Chapter Five

Savannah – Before

 

She was here.

She was actually doing this.

She was a freshman at college.

She was waiting in the registration line with Heather, her friend from high school.

Heather was what Savannah’s mom called boy crazy. Even now, Heather had already pointed out three different guys that she’d like to go out with. And they’d only been here for thirty minutes.

Savannah wasn’t looking at boys. Savannah was worried about whether her classes would be filled by the time they finally got up to the registration desk. Being first-time freshmen, they didn’t exactly get first pick of class times.

By the time they got to the front of the line, Heather had struck up a conversation with a guy standing next to her.

“Next.”

Heather waved Savannah off. “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll take the next one.”

Eager to get enrolled so they could hit the bookstore, Savannah didn’t hesitate to go ahead.

Registration was completed in booths staffed by older students. She went up to the upperclassman and, her hands shaking, handed him the form that had been signed by her advisor.

“You can sit down,” the student worker told her.

She sat on the edge of the seat and watched as he typed in her information.

“Savannah Skye Richards,” he said.

She nodded, glanced at him, and returned her eyes to the screen.

“From Birmingham.”

“Yes.”

“That’s only, what, a couple hours away? So you’ll be commuting?”

“No,” she said, “I’ll be living on campus.”

“That’s good.” He clicked the keys. “Your English is closed.”

“Oh no,” she groaned.

“And your math.”

She felt the tears welling in her eyes. Here she was, ready to start classes and couldn’t even get in.

“Hey,” he said, “your biology is good. And I got you in the psychology class. Let me check the history.”

She held her breath.

“Closed.”

“What do I do?” she asked. “I only have two classes?”

“Oh no. We’re not finished,” he said, watching her carefully.

I won’t cry, she repeated over and over to herself.

“I can move your history to 9:00, so that’s done.” He clicked deftly on the computer keyboard. “Then I can put you in the 2:00 English. So I just switched those two out. You’ll like this English professor better. Trust me.”

She turned her eyes to his. And was mesmerized by their deep-blue color. His smile was kind.

“What about my math?” she asked, a glimmer of hope shooting through her.

“Math always fills up quick,” he said, “even though no one wants to take it. I’ve yet to meet anyone who actually likes math.”

“I like math,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

“No kidding?”

“Yeah. I went to state.”

“No way,” he said. “How did you do?”

“First place.” She began to relax a bit.

He looked back at the computer. “There is seriously nothing open.”

She really needed the math. She had her whole schedule worked out, and math was a prerequisite that would put her whole schedule behind if she couldn’t take it this term.

“Hold on a minute.” He picked up the phone and spoke briefly to someone on the other end. More tapping on the keyboard. “All right,” he said. “You are in.”

“But how?”

“I got you an override.”

“You can do that?”

“I’ve found that if I ask only about once every now and then, they realize how important it must be and give it to me.”

He gestured over to the booth next to him where Heather now sat. “She calls all the time and only rarely gets an override.”

Poor Heather.

He hit print and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Savannah waited, much calmer now. She was ready to hit the bookstore.

He came back and handed her a printout of her schedule. “Just what you wanted. I only had to switch out two classes, but your times are the same.”

Savannah studied her schedule. She looked up and smiled. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m happy I could help.” He seemed to consider.

“Is this it? What do I do now?”

“The next stop is fee payment.” He leaned back, his expression quizzical. “There is one other thing.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“I’m supposed to go to the orientation dance on Friday.”

She knew there were lots of activities this week, but she hadn’t paid much attention. “OK.”

He laughed. “Will you go with me?”

“I don’t usually go to dances.”

“I don’t, either,” he said. “But I kind of have to go to this one. And it’s a good excuse to get to know you better.”

“I’m just a regular freshman.”

“I have a feeling you’re anything but regular. So what do you say? Can I be your escort to the dance?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I’ll meet you there if I go.”

He swirled around, picked up a flyer from his desk and handed it to her. “If you change your mind, this is where I’ll be.”

She took the flyer. Glanced at it. “I don’t even know your name,” she said.

He pointed to his Auburn University name tag. “Noah,” he said. “I’m fully vetted.” Then, as though on impulse, he took the flyer back from her, scribbled his name and a phone number, and handed it back to her. “I’ll walk you to your next station,” he said, standing up.

She stood up. “I have to wait for Heather,” she said, glancing at the line of students waiting for their turn at registration. “Besides,” she said, “I think you have a line.”

“All right,” he said, “you win. See you Friday, Savannah Skye.”

Heather walked up at that moment. “What happens Friday?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Savannah said, turning and steering her friend away.

“What? Do you have a date with Mr. Hunk?”

“Mr. who? No. I don’t date.”

“Then what?” Heather saw the flyer clutched in her friend’s hand and lifted it enough to see the header. “He invited you to the dance?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I can’t go.”

Heather grinned from ear to ear. “What do you mean you can’t go? We’re freshmen. We have to go.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere but class.”

Heather glued her feet to the ground. “Savannah, president of the high school student class, is not going to go to college and be a hermit.”

“I’m not a hermit.”

“Sounds like it. If Mr. Hunky Guy asked me to go to my own dance with him, I would most certainly go.”

“You would go if anyone asked.”

Heather’s eyes widened.

“I’ll think about it,” Savannah acquiesced.

Heather frowned but started walking again. “I guess that’s something at least.”

