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He heaves a sigh, and his prickly expression turns... tired? “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Amy could not convince me to... anything. There’s nothing there. I’ve already had to have this discussion with her. Three times. So I would really appreciatenotrehashing it again here. Can we just do the math?”
Huh.
What can I say to that? We do the math. It’s fairly straightforward once Noah explains it, which is a good thing because I spend most of my mental energy trying to figure out what has him so down. It’s not like he’s normally a ball of laughs or anything, but he usually takes things in stride. Not so today.
We wrap up, and I’m disappointed to see that we haven’t used the full hour. Not that I want to spend more time doing math, but I want Mom to get her money’s worth, right?
And, maybe, I’m worried I’ve upset him.
“Hey,” I say as he stands to leave. “I’m sorry if I—”
He cuts me off. “It’s not you,” he says. I’m shocked when, instead of bolting without a word, he meets my eye and holds for a beat. He starts to say something, stops himself, and settles on “See you next week” as he leaves.
I spend the walk home chastising myself for taking the teasing too far, worrying about Noah, and brainstorming something I can do with Ivy that will distract us both. Ice-skating seems promising—cheap entertainment plus moderate exercise—until I open the door to our apartment, straight into Ivy and Dave standing nose-to-nose. They step apart, embarrassed, then Dave pulls Ivy back in and whispers something in her ear before dashing out the door. I’ve just closed it and turned to get the lowdown when he bursts back in.
“Thanks, Grace,” he says, accosting me with a quick hug before dashing out again.
“What on earth?” I demand, but Ivy is so giddy I can’t get a word out of her. “Ivy! Explain!”
She pauses her twirling long enough to enlighten me. “You know how mad I was that he couldn’t even face me on Sunday? Well, I shouldn’t have been. He went home to talk to his dad, and his dad convinced him to give us a chance!”
I’m happy for Ivy, but there’s more than a hint of envy tainting it. I squash the green monster into a corner and put on my happiest happy face. Ivy tells me how lucky she is, and I agree wholeheartedly. Seeing their affection brings a pang of regret at the loss of Ethan’s attention, but my heart knows it wasn’t going anywhere with him.
I ignore the refrain of the Harry Connick Jr. song “But Not for Me” from Mom’s oldies playlist going through my head.
Chapter 15
Endorphins
Funny, how easily I slippedback into the Grace-Ivy duo for a few days. It’s been much more difficult resuming my solo act now that she and Dave are officially dating. Luckily, I have a great deal of experience with flying solo and marrying off roommates. Not that Ivy’s engaged. She’s not, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be. It’s only a matter of time.
Desperate times call for desperate measures—which explains why I’m out running in the biting November wind at a ridiculous nine in the morning instead of lazing happily beneath my comforter like usual. I am determined to make this a good day, and I’m calling in all the endorphin reinforcements I can muster. Remembering the stale donut that is my only breakfast option at home, I promise myself some real food on campus and push harder, lungs burning in the cold.
A quick hot shower when I’m done evens out my sweaty core and frozen extremities. I take a little extra time with my toilette today, pleased with the glow that running frigid brings to my cheeks, and chug some water as I make for campus and real food.
I have just enough time to scarf a taco salad before human development, in which we are currently examining Piaget’s stages of cognitive development. I choose to continue thinking of this instead of the life story rough draft I’ll have to finish over the weekend.
The library provides a good location during my break between classes to complete some meditation exercises for stress management—two birds with one stone and all that: finish an assignment and stop thinking about what I’m going to have to write later. The only drawback is the meditation writeup, but I whip that out in no time and head to the math lab.
Noah is already seated and glaring at the door when I walk in at precisely three o’clock. “You’re late,” he says.
Looks like I’ve drawn the tetchy Noah from last week again. “Right on time.” I prove my point with my phone that reads 3:00 in bold.
“You’re usually... never mind.” He taps the table, as if that will raise my books from Trusty’s depths.
No way am I letting him ruin my vibe. I gave up a warm bed and tortured myself for an hour in the cloudy cold to achieve good-mood status. “Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” I say, smiling. His thick brows converge, forming a crease between them that makes me laugh out loud, which makes the crease deepen. “It’s November 11, Noah! Embrace it!” I pull some randomness from the social-media surfing I did during lunch. “Not only is this the day we remember the Armistice of 1918 and the veterans who served to protect our freedoms but it’s also eleven eleven! That’s a powerful number! Are you into numerology? Eleven eleven is all about new beginnings. And there’ssnowin the forecast!”
The other occupants of the math lab are looking at me like I’m crazy. Sheesh. You’d think, with their love of numbers, that they’d find numerology to be at least mildly entertaining, but no. Noah’s expression is completely blank, other than one ridiculously high eyebrow and what might be a nervous twitch at one corner of his mouth. I want to keep teasing him, see if I can get him to smile, but after last week I’m hesitant to push too far. I back down with a sigh.
“I know, I know.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “Let’s do the math so you can get me out of your hair.” With that, I pull out my books and follow him obediently through the assignment, which only confuses him further.
Funny, how that confused look—with his head tilted to one side—takes years off his face, making him look more like a little boy than my stoic tutor. And that little-boy look somehow makes me want to smile even more. I refrain from teasing him, because he isn’t quite recovered from whatever was bugging him last week, but I can’t help but smile at that expression. The more I do, the more confused he is, making a fascinating positive-feedback cycle that’s definitely working in my favor. I haven’t felt this light in weeks.
It must have been a better run than I thought.
Chapter 16
Don't Bother Me with Details
