“Oxidation is the loss of electrons or increase in oxidation state, while reduction is the gain of electrons or a decrease in oxidation state.” Schooner explained, again.
“But if it’s a reduction, how is it gaining?” CJ was getting frustrated trying to grasp the concept.
“Ok, just remember OIL RIG for the test. Oil is the acronym for oxidation is loss and Rig is for reduction is gain. Write down Oil Rig when you sit down to take the test.”
She sighed.
“The best thing you can do is to keep drawing the Citric Acid Cycle and the Electron Transport Chain over and over until you memorize it,” he offered and pulled out a piece of paper from his notebook and handed it to her.
CJ stuck her tongue out at Schooner and snatched the paper from his hand. She dug into her backpack for colored pencils and started her drawing.
Schooner lounged back on the steps, enjoying the warm sun and the breeze on his face. He squinted in the bright sunlight under the visor of his tennis team cap and started checking out the people hanging out on The Quad. Frisbee players, people studying on blankets, a few footballs being tossed and a group of about six kids in a circle doing something weird.
He started watching the circle people trying to figure out what they were doing. At first it looked as if they were doing the wave, but then one popped up and jumped in place spinning around, they each followed.
“Does this look right?” CJ asked, startling him.
He looked at her diagram, “Don’t forget to show the loss of CO2 and the NADH+H2 reactions.”
She went back to her drawing and he started to watch the circle people again. They were all facing outward now, holding hands and doing an odd kick dance. He could tell they were laughing and having fun. They began a new formation of a line snaking around the trees on The Quad and that is when he noticed leading the pack was Mia Silver.
She was wearing a white flouncy gauze peasant shirt and jeans and her hair was flying all over with the group’s movements. He didn’t even realize he was smiling watching her and her group until CJ asked him what was so amusing.
“I’m just watching that group, I have no idea what it is they’re doing, but whatever it is, they’re having a blast. It looks like some kind of improv thing.” Mia now had the group in a kick line and after a few attempted high kicks, they were soon all bent over in fits of laughter. Schooner was laughing just watching them. Coordination was clearly not their strong suit.
“Ick, aren’t they all from that stoner dorm?” CJ’s lip was up in a sneer, “That place is like the Island of Misfit Toys.”
Schooner laughed, “Yeah, it really is an odd assortment of people there, isn’t it?” He handed CJ another piece of paper. “Ok, give me the one you just drew, close your book and now draw it from memory,” her eyes widened with panic. “C’mon CJ, this is the one thing we know will be on the test for sure and it’s the only way you’re going to learn it. You have to know cellular respiration.”
She grabbed the paper from him and gave him a dirty look. He laughed, “You are a brat!”
As CJ attempted the diagram from memory, Schooner continued to watch Mia and her friends. They were now laying on their backs and pointing up at the clouds. They must be finding shapes in the clouds, he thought. He hadn’t done that since he was a little boy. The memory of laying on his front lawn with the kids from his neighborhood made him smile.
He felt CJ’s eyes on him. “You finished it?” He asked.
“Let’s finish this upstairs,” she stood and put out her hand to him. He took it and followed her into her dorm.
“I’m going to give you a biology lesson now,” she undid the button and zipper on his tennis shorts, “And I don’t need a diagram for this.” She sunk to her knees and took him deep in her mouth.
“Oh yeah,” was all he could say as he held her head in place and drove deep into her mouth. It felt so damn good. He was lost in his rhythm pounding into her mouth, “Just like that.”
He didn’t want to come, it felt too good, he needed to make it last. He kept one hand on the top of her head, holding her in place as he thrust. He opened his eyes, still driving relentlessly into CJ’s wanting mouth. Outside the window, movement below on The Quad caught his eye. It was Mia and her friends and they were now doing a crazy, abandoned dance. Her arms were outstretched wide and her long hair was flinging with her head, her hips thrusting rhythmically. It was so much fun to watch her being so free and he realized he was thrusting into CJ’s mouth to the rhythm of Mia’s wild abandoned dance. He felt his balls tighten and the pressure begin to rise and he could no longer keep his control.