Later that evening, Savannah sat in her new dorm room and arranged her desk. Heather, also her roommate, was out somewhere, with a group of girls who had come by recruiting freshmen. Savannah had waved them off, not paying much attention to where they were going.

She turned on her little lamp and opened each one of her textbooks, thumbing through them in anticipation of the worlds of knowledge they held.

She settled on her biology text and started reading.

After a few minutes, she laughed at herself. Studying the week before classes even began. She got up, stretched, and went to the refrigerator for a soda.

Heather had tacked the dance flyer to the front of the fridge. Savannah took it down, read it for at least the tenth time, and stared at Noah’s name and phone number. Noah Worthington. And a number she had memorized.

She hadn’t gone on a date since her high school prom. Her date, Timothy, had gotten drunk, and decided he really wanted to be dancing with Mark. Granted, Mark was a good-looking guy.

But something about having one’s high school prom date come out on the night of the prom had left her with a slight aversion to dating.

Savannah had never been “boy crazy” anyway. Not that she didn’t like boys. She just preferred to be a little more selective. In fact, she never would have gone to the prom with Timothy if Heather hadn’t insisted that they should double date.

Noah had seemed nice, but she really didn’t have the time to even be thinking about a boy, much less spending time with one.

No, she decided, putting the flyer back on the refrigerator, she definitely would not be going to the orientation dance.

 

Two nights later, Savannah followed Heather into the student union.

Against her better judgment.

“I really don’t do dances,” she said to Heather for what must have been the fifteenth time, that night alone.

“I know. I was there when the whole senior prom thing fell apart. If anyone is qualified to keep you away from dances, it’s me. But this is college,” Heather insisted. “You have to move on. Get back on the horse.”

Savannah kept her comments to herself. Heather had been dogging her for two days now. She ran her hands along her jeans. Straightened the sleeves of her pink polo. She was actually a little nervous.

She’d agreed to come along to keep Heather company. She didn’t like the idea of her friend walking around campus at night by herself. I’ve really got to get past this. I can’t follow Heather around for four years.

She justified her decision to come along with the newness of college for both of them. As they entered the room, she found herself searching for a glimpse of Noah. Would he really be there? He was an upperclassman. Why would he be at a freshman dance?

Heather went to the check-in desk and presented her ID.

“Savannah,” Heather said, tugging at Savannah’s sleeve. “Show the guy your ID.”

Savannah pulled her ID out of her back pocket and, after glancing at her friend who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, presented it.

To Noah.

“Hello, Savannah Skye Richards,” he said, without looking at her ID card.

She felt the flush in her cheeks. The very person she’d been searching for was sitting right in front of her.

He leaned over, whispered something to the girl sitting next to him, and pushed back his chair. He was tall – at least six feet. He came around the table and nodded to Heather. “I’ll show you around,” he said, turning his attention back to Savannah.

“I’ll get something to drink,” Heather said, bouncing off toward the concession area.

Frowning, Savannah watched her friend desert her.

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” he said.

She met his gaze. “You had my address, not to mention my class schedule.”

“True,” he said, “But that would be stalking. I’m not saying I never would have used it, but I was hoping not to have to.”

“Why me?” she asked simply.

“You’re the only girl I ever met who likes math.”

She scoffed and turned away. “That’s not a good reason.”

“OK,” he said, putting his hands up. “You got me. I don’t have a reason.”

She turned back to him. “You’re a strange man, Noah Worthington.”

He broke into a wide smile.

She couldn’t help it. She smiled back.

“Savannah,” he said, taking her hand. “Just give me a chance.”

With Chicago blasting in the background, they made their way around the crowded floor to an empty table.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” she asked, leaning close so he could hear.

“I was just here to help out if they need anything. It was just an excuse so I wouldn’t look like a weirdo stalking freshman girls. So I was hanging out. Waiting for someone to show up.”

“Just anyone.”

“No, I had the possibility of a date.”

“What were you going to do if I didn’t show up?”

“I was planning to stay about thirty more minutes and then head home. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I wasn’t.”

“But you’re here.”

“I just came to keep Heather from being out after dark by herself.”

“You really know how to boost a guy’s ego.”

She laughed. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Are you a senior?”

He nodded “It’s my last year.”

“In. . .”

“Aviation.”

Noah had been cool before, but now he was. . . out of her league.

“You should definitely have a girlfriend.”

“I agree.”

“But not a freshman just out of high school.”

“I don’t see anything but college girls here.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “However, I maintain my stance.”

“Tell me your major again.”

“I’m undeclared.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “And as a very wise senior, I think you should declare a very lofty major.”

“Something akin to aviation?”

“Nah. You’re not the mechanic type. You need something more abstract. Like law.”

“My uncle’s a lawyer. It’s overrated.”

“How about psychology?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I looked at it. But there’s only one math.”

“Yeah, the math thing. They have statistics.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, I will.”

“I don’t want to spend our whole first date talking shop.”

“When did this become a date?” She looked around at the awkward freshmen just getting their footing in the college world.

When he didn’t answer, she turned back. His face was ever so close. He placed his fingers on her cheek and his thumb next to her mouth. Then his lips were pressed softly against hers.

Time froze as she absorbed the sensation of having his lips against hers and his fingertips on her skin.

As the Chicago song ended and faded into the next, he pulled back. “Now,” he said. “Now it’s a date.”