“It’s not bad,” Noah conceded. “But the ability to fly is the best superpower ever. Why do you think Iron Man’s suit has rockets?”

“Iron Man’s suit has everything.”

“Spiderman wishes he could fly. It’s what puts the Super in Superman,” Finn declared.

We then debated the value of various super powers. Apparently my chosen superpower passed Finn’s internal test because I wasn’t told to go home.

When we arrived at the QC Café, I realized I was pretty hungry. Instead of pretending that I loved lettuce, I followed Noah to the grill. I ordered a burger, assuming he would too, except Noah didn’t order a burger. He ordered a plain grilled chicken breast and even asked for extra vegetables. Finn detoured to another part of the café altogether, but we met at the check-out line.

“What is that plate of food?” Noah asked Finn as we paid. It was clear from Noah’s expression he was offended by Finn’s selection.

“I think it’s cheesy tamales,” Finn replied. “Not all of us have to maintain our girlish figures.”

“Get your food, you clown,” Noah replied, shaking his head a little, and giving Finn’s tray a little push. Noah led us to a table on the far side against windows overlooking the North lawn and residence halls. The Café wasn’t very full, as it was still fairly early. We sat down and spread out our trays and set to eating.

I decided that eating a burger in front of Noah was right up there with trying to manage spaghetti. Only dogs in cartoons looked good eating spaghetti. Ditto with hamburgers. Eating a hamburger wasn’t sexy, but I also feared that using a fork and knife would be ridiculous. I sighed internally. Who cared about sexy? Friends didn’t worry about being sexy, I lectured myself. I ate my hamburger and made liberal use of my napkin.

“How are your cheesy tamales?” I asked Finn.

“Terrible,” he admitted with a chagrined smile. “But probably more flavorful than the cardboard Jackson’s eating right now.”

“Jackson’s insides are shriveling at the thought of eating your mystery plate,” Noah replied.

“Then stay away, because you really can’t handle more shriveling, or someone might mistake you for a girl.”

“Your sister had no complaints last night.”

“That would actually be an insult if I had a sister, but I’m not surprised your little brain couldn’t form a better insult. Small brain, small—” Finn wiggled his eyebrows.

The two continued to exchange insults, each more vile than the last.

Noah seemed in no hurry to leave after he’d eaten his food. He got another drink and returned, moving his chair so it was farther away from the table. The rearrangement of his chair put him closer to me, and he slung his arm across the back of my chair and stretched out his legs.

“I’m running on campus in the morning, want to have breakfast afterward?” he asked me.

Before I could answer, Finn interjected, “Did you know that Noah and Bo can run for 12 miles with packs weighing 150 pounds, while simultaneously doing jumping jacks and shooting guns, all before the sun rises?”

Finn must not know that Noah and I corresponded for four years while Noah was a deployed Marine.

“She knows,” Noah replied before I could respond. “Grace and I were, ah, friends, while I was deployed.”

“Oh, you from Texas too?” Finn asked.

“No. From Chicago. I wrote to Noah as part of a class project.”

Finn looked from Noah to me and back again. “What year are you?”

“Sophomore. And no, before you ask, I don’t have a major.”

“That makes you nineteen?” Finn hooted. “I think you are too old for her, old man.”

“Is that true?” Noah asked, looking at me. “Am I too old for you?”

“What?” I tried to laugh but it sound like a nervous giggle. “Of course you aren’t too old to be my friend.”

Noah made a noise like a hum at the back of his throat. I wished for Lana’s perception skills that were almost like a super power in my estimation. I would’ve given anything to know what that noise meant. Finn thankfully made no comment.

A guy I didn’t know came over and clapped Noah on the back of the shoulder hard enough that Noah almost spilled his drink on me. “Jackass,” I heard Noah say under his breath, and I swallowed a smile.

“Braaaa,” the guy brayed like a donkey. His shirt, emblazoned with three Greek letters, looked stylishly faded, and he wore loud plaid shorts and flip flops. Noah knocked the fraternity guy’s fist and received a slap on the upper arm in return. I wondered if learning to shorten every word to three letters was part of the secret rituals that took place on Greek Street during pledge week.

“Marco,” Noah replied in greeting.

“I hear you all are having a little get together on Friday to welcome back the ladies. Any chance of an invite?” Marco said.

“First I’ve heard of it,” Noah responded, a non-answer to Marco’s query.

“Let me know and I’ll help you tag the hot frosh buns.” He laughed at his own terrible joke and moved to sit down at the empty chair at our table. Noah must have thought that the guy would talk to us all evening if we stayed, so he stood up and said, “We’ve got to run. Nice seeing you, Marco.”

“Yeah, man, I will see you around campus.” Marco turned to Finn and added, “And Finnster, man, we will see you at your party.”

“Indeed,” Finn intoned and picked up his tray.

Noah grabbed our backpacks and slung them over his shoulders, so I picked up both trays and his cups and made toward the clean-up conveyor belt. I thought for a minute that Noah would fight me for them, but I raised an eyebrow at him and he backed away.

“You know,” I said to Noah, “I can carry my own books.”

“I’m sure you can,” came his laconic reply, “but why should you?”

I didn’t have a non-confrontational answer. I wondered if friends were invited to parties, but neither Finn nor Noah brought it up again. They walked me to my apartment, where Noah finally handed over my bag and said he’d see me in the morning.

Noah

“Could it have killed you to give us a minute of privacy?” I groused as we walked to campus parking, where I had left the truck.

“Yes, actually,” Finn replied. “After hearing from Bo how inept the great Noah Jackson is with this girl, I had to stick around.”

