“Congratulations on your win. It looked fairly—” I cast around for the right word“ —, effortless.”
“It wasn’t exactly effortless, and my body still hurts more than usual, but it was a good win. I’m surprised you watched it,” he admitted.
“I couldn’t not watch it. I’ll definitely believe anything you say about the other guy looking worse than you.”
Noah shook his hands a little restlessly but didn’t move them out from under mine. “Did you really come down to the gym to tell me congratulations?”
I took a deep breath. “I need to ask you an important question. One bigger than whether Converse sneakers are better than Keds. Or what the best super power is.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I paused and took a deep breath before plunging ahead. “Do you think magnet polarity can be reversed?”
“All of those sound interesting, but I think we both know the answer to one of them,” Noah replied in a serious tone.
My heart sank. “So that’s a no?”
“Every sane person acknowledges that Chucks are the superior sneaker.”
I managed a weak smile. “Indeed.”
This time he turned his hands palms up and gripped mine. “Magnets can be reversed. But, for some, their attraction is so strong that they can’t be kept apart.”
“Not even by stupid words and stupid actions?” I said softly, looking at our entwined hands. I could feel mine getting sweaty, and I wanted to pull them away and wipe them on my jeans.
“Not even.”
“I picked out my own clothes and rode the bus here,” I blurted out.
This statement was met with silence. Then he said, “You’re the strangest girl sometimes. Let me help you, Grace: ‘Noah, I miss you, and I forgive you for being an asshole.’”
I looked up at him, wanting him to see how earnest I was. “Noah, I’ve missed you,” I didn’t repeat the last part calling him an asshole, but I was glad that he knew the mistake wasn’t all mine. “I was afraid of what you made me feel, and it was easier to push you away than accept it. I’d like to try again if you’re willing.”
He let go of one of my hands to sweep my hair back and tuck it behind one of my ears. His big hand cradled my face. I leaned into it and turned to kiss his palm.
“I’ve just been waiting for you to come around instead of forcing myself on you,” Noah said softly. He drew me closer to him with his one hand, still holding my face with the other. The kiss that he gave me was more tender than passionate, but it still curled me toes and made me want to drag him down on top of me.
“I was never interested in Mike, you know. You’re the only one for me,” I vowed.
“I didn’t sleep with a ring girl in Vegas. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.” He tipped my head up, his face suddenly vulnerable. “We all right?”
“Yes, forever,” I breathed out. He swept me up against his body. Neither of us cared that his sweat was staining or even ruining my top. He could rip it off me later, and I’d keep a piece in my memory box as a remembrance of our reconciliation, tucked in next to all his letters and notes.
The next morning, I told Noah my plan to submit a different set of photos to Dr. Rossum. The one with the girl on the bench. The gravesite of my father. The picture I took of the front of our house the one time Josh and I returned for a visit after we’d moved to Chicago to live with Uncle Louis. And another tilt shift photography piece–the one of Josh looking awesome. Someday I hoped the portfolio would include Noah fighting.
“After class today, I’m going back to see Dr. Rossum,” I said, pouring Noah a cup of coffee.
He made a face, but I knew it was about my announcement. I made good coffee. “Why Grace? Do you really need an art major to take pictures for a living? You said before you just needed more practice.”
“No. But I can learn a lot about perspective and composition and self-expression.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “It would make me better at photography.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” he announced.
“You can, but you have to stay outside the building.” I had anticipated this and wanted to set early ground rules. If Dr. Rossum was mean again, I could see Noah barging in and punching the professor in the nose, which would result in Noah getting suspended or worse.
“No way. I’m coming inside,” Noah insisted.
“You aren’t the one applying for entrance into the art program,” I replied calmly, sipping on my coffee. He wasn’t going to win this argument.
“No, but I’m not going to sit on my thumb while someone tears you a new asshole.”