by Kuhn, Sarah
“I’ve got the mixes all cued up!” Aveda said, when I got into the car. “Just one thing, we need to stop at the grocery store.” She brandished the now-empty bag of shrimp chips. “We’re out of these.”
* * *
“Wow.” Aveda’s eyes widened as she took in the Morgan College campus. Getting over to the East Bay city of Oakland had taken forty-five minutes and three bags of shrimp chips, and thankfully I hadn’t felt like throwing up once even though I’d eaten at least half of them. We’d parked Lucy’s car in the visitor lot near the entrance, and then began our trek to Morgan Hall, a stately old building smack-dab in the middle of campus—the college’s prized centerpiece.
“Evie, this is like stepping into some kind of fairy tale,” Aveda said, her awed gaze sweeping the campus. “Was it like this when you were here?”
“It was,” I said, taking it all in. “It looks exactly the same.”
Morgan was a small liberal arts school that prided itself on being a fairy wonderland of sorts—Aveda wasn’t far off the mark. The campus was nestled in the middle of urban sprawl, but great pains had been taken to make you feel as if you were entering a peaceful nature preserve, walled off from all the concrete and traffic and bustling city noise. It was shrouded by a canopy of eucalyptus trees, their scent of pine and honey wafting through the air and blocking out all the smog lingering just beyond the gates. Oakland actually did have a lot of naturally occurring scenic-ness—it was a city built on top of coastal prairie, woodlands, and beautiful green hills that rolled into the distance. Plenty of that was still visible: trees spreading their wild, crooked branches around glass-walled condo buildings, bright yellow flowers sprouting hopefully out of gray sidewalk cracks, the occasional rabid squirrel hoarding leftover pizza crusts. It was like you could feel all that nature breathing just underneath the concrete.
Morgan had taken pains to embrace the nature of it all, plunking itself between two big, grassy hills bookending the otherwise flat campus. Rather than bulldozing these hills, the college built its dorms right into them, giving student housing an air of whimsy. As if everyone was living in giant hobbit dwellings.
But as always, there was a darker side to the fairy tale, in the form of all those stories about ghosts and unexplained noises and weird, after-hours encounters.
“I know it looks pretty,” I said, as we made our way down the eucalyptus tree–lined path to the center of campus. “But this campus is actually notorious for being . . .” I lowered my voice theatrically. “. . . haunted.”
“What!” Aveda shrieked, whacking me in the arm. “You’re not serious! Evie, are you just trying to mess with me because it’s so close to Halloween? Because Aveda Jupiter does not appreciate seasonal pranks in any form!”
“I am so deathly serious,” I said, trying to make my tone dramatic again. “Every year, there were always all these unexplained happenings, people claiming they saw ghosts.”
“Isn’t that the natural result of having a bunch of sleep-deprived college students staying up way too late, studying and partying way too hard, and ingesting way too much caffeine?” Aveda said, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“That’s some of it,” I conceded. “But here’s what’s really interesting: a lot of times, the stories people tell are the same. It’s the exact same ghosts menacing those sleep-deprived college students year in and year out. And with Halloween right around the corner . . . well, who knows what could happen.”
“Guh.” Aveda shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself. The East Bay was usually a hair warmer than San Francisco—its marine layer was less impenetrable, its sun more eager. But the air got the same snap, that underlying current of bitter cold that felt like a rattlesnake sinking its teeth into your arm. And right now, in the dead of October, it was still cold enough that we needed quality outerwear. Aveda, of course, had an extremely stylish leather jacket, perfectly tailored to her frame. I had thrown on an oversized blue canvas number with a hood—not at all flattering, but it held back the chill. “Those ghosts better keep all their bullshit to themselves this weekend,” Aveda continued, “because there are bona fide superheroines on campus.”
I grinned at her and let my gaze wander up to the eucalyptus canopy. Dusk was starting to fall, and little bits of sky winked through the branches. I breathed in that familiar scent, felt myself transported back to my exhausted grad student days . . .
