the time he was here. Problem was, I didn’t know why he was here or for how long. Transferring might be the best option. I could go to State University where my brother Josh went. It was only three hours away.
I had reached the edge of campus and could see my house just two blocks away. I was convinced that if I reached the porch of the old Victorian, I would be safe, like when we were kids playing tag. As I stopped for traffic, I felt Noah behind me, his big body throwing a shadow that swallowed my smaller one. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his hand hover over my shoulder. My whole body tensed. I didn’t know what I would do if he touched me, but it wouldn’t be good. He sighed softly and dropped his hand away.
“Grace, you’re mad. I get it. But can we at least talk?”
I had never heard Noah’s voice before. We never exchanged voicemail messages, never Skyped. We had just written to each other—World War II-style. I thought our decision to write only was impossibly romantic. Plus, I didn’t want him to see me over the Internet and decide I wasn’t attractive enough to write to anymore. I still had those damn letters in a carefully preserved state in an archival box designed, I think, for scrapbooks. But I had imagined what he would sound like. Low, because it seemed manly, and maybe a little gruff, because of all the sand in the desert. And look, I was right. His voice was low, gravelly, and panty-dropping sexy.
Who was I kidding? The panties probably came off even if he didn’t talk to a girl. He could smile or just acknowledge her presence and she’d swoon into his arms. I needed to avoid him, if only to preserve my dignity. I was too afraid that I’d throw myself at him and beg him to take me in all the ways that a virgin could dream of and then some. I kept moving toward my apartment, trying not to race, trying not to look tragic.
Once we reached the front of my apartment, I was stymied.
I had just let Noah know where I lived. Plus, I doubted I could get behind my security door before he put his big foot in and prevented it from closing.
As if he could read my mind, he said, “I already knew where you lived. You aren’t showing me anything I didn’t already know.” I still didn’t turn around. I could feel the tears I had tried to keep away begin to well up. Any minute now, I was going to start crying, and he so did not deserve to see me cry. That asshole.
This time, I felt his hand on my arm. I wanted to shake it off, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want him to know he affected me at all. Or at least more than he already knew. His hand slid down from my elbow to my palm, and I felt a piece of paper being pressed into my hand.
His body crowded mine for a second and I thought I felt his lips touch my hair. “Read this. It’s how we’ve communicated best in the past.” With that, he let go slowly. I wanted to just let his note drop to the ground, but as his hand released mine, I felt my fingers curl up involuntarily to crush the note in my palm. He squeezed my now-closed fist and walked away. I heard his footsteps fade, felt the warmth of his body dissipate.
I didn’t look back but instead went into the house and walked up the stairs. My feet felt like they had cinder blocks attached. By the time I reached the apartment door, I was shaking. It was hot outside and even hotter on the third floor, but my internal body temperature was telling me I was freezing. Maybe I was going into shock.
I dumped my stuff right inside the front door. I vaguely heard the chirps of my phone, informing me I had unread texts. Ignoring them, I walked into my bathroom, turned on the shower and stripped. Inside the glass cube, with water as hot as I could get it shooting out of the showerhead, I let go.
I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about. My own stupidity. My years of not dating, because I was so sure that Noah was my happily ever after. My lackluster freshman year.