Undeclared (The Woodlands) Read online

  My plans for the party instantly changed. The guys could host it without me. It’s not like they included me in the planning stage anyway. Maybe I should’ve waited for an invitation, but you make your own opportunities.

  “Can I give you a ride? I wouldn’t mind seeing State play.”

  She nibbled on her lip. This time I did wait for a response. I needed assent here. I couldn’t really just show up at her apartment and throw her into the cab of my truck. Or could I? Even for me, that might be a touch too controlling.

  I tried to look as non-threatening as possible while inwardly urging her to cave. Having her to myself in a vehicle for several hours, schmoozing her brother, and staying overnight with her someplace was better than bringing her to a loud, out-of-control party. I’d even honestly answer the“ Have you killed anyone?” question that every civilian asks a returned soldier instead of my usual smart-ass response of“ not tonight, but it’s still early.”

  “No,” she said finally. “I’ve got a ride.” She didn’t look at me. Her eyes were aimed at my hands, which were clenched together between my legs. Clenched together so I wouldn’t drag her onto my lap and force her to acknowledge that what had built between us for four years just needed some physical manifestation to make it all real and permanent.

  “Who?” I asked, as if I had the right to know. If it was Mike, I was going to go out there and make it physically impossible for him to walk for three days, let alone drive a couple hundred miles.

  “Don’t know. Friends of someone who knows Josh, I guess. He arranged it.”

  I couldn’t believe this. She was going off with some strangers in their car? “How do you know that they aren’t going to try and make a skinsuit out of you?”

  “Um, because they are Central students.” She looked at me as if I was insane. Maybe I was. Being near Grace and not having her was turning me inside out. “I’m pretty sure Josh wouldn’t send me off with a couple of ‘Natural Born Killers,’ but I promise that if one of them looks even remotely like Woody Harrelson, I won’t get in the car with them on Saturday.”

  She patted my leg like I was five. I wasn’t going to be able to see her until she got back from the game on Sunday, then. Thursday night I was scheduled to meet with some scouts from a fight management team who were going to watch me spar a guy from a neighboring gym on Friday. There was a lot of potential money riding on the outcome of this week, and I couldn’t afford a Grace-like distraction in the gym.

  “I should get back,” Grace said and stood up. I followed her out of the stacks. I cast around for some excuse to see her before she left.

  “Hey, do you mind if I use your shower in the morning? I want to run on campus before classes.”

  Grace turned to me with a skeptical look on her face. “Why not just use the locker room?”

  “Grace, do you shower in the locker room at the Phys Ed Center?”

  She made a face and conceded my point. “Sure, I guess. That’s what friends are for, right?”

  “Right. When are you done?” As soon as we’re done here, I’d go and find the dictionaries and start defacing the word“ friend.” I hated it and worse, I was the first to use it. I felt like I was getting slapped in the face with that stupid, shit-ass letter I wrote two years ago. Did I just come out and admit what a fuck-up I was? The whole point of waiting to come and see Grace was to present a non fucked up version of myself.

  “I close.” Her face was down. I couldn’t see what she was feeling. I wished I was better at reading people or really just at reading Grace. Instead, I nutted up and said, “Cool. I’m going upstairs to study, and then I’ll come down at closing and walk you home.” We were almost back to the reference desk by then.

  “No need, man,” Mike called. “I’m closing, too, so I can walk Grace home.” Like hell you will.

  “I need to walk Grace home,” I said slowly. “To drop off the clothes I’m going to be storing in her closet.” Mike’s mouth opened as if to say something, then it closed. Yeah, what could he say to that? Grace turned to me, beet red, her mouth slightly open as if she was shocked. Did she really care if this guy thought we were sleeping together? I didn’t. I wanted him to spread the word far and wide so that no one else would think it was okay to hit on her.

  Grace turned toward Mike. “Oh, Noah just keeps clothes in my closet so he doesn’t have to drag around the extra change of clothing he needs after he’s done showering.” I hid a smile. That was a poor-ass explanation if she was trying to make it seem like we were just friends.