“Oh, Evelyn, I meant to ask . . .” Aveda broke into my thoughts, then trailed off, sounding unsure. I turned to her, cocking my head to the side quizzically. “Do you know if we’ll be seeing . . . I mean, does your, ah, old flame still work here?”
“Richard?” I gave a derisive snort. “You know, we might see him. Last I heard, he still teaches here. I’ve honestly tried to never think about him again, but I’ll cop to Googling a couple times. I mean, he’s tenured, so . . .” I shrugged. “If he is here, I suggest we avoid him at all costs. He’s definitely one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met.”
Aveda stopped in her tracks, crossing her arms over her chest. “And . . . ?”
“And . . . what?” I faced her. And tried not to laugh. Standing in one of her classic badass superheroine poses, juxtaposed against the idyllic green of the campus, she looked like she was ready to fight . . . well, I wasn’t sure what. The eucalyptus trees? The rabid squirrels that liked to frolic in the meadow in front of the dining hall? The contrast was deeply amusing.
“He’s not just annoying, Evie,” Aveda groaned. “You make it sound like he stole your laundry quarters or something. That man made you feel endlessly bad about yourself, he was thoroughly toxic, and he cheated on you—which led to one of the most traumatic moments of your life. And let’s not forget that he entered into this relationship with you when you were a grad student and he was a professor. I know you’ve said you were close in age and he maybe didn’t feel like one . . . but he was. That is a large and very fucked-up power differential.”
“I mean, yes,” I said. “All of those things. But he’s just so . . . in the past. He feels like a mistake I don’t want to think about. And as far as making me feel bad about myself, I mean, I’m so different now. I was such a mouse back then. I never really stood up to him or argued with him or told him what I needed out of a relationship. I let him define all of that—including the fact that we never talked about how inappropriate it was for us to sleep together, period. I wouldn’t do that now—as you keep reminding me, I’m a badass, confident superheroine. And my life is perfect.”
I gave her a valiant smile—and was pleased that it actually felt real. Not the frozen rictus grin of the past few weeks. Maybe I wasn’t confident about everything at the moment, but I at least believed in my ability to deal with Richard. He was a microcosmic speck in the past, not relevant to my current life.
“So you’re not dreading the possibility of seeing him? Not at all?” Aveda shook her head in disbelief.
“If it happens, it happens,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Well, if you can’t, I’ll run interference,” she said, her eyes sparking with Aveda Jupiter-style determination. “Let’s go.”
I stifled a giggle as we finally made it to the main courtyard, a lush expanse of green sprawling out in front of Morgan Hall. Aveda still looked like she was about to fight a squirrel or something. I couldn’t help but be touched by her dedication to making our fake babymoon as fun and worry-free as possible.
The courtyard was currently dotted with tables swathed in white linens and bearing overloaded platters of cheese and fruit. Twinkle lights were strung throughout the trees, amping up the fairyland vibe even more as dusk turned to night. All of this was anchored by Morgan Hall—if the college was a fairyland, this was its castle. The four-story building boasted big, beautiful arched windows, a sparkling white exterior, and even a couple of little turrets at each end. It gave off an air of royal grandeur, a
nd I’d always felt intimidated by it as a student—especially as a scholarship student working three different campus jobs to make ends meet.
But now there was something about it that was strangely comforting—maybe because it was a sight I knew so well. A little to the left of it was Morgan’s famed bell tower, always chiming on the hour, a deep and sonorous bong that reverberated through the entire campus.
I felt my shoulders relax, my slight smile becoming even more genuine. This was a lot like the scene that had greeted me when I’d first started my degree, back when I’d had dreams that were far different than what I’d ultimately ended up doing with my life. Seeing all the twinkle lights and the bell tower and the abundance of cheese, I felt the tiniest of flutters in my gut, a wistfulness for what could have been.
Aveda touched my shoulder. “You okay? Feeling that mojo coming back yet?”
