Undeclared (5 page)

“There,” she said slapping my back lightly. “Ready to go.”

I went to slip on my tennis shoes, but stopped when Lana gave me the stink eye and held up a pair of low-heeled strappy sandals in the same sky blue as my blouse. “No way,” I said.

“They match,” Lana replied.

“ I won’t wear heels, but I’ll wear my ballet flats.” I would be the only one. Lana’s feet were shod with pencil-slim stilettos, and Amy had on cork wedges. Thankfully, I was slightly taller than average and didn’t feel like I was standing amongst a tribe of Amazonians.

Without allowing Lana more time to launch a shoe offensive, I scurried to my bedroom and pulled out a pair of silver flats. The parts of my body that I had always liked, no matter how much I weighed, were my calves, ankles, and feet. They were so nice that even strangers noticed, and I tried to focus on them now, when so much of me was feeling exposed.

One time Lana and I drove down into Chicago to shop, we stopped at a shoe store a classmate had raved about. A shoe clerk had stroked my instep and stuck his phone number in the shoebox. I was creeped out and never returned to that store, but I always remembered that event with confused pride.
Hey, some stranger thought my feet were a turn on.
Yay! Quickly followed by,
Eww
.

I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror that hung over the back of my door. Lana was right. The color of the blue top looked perfect with my late-summer tan and brown hair. It brought out the green in my hazel eyes. The blousiness at the bottom of the shirt meant I could stand without worrying that my pooch of a belly would be hanging out.

And my skirt was long enough that it hid the worst part of my legs—my thunderous thighs—while showing off the best part. If Noah was there, I definitely wasn’t going to be embarrassed by what I was wearing. All my fantasies and the letters I had sent, yes. My clothing, no.

“You look great,” Lana’s voice shook me out of my reverie. I saw her leaning against the doorjamb.

“Thanks for buying this for me.”

She shrugged. “I can’t keep buying clothes for myself. Don’t have enough room.”

I wanted to ask her if I could borrow some of her confidence along with the shirt. Maybe they sold that at the Gap next to the jeans and T-shirts. Instead, I returned her compliment. “You look awesome too.”

She did. Her hair was extra shiny tonight, like a Pantene commercial. She wore Capri leggings and a sheer peasant blouse than hung below her waist. It was a look only a thin girl could carry off. At one time, Lana’s thinness was a cause of great concern and worry, but she was healthy now.

“Too much cleavage?” I asked, noticing that the front of the blouse hung rather low.

“No, in fact, you should wear a necklace to draw attention to your girls,” Lana pointed to my bare neck. I was already as far out of my comfort zone as possible. The girls would have to go unadorned.

“Are you coming home or staying with Peter tonight?”

Lana made a face. “The frat house? No thanks. Plus I’m kind of mad at Peter.”

“Why?” I tried to inject some disappointment in my voice, knowing I was probably failing miserably.

“Oh stop. I know you don’t like him.” She pursed her lips to one side. “This will only make you big-headed, but I heard over at the house today that Peter has been bragging about hooking up with a girl in London this summer.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t you say anything?” I turned to her in distress. “It’s not all about me, you know.”

“You had the Noah thing, and it’s all rumors right now. I don’t want to get worked up over nothing.”

“Are you going to ask him about it?” I asked. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to kick his ass.”

“I know you have.” She dabbed her lips with some lip-gloss, whatever feelings she had about the rumors not showing on her face. Lana and I were true opposites.

“I don’t think he treats you right. He’s always making plans and then breaking them at the last minute, and his fraternity seems more important than you,” I pointed out.

“Eh. I can’t always expect him to be at my beck and call.”

If I had unrealistically high expectations of guys, Lana’s expectations were way too low. She basically required them to breathe and know her name. But maybe when you didn’t expect much out of them, you didn’t get disappointed.

“The cure for one man is another,” I reminded her.

She pinned on a big smile, which might have been fake or real, and said, “Yup. Let’s go find our cures, then.”

***

By the time we got to the fraternity house, the party was in full swing. You could hear the music from the end of the street, and it only got louder as we approached. Other houses appeared to be hosting smaller parties, but the crowd around the Delta Tau Delta House was already straining the structure.

The guys at the door seemed to know Lana and nodded as we passed through, not even glancing at the list attached to a clipboard. I think one of them trailed a finger down my spine, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t dare look back to verify.

There were tons of people inside the house and dozens more in the backyard. Two kegs were set up on a back patio and some guys were doing keg stands. Being held upside down by your legs while someone pours beer right into your mouth seemed like a quick way to be sent to the vomitorium. I stood and watched for a minute; it was such a spectacle.

Someone else was doing beer bongs from a second-story window. When one girl tried it, the beer came out her nose and mouth. Everyone jeered, but she seemed unfazed. Her pregame drinking must have been hardcore.

Lana grabbed my hand and I grabbed Amy’s. The three of us linked together and threaded our way to the dimly lit kitchen in the back. A makeshift bar had been created by placing a plywood board on cinder blocks, and we were offered keg beer, the good kind. Lana refused and instead waved a guy over to her.

