written those four letters before. I had. Like an ass, when I wrote to him and told him I wanted to meet him, I signed my letter “Love, Grace.” I wondered if that was partly what set him off, what made him decide he couldn’t meet the teenage freak he’d conned out of forty-eight care packages and letters. I crumpled the letter into a ball.
“Are you going to meet him?” Lana asked, leaning over and prying the ball of paper out of my hand. She tossed it onto the coffee table. I immediately reached over and started smoothing it out. Even now, after everything he had done, I couldn’t help myself.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. Why was he here? Was he a student? He had a backpack, but that could mean anything. It must have really been him in the library the other day.
“Let it go for tonight. Come to the party and enjoy yourself.” Lana looked at her watch. “We can toss back a few drinks here and then go to the Delt house.”
The mention of the fraternity reminded me I had promised to take rush photos for Amy and the other Alpha Phis. I groaned in dismay and embarrassment. “I totally forgot about the photos. Is Amy furious?”
“Nah, I called her right away and said that you weren’t feeling well. She said tomorrow would be fine.”
“Lana, if you weren’t my cousin, I would kiss you on the lips.”
“It’s only the cousin thing that is stopping you?” She teased me.
“You’re the finest piece of ass here at Central, but I have to resist your charms. It’s the law.”
“If you’re making jokes, I pronounce you sufficiently recovered to go and get shit-faced and leer at the Delt rush candidates,” Lana proclaimed.
Lana went to make some calls, and I sat on the sofa and tried to stop all the crazy thoughts I had from racing through my mind.
Noah
Bo was lounging against my truck when I returned from Grace’s apartment. He was chatting up some blonde chick who looked like all the other girls he’d ever been with. They were interchangeable to me, and likely to Bo, too, since he called them all “babe.”
I figured I would know if he ever fell for a girl when he called her by her first name instead of some random endearment.
“That was a clusterfuck, eh?” he asked as I approached.
“Yup,” I climbed into my truck and threw my books into the back. I revved the engine a couple of times to signal that I wanted Bo to get in the damn truck. He could pick up chicks another time.
“At the risk of sounding like a girl, do you want to talk about it?” Bo asked when he finally got into the passenger seat. I threw the truck in reverse and peeled out of campus parking lot.
“No, Bo Peep, I don’t,” I bit out.
So much for being good at doing.
“What were you thinking?”
“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ did you not understand?”
“Are you giving up?”
“What?” I swung my head toward him. Bo threw up his hands. “No way.” I looked back at the road.
“Then let’s strategize.”
“I’ve already made every strategic mistake possible. I left too late last night to catch her. I surprised and maybe embarrassed her after class. If I see her at a party and spill beer all over her, my trifecta of stupidity would be complete.”
“So now what?”
“Now, it’s time to regroup.”
“You want to fight or drink tonight?”
“Both.”
Chapter Three
Dear Grace,
I’m luckier than most. There are plenty of guys that are homesick and haven’t seen their kids or wives or girlfriends for months except over the Internet.
I don’t have much to miss back home but I’m here with my best bud, Bo Randolph. We’ve been friends since we tried to beat the piss out of each other in seventh grade. Served two weeks of suspension and found out we had a lot in common.
Bo’s my battle buddy. This means wherever he goes, I go, and vice versa. You never go anywhere without your battle buddy, including (or maybe especially) the bars.
Yours,
Noah
Grace
“Calm down, jitterbug,” Lana said for what seemed like the fiftieth time. She handed me another glass of Vodka and pink lemonade—the lazy college student’s version of the Cosmo.
“What’s up with you, anyway?” Amy asked. We were pregaming at our apartment, drinking just enough to feel good before we hit the frat party. Knowing when to show up was just as important as knowing which keg to drink from. The