“I hope we put on a good show for you.”

“Nope. I kept waiting for you to put your big-ass foot in your mouth. Sadly, nothing,” Finn let out a loud belch.

“Goddamn, that reeks,” We stopped at the truck and I made Finn stand outside for a good minute before I unlocked the doors. “I told you not to eat anything that they smother in cheese at the dining hall,” I said after we had finally gotten into the cab.

Finn responded with another, smaller belch. I rolled down the windows.

“Are we having a party this weekend?” I asked Finn.

“Why not?”

“Just wondered when this was decided. But whatever, I’m on board.” I tapped my fingers absently against the steering wheel. Getting Grace in my own territory might be a good way to move our tentative dance from one between friends to more. I didn’t like the idea of her going to fraternity parties looking for something I could and wanted to provide. Whatever that was.

“Post-party hookups can be dangerous,” Finn warned.

“Sure, but I need to get her in my territory and away from campus.”

“Isolate your prey and lure her into your cave? Does that work?” Finn asked.

“We’ll see on Saturday night.”

Chapter Eight

Dear Grace,

We aren’t supposed to be sent out on a raid again for thirty-six hours. I’m not holding my breath. The base has a bunch of new Air Force personnel. Bo tells me that the Air Force girls are better-looking than in any other branch of the Armed Services, and so he has left me to my letter-writing. He’d know. I think he’s tried them all out.

Tonight, after I finish this letter to reassure you that I’m just fine but worn out, I plan to lie down in my bed and read the book you sent me. The Odyssey? I know you think I’m doing heroic deeds, but I’m not. Or if I am, they are the same things being done by millions of other soldiers from around the world.

I’m ready to be done with this deployment. And Sgt., if you are reading this, I mean that I’m excited for this deployment to be done so I can re-up. (Not really, Grace, but just in case.)

Yours,

Noah

Grace

I didn’t see much of Noah after breakfast which ended up being a hurried and unsatisfying affair given that Noah had to run off to do something. Mike had me reshelving books for the first hour, and during the second, I sorted through old journals that would be sent out to be bound. Finally, I was told to go to the reference desk where Mike was still working.

“So you dating Jackson now?” Mike asked me, almost before I could sit down.

“No, we’re just friends. Why do you ask?” I said, trying to keep the moroseness out of my voice.

Mike shrugged. “Saw you holding hands the other day.”

“Oh, he just drags people around if they don’t walk fast enough.”

“Have you been to one of Noah’s fights?” Mike asked in his gossip reporter voice.

Mike wasn’t looking at me. He was throwing a ball up in the air. I grabbed at it on its way down. “Hey, I was playing with that,” Mike yelped, but settled back in his chair when he saw me glaring at him.

“Tell me about the fight,” I encouraged.

“It’s mixed martial arts. They use their—”

“Hands and feet. I know. They fight in an Octagon. Josh loves that stuff. Tell me about Noah’s fight,” I ordered impatiently.

“It wasn’t a sanctioned fight and they held it in some warehouse downtown this summer. I couldn’t see very well, but I heard he broke some guy’s eye socket in three places,” Mike said excitedly.

I couldn’t reconcile the picture of Noah pummeling someone’s face into tenderized meat with the guy who opened doors for me and carried my backpack.

“So he’s never brought it up?” Mike asked, curiosity coloring his voice.

“No, not a word.” If I sounded disgruntled, who could blame me? I felt like I was supposed to know him better than anyone, but here was Mike, a stranger to Noah, who knew secret things about him that I didn’t.

“Weird,” Mike replied. “It’d be the first thing I would bring up if I was hitting on a girl. He’s like a mini-celebrity in town. I was here over the summer, and when he walked in to The Circus, the DJ announced him.” The Circus was one of a couple dance clubs downtown. I didn’t ordinarily go there because it required someone to be the designated driver and I hate driving.

“There isn’t anything going on between us,” I insisted and tossed Mike’s ball back to him.

Bothered by Noah’s silence on the subject of his fighting, I turned away from Mike and picked up my book. After a few seconds of fruitless reading, I asked, “Mike, when did you pick your major?”

“Sophomore year. I took French Revolutionary History because I didn’t want to have any Friday classes, and it was the only one that worked out with my schedule. I ended up getting hooked on history.”

“What are you going to do with a degree in history though?”

“Teach, I guess. I’m going to grad school, and then I’ll do my doctoral dissertation on peasant munitions during the 18th century.”

“All that from one class?” I gaped at him.

“Yup. Are you worried you haven’t picked a major yet?” he asked, tossing the ball toward me.

“Kind of. My Uncle Louis, who pays for this gig here, told me I had to have a major picked out by Thanksgiving or else,” I said and threw back the ball.

“What’s the ‘or else?’”

“Dunno. I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“Are there any classes you’re taking this semester that you enjoy a lot?” Mike asked.

“No. I kind of dislike them all,” I confessed.

“Brutal,” Mike said tossing me the ball. I fumbled it a little but managed to hold on. “What about your pictures?

I groaned, “Taking pictures is a hobby, not a vocation.”

Mike moved back several paces and motioned for me to throw him the ball again. “Okay, then, what about being a reference librarian?”

“Because look at us. I don’t want to throw a little red ball around all day in between shelving and sorting journals,” I whined.

Mike just laughed. “I don’t think real librarians spend all day throwing balls around.”

“I guess I just feel no passion for this. What if I committed to it and then it didn’t work out?” I had to stop myself before I sounded like I was a whiny six-year-old.