by Joey Bush
I couldn’t understand why he still had not replied. Couldn't he have, at least, told me how his dad's surgery had gone? Couldn't he have, at least, had the decency to acknowledge receipt of my messages?
I shook my head, staring into the lab as another set of lab partners finished up. It really did seem as if my worst thoughts about him might be right. I was snapped out of my trance by a familiar voice.
“Hey there, Brooke.”
“Oh, hi, Garrett,” I replied, trying to put on a smile.
“How's everything? You doing okay?” He grinned at me, looking chipper.
“Um, yeah, yeah. Everything’s awesome.”
He looked at me, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure about that? You don’t look like everything’s awesome.”
“I've just, uh, I've just had a tough day, that's all.”
“Aww. Well, that’s no good,” he said with genuine sympathy. “What happened.”
For a moment, I considered telling him about the whole situation with Emerson. Part of me really wanted to talk about it with someone. However, I didn't know Garrett nearly well enough to be spilling about such personal things with him. So, in response to his question, I simply told a white lie.
“Oh, just a bunch of tests. You know, plenty of work and not enough time to do it. Plus, I don't think I've been getting enough sleep lately. So, I'm just feeling a bit run-down.”
“You’ve really gotta take care of yourself, ya know? You're a special person, Brooke. I mean that. I don’t like seeing down in the dumps. How about I take you for a smoothie? I know a great organic joint about a mile from here. They make a killer energy boost smoothie, packed with all sorts of healthy junk. It'll make you feel like a new person, guaranteed.”
I was tempted to take him up on the offer. A part of me thought it would be out of spite though, a way to get back at Emerson for ignoring me. It was obvious by the tension between the two that Emerson had a subtle dislike for Garrett. Maybe even jealousy.
However, I decided against it for the time being, at least.
“Thanks for the offer, Garrett, but I can't. I'm meeting up with some friends in a bit. But maybe another time, though.”
He smiled, showing a mouthful of perfectly white teeth. “No worries! Oh, hey, I saw you handing out flyers for the charity film festival the other day.”
“Yeah. It's a RAG event we're setting up.”
“Cool, cool. Listen, I wanna buy some of those tickets. You have any on you?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“Great. I'll take two.”
“Right now?”
“Sure.”
I dug around in my bag and retrieved two tickets.
“That'll be twenty bucks.”
He handed me two ten dollar bills.
“Thanks,” I said. “Who are you gonna go with?” I asked out of instinct.
“Oh, I dunno yet,” he replied with a suggestive smile. “Maybe you know a cute brunette who might want to go,” he added with a wink.
Right on time, my phone buzzed. I looked down, hoping it was Emerson. It wasn’t. But it was the cavalry saving me from having to respond to Garrett’s question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Emerson
Sitting on a bench at the police station waiting for my mom to bail me out was seriously one of the worst experiences of my life. Even though they didn't handcuff us, it was hard not to feel like a criminal when I was sitting next to actual criminals and waiting for our charge sheets to be drawn up. To my left were haggard-looking, drugged-up prostitutes. To my right, a pair of drug dealers with cut and bleeding swollen faces who — according to the story I’d overheard from the cops who brought them in — had been fighting in the streets over who was encroaching on whose turf. It was pretty awful. All I could do was sit with my head in my hands and pray it would all be over soon.
Mixed in with all the thoughts and emotions racing through my mind was one dominant emotion. Anger. Anger at Chris, firstly, for being such a selfish idiot and continuing to party and piss the neighbors off after I'd explicitly told him just how much trouble we could get in because of it. But I was also angry at Brooke for actually calling the cops when she knew how much trouble we would get in if they showed up at our place and found the alcohol.
I knew it might not seem right, but it was almost more understandable to forgive Chris even though it had been his fault. After all, he wasn't the sharpest crayon on the box and the streak of recklessness and impulsive behavior that ran so strongly through his character made him susceptible to acts of stupidity.
