by Wilde, Ora
I read the documents that she photocopied for me.
Her name’s Phoebe Marie Ellison.
Just as I surmised, she was a freshman. Graduated with honors from Chalfant County High School. She was pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Biology, a preparatory for med school most probably. She was enrolled at UCLA under a full academic scholarship.
Not bad. Quite an achiever.
I turned the page to discover more about my prospect. No... scratch that. She wasn’t a prospect. The nature of a prospect entertains the possibility of failure. There is no failure when it comes to a certainty.
This Phoebe Marie Ellison was not a prospect.
She was a target.
The next set of details revealed her schedule. I checked my watch. It read 9:08 A.M. She was supposed to be at Chem Pavilion for her Chemistry 11 class. She gets out at 9:20. If I’d hurry, I would be able to catch her there.
The Chem Pav was a ten minute drive from the record keeper’s office. I had to step on the gas just to be able to save a couple of minutes. It was already 9:19 when I arrived. Her room was on the fourth floor, and the Chem Pav was one of the older buildings in campus that has yet to have its own elevator. I had to dash up the stairs just to get to her on time.
Once I reached her floor, I darted towards the room where her class was held. I stopped right outside the door as I tried to catch my breath. I checked my watch again. 9:21. Their session should be over. She was probably busy fixing her things so that she could move to her next class.
I thought about what I should do.
I’d ask her what time it was, perhaps? That was often an effective introduction.
I’d act lost and ask for directions, maybe? No. The scenarios that would branch out from that would be too convoluted.
I could just say hello and smile at her. That has never failed me.
Well... nothing has ever failed me. Regardless of how I’d introduce myself, I knew - without doubt - that she’d consider it very flattering and she’ll be mine shorty thereafter.
I took a deep breath... one final gasp to get rid of all the huffing and the puffing that my haste has caused. Then I opened the door and entered the room.
To my surprise, though, the classroom was filled with students who were all busy with their flasks and their burners. The professor was in front, delivering a lecture which I disturbed. She gave me a bewildered look... and so did the rest of the class... including her. She was seated at the third row, in a table that was meant for two people though she was alone with her chemistry work.
“Can I help you?” the professor, a middle-aged woman who wore her hair in a neat ponytail, asked.
“Uhm...” I was rarely speechless. I have always considered my wit as one of my more reliable qualities. But at that moment, confronted with a situation I never expected, with all the eyes in the room focused on my dumbfounded self, I found it very difficult to come up with a suitable reply.
“Are you lost?” the professor asked again. She may be forty-something, but she was rather pretty, especially with the way she squinted her eyes to express bewilderment.
“No, no... I’m not lost,” I answered with a smile which I knew would’ve disarmed her. “I’m actually... well... I’m supposed to be in this class.”
I heard some giggling. I heard some gushing. I heard some gleeful murmurings. All of them had a feminine texture in their sounds. It was easy to distinguish. I was used to it.
“I’m sorry,” the professor replied, seemingly shocked. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“It’s my first day,” I said, still smiling.
“First day?” she uttered in disbelief. “But the midterms are coming up a week after next.”
“Don’t worry about me, Ma’am. I can quickly catch up... especially when I find the subject captivating.”
I turned to look at Phoebe Marie Ellison. There was a strange look on her face which I can’t decipher. It was like she was awed and nervous and furious at the same time.
“Have you enrolled for this class, Mister...” she asked for my name.
“Summersmith,” I answered. “Hayden Summersmith.”
More giggles. More gushes. More murmurs.
“Well, Mr. Summersmith, are you enrolled in this class?” she repeated her question.
I wasn’t, but I did manage to establish a close relationship with the student volunteer at the Student Affairs Office earlier, so I was confident that she’d be able to arrange things for me.
“Yes, I am, Ma’am,” I said.
“Very well, please take this seat on the first row,” she instructed as she pointed at the vacant table to her right.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could sit right there,” I suggested instead, pointing to Phoebe Marie Ellison’s table.
Phoebe’s eyes widened. It was actually amusing.
“Okay,” the professor agreed. “I guess Ms. Ellison will be able to help you catch up as well.”
“Oh, I hope she does,” I remarked with a smirk.
I proceeded to where Phoebe Marie Ellison was and sat beside her. Her posture was so stiff. She was like a petrified zombie, frozen on her seat like an antiquated statue that has remained unmoved for ages. She didn’t even look at me. Instead, her gaze was focused on the blackboard behind the professor. That was very weird, considering that nothing was written on its surface.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Y-Yes,” she replied, stuttering as she delivered the one word she called a response.
