I had my camera. My family. And, if all went my way, Noah.
He had no one in his life but Bo. And me. He could have me if he wanted me.
I pulled up the bus schedule on my laptop. The bus service was nowhere near The Woodlands but it did go to the Spartan gym. I had showered and shaved every part of my body.
I pulled out the shirt Lana had bought for me the first night I saw Noah at the fraternity party. It wasn’t gym appropriate, but I knew Noah had liked it. He told me once that he had wanted to untie those bows with his teeth.
I considered putting on the silicone cups that Lana had given me to wear with this top but decided I would go without. It was an overtly sexual message, but I wanted there to be no misunderstandings.
It was cold out, and I threw on a pair of skinny jeans and a cashmere shawl. I flatironed my brown hair so it hung like a silk curtain down my bare back.
I inserted a pair of wide hoop earrings in my ears and carefully applied some mascara and eyeliner. I didn’t try too much because I knew I wasn’t the artist that Lana was with the makeup. I outlined my lips in rose and ran a tinted lip gloss over the top, making my lips look bee stung and wet.
Popping two mints in my mouth, I stuck my ID and debit card in my pocket along with my lip gloss. I slid my wedges on and double checked the bus route I stored on my phone. I’d need to make one stop and get a transfer and the second bus should take me within three blocks of the Spartan gym. Lana had wanted to drive me, but I wanted to do this all on my own, no safety net.
Both buses were sparsely populated. When the driver stopped at my destination, he warned me, “This isn’t a night club, girlie.”
“I know. My boyfriend is a fighter.”
“You best hustle inside, then, else he’ll be using those fists of his.”
Thanking him, I hopped off. It wasn’t just cold; it was freezing. I hurried the three blocks west of the bus stop to the Spartan gym. The lights above the gym were dimmed, and for a moment I had this terrible thought that the place was closed. I checked my phone. It was 7:30 and the gym didn’t close until 10:00. I pulled at the door, and it opened easily, a bell like sound occurring when the door opened. The sickly sweet smell of antiseptic and sweat assailed me, and I took a moment to acclimate myself.
There were the sounds of metal against metal as burly guys lifted bars heavy with weights. Another person was watching himself do curls in front of the mirrors. No one stopped me, although it seemed like everyone was looking.
I took a few more steps inside the gym, clutching the shawl around me. For a moment I wondered what the hell I was doing here at this nearly all-male enclave of muscle and sweat.
“You lost?” I heard a familiar voice call out to me, and I spun to my left and saw Bo standing there. He was shirtless, and he was unwrapping a long cloth from his hand.
“No,” I answered, straightening my shoulders. “I know exactly where I am.”
We stood there for a minute as he weighed my response against his own love for Noah. I must have passed, because he jerked his head toward the back room that held the boxing ring. “He’s back there.”
“Thanks.”
As I was walking toward the back room, I brushed by him and heard him say, “Don’t make me regret it.”
I saw Noah almost immediately, sitting on a bench against the wall. His elbows rested on his knees and his shoulders were hunched forward. Noah had always appeared solid and in charge, but in this moment he looked burdened by the weight of something.
My cork wedged heels made almost no sound as I walked toward him on the rubber mat floor that covered the expanse of the gym. It wasn’t until my feet were nearly under his nose that he even noticed another person was in the room with him.
“Not interested, babe,” he said without raising his head.
“You haven’t heard what I’m offering,” I said. His head jerked up and for a moment I saw a strong emotion blaze in his eyes. Relief? Love? I knelt down in front of him and placed my hands on his.
“Congratulations on your win. It looked fairly—” I cast around for the right word“ —, effortless.”
“It wasn’t exactly effortless, and my body still hurts more than usual, but it was a good win. I’m surprised you watched it,” he admitted.
“I couldn’t not watch it. I’ll definitely believe anything you say about the other guy looking worse than you.”
Noah shook his hands a little restlessly but didn’t move them out from under mine. “Did you really come down to the gym to tell me congratulations?”
I took a deep breath. “I need to ask you an important question. One bigger than whether Converse sneakers are better than Keds. Or what the best super power is.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I paused and took a deep breath before plunging ahead. “Do you think magnet polarity can be reversed?”
“All of those sound interesting, but I think we both know the answer to one of them,” Noah replied in a serious tone.
My heart sank. “So that’s a no?”
“Every sane person acknowledges that Chucks are the superior sneaker.”
I managed a weak smile. “Indeed.”
This time he turned his hands palms up and gripped mine. “Magnets can be reversed. But, for some, their attraction is so strong that they can’t be kept apart.”
“Not even by stupid words and stupid actions?” I said softly, looking at our entwined hands. I could feel mine getting sweaty, and I wanted to pull them away and wipe them on my jeans.
“Not even.”
“I picked out my own clothes and rode the bus here,” I blurted out.
This statement was met with silence. Then he said, “You’re the strangest girl sometimes. Let me help you, Grace: ‘Noah, I miss you, and I forgive you for being an asshole.’”