Brooke, though…she wasn't like Chris at all. She was smart — incredibly smart. And compassionate. At least, I had thought she was, up until I was shoved into the back of a police cruiser and read my rights. How could a person who seemed to be so compassionate do something so spiteful, so calculated? Something she knew would have devastating consequences for Chris and me? Especially for me after what had happened between us.
I suddenly had to wonder if everything I thought I knew about Brooke was simply dead wrong.
My blood began to boil just thinking about it all again, but my rage was quelled by the sight of a familiar figure walking into the room. When I saw her, my heart sank.
“Emerson.”
Her tone was ice cold.
“Hi, Mom,” I murmured, unable to look her in the eye.
She didn't reply. Instead, she walked straight up to the desk and spoke to the sergeant on duty. After she signed several documents and spoke to two different officers, she turned her attention back to me with a cold fury simmering in her eyes.
“Come,” was all she said.
I looked up at the sergeant, who nodded his head. It was clear he felt sorry for me.
“You're free to go now, kid. So go on, get the hell outta here.”
I nodded and stood, thankful to be leaving. Chris had already left, having been picked up by his parents ten minutes earlier.
I followed my mother as she walked out of the station and into the parking lot. She kept walking all the way to the last parking space in silence. When we reached her Range Rover, she opened the doors without a word. I climbed into the passenger seat, and shut the door. That’s when she finally erupted.
“Emerson Michael Reed,” she said, her voice sharp and even-toned. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?”
I’d have preferred she yelled at me. It wouldn’t have been as scary.
“Mom, it's not as bad as-”
“You’re right. It's way worse than that! Way worse!”
“Mom, I wasn’t-”
“Just stop, Emerson. I'm Dean of Faculty! Do you understand what kind of position this is going to put me in? Do you? My son, the dean’s underage son, caught with a ridiculous amount of alcohol in his apartment! Do you realize how negatively this is going to reflect on me? Not to mention that this can go on your permanent record, Emerson.”
I hung my head in shame. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn't think about that.”
“It seems like you haven't been doing much thinking, at all. Now, I warned you last semester, Emerson, I warned you when your grades came out so disappointingly, that I would not tolerate another slip up. And what did you go and do? This. This.”
“Mom, I wasn’t even there. I’ve been at Dad’s for two days. Plus, I've been doing way better this semester, I've been working hard. I haven’t been skipping out on any classes, and-”
“I don’t even want to hear it. Can’t change anything at one o’clock in the morning. You're staying at my place tonight, and I have half a mind to make you move out of that apartment and back in with me where I can keep a proper eye on you. Maybe prevent something like this from happening again. The only thing I want to hear from you now is 'I'm sorry, and this will never, ever happen again'.”
“Mom, please-”
“Ehhh,” she held a hand up. “Did you not hear me?”
I breathed in deeply and shook my head before
speaking. “I'm sorry, Mom. This will never, ever happen again.”
We drove the rest of the way to Mom’s house in uncomfortable silence. There was no way to gauge how much anger was stewing beside me and I knew the best thing to do was not to even try.
By the time we arrived, some of her wrath had dissipated.
“I guess you haven't had anything to eat for a while huh?” she said.
“Nope. Pretty much as soon as I got off my bike after coming back from dad's place, I walked in and got arrested. I'm starving.”
“I'll fix you some sandwiches, then. By the way, how’s your dad doing?” she asked.
“Pretty good, considering. Doctor says he’ll be back to normal in about six weeks.”
“Good. Glad he’s gonna be okay. Now go on to your room. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“Thanks, Mom. And, I’m sorry.”
I trudged off to my old room, which was exactly as it had been when I had lived there a couple of years before — the sports posters, team flags, and trophies of my childhood and teenage years were all still there. In one corner, my electric guitar and amplifier sat. I hadn't touched them in quite a while. For a period in my teenage years, I'd become quite the proficient guitarist, but after I'd graduated from high school, I'd kind of given up on it.
I sat down in my old easy chair, turned on the amp, and picked up the guitar. It was like being in the presence of an old friend I’d known for years, but hadn't seen in ages. It was comforting.