I gave her a warm smile, one which she didn’t see as she, for some unfathomable reason, refused to look at me.
“Okay then, Ms. Ellison,” I said as I twiddled with the test tubes lined up on the rack above my side of the table. “I guess we have Chemistry together.”
Chapter 6
PHOEBE
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
He was supposed to do something simple, something obtuse, something unexceptional... like pretending to bump into me just to help me pick up the things I’d drop on the floor, or stealing a book just so that he could return it to jumpstart a conversation, or, I dunno... stopping me in the corridor just to ask what time it was?
It wasn’t supposed to be this... this... intrusive... this violative...
Yet, there he was, right beside me, on my table, in my Chem class. Chem class! He’s a Philosophy major, for crying out loud! Chemistry wasn’t even part of his curriculum!
I couldn’t look at him. I was so appalled by his sudden presence, scandalized by his show of bravado, terrified by the thought that he’d immediately see through me and the farce that Cindy forced me to put on.
But I felt something else, something that I tried so hard not to admit. The more I attempted to deny it, however, the more powerful it became.
I was disgusted at myself for being astonished by the determination he has shown, wonderstruck by the charisma he so clearly possessed, and - in the glummest way possible - thrilled by the how far he went just to meet me.
No, Phoebe! Snap out of it!
It’s part of the game he was playing... his modus operandi!
Don’t be an idiot. The moment you let your guard down would be the moment you’d end up just like the other girls whose hearts he has murdered.
My eyes slid down to my table and the flasks that were waiting for my attention. A dish filled with baking soda on my left, and a bottle of acetic acid on the other. I was supposed to observe the production of carbon dioxide when they were mixed. I must concentrate on the task at hand. I shouldn’t let him distract me.
But my gaze inexplicably wandered towards his side of the desk. He was just fussing around with the containers in front of him, stroking the neck of the flask, wondering perhaps what it was and what he was supposed to do with it.
I tried to look away.
I tried.
But the sight of his muscularly ropy arms and his hands had my eyes glued for a few seconds.
&nbs
p; He had big hands.
I remembered what Cindy once shared... that the size of a man’s hands was indicative of the size of his...
“Rod?” he suddenly uttered.
I was stunned beyond belief, so much so that I almost hit the tube of acetic acid as I twisted and turned on my seat. Quickly, I tried to regain my composure. I pretended to fix the edges of my hair, hoping that he’d dismiss my nonplussed reaction as nothing.
“What?” I asked him with fictional calmness.
“Can you pass me the stirring rod, please?” he completed his question. He still had that disgusting smile on his face... one that was sated with arrogance and suggestion and conceitedness... one that was annoyingly mystifying.
I grabbed the rod from the side of the test tube rack and handed it over. The skin of his hand... his big, sturdy hand... brushed against mine as he claimed the item. A sudden surge of excitement coursed through my body... much like how a cat would feel when he was struck by lightning in the middle of an empty field during a thunderstorm... or maybe... like how a convicted felon would feel when the lever of his electric chair was finally pulled. The latter seemed like a more appropriate analogy.
I noticed his smug smile get even wider.
Oh my God.
Did he notice how much his touch affected me? Were there visible signs of my perturbation? Was I... was I blushing?
“I’m Hayden, by the way,” he introduced himself quite belatedly.
“Yes, I know,” I answered him indifferently as I turned my attention towards the materials on my side of the table.
“I see,” he said with overflowing confidence.
“No, I mean... you did introduce yourself to the teacher when you entered the room, right?” I reminded him, least he’d assume that I was one of the girls who have been snooping on him for years.
“Oh... I guess I did,” he seemingly rued, realizing that it wasn’t his charms that made me know his name. “Well, just for formality’s sake, I’m Hayden Summersmith. What’s your name?” his words radiated with the innocence of a harmless creature.
He was a good actor, I’d give him that.
“Phoebe,” I casually answered as I continued to mix the acetic acid with water.
“Well, Phoebe... it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he extended his hand to shake mine.
Oh no you don’t! Not again!
I pretended not to see his offer for a handshake. It took a couple of seconds before he withdrew his hand. But he still continued to look at me as his arms were rested on the table. He was still flashing that exasperating smile.
I tried to think of other thoughts just to keep my attention away from him.
He’s player, Phoebe, I remembered Cindy’s words. The worst kind of player there is.
He’s a master at laying traps.
Fall on one, and you’ll fall for him.
I trust you. You’re smarter than him. You’ll be able to see his nefarious schemes from a mile away.
Whatever happens, whatever he does... don’t ever fall in love with him!