I turned to face her, and was about to reassure her that I was just taking a stroll down memory lane, when my gaze landed on a pile of rubble at the far side of the courtyard. Actually . . . I squinted, trying to home in on it. It was more like a partial structure, surrounded by rubble. A building site. And with a sinking feeling, I realized it was in the exact same place as . . .
“Evie?” Aveda prompted.
“That’s . . .” I swallowed hard, my genuine smile vanishing as that sinking feeling deepened. “It used to be—”
“Ah, admiring our half-built new library?” A tall, red-haired woman swanned up to us, clutching a stack of nametags in her hand. “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but it will be absolutely beautiful when it’s completed! And it’s about time they completed it. They’ve been working on it for years.”
“What’s taken so long?” Aveda said, her gaze sliding to me.
“Well.” A small frown pierced the woman’s sunny expression. “There are always these unexplained problems happening, you see. Noises. Accidents. Things bothering the construction folks.”
“Like sabotage?” Aveda said, her investigative senses perking up.
“More like something of the otherworldly sort.” The woman smiled again and winked broadly at us, her momentary bad mood forgotten. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about our, ah, ghostly reputation.”
“The library’s just been . . . destroyed all these years?” I said, trying to push away the ball of anxiety that was forming in my gut. “Ever since it burned down?”
I didn’t realize my impact on this school had been so long-lasting—and not in a good way. After I’d left, I’d tried to avoid looking up or reading anything about what was happening here. I’d sent my donation in and figured that was that. I flashed back to that fateful day in the library, my face getting hot, humiliation and hurt and rage flooding through me . . . the panic afterward, everyone running and screaming . . .
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
That’s not you anymore. If it happened now, you’d handle it so differently . . . you know how to control your powers. You’re that badass superheroine!
The redhead shuffled through her pile of nametags, glancing back at Aveda and me. “You’re Evelyn Tanaka, yes? One of our most famous alums.”
“Not exactly an alum,” I said. “But thank you. And this is Aveda Jupiter, my co-superheroine.”
“Of course,” the woman said, beaming even harder. “We weren’t actually expecting you—I didn’t realize the college had invited anyone who hadn’t finished the program. So this is a lovely surprise!”
“Oh, I thought I RSVPed . . .” I said, frowning as she handed me a blank nametag and a pen.
“It’s wonderful you’re here—and I understand congratulations are in order!” the woman trilled. “Perhaps one day your child will want to follow in their mother’s footsteps and attend Morgan!”
“P-perhaps,” I stuttered, scrawling out my name and pinning the nametag to my jacket. I had managed to avoid going out in public since Maisy leaked my pregnancy news. Getting congratulated by total strangers was definitely going to take some getting used to.
“There are so many people who spotted you walking over and want to meet you,” the redhead barreled on. “And some old friends who want to say hello!”
“Old friends?” I muttered, trying to think of who she might mean.
“Right over there.” The red-haired woman swept an arm toward one of the cheese-laden tables. “We’ve had several of those folks ask for you personally.” I looked over to where she was pointing . . . and for the second time in the past few minutes, all the blood drained from my face.
Only this time, it wasn’t dread and anxiety and a problematic blast from the past swirling together in my gut—it was plain old annoyance.
Because mixed in among the group of alums and faculty enjoying cheese, there was an all too familiar face.
“Richard,” I muttered under my breath. It came out like a curse.
Dammit. Hadn’t I just said I wasn’t worried about seeing him? And wasn’t I just congratulating myself on being a badass superheroine, so different from the Evie of old? I hadn’t been prepared for the visceral reaction his smug face still provoked. It instantly transported me back to the days of Sad Mouse Evie.
“Wait a minute,” Aveda said, as the red-haired lady bustled off to her next nametag victim, “that’s Richard?”
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I just.” Aveda blinked a few times, like she was trying to bring Richard into focus. “I didn’t expect him to be so, well, handsome.”
I rolled my eyes. She was right, Richard was indisputably hot. Bright blue eyes, rakish sweep of sandy hair, shoulders that made his dumb elbow-patch blazers look way better than they had any right to, and a smile that caught you off guard. He’d been the fantasy object of a sizable portion of the faculty and students, and I had to admit that, at least initially, I’d probably projected some kind of fantasy persona onto him instead of seeing him for what he really was.
