by James, Clare
I finish just as a shadow appears over my screen.
“Hi, Tabby,” Jules says in a small voice.
“Hi,” I say, excited to have some company.
“Can I join you?” she asks.
I push a chair out with my feet. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”
Jules takes a seat; her eyes are red and puffy.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Not really,” she says.
“Guy trouble?”
“Foster trouble,” she says.
I had a feeling they were more than just friends.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“That’s the same question I asked him,” she says as a tear rolls down her cheek.
“I’m here,” I tell her. “If you want to talk.”
She doesn’t answer and I don’t push. I know better. Sometimes you just need to be. I can tell that’s what she needs. She’ll talk when she’s ready.
I hand her half my sandwich.
She forces a smile, but it’s her eyes that say, “Thank you.”
We eat.
Chapter 21
I’m the first person to arrive at English Lit, so I decide to get started on the next book: That Was Then, This Is Now. It was one of the few books Noah and I both read in high school, so it was an easy choice.
Professor Sands’ class is the only time I’m fully present on campus—my body is always on high alert, my insides flipping until the moment I see Noah walk in. I usually make it to class first so he has to walk past me to get to his desk . Once he does, I warm instantly. Where Jenna is a disruption, Noah is a distraction.
He makes me forget about everything. When I’m around him, I feel normal. Better than normal.
During each class, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention with his every sound, shift of his feet, and movement in his desk. Once in a while, he lightly taps a rhythm on his desk with his pencil. I don’t think he realizes he does it. Other times, he softly hums a tune and I completely melt. On those days, it’s like we’re the only two people in class, until Jenna interrupts with a giggle, or whisper, or theatrical sigh. Then I can feel Noah watching her. He says they’re only friends, but I still have my doubts. Thankfully, I don’t have to face any of this today. I couldn’t ask for a better gift than her absence from school.
I watch the door and wait for Noah, wondering what he’s wearing today, hoping he’ll flash his dimple before he sits down. I even find myself looking forward to our project, just to spend more time with him. Still, I know I have to be careful.
My mind is on overdrive, until Sands starts the class. Then it comes to a crashing halt. I turn around in case I somehow missed him. His desk is empty. There’s no Noah in class today.
My brain betrays me as I begin to imagine that Noah and Jenna skipped class. They’re together at his apartment. I can see it in my head. Though I have never been in Noah’s home, I can picture it. His futon is pulled out and they’re lying down looking into each other’s eyes, his arm is wrapped around her tiny waist. Her cute boots are neatly tucked by the side of the bed. Noah probably slipped them off to give her a foot rub. He’d have floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and interesting mementos. Inspirational posters, like the one of the guy climbing Mount Everest with the caption: Nothing is Out of Reach, decorate his walls. A green drum set sits in the corner. A picture of Jenna adorns his desk.
“Tabby.” A quiet voice snaps me back to reality. “Tabby, are you in there?” the voice asks. It’s Professor Sands.
“I’m sorry.” I try to recover and shake off the disturbing scene I created for Noah and Jenna.
“No problem.” He smiles. “I just wanted to let you know that Noah is out today for Sukkot.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about and apparently it shows.
“It’s a Jewish holiday,” he says.
It takes me a minute. I didn’t know Noah was Jewish. How strange. I wonder if that’s his excuse for skipping out with Jenna. I mean, the first night I met him he was wearing a cross for crying out loud.
“I’ll let you guys be the last group for the presentation,” Professor Sands says. “That way you’ll have some extra time to prepare. Have you selected your novel yet?”
I nod and hold up the thin paperback.
“Good.” Professor Sands clasps his hands before going back to his desk to address the class.
“Now, as you select your books for this next assignment, I only want you to consider literature that speaks to you,” he says. “I want to hear about a book that taught you something new, or helped you lose yourself for a while, brought you comfort, or made you angry—”
He cuts himself off and laughs, knowing he’s getting carried away. “Well, you get the idea.”
There are a few questions and Professor Sands graciously answers them. Then he waves his hand theatrically, and leaves us to our books.
***
On the way home, I try not to think about Noah even though I feel the weight of his fleece in my bag. I brought it to class to return it to him after he let me wear it the other day, although I want nothing more than to keep it.
When I reach his street, I can’t help but stare down the winding road hoping to catch a glimpse of him going to temple or whatever it is you do to celebrate Sukkot. I don’t see a thing.
My apartment is too quiet when I get home, but this time I’m not happy to be alone or in a rush to bury myself in my nest. I am…restless. I’m caught up with all my studies, as well as the paper, so I put my messenger bag in the closet, next to the bag of ballet slippers Michael brought me. I take them out and grab my favorite pair.
With nothing better to do, I put them on.
They feel good. Perfect, actually. Like they’re meant to be there.
I lift my full-length mirror off my closet door and lean it against the wall and then pull up Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons on my iPod.
In front of the mirror, I find first position. It looks natural and feels even better.
