by Claire Adams
“Oh, I just overheard some people talking about it.”
“Yeah, I'm pretty excited about it, actually. We're leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Awesome. I'm sure you guys will do a lot of good work.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Cool. Well, I'll see you next week when you're back. Enjoy the trip!”
“I will! See you then.”
He waved goodbye and then walked out of the lab, still wearing that strange smile on his face.
***
I returned from my RAG trip feeling pretty good — exhausted, but good. I'd stayed so busy during the trip that I hadn't really had much time to do anything other than work hard and sleep. We had risen early every morning and gone to bed late every night. I'd been dead tired by the end of each day, so there hadn't been any time to sit and stew over Emerson — who still hadn't called me or even texted. But in some ways, that was good for me. I returned feeling a renewed sense of focus, and my first class after the break was chemistry. That meant seeing Garrett.
“Hey,” he said with a warm smile when I sat down next to him. “How was your trip?”
“It was great!” I responded, happy to have someone enthusiastic to talk to about it.
“Awesome! I bet you helped a lot of people.”
“I sure hope we did. I learned so much, too. It was a rather empowering experience, overall. I'm so glad I did it.”
“You'll have to tell me all about it sometime. Say, is it too late in the semester to join RAG?”
“You want to join RAG?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. I've volunteered in the past. I've just been too busy recently that it’s been on the back burner, but, you know, it's something that's part of you, right? An intrinsic slice of who you are as a person. I don’t know; sometimes I think I have some sort of weird addiction to helping others.”
I smiled. “There are worse things to be hooked on.”
“True. If I had to choose between being hooked on crack and hooked on charity, I know which one I'd pick!”
I laughed, and he chuckled along with me.
“So, you are still interested in coming to the film festival with me, right?”
“Yes, I am. I didn't forget.”
“Excellent,” he flashed me that smile of his that I still wasn’t sure how to take. I admit it made me question what was going on behind it.
“There are a couple of films all showing at the same time, right?” he asked. “We have to pick one out and then just watch that one?”
“Yep. There will be a few different screens set up.”
“Alright, so is there any film in particular that you want to watch? I'm alright with any of them. They all seem pretty decent.”
“Hmm,” I said, giving it some thought. “There's a student remake of an old Hepburn film that I’d really like to see on the big screen.”
“No way,” he said. “You're into classic movies?”
“Yeah, I love old movies, especially musicals.”
“Ever seen Singin’ in the Rain?” he asked with a grin.
“I have to admit I have not.”
“What?! And you call yourself a fan of musicals,” he said with a mock scoff.
I chuckled. “Hey now, I didn't say I was some kind of expert, just that I liked them.”
“Well, you absolutely have to watch Singin’ in the Rain. Seriously. It's one of the best musicals I've ever seen, period. It is Gene Kelly at his finest.”
“Sounds like something I need to watch, then.”
“I've got a projector at my place and a killer surround sound,” he said with a grin. “And, what is possibly the comfiest sofa in the northern hemisphere. Not to mention, I make a mean bowl of popcorn. You should come around sometime for a movie. It's better than going to the theater, guaranteed.”
Class was about to start, so I leaned over to get my books out of my bag and out of the corner of my eye saw Garrett staring at me with that same peculiar smile on his face.
“Sounds like it could be fun,” I said. “I'll think about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Emerson
It had been a week since I had last talked to Brooke. I knew she was out of town on the volunteering trip she had told me about a couple of weeks back while we were working on a lab. I also knew I’d been a complete ass for not calling her before she left. But the truth was, I didn’t know what to say. Knowing she had likely been the one who called the cops and turned us in made it a bit difficult to want to face her.
I had spun it around and around it in my head, wondering of maybe I'd been wrong. After all, there were a lot of variables and there was always a chance I was totally off base in jumping to the assumption that she had made the call.
I tried to justify it to myself by saying I couldn’t get in touch with her if I didn’t have my phone. But then, I had also missed chemistry class the day after being arrested when I probably could have gone. And because I still couldn’t bring myself to face her, I skipped Friday’s class, too.
I'd finally gotten my replacement phone in the mail Friday, but by the time I was able to make it to the store to have them switch everything over, Brooke had already left for the weekend. Not that it mattered. I was still pissed at that point and uncertain if I even wanted to talk to her. I hadn’t even opened the text messages she’d sent while I was at Dad’s or listened to my voicemails.
Not having class for the next few days seemed to be in my favor, considering the circumstances. Not only did it mean I had a stay of execution when it came to facing Brooke, it also meant I had a few full days to put a dent in the community service Chris and I had to pull because of the whole getting arrested fiasco.
Somehow, Mom had managed to smooth things over a little regarding the underage possession incident, thanks to some of her connections. I felt kind of bad about that, almost ashamed. After all, if my mother hadn’t had connections, I’d have been up a creek without a paddle. It really didn’t seem all that fair in the overall scheme of things. But then again, I didn’t turn down her help, either — help that came with stipulations.
