Undeclared (10 page)

“So I was thinking about going to the movies tonight. You want to come?” Noah was saying.

“Um, yeah, that would be awesome.” Mike looked suitably surprised, as any normal human being would be when some total stranger came up and asked them to see a movie.

“Great. Grace here is going to come, and I’m bringing a friend,” Noah emphasized the friend with a wink at Mike. He winked back uncertainly, his eyelid lowering slowly as if he wasn’t sure what he was winking about. I wasn’t sure either. Noah was bringing a friend? We were doubling?

Then my heart sank to my feet when I saw that Sarah was working the periodical desk and had heard this entire exchange. Her expression accused me of violating the girlfriend code.

I wanted to jump back there and assure her that I didn’t have designs on her boy, and that despite the fact that she and Mike were not dating, I considered him off-limits. But I couldn’t do that and keep up my stupid fiction with Noah. I’d have to explain myself later, if she let me.

I extricated myself from the situation moments later by saying I had an appointment at noon. I left Noah standing there chatting with Mike about some kind of fighting stance.

Noah

Grace’s abrupt departure, while her man of interest was throwing a head fake, was more encouraging than anything she had said all morning. When Grace brought up Mike during breakfast, her tone made me instantly suspicious. She drew out the name slowly, like she had to make one up. My first thought was that she was faking. When the name was attached to a real person, someone she worked with at the library, I admit that I may have had a moment of doubt.

But seeing him, I couldn’t believe it. While Grace wasn’t super-communicative in her letters about her dating life, this guy didn’t fit her. He wore jeans that were so tight I wondered if they were from the women’s section of the store. I wanted to lop off those stupid-ass bangs of his. I could barely see his eyes. I didn’t trust anyone whose eyes I couldn’t stare straight into. This guy looked like a stiff breeze might snap him in half.

If I pictured Grace with anyone, something I tried not to do, it would be someone like her brother. A jock. Or, because she loved photography, maybe one of those foreign war correspondents. But not this guy, who looked like he spent more time in front of the mirror than an entire sorority house.

Inviting him and Grace to a movie was risky, but if I was there, I could get a better sense of whether she actually liked him—in which case I’d have to kill him—or whether she was just using him to put me off.

It could be that Grace was just setting up a series of tests for me to pass, like the
Twelve Labours of Hercules.
That was fine. I’d complete each challenge, and then we could be done with it.

Even though my reunion plans were less than stellar, it was all working out. Grace was talking to me. I didn’t have to skulk around campus anymore. I was putting together the final piece of my overall plan. Get out of the Marines, get a degree, get Grace.

It was all going to work out fine. I pulled out my phone to text her, only to realize that I still hadn’t gotten her number.

Item number one. Get Grace’s number.

Chapter Six

Grace,

I’m sorry I haven’t written for what must seem like months now. I’m currently sitting on my rucksack, with an envelope addressed to you on the bed. I’ve been writing you back lots of things in my head, but I can’t seem to find one minute to actually put pen to paper. By the time you get this, I’m not even sure where I’ll be.

I ended up getting two of your packages at the forward operating base. Mail delivery is really spotty of late. We are all cursing and celebrating the supply truck’s appearance. Cursing because it never gets here on time and celebrating because of its assful of goodness.

I was the most popular guy for a day when I opened those packages. And yeah, we got a ton of mileage out of hazing Bo with the movie The Notebook. He does kind of look like the guy who plays the lead.

Yours,

Noah

P.S. Weather. So cold I’m wearing socks to sleep.

Grace

I slammed the apartment door open. I’m surprised we don’t have gouges in the wall from all the times I’ve banged the door open.

Lana was lying on the sofa, and Amy was sitting in my chair painting her toenails. Being used to my door dramatics, Lana didn’t move, but from Amy’s curses, I must have made her mess up a nail.

“What happened?” Lana called as I walked over to the kitchen to pour myself some water.

“Noah just asked me to go on a date with him,” I paused, and Lana and Amy started to squeal with excitement. “But I’m going with Mike Walsh, and Noah’s bringing a ‘good’ friend.” I held up my fingers to do air quotes around the word good.

The squeals turned to groans of dismay. “No way,” Lana said.

“Yes way. Worse, this girl who I work with was there when Noah set up the double date, and she has a crush on Mike. She looked like I had stabbed her in the heart with a fork.”

“You kind of did,” Amy pointed out.

“How’d this happen?” Lana asked.

“I told Noah I was interested in Mike,” I admitted. Groans from both girls filled the air.

“Why?” they both exclaimed.

“Because I didn’t want him to think I was some pathetic dolt who sat around waiting for two years for some guy to come and say ‘Let’s be friends,’” I gave a half-hearted defense of my stupidity.

“Bet you didn’t expect this,” Amy said, completely deadpan. I almost lunged for her. Lana glared at her, and Amy drew back and made a zipping motion with her fingers over her mouth.

“What are you going to do?” Lana asked.

“Have the best damn time of my life tonight.” I stomped into my room and slammed the door shut.

“What about the picture?” Amy called after me. I held back a sigh. I had already bailed on the picture once, and Amy was super nice to let it go. She didn’t deserve any blowback for my recent wave of flakiness. I picked up my backpack that carried my camera and my laptop. My phone was fully charged, so I quickly scrolled through my contacts and found Mike’s number.

Meet you at library tonight?

Sure,
came the quick response.

The campus movie theater, the Varsity, sat on the very edge of the south end of campus, down by the diner. We’d just walk. I didn’t want this to appear any more date-like than it already did.

I pulled the backpack on and picked up my tripod. Opening my bedroom door, I said to both, “Let’s go.”

As we descended, I could hear footsteps on the stairs below. Noah’s face appeared around the next turn.

