by Kristie Cook
“No,” I reply, shaking my head and taking a sip of water.
“Well, ya see, this mathematician named Bertram Russell came up with this logic problem. Now, I’m not a big fan of math like my dad is, so I like to explain it in words ‘cuz it’s easier for me. Here it is in this statement: ‘This statement is false.’ Now, if the statement is false, then it is true; and if the statement is true, then it is false.”
I think about the statement for a moment until I figure it out in my head. “I see what you’re saying. If the statement is false, meaning it is untrue, then it’s correct to say it’s false, so the statement is indeed true, but if that’s the case, it would be a lie to say it’s false, so it couldn’t possibly be true. It sounds like a catch-twenty-two.”
“Right, yer smart, Red, that didn’t take ya anytime at all to figure that out. It’s what ya call a vicious circle; ya can’t help but go round and round with it. Well, ya said yerself that ya think I’m fairly stubborn. My family thinks that I can be really stubborn and that I tend to go ‘round and ‘round with somethin’, just to get what I’m after. My mom calls me her paradox because sometimes I can be inconsistent with my logic,” he says, grinning at me. “My dad added the infinity sign to it to express the fact that it’s my eternal flaw,” he smiles at me, while I search his face for the connection that would unravel the puzzle for me.
“Russell, there is something that you should know,” I say haltingly.
“Oh yeah? What’s that, Red?” Russell asks.
“I dream every night about your necklace,” I say quietly, feeling like a complete tool.
I see him smile for a second until he reads the serious look on my face, then his smile falters. “Ya do wut?”
“Even before I came to school, I’ve seen this necklace in my dreams … my nightmares,” I say, looking down so I don’t have to see him look at me like I am crazy. “I don’t know what it means, but I know I have to …”
“Ya have to what?” Russell prompts me, watching me as I look back up at him.
“I have to protect it somehow,” I say.
“Protect it from what?” he asks me quietly.
“I don’t know, but it’s pretty freaking awful, and I can’t stop dreaming it,” I say honestly, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at me.
“So, what does it mean?” Russell asks me. “Do ya know? Are ya psychic or something?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. This has never happened to me before. It started right after I was accepted to Crestwood,” I reply, pushing my food around on my plate.
Russell looks around to see if we’re being overheard. When he doesn’t notice anybody listening to us, he leans in closer and says, “Damn, Evie, this is some freaky crap you’re talkin’ ‘bout here. It’s like ESP,” he explodes near the end, unable to contain his agitation.
“Okay, yes, that’s one option. The other option is that I’m a little crazy,” I reply. Surprisingly, that is starting to feel like the preferable option in my scenario. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this now. It’s not like we know each other, really. As a matter of fact, you didn’t even know me this morning. It’s just that there is something else between us. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, for me, and I can’t explain it.”
Stop talking, you idiot! I think to myself. He has no idea what you’re babbling about.
But, Russell surprises me, saying, “Yeah, I know whatcha mean. It’s like always lookin’ for somethin’, but not knowin’ that yer lookin’ really. Like findin’ a piece of yerself that ya didn’t know y’all had lost … ahh hell, I sound like a girl. I can’t explain it either, but I know what yer sayin’.”
We are silent for a while, each of us fully aware of the other, and then Russell says, “Maybe Reed isn’t wrong. Are ya sure ya should be here?” When he sees the anger on my face, he goes on to ask, “What have yer parents said ‘bout all this?” My silence has him drawing the right conclusions, and he says, “Ya haven’t told them? Why not, Evie?”
Unable to look at him right away, I pick up my tray and take it over to the conveyor belt by the busing window. Setting my tray down, I turn to go back to the table, but I bump into Russell who is right behind me with his own tray.
“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to pull away from his side, but Russell’s arm snakes around my shoulder, holding me to him. After busing his tray, he retrieves our bags with all my books in them and we leave Saga together. We are outside and halfway through the quad before I realize it.