  “So,” I said, turning back to Grace and dismissing Mike. “I’ll come down when the library closes. If you have a break, I’ll be in the same place where we studied before.”

  Grace just nodded, and I reluctantly left her. I heard Mike say, “I thought you were just friends.”

  Her response was, “It’s a long story.” One she hadn’t shared with Mike.

  When I came down after the warning bell sounded, Mike was gone, and Grace was alone. On the walk toward her apartment, I asked, “Is that guy hassling you?”

  “Mike?” she asked, looking confused. “No, not at all.”

  I was unconvinced. “He seems like a punk.”

  “A what?!” she laughed.

  “Am I going to have to take him out back and teach him some respect?” It was more of a literal question than a hypothetical one.

  “Mike’s a good guy. There are a lot of girls who work there, and I think he just feels responsible, like a dad.”

  “Or a lecher.” Dad, my ass. Mike probably stroked one off every night he worked with Grace. That’s what I’d do. After nearly an hour of unproductive studying, I had decided that I was going to play it straight with Grace. No more of this friend shit. I was going to mark my place in her life, and she’d come around.

  She smiled. “Lecher? That’s very 1800s of you, Mr. Jackson.” My new tactic seemed to be paying off. Grace was flirting with me. I returned her smile with one of my own.

  “Punk didn’t seem to break through for you so I’m trying different descriptive terms until I find one that sticks.”

  “I like ‘lecher,’” she said, holding her hands behind her back. “It’s got a certain resonance. Do you really have clothes to drop off?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’ll bring those in the morning. I just wanted to make sure Mike got my message.”

  “What message was that?” she asked with what sounded like a little giddiness in her voice. She might protest that we were just friends, but I was starting to think she liked my show of possessiveness. I’d try to keep to only small doses until I built up her tolerance for me.

  “That if you need company on your way home, it’ll be me,” I said firmly. It wasn’t exactly like I was peeing on her leg, but kind of. While she was going off this weekend without me, I felt like we were turning a corner to someplace better. Hopefully a place that had a bed and lots of nudity.

  Chapter Nine

  Dear Grace,

  I think what you feel on my letters is dust. I’m bummed that it is on my letters to you. They say it’s sand, but it’s finer than that. It’s like the particles that make up the sand, and it is everywhere. When you get home on leave and wash for the first time, you have to stand under the water for at least twenty minutes, all the while watching the black dust collect and pool at your feet, creating coffee-colored water that swirls down the drain.

  I don’t think you can ever fully erase the dust from your belongings. It sticks with you no matter how long you let the water wash over you or how many times you wipe it away. Like the tension I have in being weaponless and exposed back home, the dust is one of the many things I’ll carry with me when I’m out.

  I’m sorry that it is invading your space now through my letters. It’s like I’m spreading a contaminant. Am I Patient Zero, or are you?

  I probably shouldn’t have volunteered for a third tour, but combat pay is hard to turn down. After three years here, though, I feel like I am a loosely
contained conglomerate of those particles of dust.

  Yours,

  Noah

  Grace

  I got a text that my ride would arrive in fifteen minutes. I rushed around and threw together a change of clothing and toiletries, which I stuffed into a backpack that wasn’t full of my camera equipment. I then pulled on a pair of jeans, flats, and my State T-shirt. Over that, I wore a State replica jersey that had my brother’s name and number ironed on the back. I wrote a quick note for Lana:

  Off to see Josh play today. Won’t be back until tomorrow. ~ G

  My ride was a couple. They had agreed to drive me in exchange for tickets to the game. I wasn’t sure if they were Josh’s tickets or someone else’s. The girl told me she was hung over and planned to sleep the entire ride, which sounded like a pretty awesome plan to me. Alone in the back seat, I closed my eyes and was out before the car even left the city limits.

  Once we got there, they dropped me off at the gate and went to park.

  Not a skin suit yet, I texted impulsively to Noah. I almost wished I had taken him up on his invitation to come with me.

