Before You Go (10 page)

“Jenna
?” he purses his lips and I wonder if they’re still soft and minty.

“Yeah, Jenna.
I can’t help but notice in class it seems like there’s something going on there.”

Oh God, I’m sounding like a complete stalker here. Why does he always make me say too much?

“Jenna’s not my girlfriend, Tabby. I’m not involved with anyone. I asked
you
out, remember?”

“
Well, that was a while ago,” I say. “I’m sorry for mentioning her, it’s none of my business.”

But please go on.

“It’s okay. I’ve been friends with Jenna forever. We dated freshman year, but it was disastrous. She’s going through a hard time. You’ve probably noticed me hanging around her a lot. I want to help her, but she doesn’t want my help. I’m trying to give her space unless she really needs me.”

“
Hmmm. You really are one of the good ones, aren’t you?” Again the censor from my brain to my lips is apparently off for the day.

“Not as good as you might think.”
He grins. “So what do you say? Study time at my house?”

“I’m sorry but I can’t. I really need to get to my dad’s.”

“
Professor Kelly has you on a tight leash doesn’t he?” he questions.

“Well, he can’t help it. I
went through some pretty heavy stuff last year.”

Shut up
, Tabby. Shut your mouth.
I’m begging now. Noah should work at New Beginnings; none of the counselors were ever able to pry anything out of me.

H
e stops walking. “I don’t want to be nosy or butt in too much, but whatever it was that happened last year, is that why you keep to yourself so much? And the reason for your ‘no dating’
rule?”

“The way I look at it is I on
ly have two years left of college. I just want to get it over with, I don’t need the fanfare: the BFFs, or boyfriends, or parties. All I need is good grades. I’ll have the rest of it when I’m out on my own.”

“That’s well and good, Tabby.” Noah
’s quiet, thoughtful. “But sometimes you need someone or something. Don’t miss out on that because you’re too busy focusing on where you’re going. Sometimes all we have is right here, right now.”

“Well, that’s deep,” I try to fight back my laughter. If he only knew how little any of this really matters.

I can tell he senses my sarcasm but that doesn’t deter him. “Let’s just say, I’ve went through some heavy stuff too,” he says with a knowing smile.

I pull off his coat and try
to hand it to him, but he’s already gone.

O
n a cloud, I float all the way home. It shouldn’t matter to me that Noah doesn’t have a girlfriend or that he’s not involved with Jenna, I know that. It can’t matter. But it does, and I feel a little hope leaking in.

EIGHTEEN

I’m asleep when I hear a knock on the door. It’s not the recurrent five taps I’m used to. It’s two commanding pounds that jolt me from bed.

Too tired to grab my robe, I open the door before realizing I’m only wearing a tank and boy shorts.

“Noah?” I say, surprised he’s here.

He’s wearing my favorite jeans with a thin gray t-shirt. Leaning on his arm in the doorway, his eyes are dark and hooded as he looks me over.

“I
can’t do this, Tabby,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He looks like he’s been up all night, and I can smell whiskey on his breath.

“Are you okay?
” I ask him, running my hand along his cheek.

He
closes the space between us in one long glide and rests his forehead on mine. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Unsure where I’ve found the courage, I
link my hands around his neck and whisper a dare in his ear. “Then don’t.”

Noah
slams the door and whips me around, pushing me against it as his body claims mine. I can feel his need, his desperation. His lips are rough as he nips and bites at my mouth before gliding his tongue inside. Taking control, his hands cup my ass and he quickly lifts me to him.

This is too much. Too fast.

My mind reels, but my body reacts. My legs instinctually wrap around his waist, my hands fist in his hair, and my tongue moves with his.

Pushing me harder against the door for balance, Noah gathers my hands, raises them above my head and secures my wrists in his grip.

I am completely vulnerable, trapped.

“It’s okay, Tabby,” Noah whispers in my ear. “You can stop me at any time.”

That’s exactly what I want to do, but my body won’t let me.

And before I get the chance to say a word, he slides my boy shorts to the side and plunges a finger deep inside me.

I wake up in a confused and convulsing mess after my afternoon nap. My heart is slamming against my chest, my breathing is ragged, and my hands are shaking. I reach for a glass of water on my bedside table and see the clock announcing it’s six p.m. It does nothing for my erratic state.

I’
m late.

Again.

Too many lady wet dreams about Noah will do that to a gal.

It’s the third one I’ve had this week. Not that I’m complaining. Waking up post
-orgasm is a wonderful thing. Still, it’s starting to mess with my schedule…and my mind. Noah is slowly worming his way into my head and it’s becoming more than just a physical attraction. I enjoy our talks almost as much as these sex dreams.

I change out of my sweats, slip into a pair of jeans and sweater, braid my hair, brush my teeth, and I’m out the door
to my internship in less than ten minutes.

On the walk to campus, my stomach growls. I’m ravenous and there’s no way I’ll be able to work without some fuel
, so I pick up a deli sandwich on the way.

Inside the paper’s
office, it’s quiet. Everyone has gone for the day. It’s nice. I set up my little desk picnic at one of the computer tables, ready to do a final proof of the filed stories.

I
spend the next hour hauling ass to get the articles loaded for tomorrow’s e-edition, I don’t even have time to eat.

I
finish just as a shadow appears over my screen.

“Hi, Tabby,” Jules says
in a small voice.

“Hi,” I say, excited to have some company.

“Can I join you?” she asks.

