Author's Note: My first "complete" draft of ALLYSON IN BETWEEN was written with two points of view, alternating between Ally and Noah. Ultimately (after a painful attempt at a second draft), I realized this wasn't the best way to tell Ally's story. Since then, all of Noah's scenes—the backstory and voice I had so much fun creating—have been collecting virtual cobwebs in an abandoned Word doc, never to be seen again.

Or so I thought.

Now that I'm a Wattpadder, (Have I told you how much I love being here? ❤️) all it takes to share extra content is a little courage. So I've mustered some up and I'm going to post a few of Noah's POV scenes. As you read, please keep in mind that these chapters come from a draft that was HEAVILY revised. There are significant plot and character changes that don't align with the published draft.

Content Warning: There will be a few F-bombs. Because Josh.



Noah | Deleted Scene 1

A shriek of laughter warns me to steer clear of the pack of kids crowding the diving board. But then, my focus goes right back to the pattern of dark tiles wavering at the bottom of the pool. In my mind, she's still there: face pale, eyes closed. Hair floating around her head.

Drowning.

The smell of chlorine used to calm me down, help me get my head in the right place—focused and ready to compete. Now it's a trigger for my weak-ass stomach.

Josh calls my name. I give him a chin-lift salute as I pass his lifeguard stand but I keep walking. My detour through the pool complex takes three minutes. For three minutes, I can keep my shit together. I can walk past the scene of the crime without anyone knowing what's going on in my head. They all think I'm some kind of hero because I pulled Ally out of the diving well. She's the only one who knows I'm the reason she was in there to begin with.

But from what I've heard, she doesn't remember.

"Dodge?"

This voice stops me. It raises the hair on the back of my neck—even though I know who it is and who it can't be. I've always hated how much Lindsay Clark sounds like her sister. I'm tempted to keep walking but I don't. I need to know if the rumor is true.

"I heard you weren't working here anymore," she says.

"I'm still at the club. I work over at the golf course now."

"Oh." She twists around to look at the cart shed, a rectangular building that sits next to the pro shop—a hundred yards from the black metal fence that surrounds the pool. I used to get paid to sit in the sun and drool over hot girls in bikinis. Now I clean dirt and spilled beer out of golf carts for a bunch of old guys.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

The Clarks aren't members of the country club. Neither is my dad. The only reason I got a job here is because Josh's dad put in a good word. Nobody knows that favor was extended to include Ally—except for Mr. Porter and me.

"I'm here with a friend," Lindsay says, pointing to a girl I recognize from my time on the lifeguard stand.

"How's...your sister?" I ask. Then I hope she doesn't notice the way I stumbled, the way I couldn't say Ally's name.

"She's weird. It's like..." Lindsay shakes her head, shifts her eyes away from mine.

"It's like what?"

She lets out one of her bullshit tragic sighs but she doesn't make eye contact. So I guess it's not all for show. "Ally is brain damaged. It's impossible to have a conversation with her because she gets distracted—like you can be talking to her or whatever and she'll just walk over to the window and tune you out. Or she'll hear a word she doesn't know and open this huge dictionary she carries around all the time."

Lindsay crosses her arms over her chest. Like all of a sudden she's afraid her skimpy bikini top might fail her. "I'm sorry," she says. But I don't know what she means. Is she sorry about what's happening to her sister or sorry she sounds like she's pissed off? Like she's making it all about her. Like she usually does.

Christ. I've gotta get out of here.

"I need to get going," I say, making a show of looking at my watch.

She lifts two fingers to say goodbye but as soon as I turn away she says, "I've seen your car in the parking lot."

I have to stop again because I have a feeling she's not talking about the employee lot here at the club.

"Are you ever going inside?" she asks.

Yeah, she knows I've been driving up to Faircrest.

I face her again. I'm not sure why because I can't answer the question. I think about seeing Ally every day but I can't picture myself getting out of my car and walking into the building. "She won't know who you are," Lindsay says. "She didn't even recognize me."

No, I don't believe her. Lindsay would say anything to—

"It's true," she insists. "Mom had to find a picture from when I was ten years old and hold it beside my face. Then the next time I visited, Ally had already forgotten me and we had to do it all over again—and it's really hard, like, to see her that way. But my parents keep making me go up there. I'm supposed to go today but I'm trying to get out of it."