I’m home and finally decide it’s time to try.
In first position, my toes pointed out and arms taut yet graceful, I bend into demi-plié. Down four counts and up four counts, I do the same progression through all five positions.
Back in first, I demi, further the bend into grand plié, and then roll up on my toes into relevé. After four counts of eight, I point the toes on my right foot and extend my leg, sliding into the wide stance of second position to do the sequence again.
I move through the positions for several counts before it’s time for the fancy footwork, as Michael used to call it. I start with battement tendus—drawing a line with my toes as I extend my right foot forward, and then erase the line as I bring it back in.
Soon, everything clicks and I’m tethered in a web of music and movement.
I feel tall and lithe.
I love the beauty of it. The slow, graceful pace. It takes so much concentration, I think of nothing else. I’m in a trance. All dance can feel that way at times, but with ballet it’s even stronger. Maybe because each movement is slow and deliberate—each movement is really its own work of art.
I extend my right leg to the front four times, to the side, to the back, and side again, before switching to the left leg. After a good thirty minutes of fancy footwork, adding in frappes and ronde jambes, my legs burn.
It’s heaven.
Chapter 22
After my little workout, I feel so good I tackle Mom’s emails. I whip through them, keeping the most recent message open on my computer. I hit reply and write:
Hey Mom,
Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get back to you. I’m just trying to get used to the university, the people, and the coursework here. Starting over is harder than I thought it’d be.
Heard we’re all spending Thanksgiving together. Sounds good. I haven’t seen you for so long I’m starting to forget what you look like.
Say hi to Michael for me. And Stephe
n too.
Love,
T
Two could play at her game. She wants to judge and push and make me feel like shit with her snappy emails; I’ll dish mine up with a nice big dose of guilt. Touché!
It doesn’t make me feel better though; that’s the trouble. I’ve played the martyr too long. I hate to even go there, but maybe Dr. Payne has a point when she says I need to stop being a victim. A very small point. Not wanting to think about that or Mom any longer, I go outside to take a walk.
The temperature falls steadily as the sun begins to drop. It makes my nose run. I grab both the Kleenex and earbuds out of my pocket and make a left toward the park. My gloveless hands find warmth in the sleeves of my jacket.
Pumpkins and cornstalks decorate the porches and front stoops of the homes on my block. There’s a group of boys playing football in one of the front yards.
This is what normal looks like.
Once I get to the park, I grab a swing, close my eyes, and pump my legs. I move through the air in my own little world until someone grabs my feet.
I pull away and yank out my earbuds just in time to hear a familiar sound.
“Want some candy, little girl?”
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. He is literally breathtaking with his flushed skin and bright eyes.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strange boys in the park,” I tell him, grinning like an idiot. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be praying or fasting or something?”
“How did you know about that?” He sits on the swing next to me and rocks. His legs drag on the ground while mine dangle in the air.
“Professor Sands told me you were out of school for Sukkot,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Were you missing me at class today, Tabby?”
Yes!
I can feel the heat reach my cheeks but hope it passes for cold rather than embarrassment.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I smirk. “We started our projects today and Sands said we could have some extra time before our presentations because you’d be out for the Jewish holidays.” I raise an eyebrow. “Which is odd because I seem to remember somebody wearing a cross.”
“Guilty,” he says. “I have Buddhist beads too. I guess you could say I have a fascination with religion. I’m half Jewish, but I like to dabble in other faiths as well.”
“What? Like the boy in Life of Pi?”
“Kind of.” He bumps his swing into mine.
“Anyway, Sukkot is legit. I have the crazy family at my parents’ house to prove it.”
“They live close then?”
“Yep, first suburb to the west. I just got back and needed some air before I head to the paper. It’s been a long day.”
“I get that.” Boy, do I ever. I try to keep my eyes on his instead of staring at the way his sweatshirt hugs his chest.
“Ya know, I wanted to call you today to tell you I would be out and we’d have to reschedule our study session, but I didn’t have your number.”
He reaches in his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, and raises his eyebrows in question.
I bite my tongue and try to act like it’s completely normal for a guy to ask me for my phone number. It is a little easier knowing it’s only for homework purposes.
He punches in the numbers I give him and my heart beats faster with each one.
“Well, I better move,” he says. “I have a lead on a big story and I need to jump on it before someone else does.”
“Good luck,” I say, more than disappointed he’s leaving so soon.
He puts his hands on my shoulders and rubs my arms. “You need to dress better for the weather, Tabby. Get home before you get sick out here.”
Little does he know that my chattering teeth have nothing to do with the temperature outside.
My eyes follow him all the way out of the park. When he makes it onto the street, a red car stops and the guys inside try to get his attention. He ignores them and keeps walking. They yell something, but I can’t make out what they say.
Noah turns around with heat I’ve never seen in his face. I can hear his voice over the wind and the car’s engine. It’s clear as a bell. “No,” he shoots back, his hands bound in fists by his side. “I’m done with that shit. I’m done.”