I looked up at him, wanting him to see how earnest I was. “Noah, I’ve missed you,” I didn’t repeat the last part calling him an asshole, but I was glad that he knew the mistake wasn’t all mine. “I was afraid of what you made me feel, and it was easier to push you away than accept it. I’d like to try again if you’re willing.”
He let go of one of my hands to sweep my hair back and tuck it behind one of my ears. His big hand cradled my face. I leaned into it and turned to kiss his palm.
“I’ve just been waiting for you to come around instead of forcing myself on you,” Noah said softly. He drew me closer to him with his one hand, still holding my face with the other. The kiss that he gave me was more tender than passionate, but it still curled me toes and made me want to drag him down on top of me.
“I was never interested in Mike, you know. You’re the only one for me,” I vowed.
“I didn’t sleep with a ring girl in Vegas. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.” He tipped my head up, his face suddenly vulnerable. “We all right?”
“Yes, forever,” I breathed out. He swept me up against his body. Neither of us cared that his sweat was staining or even ruining my top. He could rip it off me later, and I’d keep a piece in my memory box as a remembrance of our reconciliation, tucked in next to all his letters and notes.
***
The next morning, I told Noah my plan to submit a different set of photos to Dr. Rossum. The one with the girl on the bench. The gravesite of my father. The picture I took of the front of our house the one time Josh and I returned for a visit after we’d moved to Chicago to live with Uncle Louis. And another tilt shift photography piece–the one of Josh looking awesome. Someday I hoped the portfolio would include Noah fighting.
“After class today, I’m going back to see Dr. Rossum,” I said, pouring Noah a cup of coffee.
He made a face, but I knew it was about my announcement. I made good coffee. “Why Grace? Do you really need an art major to take pictures for a living? You said before you just needed more practice.”
“No. But I can learn a lot about perspective and composition and self-expression.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “It woul
d make me better at photography.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” he announced.
“You can, but you have to stay outside the building.” I had anticipated this and wanted to set early ground rules. If Dr. Rossum was mean again, I could see Noah barging in and punching the professor in the nose, which would result in Noah getting suspended or worse.
“No way. I’m coming inside,” Noah insisted.
“You aren’t the one applying for entrance into the art program,” I replied calmly, sipping on my coffee. He wasn’t going to win this argument.
“No, but I’m not going to sit on my thumb while someone tears you a new asshole.”
I tried a different approach to reason with him.
“Let’s assume that at some point in the future, I’m working for a newspaper or magazine and I have a problem with the editor. I need to be able to work out these issues on my own,” I explained.
“No, you really don’t.” He looked so serious that I tried to keep from smiling at the absurdity. “I’ll come and break his face and then your problem will be solved.”
“What if you’re gone on a fight?”
“When I get back, I’ll come and break his face.”
“Noah, be serious. You can’t go around breaking people’s faces in order to protect my feelings,” I admonished him. I couldn’t tell at this point how much was teasing bluster and how much was serious threat.
He heaved a huge, put-upon sigh and took a long drink of his coffee. “Is it okay with you if I’m mentally punching their lights out?”
“Yes, perfectly. And I want you to describe the action in great detail after.”
***
Noah was waiting for me, just like that first day, slouching against the wall. This time I didn’t hesitate at the door but ran to him. His arms came around me immediately and he kissed me, uncaring of the students around us.
“Ready?” He asked, tenderly moving a little hair that had fallen forward and tucking it behind my ear.
I nodded and lifted up my black portfolio.
We walked silently across the campus, holding hands. The fallen leaves from the trees crunched under our feet. The fall air was getting cooler, but it would’ve to be much closer to freezing before the students would pull out jackets and jeans. I couldn’t recall a time I had felt more content and just generally pleased with the world. I knew that even if Dr. Rossum hated my work again that I’d be okay.
I’d still be able to perfect my photography skills without classes. What I had told Noah before still was true. Nothing was better for me than actual practice, which meant experimentation and, yes, failure.
I’d learned so much from trying and failing. It’s something I wouldn’t fear again.
Funny how facing down your greatest fears actually made you stronger.
“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Noah asked as we reached the steps of the Fine Arts building.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reached up on my toes and pressed my lips against his. “Your love is so strong I can feel it even upstairs.”
I grinned at the sudden redness appearing in his cheeks. “I do, you know,” he said softly, “love you very much.”
“I know, and I love you,” I said. Pleased with myself, I pushed him onto a bench and ran inside the building. Even walking up the stairs, I felt different. Last time I was tentative, as if I was going to my own execution. This time, I took the stairs swiftly and confidently.
I marched right up to Dr. Rossum’s assistant and gave her my name. “Grace Sullivan,” I said. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Rossum.”
The assistant’s blue eyes twinkled at me. Could she recognize the difference too? “Go right in,” she said.
“So you’re back?” Dr. Rossum’s flat voice met me at the doorway.
