“It’s just so weird, hearing you talk about beating people up,”

she said, shaking her head. “You look like this innocent, delicate little thing and then you basically give me a step-by-step manual on how to beat someone to a pulp.”

“That’s not what I’m doing! I’m trying to teach you how to defend yourself, not purposely hurt someone.”

“I know. Calm down, Greene,” Noelle laughed, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. “Go on.”

I eyed her warily for a few more seconds until I continued.

“I should probably tell you that all these things really are for emergencies only. Flight is better than fight, in some situations.”

The face she made told me clearly that she wasn’t going to listen to this particular piece of advice.

“Also, it’s always good to use your voice and everything you can to seem intimidating.” After looking at her, hands in the pockets of her sweatpants and an eyebrow raised, I added,

“Though I think you have that part down already.”

“Thanks. You don’t though.”

I decided not to respond to that and instead asked, “Do you want to try the first trick?”

“Bring it on,” she said, ignoring the way I cringed when she cracked her knuckles.

With her watching me expectantly, I was suddenly nervous again. Last night in the closet, cloaked in darkness and with the liquid courage from the apple cider loosening my tongue, it had been so easy to talk to her. Now, my voice shook as I asked, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Noelle seemed taken aback for a second, but gave a nod.

I slowly reached for her wrist, keeping eye contact as my fingers closed around it. “Try to pull your arm out of my grasp.”

As I had expected, her first instinct was to try to pull it towards her body in an attempt to wrestle it out of my grip. When that didn’t work, she tried to twist her wrist, but to no avail.

I held on tightly, Noelle growing more and more frustrated until she eventually stopped trying and glared at me instead.

“You’ve had your fun, show me how to do this.”

I bit back a smile and released her wrist, which she rubbed with a sour expression.

“Hold onto my arm,” I ordered.

Her fingers caught my wrist without hesitation and held tightly, her eyes never leaving my face.

Before she could notice the goosebumps traveling up my skin, I leaned forward and, within seconds, freed my arm from her grip, leaving her staring at her now-empty hand in shock.

“I . . . how the hell did you do that?”

“Take my wrist again,” I said. When she did, I continued, “Get into fighting stance . . . feet apart and squatting a little. Now, when someone’s attacking you and grabs your arm, what’d be your first instinct?”

“To pull my arm away and run?”

“Exactly. But in this situation, you want to do the opposite.