When he left CJ’s dorm, Mia and her friends were still out on The Quad, sitting in the grass, hanging out talking. He caught Mia’s eye as he walked past and did the head nod/smile acknowledgement. Mia did the same in return. He suddenly felt shy and hoped she didn’t notice that he was actually blushing. Why did he feel like he had just taken advantage of her?
CHAPTER 8
The remainder of first semester flew by alarmingly fast. Schooner made first string on the tennis team, an unusual feat for a freshman, and represented the team in the fall regional tournaments with a string of wins. Come spring semester and the aggressive team schedule, he would be juggling studies and travel — including trips to many of the small Ivy’s on the east coast. He looked forward to the travel matches and exploring campuses he had only seen in pictures.
The month of January was known as Interim. For four weeks, students took only one intensive class for four credits. Some classes were on campus, other’s were travel oriented — European capitals, Theatre in NY, Outdoor Adventure: Australia/New Zealand, Spanish Immersion in Ecuador and dozens of other equally interesting classes. For those who stayed on campus, the course catalogue offered intensive seminars on a wide array of subjects, including in-depth study on specific authors, film genres, American popular culture, music (from intensive instrument instruction to analysis of Beatles lyrics). While there would be papers to write and tests to take, Interim allowed students to actually enjoy studying and really delve into a topic of interest that wasn’t a part of their normal core curriculum.
Schooner spent time between Christmas and New Year’s with CJ’s family. Parents loved him. Moms for the obvious reason, dads because he was an athlete and could be a man’s man. When CJ’s mother, Barbara, had Schooner pose with the family on a staircase photo (they were each lined up on consecutive steps, leaning on the banister and all wearing red sweaters — CJ’s Christmas gift to him), Schooner realized that CJ and her mother had this whole thing mapped out. Barbara MacAllister was clearly already naming her little blonde haired, blue eyed grandchildren and their last name would be Moore. It got worse when they took a few shots of just CJ and Schooner on the staircase, the banister decorated in garland and red bows, CJ and Schooner in matching red sweaters.
Schooner felt claustrophobic. He also felt used and manipulated. He was not happy.
That night when everyone was asleep, an angry and frustrated Schooner snuck into CJ’s room. Her pink satin robe hung over the back of a chair. Schooner silently pulled the sash tie from the loops of the robe and approached CJ’s bed. He sat down on the edge and the movement from his weight woke her.
“Shhhh,” he whispered, “keep quiet”
He took her hands and pulled them above her head tying them tightly with the satin sash to the post of her canopy bed.
“Do NOT make a sound,” his voice was gruff and commanding. CJ laid there wide-eyed and nodded her head.
“Your parents think you’re a good girl, don’t they?” CJ nodded. “They think you’re a virgin,” Schooner went on, “but we know better than that, don’t we?” CJ nodded again. “We know what a hot little slut you are,” a moan escaped CJ’s throat. “I told you to be quiet,” his tone harsh. “You are such a slut that every day you suck my sweaty cock and balls when I get off the tennis courts. I don’t even shower and I fuck you.” CJ started writhin
g, clearly turned on by Schooner’s monologue. “Stay still,” he hissed and she stilled. “Tonight your mother lined us up on the stairs. Her sweet little virginal daughter and her hot boyfriend. Show me off to all of her friends. Brag to them. Well, if she only knew how much you love to suck my dick, do you think she’d still be bragging. And now I am going to fuck her little “virgin” in her pretty little girly bed.” And with that, Schooner got between CJ’s thighs and rammed his cock deep into her dripping wet pussy. “And you won’t make a sound.”
Schooner rode CJ hard, ramming into her. Angry at her manipulation. At her mother’s manipulation. When he was done, he untied the sash and silently got up and left the room.