When we are out of hearing distance of anyone else, I blurt out, “I don’t have parents. I have an Uncle Jim, who loves me more than anything in the world, and that’s just as good as having parents. I can tell him just about anything, but I don’t even know what’s happening, so how can I possibly explain it to him? He’d try to believe me, I know he would, but if you hadn’t been at the lake with me, would you buy even half of this?” I ask him rhetorically because I’m certain the answer is no. “And I’m supposed to be here. I can feel it, so I’m not leaving!”
“Well, Red, I guess ya told me, huh? Yer kinda a fiery little thing, aren’t ya?” he asks rhetorically with a sweet smile. “So, this Uncle Jim, does he like to fish? ‘Cuz we, my daddy and me, know this spot in a little lake by our house where the fish all but jump into the boat.”
I squeeze his hand lightly and reply, “He’s more of a techie than a sportsman.”
“Can he tell me why my computer is lockin’ up and makin’ me reboot after bein’ on only fifteen minutes?” Russell asks offhand.
“Sure, give me your IP address, and I’ll email it to him. Turn your computer on when you get back to your room and make sure you have access to the Internet. He’ll either fix it or tell you what you need.”
“Are ya serious?” Russell asks in amazement.
“Oh, there is one thing we take very seriously in our family, which is comprised of Uncle Jim and myself, and that’s technology. Do you have a firewall?” I ask.
“Umm, no, I don’t think so,” he replies.
“Russell, no wonder it’s not working. Do you know how easy it is to get into your computer? Not to mention that you’re open to attack from viruses, worms, and Trojans. We’re getting you a firewall!” I say adamantly.
With a sexy grin, he replies, “Okay! We’ll get a firewall or a whole darn fire station if we need to. Now, explain to me an IP address and the Trojan thing sounds interestin’, too,” he says, revealing just how anti-geek he is.
I roll my eyes at him. “When you go back to your dorm for the dorm meeting at four, talk to Freddie. I think he’ll know what an IP address is and will help you get it off of your computer. I can get it from him at dinner.”
“Yer having supper with Freddie?” Russell asks as we stop in front of Yeats. There is an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before. It sounds suspiciously like Russell is jealous, but that would be insane.
“Yeah, I asked him if he wanted to have dinner with me when we were at breakfast this morning,” I say, noticing that Russell dropped his eyes. “You can come too, you know. It’s not an exclusive thing.”
“Oh,” Russell says in relief. “I wish I could come. The coach scheduled a team meal tonight at the field house. He’s tryin’ to promote unity—they’re havin’ it catered. I don’t think I can bail ‘til at least seven.”
“The food might be better than Saga,” I agree.
“Well, that goes without sayin’. So, when can I see ya again?” he asks me, smiling and showing his sweet dimples in his cheeks.
“I don’t know. How about tomorrow sometime?” I ask him, wondering when I’m going to stop being surprised about his interest in me.
“How ‘bout tonight? We could go for a walk after supper,” Russell suggests.
“Okay,” I agree as my heart beats a little faster in my chest.
“Do ya have a phone? Can I call ya, or text ya when I’m done with the supper thing at the field house?” he asks, producin
g his cell phone from his bag.
“Sure.” I give him my number and he programs it into the contacts of his phone. Finding my phone at the bottom of my own bag, I program his number into it. Russell then hands me my books out of his bag.
“I’ll see ya tonight,” he says before smiling and walking away.
CHAPTER 5 - FIELD HOCKEY
I walk down the stairs to the lobby from my room before turning left towards the formal reception hall of Yeats. The dorm meeting starts in five minutes, so I have time to look around and find a seat. A sign-in sheet is on a table outside the room and the residents are lining up to check in.
Peering over the shoulder of the brunette coed in line ahead of me, I see that the reception room has several elaborately carved mahogany tables with matching chairs; it also boasts a grand fireplace with leather armchairs around it. Old photos of students past cover the walls; the gilded frames reflect the light from the elegant crystal chandelier.