  I received an immediate response. They could be saving their gruesome acts until the ride home.

  I took a picture of their license plate. You know what to do if I don’t show up at the library on Sunday. I sent Noah the picture I had taken.

  Don’t mock me. Rather have a pic of you.

  Like Lana, I had my own body insecurities and preferred to be on the other side of the camera. The lens side.

  Can’t. Never learned how to take selfie.

  Noah replied with a picture of Finn and Bo wrestling a keg into place in what must be Noah’s backyard. Party won’t be good without you.

  Are you camera shy too?

  Nah, just withholding the good stuff ‘til I see you.

  Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

  If that’s true, I expect a really warm welcome when you get back tomorrow.

  We were flirting. Even a dunderhead like me could pick that up. Giddiness spread through my body, and, while I missed Noah, I realized that I needed this. This small separation reminded me of what it was like when Noah had sent me that Dear Jane letter telling me we should just be friends. I remembered how empty I had felt after that letter, an emptiness that Noah filled when I saw him again on campus. It was easy to be prickly within his steady presence, but now that we were away once more, I realized how much I wanted to be with him.

  When I got back, it would be no more games. I would tell him straight out how much he hurt me, how much I wanted him, and how scared I was. Then the ball would be in his court.

  I realized then that is what I should do with the Art program, too. I needed to stop living the fear of failure. By not submitting my photographs to be reviewed, I was guaranteeing my continued failure, just like Lana had said. Sure it was easy to say that photography was just my hobby or that I didn’t want to infect it with money. But I needed to grow up and accept my lumps, whatever they may be. I had survived one break-up with Noah; I could make it through another. I could even survive rejection from the art department.

  I guess we’ll see tomorrow how warm I can be. I texted back, deliberately provocative. So brave, I thought to myself, when I didn’t have to be there in front of Noah. His response took a minute, but when it came, I felt flushed with excitement and happiness.

  Sorry for the delay in replying. Had to adjust myself. Can’t wait. Be safe and don’t look at anyone but your brother.

  Yes, sir. I wished there was a salute emoticon, but there wasn’t, so I sent a winking smiley face. ;)

  I headed for the will call booth to pick up my tickets. Inside the envelope with my name on it were two tickets, a lanyard, and a note from Josh.

  Come to the Fieldhouse after the game. Someone will let you in. Just wait for me.

  The game was a blowout. Everyone was scoring touchdowns for State, and Josh was pulled from the game early in the fourth quarter. I sighed in relief and happiness. Post-game celebratory attitudes were a lot more fun to deal with than the post-game mopes. I had taken some great photographs early in the first quarter and then went down to sit in the friends and family section.

  I said hello to the parents I recognized. Nate Levacki’s parents both hugged me and said they missed me but promised that they took good care of Josh whenever I missed a game. Nate, who we all called by his last name, was Josh’s roommate and the starting tight end. Mom never came to Josh’s games and after the first year, Levacki’s parents finally stopped asking about her.

  By the time I got down to the Fieldhouse, the team had apparently already started changing, as several of the players drifted out toward the exit with street clothes and wet hair. Josh, unfortunately, didn’t show up for at least thirty minutes more.

  By that time, I had stretched out onto the floor along one wall within the hallway of the Fieldhouse, the painted white brick walls protecting me on one side and my backpack serving as my pillow. I threw my arm over my eyes to protect them from the harsh fluorescents that lit the hallway. I was a little tired from the game and the drive. Josh finally showed up and woke me from my nap by nearly stepping on me.

  “Nice bed, Grace,” Levacki smirked.

  “I wouldn’t have had to lie down if you prima donnas hadn’t taken time to Bieberize your hair.” I referenced his carefully styled sideswept bangs and stood up.

  “I’ve got to give the ladies an excuse to brush the hair out of my eyes,” Levacki replied, swinging his head to the side so his bangs lifted and resettled.

  “Guys who wear more product in their hair than a girl are never going to get laid,” I said.