As had been previously planned for New Year’s, CJ was a guest at the Moore’s home and there was no way she was not going to be present at his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party, no matter how cold their son had been for the past few days. CJ had one chance to make a first impression and the Moores were going to love her.
By New Year’s Eve, Schooner could not wait for winter break to be over. He wanted to be back on the courts, practicing like a motherfucker for a full month before the spring semester tennis schedule began. He was also secretly very happy that CJ would be off for the month exploring European capitals. When she had first signed up for the class, he was not ecstatic about her being away for four weeks. But with intensive pre-season tennis practice, his own class and the feeling like a noose was being tightened around his neck as his future was being decided for him, he was ready to tell CJ to “Have a great trip. See you in February.”
Dee Moore was famous for her parties. She was the consummate hostess and had a natural knack for putting people together and launching conversations. She would get it started and quietly move on to the next group needing her help. Dee liked to think of herself as the sand in the oyster — she’d get it all started and then her job was done. As she surveyed the room that night, she noticed Schooner’s girlfriend CJ was part of her husband’s conversation group, which was made up of all men. CJ hung onto Gavin Moore’s every word and laughed brightly. While the girl had been nothing but pleasant and solicitous, Dee’s motherly red flags were up. CJ was showing the Moores what she thought they wanted to see and Dee instinctively knew they had yet to see the real CJ.
Dee exited the great room wondering where her son might be. Gavin’s home office was empty and Schooner was not with the crowd in the kitchen. Dee made her way to the family room and still there was no sign of Schooner. She saw a slight movement through the French doors and found her son out on the deck, alone.
Schooner was such a social young man, that finding him alone, instead of socializing with family friends he had known his whole life, told Dee that all was not right in her son’s world.
“Getting some fresh air?” She asked, intruding on his silence.
“Hi Mom,” he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
“CJ is very lovely, Schooner.”
“Yes, she is. We look like we belong together, don’t we.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“No doubt about it, you two make a very striking couple. Whether you belong together is another story. While it’s nice to see you in a committed relationship and caring for someone, you are both very young. First love can sometimes be overwhelming.” Dee rubbed Schooner’s back, reassuringly.
Schooner remained silent.
“Are you feeling overwhelmed?”
He closed his eyes and sighed, “Mom, I’m really glad she’s going away for the month. Is that a bad thing? Is that telling me something I should be listening to?” Schooner turned to his mother, a pained look on his face. Her heart ached at his confusion.
“No Sweetheart, it’s not a bad thing. It is what it is and those are your feelings. Whether it’s telling you something or not — well, only time will tell — maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. And the time you spend apart may give you a lot of answers. The two of you have just gone through several very intense months learning to live on your own, coming into your own. Take a breath and just give yourself credit for successfully embracing all the change in your life and doing a really great job with it.”
Schooner hugged his mother tight. He just wanted to be the man she wanted him to be, yet always had something gnawing deep in his gut that if she really knew what was going on hidden in his psyche, that he would disappoint her.
“Let’s get inside,” she led him toward the door, “It’s almost the new year.”
At the stroke of midnight, in a room filled with revelers, Schooner kissed CJ deeply. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, lower lip out in a full pretty pink pout.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” he whispered softly in her ear, not being able to voice it out loud. And in that moment, Schooner hated himself just a little bit more for telling her what she wanted to hear.
CHAPTER 9
January was historically a cold and rainy month and it looked like history was going to repeat itself. Half of the student population was abroad or doing domestic travel classes, leaving only about 1200 students on the entire campus. It kind of had a ghost town feel to it and Schooner thought it felt damn good. No roommate. Beau was in Ecuador. No girlfriend. CJ was going to be in London, Paris, Rome, Vienna and Prague. Practice at the new indoor tennis center, that had just been completed over the holiday break, and an American Popular Culture class on the History of American music from blues to modern day would be his life for one month. Sweet.