The RA I’d met yesterday, I think her name is Megan, is posted like a sentry outside the room. She is scrutinizing each student signing in as if she is TSA at an airport screening. I am nearly to the front of the line when an upperclassman with honey blond hair and cornflower blue eyes stops me by tapping me on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” she whispers, looking over my shoulder at the RA.
“Yes?” I whisper back, not really knowing why we’re keeping our voices low.
“You live on the second floor, right?” she asks me conspiratorially, tucking her long hair behind her ear.
My eyes widen as I reply, “Um, yeah—two o eight—I’m Evie.”
“That’s a single room—you must be on smart-girl scholarship. I’m Buns,” she whispers quickly, and then she smiles when she sees my crooked smile. “My real name’s Christine Bonds, but everyone just calls me Buns.”
“Oh,” I reply, not really sure how to respond to that, but she saves me by forging on.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she whispers quickly. “I was wondering if you could help me out?” she asks, peering over my shoulder again at the RA ahead of us. “My roommate couldn’t make it to this meeting, but if she doesn’t come, she’ll get in trouble with the house mother. So, I was wondering if maybe you could distract the RA for me so that I can sign her in?”
I look away from Buns, back to RA Megan. She’s still watching every name being added as if terrorists are afoot. Glancing beyond Megan, I notice that there is another mahogany table with several large stacks of handouts on it.
Turning back to Buns, I whisper, “Um, I think I have an idea. Give me just a second.”
When it’s my turn to sign in, I add my name to the list. Strolling casually toward the table with the packets on it, I pretend to trip over my own feet; then I launch myself at the table with my arms out, and I sprawl into it, knocking the stacks of handouts off the tabletop and onto the carpet beneath it. To make sure I’ve gotten Megan’s attention, I say loudly, “Oh oww!”
I know I shouldn’t look over at Buns to see if my ploy is working, so I immediately begin picking up the papers from the floor and arranging them in stacks where they’d been. RA Megan hurries over to help me, and I feel guilty for about half a second until she says, “Freshman,” under her breath and rolls her eyes at me in a derogatory way.
“Sorry … not too bright, huh?” I ask, knowing that she thinks I am referring to myself and not her.
Buns joins us then, helping me pick up the remaining handouts. We each take a packet and then hurry over to a pair of delicate wing-backed chairs in the corner by the bookcase. “Thanks, sweetie!” Buns whispers to me as her blue eyes sparkle with humor.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, facing all the staring eyes of the other coeds who had witnessed my fake fall. Some of the girls are still smirking, talking about me behind their hands.
Buns seems not to notice them. “You think fast on your feet! I probably could’ve added the entire lacrosse team’s names to the sign-in sheet with all of the time you gave me!” she gushes.
I shrug, and say with a small smile, “Megan totally fell for it, too. It was worth the stink eye she gave me.”
Mrs. White, the housemother, enters then and eyes everyone with a sour expression. When the room quiets down, she begins the meeting. It is a dry, torturous reading of the packet containing the dorm rules.
“Why don’t they just give us the rules and be done with it,” I whisper to Buns as Mrs. White reads on with no inflection in her voice. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say that everyone here can read.”
“They think they have to read it to us because they know that only a freshman will read it otherwise,” Buns whispers back, smiling at me and winking. “Hey, what are you doing tonight after dinner, around six fifteen or so?” Buns whispers excitedly as if something has just occurred to her.
“Umm, I was planning on going for a walk tonight but not until later on, why?” I whisper back.
“Field hockey!” Buns whispers expectantly.
“Field hockey?” I whisper back warily, looking at Mrs. White to make sure she isn’t noticing us.
Buns bounces excitedly in her seat, not even trying to be inconspicuous as she whisper-shouts, “You can be on our team! We need a couple more girls, and you would be perfect! You look athletic; did you play sports in high school?”
“Yeah, soccer team and ski team,” I say in a low voice, trying not to attract any attention from the people around us. “But I never even watched a field hockey game. We didn’t have a team at my school.”