  “Kids, kids, kids.” Josh laid a hand on both of our shoulders and separated us, forestalling any sexually suggestive comeback Levacki might have had. Josh liked to pretend I was still twelve and tried to prevent any male from saying anything that intimated I might know what a penis was or what it was used for.

  Another teammate of Josh’s came up and slapped him on the back. “Good game. See you at West End?” The teammate peered around Levacki and Josh at me. I gave a little wave. “You can bring the chick. She’s hot.”

  “This is my sister, you asshole,” Josh scowled. The reference to my supposed hotness got Levacki’s back up, as well, and he pushed the teammate away. “We’re not taking her to that hell hole.”

  The player shrugged and walked off. “Your loss,” echoed down the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Some girl Levacki is seeing suggested a new bar that has a battle of the bands tonight.”

  That did sound halfway entertaining, plus I could tease Levacki about his new girlfriend. We grabbed some food and went back to the guys’ apartment, where we all played video games for a bit. Several other of Josh’s teammates arrived. Josh pulled me into the kitchen to grill me about why I was staying overnight. Usually I just did a day trip but this time, I asked Josh to find me a ride that would stay until tomorrow.

  “Don’t give me this bullshit about missing me, either,” he warned. I hopped up on the counter while Josh pulled a beer out of the refrigerator.

  I picked at the label of the bottle he handed me. “I just wanted to get away from Central.”

  “What about this Noah kid?”

  Oh, Lana. She had apparently called Josh in a preemptive move, and now he was going to flex his big brother muscle. I rolled my eyes.

  “Just some guy,” I shredded the label with my fingers, pulling off one soggy bit at time. The bits felt wet and cold in my hand, like used Kleenex. It was kind of gross. I shook the mashed-up label onto the counter.

  “Some guy you wrote to for four years showed up on your doorstep out of the blue?” He sounded skeptical.

  “How do you know all of that?” I asked shocked.

  Josh threw me a disbelieving look. “You are my sister. We lived in the same house. Hello.”

  I shrugged. “You never asked me about it.”

 
“It didn’t seem important at the time, but now that he’s come halfway across the country to go to same college as you, I think he qualifies as a person of interest.” Josh was getting his criminal justice degree. He wanted to go FBI if the football thing didn’t work out for him.

  “We’re just friends,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell Josh anything until Noah and I had settled things between us. Maybe it was part superstition, but mostly it was just self-preservation. If I admitted to having feelings for Noah, this lecture from Josh could be unending.

  “But Lana said—”

  I held up my hand and interrupted him. “It’s really no big deal. I can’t imagine you want to think about my love life.”

  He grimaced. “Right. Okay. Well, be careful. Guys suck. They only want one thing. Lecture over.”

  Thank goodness. I was right to keep my developing relationship with Noah private. After Josh kicked everyone out, he and I piled into Levacki’s car and headed to the bar where the bands were playing. Josh had handed me an ID. “It’s an old ID from a sorority sister of Levacki’s new girl. So remember when we get to the door your name is ‘Sara.’’”

  “Can I keep this?”

  Levacki shrugged from the driver’s seat. “Why not? I’ll just say you lost it or something.”

  “Cool.” My own fake wasn’t even a fake but a real license with a picture of a brunette who didn’t look much like me, though in the dark light of a nightclub it could easily pass as legitimate. This would be useful if Noah and I wanted to go out.

  When we got to the club, the bouncer recognized Josh and waved us through without requiring us to pay cover or show our IDs. Josh’s celebrity can be a hassle at times, but admittedly it got us a few nice perks. Someone had even set up a roped-off area for the bands that were competing, and a couple of tables were cleared off and set up for Josh, Nate, and the other players who came.

  Our corner was right off the dance floor. I could tell that other girls were wondering how I came to be with Josh and Nate. Once they found out I was Josh’s sister, every time I went to the bathroom one of them would be there telling me how pretty I was so that I could report back to Josh how nice they were. I wanted to tell them that a) this hadn’t worked since I was twelve, and b) there was no way Josh would bring home some girl from the bar when I was with him.