After a great two hours of returning serves from a relentless machine from 6:00 A.M.- 8:00 A.M., Schooner headed to the dining hall for some breakfast. He thought this would be his January schedule. Early morning time on the court, breakfast, then class from 9:00 to 12:30, Monday through Thursday. Coach had practice from 2:00 — 4:00 daily and then the evening was his open for studying, projects and hanging out. He liked this new plan and couldn’t wait to get into the groove.
Refusing to carry an umbrella, Schooner pulled up the hood of his windbreaker and made his way across The Quad to Clawson Hall. The class was in one of the theatre-style lecture halls and Schooner did a quick scan of the crowd when he walked in, looking for people he knew and hopefully an empty seat.
She looked up just as he scanned the section in which she was seated and broke into a huge smile as their eyes met. A real smile, he thought. He smiled back (a real smile) and started up the stairs, two at a time to her row. She was at the center of the row and he had to climb over a few people to get to the empty seat next to her.
“Hey, how was your holiday?” He was really happy no one else had been sitting on her right.
“Great and yours?”
“It was good. My Dad was asking about you. He said to say hello if I saw you.”
“Please tell him and your mom hello from me,” she gestured to her friends sitting on the other side of her, “Do you know Henry and Rosalie?” And she turned to them, “Guys, do you know Schooner?”
Schooner recognized Mia’s two friends from her “entourage,” but had never actually spoken to either of them before. He was pretty sure that both Henry and Rosalie were gay. He lived in the jock dorm and if anyone was gay, they were certainly not out. Mia, Henry and Rosalie lived in a dorm whose motto could have been, “Anything Goes.”
“Do you know anything about this professor?” Schooner asked.
Mia’s face lit up and she became very animated, “I had him last semester and he is the coolest prof on campus. He grades really tough though. He truly makes you think and expects a lot from your papers. I hate his freaking red pen.”
“Oh crap. Writing is not my strongest skill.” Schooner admitted.
“Rut roh.” Mia did a Scooby Doo imitation, “It IS my strongest skill and he still beat the crap out of me. But he’s a great lecturer and he just makes everything really fun. He’s also like the best guy to talk to.”
Dr. Richard Stevens took the podium in the front of the room. He was dressed in faded jeans and a wo
rn blue work shirt and looked every inch the “cool” professor. He was very articulate and there was just a hint of a British accent. Schooner noticed that Mia was looking at him like he was hot. She definitely had a Prof Crush.
“Welcome to Interim,” he began. “One class. Just one class. For those of you who are freshman and this is your first Interim, you are thinking that you just got an extra month of vacation. You’re thinking you’ll be keeping the ole’ bong fired up.” Chuckles and murmurs coursed throughout the room, “You’re thinking marathons of Hearts and Spades. You’re thinking you’re going to be shitfaced for a month,” he paused, “well, you’re wrong. For the next month, you will be learning about the American soundtrack. You will be learning how music is the universal connector from generation to generation, it is the mirror that reflects society and it’s mores. You will be sitting in your dorm rooms, quite possibly with a bong in hand,” more chuckles from the lecture hall, “and will hear the music you are playing differently than you’ve ever heard it before. You’ll want to write about it, dissect it, discuss it, argue about it and get lost in it. Listening to music will never be the same.”
Mia smiled at Schooner, her eyes alight. She was right, he thought, this guy is dynamic. This is going to be amazing.
“Four weeks. Three individual papers, the first one due this week,” he paused, “yes, you heard me right. I said this week. There will be one group project. No tests.” A small cheer from the lecture hall at the mention of no tests. Professor Stevens continued, “Your group project will make up 40% of your grade, each paper is worth 20%. So, as you can see, there is no room to screw up. There are 28 of you in this class and you will break into 7 groups of 4 for your group projects.”
Mia looked left at Rosalie and Henry and right to Schooner, “Us four?” And they all agreed.
Professor Stevens turned to the board and began writing.
“Our culture finds its tension and its life within the borders of the glimmer and the dying away, in attempts to come to terms with the betrayal without giving up on the promise” ~ Greil Marcus2
Searching for Moore Page 3
