Undeclared (The Woodlands) - By Jen Frederick Page 0,66
perk her up.
“Jack, of the tequila shots with Amy, Jack?”
“Yeah, he’s sent some signals toward me, but at the time I was still thinking I’d give Peter the benefit of the doubt,” Lana admitted ruefully.
“Where will Jack be this weekend?”
“Not sure. I’ll go to the house before dinner and see if I can find out what the weekend party schedule is.”
“Okay, I’ll ask around, too, although I don’t really know anyone who knows Jack,” I said. Satisfied with our plans, I left Lana to meet up with Noah to study and then have dinner.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Grace,
It’s not that the Marines was my only option. It just seemed like the best choice at the time. My father is an asshole. He’s kind of like your Aunt Sarah. Nothing I did was good enough for him. He has a miserable life working a number of odd jobs and getting fired for not showing up or being too hung over and making mistakes.
He wanted me to be beat-down like him. I couldn’t afford to go to college, and I didn’t want to work construction for the rest of my life. Hence, the Marines. But when I came back during my first leave, after deployment, everyone in town treated me different.
Before, I was just a punk that might knock up their girls or break into their stores. Now I wore a uniform. Old vets saluted me. People who had never said hi thanked me for my service. It was like I had leveled up. But half the time, I think folks were sorry that there wasn’t another generation of Jacksons to point to as a cautionary tale. I haven’t told Bo yet, but I’m not going back home.
I’m going to volunteer for another tour. I felt more at home at a forward base unit than back in Little Oak, Texas.
~Noah
Grace
Noah and I were eating at a dive off campus that served the best tacos, when his phone rang. He ignored it so I gestured for him to answer when it rang again.
A barrage of words sputtered out of the phone, so loud that I could even hear it. Noah drew the phone away slightly from his ear and flicked the volume down.
He listened for most of the conversation but interjected a few times with“ no” and“ not yet” and shakes of his head. Then he motioned for a pen and paper, which I dug out for him. He asked, “How much?” and jotted something down.
He terminated the connection and set the phone face down on the table. He looked upset and rubbed his hands over his face a couple times.
“What is it?”
Noah leaned back in his chair, tipping it up slightly so it rested on its back two legs, laced his fingers behind his head, and looked upward. It wasn’t a relaxed pose. He slammed down the chair and cursed.
“Nothing.”
“You almost ruined that chair. That’s a lot of anger over ‘nothing.’”
“Nothing you should be concerned about.” He turned his attention to his tacos and began sweeping up his uneaten portion.
“What is going on?” I demanded.
“Nothing,” he repeated obviously trying to turn my attention away.
“You aren’t eating. You’re abusing furniture. And you’re cursing on the phone,” I said, aggravated at his secret keeping.
Noah looked frustrated and unhappy, and I was getting worried too. His poorly-hidden anxiety was contagious. He gestured for the waitress to come over and had her bring us the check. He threw down some cash and picked up our bags. It was clear he wanted to leave. I looked at my partially eaten taco with some sadness. I was still hungry.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get you something to eat later,” he said. We walked out to the truck, or more appropriately, Noah walked quickly, and I jogged to keep up. Noah handed me in, and I kept quiet until he had started the truck.
“What’s going on? I don’t understand,” I asked again.
When he didn’t respond, I said, “Don’t shut me out, Noah.”
Instead of looking at me, he stared out the window and said, “It was the guy who owns the yogurt store. He has an offer for it, but he wanted to give me first shot at it. He’ll give me five days to raise the cash.”
“How much do you need?” This sounded like a great opportunity, not one that should evoke anger and unhappiness.
“Ten Gs.”
I coughed into my hand with shocked surprise. “God, can you get that in a fight?”