Undeclared(60)

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?”

“Not a regular one,” Noah admitted reluctantly.

“I could ask Uncle Louis for an advance against my trust,” I said. “It’d be a good investment.”

“No,” Noah said with careful enunciation. “Not your problem.”

He pulled into the driveway of his house and jumped out. For once, Noah didn’t open my door. I fumbled with the latch and raced after him. He was nearly running through the house. “Where’s Mal?” he bellowed.

Finn was sitting in the great room playing a video game and jerked up at Noah’s shout. “Office,” He gestured toward the front room in the house closed off by double French doors. Mal was already at the door.

“What’s up?” Mal asked, opening the door wider for Noah to come in.

“Can you call Rickers and see if he still wants that fight?”

Mal’s expression changed from mild curiosity to concern. “What about the UFC, man?”

“I need a ten grand fight tonight, Mal. Can you make it happen?”

“If you need ten grand, I’ve got—”

“Can you set up the fucking fight or not?” Noah interrupted, his teeth clenched.

“Yeah, no problem. Just let me make a few calls,” Mal said.

“Let me help you.” Bo, appeared behind us. The whole house was there, listening to Noah, which no doubt infuriated him. He was so private. Now all these rich kids, including me, were standing there telling him he had nothing to worry about.

Noah turned on Bo. “I’ll do it this once and be done.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Bo said. I stood by helplessly, but silently agreed with Bo.

Noah slashed his hand through the air. “It’s my decision.” He turned and pointed to Mal. “Make it happen.” At least I wasn’t the only one he ordered around.

Bo moved to say something, maybe forestall Mal, but Mal retreated into the office. “It’s his decision, Bo. Let it be.”

Noah stormed upstairs, and I was left behind, like an extra in Noah’s life. I hated that. I ran after him.

“Who’s Rickers?” I demanded, standing inside the bedroom as Noah rooted through his drawers and threw a pair of sweatpants and shorts on the bed.

“I’m going to do an illegal fight against a former UFC boxer kicked out because of steroids,” he replied flatly.

“My God, no,” I cried.