Waving her hand like she’s erasing my objection from the air, she whispers, “That’s okay, field hockey is a lot like soccer. You can pick it up in no time, and it’s just an intramural league, anyway.” Bouncing up and down in her seat again, she whispers, “Please, Evie!”
We are definitely drawing the attention of the girls near us with our conversation. “Buns, you’re going to get us tossed out of here,” I whisper, but she just steeples her hands together, moving her lips like she’s praying, ignoring everything else around her. “Okay,” I whisper to her.
“Sick!” she whispers back happily.
It ends up taking Mrs. White almost an hour to get through the rules. When she is finished, Buns and I go back upstairs to her room. “You can have one of Brownie’s field hockey uniforms to practice in until we get our new ones. She’s my roommate,” she says. “You two are almost the same height.”
She bangs open the door of her room with a crash, switching on the light. “Brownie, get up!” she orders in a teasing voice. “We have to get ready for dinner, and then we have hockey practice.”
Brownie doesn’t move from the cocoon of blankets on her bed except to raise her middle finger up to Buns.
Buns laughs, saying, “You’re making a bad impression. I brought someone for you to meet.”
Stirring slowly, Brownie sits up in her bed, rubbing her eyes. She is really pretty—even with bed head. Her blond, wavy hair is so light it can be called platinum. She has blue eyes, too, like her roommate, but they are a lighter shade than Buns’s are.
“What time is it?” Brownie asks sleepily.
“It’s five o’clock. Mrs. White went on and on tonight, but Evie was stellar.”
Buns recounts my fake fall into the table for Brownie, which has her laughing and thanking me. Buns smiles, “I invited Evie to play field hockey with us tonight. She played soccer, and she skis, too.”
“That’s epic! We need you,” Brownie says to me. “We can teach you all you need to know,” she says, bounding out of bed with surprising agility. “Here, this is a hockey manual,” she adds, tossing me the book she’d taken off of her desk. “You can use one of my uniforms.”
“I already told her that,” Buns smiles warmly at me, watching Brownie pull out a little athletic skirt and knit top from the closet, piling the clothing into my arms. “I’ll bring you one of my sticks to practice with since we’re about the same height.”
“Okay
,” I say as I clutch the uniform and manual.
“Let’s meet up after dinner at around six-fifteen, and we’ll walk over to the Field House together. We practice on the lower field by the baseball diamonds for about an hour. We should be done by seven-thirty,” Buns says.
“Do you guys eat in the cafeteria?” I ask hopefully. I’ve never seen them there, or up the hill for that matter, but it would be nice to eat with them once in a while.
“No, we eat at our sorority house. Our cook, Jenny, is gourmet,” Brownie replies.
“Oh, so you’re saying you don’t miss the appetizing fare at Saga,” I say sarcastically.
“Eww no, I shredded my saga card the minute I no longer needed it!” Buns says with a snort.
“You’re so lucky! I’ll have to hurry if I want to eat before we have to go. I’ll meet you guys after.”
I take the clothes back to my room and place them on my bed, thinking that I’ll change when I get back from dinner. I haul the field hockey manual with me to study at dinner. On the way, I quickly text Russell:
Was invited to play field hockey @ 6:30 @ the lower field. Let’s walk after. B done NLT 7:30 CU after?
I don’t have to wait for the textpectation to build before my phone vibrates. I read the text message from Russell:
*Evil Grin* That’s epic meet u @ the field 2nite. UR 2G2BT.
Smiling at Russell’s message, I enter the cafeteria. Opting for the salad bar over the meatloaf dish, I scan the room for Freddie, but it isn’t five-thirty yet, so I sit at the back table by the picture window where we’d eaten breakfast this morning. I don’t have long to wait before Freddie sits down next to me.
“Hey, Freddie, how are you?” I ask in greeting.
“Frustrated, I just had to sit through the most mind numbing dorm meeting I’ve ever attended. Don’t they know that I’m quite capable of reading?” he asks in outrage.
“I know, right?” I agree with equal heat.