“I am, sir,” I said. The sound of his voice made me falter a bit, and I recalled the harsh words he had flung at me before. But I shrugged the memory off and entered the messy room. There was still no place to sit and barely any place to stand. Noah had said to imagine a steel rod from the base of my foot into the floor to keep me steady and focused. I visualized instead a long metal chain that hooked me to Noah, my rock, and mentally grounded myself.
“Do you have new material for me?” He held out his hand wearily as if this meeting was too tiresome for life.
“I do,” I said and stepped forward, handing him my portfolio. He paged through quickly as he did before and then stopped at the photo of the girl on the bench.
“Why did you take this picture?” he demanded, his demeanor a little less tired.
“She reminded me of my mother,” I admitted.
“Your mother wears poorly-fitted cardigans and ugly shoes?” he mocked.
“No. My mother’s eyes are dead. Her spirit was snuffed out when my dad died. This girl’s eyes show the same thing. No life. Something killed her inside. Nothing is growing there yet. Not now. Maybe not ever,” I said flatly. I didn’t relish dredging up my old pains; by including those pictures, I was offering up a piece of me. I’d look foolish trying to deny those feelings to Dr. Rossum.
He looked at me sharply and gave me a short nod. “It’s not like I can really keep you out of the program.”
I didn’t say the obvious, which was that he could. Instead, I waited for the official verdict and tried to keep the triumph off my face. Probably an impossible task. Noah and I hadn’t practiced that. It was enough that I was still on my feet.
Dr. Rossum tapped the portfolio against his hand. “Do you know why I am hard on students, Ms. Sullivan?”
I shook my head. Because you’re an asshole? I thought, hoping my thoughts weren’t blazing across my face like a neon sign.
“Because,” Dr. Rossum instructed, “if you plan to be an artist you need to learn how to take criticism and stand up for your work. If you don’t love it, no one will.”
There were better ways of teaching, in my opinion, but I wasn’t going to voice those to Dr. Rossum, I said nothing.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” he finally asked.
“No, sir. I plan to let my art do my talking,” I replied, allowing a little snarkiness to leak through.
“You have a lot to learn, Ms. Sullivan.”
“I hope that the art program will teach it all to me,” I said. This time I couldn’t prevent a smile because we both knew I had won.
Dr. Rossum grunted and tossed the portfolio to me. This time all the photos remain safely tucked inside. “Leave your email with Ms. Grant. She will send you the admissions papers, and you can start classes in the spring.”
After I did as Dr. Rossum instructed, I sped down the stairs to Noah.
He saw me running from inside and caught me as I flew out of the doors. “I’m in,” I cried with happiness and showered kisses all over his face.
He threw back his head and shouted “Ooooorah,” which made me laugh like a loon. People stopped and stared at our spectacle, but I didn’t care.
“I knew it,” Noah laughed and carried me down the stairs, setting me down when we had reached the bottom.
“Oh you did, did you?” I teased, slapping him lightly on the arm with my portfolio. He grabbed it and carefully tucked it into his backpack.
“Yup,” he said, cradling me under one of his arms as we started the trek back across campus toward my apartment. “Either you were going to get in, or I was going upstairs to break Dr. Rossum’s legs. It was all good.”
I snorted and said, “Well I’m glad I could save us both with my superior skills, then.”
“How so?” Noah queried, grinning down at me.
“Because otherwise you’d be expelled, and I’d be a humanities major, if not for my photographs.”
“I’ve always known you were superior,” Noah said, all sign of humor vanishing. “You’re too good for me.”
“Bullshit,” I said, in a no-nonsense voice. “We’re just right for one another. Let’s go home and celebrate.”
His eyes lighten
ed. “I know just the thing.”
“Does it involve us being in bed together?” I recognized that look. It’s the one that he gave me before my clothes ended up on the floor. It was one of my favorite Noah expressions.
“Yes. Why do you even ask?” He looked at me like I was just being silly. I was.
“I thought celebration was dinner and drinks?” I teased him.
“No, why waste our time doing that when we both know what we want,” he somberly told me.
“All right, Noah Jackson. Let’s go home and you can show me how to celebrate things the right way.” I was totally in the mood for anything he had in mind.
“You know, you’re very sexy when you tell me what to do,” he grinned, teasing again.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” This one word was growled at me, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine.
By the time we reached the apartment, we could barely keep our hands off each other. Our mouths were fused together as if we could only keep breathing through each other.
He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, throwing me on the bed. I bounced once and tested out his earlier suggestion.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
He stopped short and grinned at me. “I like this.” He reached behind his back with one arm and pulled the shirt over his head. I admired his bare chest, the rock hard muscles, the golden skin, the thin trail of hair that marked the path from his belly button into his jeans. His erection was clearly defined behind the denim and seemed to grow larger as I stared at it. “What now?” he asked.
I had forgotten what we were doing, as I took in his obvious masculine beauty. “Um, now the jeans.”
He shucked those quickly, too. I pulled off my denim skirt. His hardness was now tenting the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. I motioned for him to come sit on the bed, and I climbed on top of him, rubbing myself against him.
Undeclared (The Woodlands) Page 24