Chapter 23
Once the weekend arrives, I’m the most productive I’ve been in months. Friday evening I spend at the paper, updating all the material for my independent study and proofing a few of the stories that have already been filed for Monday’s edition.
Saturday, I’m up early brushing up on dance technique. After lunch, I head to the library to study. I’m in a definite groove. By the end of the weekend, I plan to be ahead with most of my coursework. Or so I think, before I run into Jules.
“How much studying do you have to do today?” Jules whispers, sliding in the seat across from me.
“It’s all gravy, now,” I tell her, completely proud of myself of everything I’ve accomplished so far. I’m feeling a little like the old me and my goody-two-shoes way. It helps that I can concentrate without the snickers and stares that had become my life on campus in Illinois.
“Great, then it’s settled,” Jules says.
“What’s settled?”
“Drinks and dinner on me.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. You never come out with any of the newspaper people, and I haven’t seen you at any bars or parties. Have you been anywhere besides your apartment and campus since school started?”
“Does my parents’ house count?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Jules looks disgusted.
“I was out with my brother a few weeks ago,” I say in defense.
“Still no,” she says.
“I’m just not really the partying type.”
“What about the eating type? I’m not talking about a bar. Just dinner and maybe some tequila. There’s a great Mexican place that’s a staple around here.”
“Okay,” I give into her. It’s easy to do when she’s so damn enthusiastic.
“Great.” She stands. “But if we want a table, we need to get down there now.”
Jules drags me from the library and we walk to Locos Tacos since it’s only a few blocks away. Jules bounces along in her little pixie way, she’s added in some purple highlights to her hair and they swing behind her.
But as we close in on couple making out on the side walk, her entire body starts to slump.
Foster.
He’s groping a leggy blonde and the scene is obviously upsetting to Jules. She grabs my hand and pulls me past them—until he hears us approach. Foster’s eyes lock on Jules and he quickly distances himself from the blonde.
“Hey, shorty,” he says, stuttering on the s. His eyes are glossy and his body sways. “Hi, Tabby,” he says to me.
I wave, but Jules just rolls her eyes at him and continues to tug me along.
“I hope you saved some booze for the rest of us,” Jules calls back to Foster. “It’s only five o’clock you know.”
I don’t say anything the rest of the walk. I know she’s upset and needs to calm down so I just let her go off as she mutters, asshole, dumbass, moron under her breath.
When we arrive, I can see Jules wasn’t kidding about the crowd. We snag the last table in the corner of the restaurant. A waitress brings over chips and salsa and we order margaritas with an extra shot of tequila.
“So you got it bad for him, huh?” I ask when we’re alone.
“That obvious?” She drops her head to the table.
“Only to someone who’s been there,” I tell her, thinking of Noah. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I won’t bother you with the drama-filled story, but I could give you the cliff notes version.”
“Bring it,” I tell her as our drinks arrive.
“We used to date. It didn’t work out, but we still couldn’t keep our hands off each
other, so it became a “friends with benefits” situation. It made me feel like shit and I put an end to it and now Foster’s become a total manwhore.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Exactly,” Jules says. “But it is what it is.”
“Wow. You’re taking it surprisingly well. How is that possible?”
“Balls of steel,” she deadpans before breaking into an infectious laugh.
I immediately join in, clinking my glass to hers. The tequila helps loosen me up and I can’t believe how much I’ve missed girl time.
“Could I borrow them sometime?” I ask.
“Name it and they’re yours.” She grins. “So what about you? Anyone at school grab your attention yet?”
“Nah,” I lie.
“Hmm,” she says looking around the room. “There are a few options in here. That guy to my right in the blue t-shirt—he’s pretty cool. Rugby player. Not that smart, but he’s pretty. He could be fun for a few weeks.”
“Ew.”
“Okay, okay.” She shrugs, continuing her search. “Hold on. That guy behind me, wearing the button-down, is super sweet. Cute as hell and his glasses would look great resting on your bedside table.”
“Jules,” I yell.
“Yeah, that’s right. No good. I forgot, he’s the president of the College Republicans Club.” She shudders.
I throw my balled-up napkin at her.
“And whatever you do, stay away from every single guy at the table to my left. Total creepers.”
I look over at them. “Noted,” I say. “Actually, I’m just trying to concentrate on school and keep my life as drama free as possible.”
She nods. “Drama free. What a concept.”
We drink to that.
***
During the remaining hours of the weekend, I dream about Noah. I wish I could’ve talked to Jules about him, but I think I’m better off if he stays in my dreams. Plus, at his rate, there is absolutely no reason for a sex life. My dreams are keeping me perfectly satisfied.
Well, almost.
By the time Monday arrives, I wake up feeling lighter. Free. Not happy, no, I won’t kid myself. But I think I can get by; maybe even become a contributing member of society.