“Great. I didn’t want to be late for my tutorial,” Noah smiled at us. I heard Amy give a breathy sigh behind me.

“I’m the assistant,” Lana told Noah.

I muttered, “Fine,” motioning him to turn and go down the stairs.

At the porch, Noah stopped me and tugged at my backpack with one hand, grabbing the tripod with the other. For a moment I resisted until I realized how ridiculous we looked, as if we were two dogs fighting over a bone. I let both the backpack and the tripod go.

“Let me guess—something to do with your momma.” I rolled my eyes.

Noah shrugged on the backpack. “I had it easier than you, you know.”

“I don’t think that just because you lost your mom when you were born, and I lost my dad when I was twelve that you had it easier than me,” I replied softly. I didn’t want Lana or Amy to hear me, but I also didn’t want Noah to believe I thought his loss was less than mine. As if sensing I needed a moment, Lana hurried a reluctant Amy along.

“It’s true. I don’t think you can miss what you don’t know,” Noah replied.

“Sure you can.” I think Noah missed his mother more than he ever would admit.

“I don’t have memories of her, but you have twelve years of them with your dad.

“I also didn’t have someone blaming me for my dad’s death like your dad has.”

“Are we going to try to out-horrible the other?” Noah ran a hand through his hair.

“Out-horrible?”

“Like my life is more horrible than yours?” Noah explained.

I shook my head. “Is that what I’m doing? Because I didn’t mean to.”

“I know it wasn’t,” he let out a deep breath. “This is too heavy a discussion for a sunny day.”

I looked up and squinted. Full midday sun.

“What’s wrong?” Noah asked. Maybe I did have a black-ants-on-a-white-blanket face.

“I’m just hoping for a little cloud cover.”

“Why is that? I thought pictures needed a lot of light.”

“Full sun is great for taking photos of the sky, but it casts hard shadows and makes even really beautiful people look kind of awful. You have to have a lot of experience to take good full sun pictures, and I’m not there yet.”

Noah opened his mouth, but I jumped in to add, “And don’t say that’s why I should major in art, because the best way to become a better photographer is just to practice.”

“Fair enough. Tell me about how you create these pictures that look like Bo’s old mechanical football game with the tiny plastic guys.”

“I’ll do better than that,” I said. “I’ll show you.”

After climbing the three flights of stairs to a messy room at the top of the Delt house, I was grateful Noah was carrying my bag and tripod. Lana and I were both a bit winded, as was Jack, who escorted us up. Two younger Delts stood in the room frantically trying clean up, but it was too late. While a path from the door to the windows had been cleared, it still smelled like old socks and pizza boxes. Red plastic cups lay haphazardly on their sides, and the two desks pushed away from the window were piled high with video game boxes, textbooks, and a variety of T-shirts.

“Sorry,” Jack said as we entered. He glared at the two fleeing Delts. It looked like someone was likely to get a house punishment later.

I took my tripod from Noah, and set it in front of the window. “Can we take the screen out?” I asked Jack.

“Sure.” He walked over and peered around the sill. I could tell he didn’t know how to remove it. Noah gently nudged him aside and pulled two clips from the bottom, tugged the screen out and set it aside.

I pulled out my camera and clipped the base onto the tripod. Noah stepped closer until his arm brushed mine.

For a moment, I just paused. It seemed too unreal that Noah was standing next to me while I was taking a photograph. I wanted to yell at him, and, at the same time, I wanted to burrow under his arm and wrap myself in his scent. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to clear my head, but instead my nose filled with the clean, warm male aroma that made me think of parks in mid-spring when all the greenery was sprouting and there was freshly turned dirt in all the flower beds.

“So Lana, you do this stuff too?” Jack’s overly loud voice reminded me why we were all here. Or at least why I was here. And it wasn’t to sniff Noah’s T-shirt and imagine we were running through a field of daisies.

“‘This stuff’ as in photography?” Lana replied, waving in my direction as I positioned my camera. I peered through the lens and saw Amy signaling me from across the street. I debated whether I should get a stronger zoom lens out.

“Um, yeah.” Jack sounded confused by the impatient tone in Lana’s voice.

“I told you last night I was a psych major.”

“Oh, ah, that’s right.” Clearly Jack had little memory of the night. Too many tequila shots. “So a psych major. That’s like head stuff.”

Noah and I looked at each other, and I could read his expression just as well as he could read mine. We shared a private grin. Jack’s presidency here at the Delts wasn’t due to his big brain. Either that or Jack’s ability to think was being short-circuited by Lana’s presence. This was a definite possibility. If anyone I knew belonged on a magazine cover, it was Lana.

She was one of my favorite subjects, although she rarely allowed me to take her picture. Her eating disorder left her with a distorted self-image, and, though the photographs I took of her showed how gorgeous she was, she never quite believed I didn’t use some secret photography trick. I’d given up trying to explain that the distortion happens in her head and not with my lens. But I guess we all had our blind spots. Mine was standing right next to me, so I couldn’t judge Lana too harshly.

“Tell me how this works,” Noah ordered. I refrained from rolling my eyes and saluting. If I did, it might give him the idea he could give me instructions all the time.

“Most of the time, when you take a picture, you are trying to take a straight-on photograph. With tilt shift, you’re tricking the eye into thinking you’re seeing something closer than it really is by focusing on a point or object from a distance and then blurring the edges. I have the camera on the rails so it can move up and down,” I gestured toward the two thin metal rods on either side of the camera. “The tilt is the pivot here on the lens.” I moved the lens and tilted it up and down to show how it hinged at angles away from the body of the camera. “Some real pros can do it without all this equipment, and some just use computer hacks.”