Undeclared (The Woodlands) - By Jen Frederick Page 0,15

away from his hand, but this only pressed me closer to his chest wall. This was going to get ugly if I had to struggle to get away.

The window, which seemed like a promising escape from the crowd, now turned into a prison, and I was boxed in. I looked around frantically for Amy or Lana, but could see almost no one’s face. It was just a mass of legs.

“Let go. I’m not interested.” The time for soft, deterring compliments was past now. I tugged on my hands and tried to slide sideways, but he threw out a leg to forestall that movement. His face came close to mine.

“You don’t need to play hard to get,” he said. “I’m yours for the taking.”

“I’m not interested,” I repeated firmly. “Let me go, or I’ll make a scene.”

“I’ll make one for you.” I heard another, familiar voice above me. I looked up at Noah’s face and nearly cried with relief.

Kyle wasn’t quick enough to realize he was in jeopardy and instead said, “Shove off, man, I’ve tagged this one.”

Noah reached down and in one motion pulled Kyle’s hand off mine and me to his side. “She’s not a deer.” His voice was flat, but I could feel the rigidity in his body. While I wasn’t a psych major like Lana, even I could read anger in Noah’s stance.

Kyle stood and held up his hands. “Hey man, she was coming on to me.”

Noah speared him with a glance, and it must have penetrated because Kyle turned on his heel and left.

The little scene went by almost unnoticed. The crowd kept on dancing and drinking. I felt unbalanced, though, and sat clumsily back down on the windowsill.

Noah remained standing, towering over me. He had definitely kept up with an exercise routine since he got out. Even through the cotton of his dark T-shirt and the dim light in the room, I could make out the definition of his chest muscles. The skin was taut across his high cheekbones, and his eyes were dark and piercing. I felt more exposed under his stare than when I had first donned this backless top.

Anger and resentment began to well up in me, and I wanted to throw a beer bottle straight at his face and mar the perfect handsomeness. Although, as I stared at him more closely, I realized he had a bruise forming under his right eye. I wonder if he had fought tonight and with whom. I wanted to know everything, a whole two years of everything. I bit my tongue to keep the questions inside.

Maybe he was white-knighting himself at all of the campus parties, choosing which damsel he would take home. But it wouldn’t be me. I couldn’t place my heart in jeopardy again. An entire year had been lost while I tried to deal with conflicting feelings of sorrow at the loss of him in my life, humiliation at believing he could love me, and anger that he had strung me along. I didn’t know why he was here. While not knowing was terrifying, I didn’t want to suffer more rejection at the hands of Noah Jackson.

I rose. The party was losing its appeal. I should run up to the fourth floor and take a quick picture with my phone and then go home and block out placement for the Alphi Phi photo. But mostly, I felt like going home. I tried brushing by Noah but he caught me by the arm.

“I’ve been waiting for you to call me.” Impatience was etched on his face.

“You’ll wait a long time, then, because I threw your number away.”

“Will you give me a chance to explain?” He rubbed a hand through his hair and settled it at the back of his neck. He leaned forward. “Can we get out of here?”

“You had a chance. You had two years of chances. I don’t know why you’re here, but it has nothing to do with me.” I tried to leave again, but the hand on my arm was immovable. He wasn’t hurting me, but he wouldn’t let me go either. I was never sitting in a window again.

“It has everything to do with you,” he said, his face intense, leaning down to make sure I heard him. An involuntary warmth began to spread through my body, and I tried to beat it back.

“Really? I don’t believe you.” I knew I sounded petulant, but I didn’t care. I just wanted out of there before I let him convince