She whispered something in his ear and he returned with three bottles that he opened right in front of her. Smart rules for drinking at a house party included always being present when your glass was filled or your bottle opened.

Lana passed around bottles. As we turned to leave, the guy grabbed Lana’s arm and leaned down, saying something to her that I couldn’t hear over the din of the music, laughter, and general talking.

I watched as his hand that held the bottle opener curled around her side. Lana didn’t move away, and I wondered if maybe this guy was her cure for the night.

I didn’t recognize him, but his ease in the kitchen spoke of familiarity in the fraternity. He must have lived in the house because, before I knew it, we proceeded in a line upstairs and into a bedroom at the end of the hall.

The doors were almost all closed except another one at the end of the hall that looked to be a bathroom. At the sound of our steps, the door slammed closed from the inside. Occupied, apparently.

Lana introduced our beer supplier as Jack and closed the door behind us once we had all trooped inside. “Jack the president?” I mouthed to Lana as Jack’s back was turned. She grinned and waved her hand in front of her face. This time I understood that she meant hot. He was nice looking. He had that easy movement I associated with athletes, but his body wasn’t overly developed.

Jack gestured for us to sit. I looked around. The room had two beds on either side of a large coffee table but no chairs, except two that were stationed in front of identical desks at the far end of the room.

Jack and Lana sat down on one bed and Amy and I sat on the other. Jack proceeded to pull out a bottle from under his bed and then revealed lime wedges and a saltshaker in his hands.

Oh no, tequila shots? I didn’t think I was ready for this. Lana rubbed her hands together, and Amy bounced on the bed with little squeak of excitement. I looked at the bottle with dread. I was already in a sucktastic mood and doing tequila shots wasn’t going to lift my spirits. Chances were, with my luck, I’d probably start sobbing in this strange boy’s lap.

“I’m going to sit this out, Lana,” I told her. “I’m afraid I’ll get sick and then I’ll be the worst party pooper ever. Not to mention the fact that I’ll probably ruin my new blouse.”

“Are you sure, Grace? I’ll come downstairs with you,” Lana offered immediately.

“Go downstairs and sit in the second windowsill on the right side,” Jack instructed. It was clear he didn’t want Lana going anywhere. “It’s got a deep sill and you can enjoy the party without being crushed. If someone is there, go to the kitchen and grab a pledge. They’ll have a green wristband. Tell him Jack said that seat is reserved for you.”

“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me, grateful to get out of that room.

I went downstairs and sought out the second window well. It was occupied by two guys with green wristbands. I repeated what Jack had said, and the two jumped up like he was there giving the order personally. It was good to be president, I guess. One even offered to get me another beer, but I turned him down.

The window maybe wasn’t the best place for me to sit given my backless top. Lana was right about the shirt attracting a lot of attention. After sitting there for just a few minutes, more than one cold beer bottle had been dragged down my exposed spine. My shivers were definitely the result of the chill and not excitement.

If I was interested in a hookup, this would be the place to find one. There were people of both sexes scoping each other out, flirting, and engaging in pre-mating behavior on the dance floor. It made for excellent people-watching, if nothing else.

“Mind if I sit here?” a voice asked. I looked up and saw a curly-haired guy with broad shoulders smiling down at me.

“Not at all,” I scooted over. He sat down in the sill, sideways, one leg drawn up and the other stabilizing him on the floor.

“Kyle Briggs,” He offered his hand.

“Grace Sullivan,” I clasped his hand and shook it once but he didn’t let it go.

“Haven’t I seen you in my Poli Sci class?” Kyle asked, still holding my hand in his. I wriggled my fingers a little and he released me.

“Don’t think so,” I shook my head. I didn’t remember him from class. Granted we had only had six of them so far. I knotted my fingers together on my lap so he wouldn’t find an excuse to hold them, but that was a mistake, because he just placed his large hand over both of mine. Either he was coming on to me or he was super touchy. Both made me feel uncomfortable. He leaned closer and I could smell the yeast from the beer on his breath. I was trying not to feel overwhelmed, but it was difficult.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, though, and it bugs me that I can’t remember where because I almost always remember the good-looking ones.”

“Do you always use bad pick-up lines or just when you’re drunk?”

“You’re going to make me work for it,” Kyle nodded to himself. “I like that in a girl.”

I tried to move backward but was blocked by the window frame. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stand up with this Kyle guy pressing his considerable weight onto my hands. He took my reply as a challenge; I could see it in his eyes. He thought I was flirting with him and was probably too intoxicated at this point to see a difference between the girl wanting to get away and the girl trying to get in his pants.

I pushed my hands upward, not wanting to leave his big sweaty palm lying across my skirt, close to the juncture of my thighs. “Listen, Griggs, I don’t think my boyfriend would want me sitting so close to you.” Josh had taught me to never insult a drunken guy, because you didn’t know if he was a mean drunk or a happy one. Just try to compliment your way out of a negative situation. Saying I had a boyfriend was an inoffensive way of making sure that Kyle would not be offended by my lack of interest.

Unfortunately, Kyle was denser or drunker than I thought because he only grabbed my hands in his and drew me closer. His other arm came to rest around my back. “Oh ho ho,” he cried when his hand met my bare back. I froze and arched 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.