Geez. Love. That was a big word. I haven’t been in love my entire life. The only love I knew was the one I shared with my mom. Sometimes I wondered, was there really another kind of love? Did I need another kind of love? Was this kind of love even necessary in my life.
With renewed resolve, I turned to face him. I wanted to start a conversation with him... the most lackadaisical of varieties... just to let him know that whatever he had planned, they would never work on me.
But as I turned my body towards him, I was shocked to see that he was already up, his lean and sturdy body hovering over me as he was reaching for something behind my seat. I bumped into him with so much force that the contents of the flask I was holding spilled all over his light blue shirt.
Oh no...
He quickly rubbed the liquid off, grabbing some napkins from the table as he frantically tried to wipe the massive stain that formed on the fabric of his top.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I distressfully apologized. “I didn’t see you there. I’m so sorry.” I grabbed some napkins as well and helped him wipe off the blemish that was still wet on his shirt.
The commotion stole the attention of the entire class, even the professor’s.
“It’s okay,” he said. “No big deal.”
His calmness... his patience... his poise... why did I find them very appealing even at that moment, with everything that was happening?
Then he started to sniff.
“What’s that smell?” he asked, perplexed, his face twisted in disgust.
“Uhm...” I was too afraid to answer. “Acetic acid,” I finally said, mumbling my reply, hoping that he didn’t hear so that he wouldn’t have to inquire about the true nature of the chemical.
He sniffed once again, raising his shirt towards his nose and giving me a very, very close view of his washboard abs... rigid, defined... delicious...
Some of the girls behind me saw it too as I heard a collective gasp that sucked the air out of the room.
“It smells like vinegar,” he remarked with a hint of repulsion on his face.
I squinted my eyes as my mouth began to crumple.
“Well... acetic acid is vinegar,” I explained, mumbling still, but the stupefied look on his face told me that he heard every word I said.
Chapter 7
HAYDEN
“Can I borrow a spare shirt?” I asked Donnie as he was still laughing at the misadventure I just shared. We were lounging at the back of my Hummer, its hatch was lifted up to provide some shed from the noontime sun.
He opened his gym bag and handed over a black Nike tee with big bold letters in white, spelling the words Skilled In Every Position. It pertained to basketball, but the double entendre was a nice touch. It was just a Nike top, though. I didn’t like the feel of its fabric. It made my skin itch. It wasn’t an Orley or a Gieves & Hawkes or a Ralph Lauren... but it should suffice.
It was way better than smelling like vinegar, anyway.
“So... are you backing off?” he asked. “Is the Hummer mine? Can I drive it home tonight?”
“Are you kidding?” I replied. “This is going to be very easy.”
“Isn’t the end of the week too soon?” he questioned with concern, doubting my ability to win the wager.
“No. It’s more than enough time,” I told him. “As I’ve said... this is going to be very easy.”
“I’m wondering though, what made you say that?”
“She’s a virgin.”
“Really now? And what makes you so sure about that observation? Did you finger fuck her until your digit was blocked by her hymen?” He started to chuckle.
“No, but all indications point to that conclusion. Never had a boyfriend. Gets visibly agitated when in close proximity to a man. Cringes at the mere brush of my hand. Easily gets rattled with the simplest attention thrown her way. That girl has never been fucked. I even doubt if that girl has ever been kissed.”
“Quite... perceptive,” Donnie commented as he seemingly stifled his awe. Or was it envy? I couldn’t really tell. “Are you done for the day, though?” he asked. “Will you continue tomorrow?”
“No. The day has just begun. I have something in mind for later. She’ll be at the Arts and Letters building. Humanities class at one. She’ll be in for a fantastic surprise. And she’ll come begging for a date with me. And you know what will happen next, right?”
Donnie grinned, acknowledging that he perfectly knew what I meant. But there was something in his smile that made me feel that he still doubted me.
Then my phone rang. I checked the screen and saw that it was an incoming call from my father. I pondered on whether I should answer it or not. After a few seconds, I decided to swipe right and braced myself for a massive tongue-lashing.
“Hello?” I greeted. I was expecting his furious voice booming over the speaker, loud enough for Donnie to hear. It didn’t come. Instead, I was greeted back by a
female’s voice, calm and gentle and polite.
“Hi Hayden,” she said. It was Mrs. Walters, my dad’s secretary. She has been working for him for decades.
“Emmy... hello!” I replied. “What can I do for you this fine Tuesday afternoon?”
“Uhm... Hayden... your dad asked me to call you regarding the school receipts he received earlier today. He was wondering why you were enrolled in just five units this semester when he specifically suggested that you should take the full load.”
