judging them. Unexpected, and vaguely endearing.
Dammit. I shoved the thought aside as Drake and Zoe asked their questions. Then, it was my turn.
Two more rounds followed, the questions intensifying. Some contestants faltered, others answered with poise, some with excessive enthusiasm. Noah continued to scribble.
Suddenly, the announcer called, “Luna Hannah, you’re up.”
Shit. Lost in watching Noah, I’d missed my cue. Plastering on a serene smile, I leaned forward, trying to steady my voice.
“Throughout this process, you’ve grappled with societal expectations around beauty, confidence, and self-esteem,” I began, glancing at Noah. “What’s the most toxic expectation, and how can we dismantle that mindset?”
The contestant, identifiable only by her red espadrilles, hesitated before giving a poised response. She was my favorite.
“To change how we conceptualize these ideals,” she said, “we must change fundamental beliefs…”
Noah’s pen flew across the page. A soft smile stretched across my lips. He was utterly rapt, like a schoolboy. So much like the teenage boy I once loved…
“Luna Hannah?”
I blinked, startled. “I—sorry?” I blurted.
Laughter rippled through the audience. My face burned. I'd zoned out, daydreaming about Noah, about the days we spent together years ago, eating quail eggs under the oak tree. But those daydreams were over.