I'd been stuck at my mom's house since the arrest. Initially, she’d said I would have to move back home and stay there until I graduated. I knew she had my best interest in mind, and that scenario would likely have been great for my wallet and my grades, but it would have been hell on my social life and my sense of independence. Luckily for me, after nearly a week of having me back home, she calmed down some and changed her mind. Of course, those stipulations were still in play. There was a condition to her support in my moving back out on my own: I couldn’t move back in with Chris or any other “boozehound roommates” as she’d put it. It was a compromise I could easily live with.
Of course, moving out of the apartment I had with Chris meant I would lose my half of the deposit, but Mom reminded me that sometimes hard lessons were expensive. She also gave me the speech about being an adult and dealing with the consequences of my actions. When I tried to explain that I hadn’t actually even been at the apartment when everything went down, she quickly reminded me that the alcohol had been in the apartment for much longer than the two days I’d been gone and I was just as guilty and responsible for it being there as Chris. As much as I hated it, she was right. So, with a heavy heart, I had to man up.
I posted my motorcycle for sale on Craigslist. It was the only thing I could do to get enough cash to pay the deposit and several months’ rent for an apartment of my own on short notice. I decided I’d have to use part of the money from selling my bike to buy an old truck to get around in. It would suck compared to my motorcycle, but being responsible was what growing up was all about…right?
***
“Well, that's the last of my stuff,” I announced as I dropped the box on the living room floor by the door.
“You sure you wanna do this?” Chris asked. He looked a little sad.
“Dude, I told you, it’s part of the deal. I don’t know ho
w she did it, but Mom saved our asses from some much more serious charges, and this is the price I have to pay for it. I have to be a man and accept responsibility for my actions, and part of accepting that responsibility is doing this. Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving the country or anything. I’ll just be ten minutes across town. ”
“I get you, bro, I get you. I know you're doing the right thing, but this place won't be the same without you around.”
I put the box down and gave him a hug. “I'll catch you later, man,” I said.
“Later, bro,” he muttered gloomily.
I picked up my box and headed out of the apartment. I couldn't resist pausing outside Brooke's apartment. I wondered if she was in and contemplated knocking on the door, maybe talking this whole thing over. But instead of knocking, I stood frozen for what felt like an eternity. I agonized over the choice in my head. I extended my hand and took a deep breath. I couldn't let things end with so much unsaid, I just couldn't.
But, just as my fist was about to rap on the door, I stopped, slumped my shoulders, sighed, and skulked away. I just couldn't face her.
I trudged down the stairs feeling like it might be the last time I'd ever be there. It wouldn't, of course. I was certain I'd come to visit Chris, but it sure felt final. I stopped on the way down the hall when I saw Jenkins mopping the floor. He glanced up and smiled when he saw me.
“Young Emerson! Well, how are you doin', boy? That's a big ol' box ya got there. Is it heavy? Need a hand?”
“Nah, it's just a bunch of clothes.”
“Oh, off to get some laundry done?”
“No,” I admitted. “I'm moving out, actually.”
Jenkins looked surprised. “Movin' out? Why?”
“Remember you warned me that one of the neighbors would call the cops if we kept on making a racket?”
“Uh-huh?”
“We kept on making a racket.”
“Ahhh. I see.”
He leaned on his mop and shook his head. “I'm sorry it came to that,” he replied. “Guess this means the cops showed up?”
“They did.”
“You boys get busted? Have to pay a big-ass fine, permanent record?”
“No, thankfully just got community service. I mean, we got a record, but it'll be erased after six months if we pull our community service and don't commit any other offenses.”
He nodded. “Lucky kids. Well, I expect you'll at least come 'round to visit your friend Chris, won't ya?”
“I will.”
“Good, then this won't be the last I'll see of ya.”
“No, sir, it won't.”
He smiled a toothless grin. “Well then, go well, young Emerson! I hope you've learned a lesson from all of this!”
“That I have. Take care, Jenkins. I’ll see ya around.”
I waved goodbye and walked toward the parking lot to my mom's SUV, which I had borrowed to move all of my stuff in case it rained. After I had packed my boxes into the car, I stopped for a while to look at the clear, starry sky above.
Just as I was about to get into the car, a familiar figure walked around the corner, heading for the apartment building. She was messaging someone on her cellphone, but when she finished she peered up and looked straight at me. She hesitated and almost stumbled, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do — she seemed kind of shocked.
Or maybe she seemed guilty.
“Uh, hi, Emerson.”
“Hey, Leslie.”
“What are you up to? Is that your car?”
“No, I'm just borrowing it.”
“Oh.”
She came across as distinctly uncomfortable talking to me.
“So, what happened to your bike?”
“I had to sell it.”
Leslie cocked her head to the side in surprise. I retained an emotionless, distant coolness in my expression. “Why’d ya have to do that? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Well, after Chris and I got arrested, I had a few bills to pay and needed cash pretty quick. So, I did the only thing I could do — I sold my favorite possession.”
She looked away, the heat from her blush radiating over her face.
“I'm…I'm sorry to hear that,” she said.