When we’d kissed after class that day, the thrill of this incredibly handsome man wanting me had overwhelmed all my senses—so much so that I hadn’t stopped to consider that it actually wasn’t that good of a kiss.
“An obvious douchebag, no matter how handsome he is,” Aveda said, shaking herself out of the momentary Richard trance.
That panic rose up inside of me again—apparently, all it took was being back here on campus for a few moments to inspire a tidal wave of memories. They were crashing over me now, threatening to overwhelm my senses. It was like I was transforming into Sad Mouse Evie on the spot. I took a few deep breaths.
“I . . . Sorry,” I said, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to see him again, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Then it’s time for me to step in,” Aveda declared. She positioned herself in front of me, blocking me from the view of the cheese enthusiasts. “Tell you what. Why don’t you go somewhere and, like, process this? I can tell you aren’t ready to interact with him just yet. Or to deal with . . .” She gestured around the courtyard, lingering on the library build site. “. . . all of this. It’s a lot, Evie, and you don’t need to beat yourself up for suddenly having feelings about it. I’ll run interference, tell them you’re off getting ready. And if nametag lady comes sniffing around here again, I’ll tell her to piss off.”
“Annie!” I burst out laughing. Aveda had gotten better at the whole social graces thing the past few years, but there were certain civilian situations that she tended to miscalculate—usually with amusingly extra results. “You don’t have to do all that. We can go over right now, I’ll suck it up—”
“Evelyn.” Aveda faced me—still blocking me from view, I noticed—giving me one of her imperious looks. “I’m your plus-one. Let me plus-one you. Go settle all your feelings, get your head on straight. The terrible ex and the traumatic building site and the cheese w
ill still be here when you return.”
“Not so sure about the cheese—okay, okay, I’m going!” I said, laughing as she shooed me away.
“Just wait, Mr. Richard,” I heard her mutter as I headed off. “Aveda Jupiter is going to make sure you don’t fuck with my best friend again!”
“Oh god,” I murmured to myself, unable to suppress my smile.
I took a few more deep, cleansing breaths and turned myself in the opposite direction of the library, not looking back. I didn’t have a more specific direction in mind, but as I rambled around the back of Morgan Hall, I realized my feet seemed to be taking me to a destination that loomed large in my memories: Burke Theater, where we’d screened movies for many of my classes. It was, in fact, the very theater/classroom where Richard and I had first kissed after our Crouching Tiger moment.
Funny how the more you try to get away from the past, the more it wants to shove itself directly in your face.
I slipped inside the darkened classroom. The theater was set up in its own structure, adjacent to the building that housed the offices and other classrooms of the Pop Culture Studies department. It was slightly more modern than many Morgan buildings, all sharp angles and no-nonsense clean lines. A giant screen took up the front of the room, with a podium just off to the side. The seats were built stadium style, on risers. Though right now, you could barely make out any detail—all I saw were vague, shadowy shapes, their curves still familiar to me even though I hadn’t set foot in this classroom in nearly a decade.
I tried the light switch at the back of the room, but nothing happened—I remained in the dark.
Well . . . that was actually kind of nice. Enhanced the silence of the place. Perfect for collecting myself and getting into the right headspace for reunion shenanigans.
I fumbled my way over to my old seat, nearly tripping on one of the risers. I’d usually sat in the back, off to the far left. Entering this classroom had always given me an odd sense of calm—maybe because I knew that whenever I did, there would be nothing required of me for the next two hours. I’d watch the movie, sometimes take notes. Be surrounded by velvety darkness. The only noise, the only chatter, was whatever was onscreen. And no one in the movie was demanding anything of me or reminding me of something I’d forgotten to do or complaining because I’d bought the wrong kind of peanut butter—a regular Bea Tanaka lament. It was like hitting pause on my regular life for a blissful one hundred and twenty minutes.