I push
a chair out with my feet. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”

Jules takes a seat
; her eyes are red and puffy.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Not really,” she says.

“Guy trouble?”

“Foster trouble,” she says.

I had a feeling they were more than just friends.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“That’s the same question I asked him,” she says as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“I’m here,” I tell her. “If you want to talk.”

She
doesn’t answer and I don’t push. I know better. Sometimes you just need to be. I can tell that’s what she needs. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

I hand her half my sandwich.

She forces a smile, but it’s her eyes that say, “Thank you.”

We eat.

NINETEEN

The next day I’m the firs
t person to arrive at English Lit, so I decide to get started on the next book:
That Was Then, This Is Now.
It was one of the few books Noah and I
both
read, so it was an easy choice.

Professor Sands
’ class is the only time I’m fully present during the school day—my body is always on high alert, my insides flipping until the moment I see Noah walk in. I usually make it to class first so he has to walk past me to get to his desk every afternoon. Once he does, I warm instantly. Where Jenna is a disruption, Noah is a distraction.

He makes me forget about everything. When I’m around him, I feel normal. Better than normal.

Every day, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention with his every sound, shift of his feet, and movement in his desk. Once in a while, he lightly taps a rhythm on his desk with his pencil. I don’t think he realizes he does it. Other times, he softly hums a tune and I completely melt. On those days, it’s like we’re the only two people in class, until Jenna interrupts with a giggle, or whisper, or theatrical sigh. Then I can feel Noah watching her. He says they’re only friends, but I still have my doubts. Thankfully, I don’t have to face any of this today. I couldn’t ask for a better gift than her absence from school.

I watch the door and wait for Noah, wondering what he’s wearing today, hoping he’ll flash his dimple before he sits down. I even find myself looking forward to our project, just to spend more time with him. Still, I know I have to be careful.

My mind is on
overdrive, until Sands starts the class. Then it comes to a crashing halt. I turn around in case I somehow missed him. His desk is empty. There’s no Noah in class today.

My brain betrays me as I begin to imagine that Noah and Jenna ditched class. They’re together at his apartment. I can see it in my head. Though I have never been in Noah’s home, I can picture it. His futon is pulled out and they’re lying down looking into each other’s eyes, his arm is wrapped around her tiny waist. Her cute boots are neatly tucked by the side of the bed. Noah probably slipped them off to give her a foot rub. He’d have floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and interesting mementos. Inspirational posters, like the one of the guy climbing Mount Everest with the caption:
Nothing is Out of Reach,
decorate his walls. A green drum set sits in the corner. A picture of Jenna adorns his desk.

“Tabby.” A quiet voice snaps me back to reality. “Tabby, are you in there?” the voice asks. It’s Professor Sands.

“I’m sorry
.” I try to recover and shake off the disturbing scene I created for Noah and Jenna.

“No problem.” He smiles. “I just wanted to let you know that Noah is out today for Sukkot.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about and apparently it shows.

“It’s a Jewish holiday,” he says.

It takes me a minute. I didn’t know Noah was Jewish.
How strange. I wonder if that’s his excuse for skipping with Jenna. I mean, the first night I met him he was wearing a cross for crying out loud.

“I’ll let you guys be the last group for the presentation,”
Professor Sands says. “That way you’ll have some extra time to prepare. Have you selected your novel yet?”

I nod and hold up the thin S.E. Hinton paperback.

“Ah yes.” Professor Sands reaches over and picks up the book.

“You know it?” I ask. “I was afraid you wouldn’t think it was appropriate.”

“Are you kidding? S.E. Hinton is great. With books, it’s not a matter of being appropriate,” he continues. “It’s a matter of what speaks to you and if you can learn something, be entertained, lose yourself for a while, find comfort, get mad—”

He cuts himself off and laughs, knowing he was getting carried away. “Well, you get the idea, Tabitha.”

I think he’s right and spend the rest of class reading about Bryon and Mark’s wild ways, thoroughly enjoying myself.

On the way home, I try not to think about Noah even though I feel the weight of his fleece in my bag. I brought it to class to return it to him after he let me wear it the other day, although I want nothing more than to keep it.

When I reach his street, I can’t help but stare down the winding road hoping to catch a glimpse of him going to temple or whatever it is you do to celebrate Sukkot. I don’t see a thing.

My apartment is too quiet when I get home, but this time I’m not happy to be alone or in a rush to bury myself in my nest. I am…restless. I’m caught up with all my studies, as well as the paper, so I put my messenger bag in the closet, next to the bag of ballet slippers Michael brought me. I take them out and grab my favorite pair.

With nothing better to do, I put them on.

They feel good. Perfect
, actually. Like they’re meant to be there.

I lift my full-length mirror off my closet doo
r and lean it against the wall and then pull up Vivaldi’s
The Four Seasons
on my iPod.

I
n front of the mirror, I find first position. It looks natural and feels even better.

I’m home and finally decide it’s time to try.

In first position, my toes pointed out and arms taut yet graceful, I bend into demi-plié. Down four counts and up four counts, I do the same progression through all five positions.

Back in first, I demi, further the bend into grand plié, and then roll up on my toes into relevé. After four counts of eight, I point the toes on my right foot and extend my leg, sliding into the wide stance of second position to do the sequence again.

I move through the positions for several co
unts before it’s time for the
fancy footwork,
as Michael used to call it. I start with battement tendus—drawing a line with my toes as I extend my right foot forward, and then erase the line as I bring it back in.