“Oh well,” I continued, “sometimes shit happens, huh? I mean, you wouldn't think a couple of twenty-year-olds having a few beers at their place would be such a big deal, but some people do, apparently.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“It also seems I might have to drop a couple of classes because Chris and I have to do community service, and it looks like it might interfere with my schedule.”
Suddenly anger flared up in Leslie's face.
“Stop trying to guilt trip me about that!” she snapped. “If you guys cared so much about your damn grades, you wouldn't have been doing all that partying in the first place!”
“Um…” I tried to say something, but she kept going.
“We did warn you before about the noise, yet you two didn't give a damn. Ya’ll just carried on! Do you know on the night the cops came, the bass was so loud that everything in my room was vibrating? I mean vibrating to a point that things were falling off the damn table! I had three tests that next day, three! If you two hadn't been such inconsiderate, selfish jerks, you wouldn't be in this mess!”
“Hang on a minute there,” I interrupted her, my own anger starting to surface. “I wasn't even there when the cops were called. I'd been away for two days visiting my dad, who had major surgery. A procedure that could have killed him. And then I rode my bike all day, only to get back here and get arrested as soon as I stepped into my apartment. I told Chris, dammit, I told him to stop making so much noise. It was him, not me.”
“Well, well… I had to call the cops,” she spluttered. “There was nothing else I could do! I went and knocked on your door, but it was so loud nobody even heard me!”
The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Hold up — you called the cops? You?”
She folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “Yeah. I called 'em, and I'd do it again. Your roommate, well…ex-roommate now I suppose, is a total asshole! I will not hesitate to call them again if he tries that DJing crap late at night again.”
“So, it wasn’t Brooke who called the cops?” I didn't care about anything else she was rambling on about. The only thing running through my mind was the fact that Brooke hadn't called the cops.
“Umm, that’s what I said,” Leslie retorted.
“Just…just wait,” I stammered, “was Brooke even there that night?”
“No. She was studying at the library. And while she's okay with doing that, I want to study in the comfort of my own home, alright? Don't think you can justify that noise by saying, ‘Well, if Brooke can study in the library, why can't you?'”
I grinned like a madman. “It wasn't Brooke,” I muttered just before I broke out in laughter. “It wasn’t Brooke.” I hugged Leslie out of impulse. “It wasn't Brooke!”
“What the hell are you talking about? Have you gone crazy?”
I flashed a huge smile at Leslie and then ran around the SUV to the driver’s side.
“Maybe I have,” I shouted, “maybe I have. Thank you, Leslie!”
With that, I slammed the door shut, cranked the motor, and sped off into the night.
This changed everything.
Everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Brooke
The sound of a low rumble vibrated through the walls of the apartment. My first thought was that Chris had cranked up his music again which, of course, started me thinking about Emerson. I hadn't seen his bike parked out front since the Wednesday morning after he’d gotten back from visiting his dad. He still hadn't been to chemistry class nor had I seen him anywhere on campus. I tried not to let him get to me. I tried to push him out of my mind every time my thoughts wandered in his direction, but I just couldn’t seem to keep him from sneaking into my head. I'd been able to distract
myself easily enough on the RAG trip, but being back in my apartment opened me up to thinking about him again.
The rumble pulsed through the apartment once more. I was about to head next door and ask Chris to turn his speakers down, when a buzz on my phone snapped me out of my intentions and saved me from making an idiot of myself. Garrett’s message informed me that he was downstairs waiting for me.
I stepped out of the apartment and looked down only to find the deep rumble wasn’t coming from Chris cranking up his music next door; it was from a classic muscle car idling its engine out front. Sitting in the driver's seat was Garrett. He saw me and rolled down his window and grinned.
“You coming down or what? We're gonna be late for the movies!”
“Alright, alright! I'm coming!”
I hurried back inside, checked my makeup in the mirror, then grabbed my bag and locked up.
When I got to the parking lot, Garrett was standing by the pristine, vintage car, holding the passenger door open for me. I admired it before I climbed in. It looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor. Its gleaming black paint didn't seem to have a single spot of dirt on it.
“Wow, Garrett, this is a beautiful car!”
“'67 Mustang,” he said, flashing his model perfect grin at me. “Classic American muscle. Way more personality and presence than those wannabe sports cars everyone drives these days.”
“I'll say. Jeez, I could feel the engine rumbling up in my apartment.”
“It's magic, isn't it? Man, that V8 growl gives me chills down my spine every time I crank it up.”
“My dad is a bit of a muscle car enthusiast. He took up rebuilding them when he couldn’t ride his motorcycles anymore. This thing has to be worth a pretty penny. It's absolutely spotless! Mind if I ask how did you managed to acquire such a machine? I mean, you’re a college junior.”
“I didn’t buy it like this, you know. My dad picked it up from a scrapheap when I was fourteen. It was dented, seized up — a real beater. So, we got it for next to nothing and worked on it for the next five years, restoring every part to original condition. And now…voila! The beauty you see before you.”