My stomach starts churning. I breathe through my nose and look for the closest exit.

"She doesn't remember anyone she's met since we moved here," Lindsay says. "The doctors say it could take months or even years but she may never fully recover." A tear spills onto her cheek and she swipes it away, quick, like she's embarrassed by it. "My parents are taking it really hard—especially Dad, because he's the one who taught her how to dive."

No, no, no. Don't think about Ally's parents.

I focus on the gate beside The Grille and start walking. Cool drops pelt my face like rain but unfortunately, it's just a little kid sitting on the edge of the pool kicking up the water. Splashing and splashing. The man standing in front of her—probably her father—is shielding his face, laughing.

Ally's dad cried at the hospital, open and unashamed. He tried to thank me for saving her and I just...I couldn't look him in the eye, so I left. Like a coward.

My lungs go tight and burn like I'm underwater. Like it's time to surface, to breathe, but I can't—and I can't find a place for my eyes because it's too bright out here, and hot. When did it get so damned hot?

The lurching starts. My stomach used to churn and boil like this when I was a stupid little kid, pissed-off and humiliated. Out of control. The acid climbs my throat like lava, and it's time to run. There's a row of bushes on the backside of The Grille. They're a hell of a lot closer than the bathroom.

* * *

There's only one legitimate reason for me to be in the men's locker room. I lift the lid on the fancy wooden ice chest like I'm just here doing my job, but the place is quiet. Empty. I turn the shiny gold faucet and let the water run cold before I splash my face and try to rinse the acidic tang of puke out of my mouth. The "personal care products" lined up along one end of the marble vanity are off limits to employees but in this case, I don't think the club members will mind if I use a little mouthwash.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket as I push my way out of the carved panel door but I ignore it. It's probably just—

"What the fuck, Dodge?"

Yep. Josh is waiting for me just outside the door—on a canopy-covered walkway that's off limits to shirtless employees.

"Can this wait until I get off work?" I ask.

"No. I had to hose down your breakfast, so you owe me. Explain yourself you gigantic pain in my..."

He lets the insult drift and straightens his spine for the lady golfers. Older members who frown, avert their eyes and walk a little faster.

"What the hell was that, Dodge?"

"Captain Crunch, mostly."

"That's funny, asswipe. Now tell me why you puked on my pool. Why do you even walk past the damned thing if it bothers you that much?"

I shake my head. I can't explain it. It's the same with those long drives up to the rehab center. It's just something I have to do.

"You're telling me the pool doesn't bother you?" Josh asks, all pissed-off and sarcastic. "Good, then when are you coming back to work? We're still short a guard."

"I already told you. I'm not."

"Are you swimming at The Y? Weight training? Anything?"

I've been mowing fairways and lifting golf bags. Playing video games when I get off work and asking Google about brain injuries in the middle of the night when I can't sleep.

"Fall conditioning starts next week," Josh says.

"It started this week. Coach sent me an email."

"Did he tell you to get your head out of your ass?"

Yeah, pretty much. But that's not going to happen. I can't think about diving without hearing Ally's head hit the board. I can't look at a pool without picturing her face.

"You're done, aren't you?" Josh asks but it's not really a question. "No dive team. No swim team. No social life."

"You're not going to have a job if those old ladies tell Mason you're over here without a shirt on," I tell him.

"What did Lindsay say to you?" he asks. "Something about Ally?"

Josh knows more than he should about Ally and me because smoking weed makes me get all emotional and talkative. Which is why I don't do that shit anymore.

"She ran out of here crying after your little puke-show," he says, pointing in the direction the pool.

I don't give a crap what Lindsay thinks. But her parents...

Christ, the look on Mrs. Clark's face. I didn't sleep for a week after the accident. Every time I closed my eyes, it was either Ally, sinking to the bottom of the pool or Mrs. Clark, wrecked with worry. And the thought of Ally's dad blaming himself is just...no.

It was me. My fault. I should've known Ally would try to copy me. That was always the game, wasn't it—monkey see monkey do?



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Author's note: I guess I should add a little context? lol The scene above is happening at about the same time Ally's doctor is trying to convince her that it's time to leave rehabilitation center—and dropping hints about The Yearbook Experiment. :)

So what do y'all think—do you like having this extra insight into Noah? Should I keep posting his POV scenes? Let me know with a vote or a comment if the mood strikes you. And as always, thanks so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️