Undeclared by Jen Frederick

person, someone she worked with at the library, I admit that I may have had a moment of doubt.
    But seeing him, I couldn’t believe it. While Grace wasn’t super-communicative in her letters about her dating life, this guy didn’t fit her. He wore jeans that were so tight I wondered if they were from the women’s section of the store. I wanted to lop off those stupid-ass bangs of his. I could barely see his eyes. I didn’t trust anyone whose eyes I couldn’t stare straight into. This guy looked like a stiff breeze might snap him in half.
    If I pictured Grace with anyone, something I tried not to do, it would be someone like her brother. A jock. Or, because she loved photography, maybe one of those foreign war correspondents. But not this guy, who looked like he spent more time in front of the mirror than an entire sorority house.
    Inviting him and Grace to a movie was risky, but if I was there, I could get a better sense of whether she actually liked him—in which case I’d have to kill him—or whether she was just using him to put me off.
    It could be that Grace was just setting up a series of tests for me to pass, like the Twelve Labours of Hercules. That was fine. I’d complete each challenge, and then we could be done with it.
    Even though my reunion plans were less than stellar, it was all working out. Grace was talking to me. I didn’t have to skulk around campus anymore. I was putting together the final piece of my overall plan. Get out of the Marines, get a degree, get Grace.
    It was all going to work out fine. I pulled out my phone to text her, only to realize that I still hadn’t gotten her number.
    Item number one. Get Grace’s number.

Chapter Six

    Grace,
    I’m sorry I haven’t written for what must seem like months now. I’m currently sitting on my rucksack, with an envelope addressed to you on the bed. I’ve been writing you back lots of things in my head, but I can’t seem to find one minute to actually put pen to paper. By the time you get this, I’m not even sure where I’ll be.
    I ended up getting two of your packages at the forward operating base. Mail delivery is really spotty of late. We are all cursing and celebrating the supply truck’s appearance. Cursing because it never gets here on time and celebrating because of its assful of goodness.
    I was the most popular guy for a day when I opened those packages. And yeah, we got a ton of mileage out of hazing Bo with the movie The Notebook. He does kind of look like the guy who plays the lead.
    Yours,
    Noah
    P.S. Weather. So cold I’m wearing socks to sleep.
    Grace
    I slammed the apartment door open. I’m surprised we don’t have gouges in the wall from all the times I’ve banged the door open.
    Lana was lying on the sofa, and Amy was sitting in my chair painting her toenails. Being used to my door dramatics, Lana didn’t move, but from Amy’s curses, I must have made her mess up a nail.
    “What happened?” Lana called as I walked over to the kitchen to pour myself some water.
    “Noah just asked me to go on a date with him,” I paused, and Lana and Amy started to squeal with excitement. “But I’m going with Mike Walsh, and Noah’s bringing a ‘good’ friend.” I held up my fingers to do air quotes around the word good.
    The squeals turned to groans of dismay. “No way,” Lana said.
    “Yes way. Worse, this girl who I work with was there when Noah set up the double date, and she has a crush on Mike. She looked like I had stabbed her in the heart with a fork.”
    “You kind of did,” Amy pointed out.
    “How’d this happen?” Lana asked.
    “I told Noah I was interested in Mike,” I admitted. Groans from both girls filled the air.
    “Why?” they both exclaimed.
    “Because I didn’t want him to think I was some pathetic dolt who sat around waiting for two years for some guy to come and say ‘Let’s be friends,’” I gave a half-hearted defense of my stupidity.
    “Bet you didn’t expect this,” Amy said,