I immediately felt better after strumming a few chords and wondered why I hadn't played for so long. After I had played a few songs, I realized just how much I’d missed playing music. When Mom brought in a plate of sandwiches, it was kind of hard to not feel like a kid again in a really big way.
“Wash up the plate when you're done,” she said. “I've gotta get some sleep. It's been a stressful evening.”
“Thanks again, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Emerson. I love you.”
“Night, Mom. Love you, too.”
I ate the sandwiches in three minutes flat. They tasted as good as I remembered them being back in the day. In some ways, it wasn't so bad to be back home. The feeling, however, didn't last long once the thoughts of the arrest and what Brooke had done came flooding back. I got undressed and climbed into my old bed, falling into a restless sleep.
***
Chris was sitting in front of the TV with a blank look on his face when I walked into the apartment the next day.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
I admit, it felt pretty awkward.
“I'm just coming to pick up some clothes,” I said. “As I’m sure you can imagine, Mom was pretty pissed. She’s insisting I stay at her place for the rest of the week while she, uh, while she tries to sort this situation out.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” I replied.
I headed to my room and packed a few things into my backpack. I left it there, and went into the kitchen to grab a snack. It was weird seeing the refrigerator empty of alcohol. Usually it was packed full of beer and the closets were full of bottles of liquor. But all of that was gone, confiscated by the local P.D. I sighed, shook my head, grabbed a snack, and then headed back into the living room and sat down with Chris.
“It was your friend, Brooke, who did this, ya know,” he said flatly. “I'm sure of it.”
“Yeah. You said that last night, but what makes you so sure?”
“My room is next to hers.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can sometimes hear her through the wall, talking on Skype to whoever. It's a little muffled, but I can tell it's her voice, not her roommate Leslie's.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, Emerson. So, if I can hear her through the wall, she can totally hear me. And you know how…noisy things can get in my room sometimes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know. Trust me.”
“Well, anyway. So, yeah, I'm totally sure it must have been that bitch who called the cops. It had to have been.”
Part of me wanted to punch him for calling her any kind of name — actually, a very big part of me wanted to. I wanted to defend her. It wasn't her fault Chris had been a noisy, inconsiderate ass. I knew how seriously Brooke took her studies, and if it was true the wall between her room and Chris' was so thin, well… I could understand just how much she must have been putting up with since she’d moved into the apartment next door. I could understand why she would have felt frustrated, even angry.
But another part of me agreed with Chris. She knew how severe the consequences would be for us if the cops showed up, and she called them anyway. Couldn't she have just come over and asked Chris to turn it down like she had before?
“Yeah,” I said. “It was a shitty thing to do. But let’s not call her names, okay?”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Well, I hope you're never gonna speak to that…her again after what she's done to us,” he said sourly. “Seriously, bro. If she were a guy, I would have kicked her damn teeth in by now. She's damn lucky she's a chick or I would have gone seriously medieval on her ass.”
There wasn't much I could say in response, so I let it go.
“Wanna go out and get a beer?” Chris asked.
I couldn't help but laugh. “After all the shit that's just happened, dude?”
He flashed a cheeky grin at me. “Totally, brah.”
I shrugged. “Whatever, screw it. Let's go.”
***
“One more Jägermeister shot!” Chris slurred next to me. “C-c-come on dude, just one m-m-more!”
I raised my hand above my head and cheered.
“Hell yeah! One m-more!”
The bartender brought us two shots of Jägermeister, which we knocked back immediately. I felt bile rising in the back of my throat and my vision was definitely starting to swim. One more drink would have pushed me over the edge. As it was, I'd already have to sneak in to my mom’s house and get to my room without her seeing me. If she’d known I'd gone out and gotten drunk… Well, I didn't even want to imagine what sort of consequences I'd have to deal with.
I was about to stand up to leave when I felt a hand on my shoulder — a soft, feminine hand. I turned around. “Melissa.”
“Hi, Emerson. Long time no see!”
“Uh, yeah, it's been a while. How have you been?” I slurred.
She smiled flirtatiously. “Oh, I've been good. But I can't deny I've been missing a certain someone.”
“Oh yeah, is that right?”
“It is.” She ran her fingers along my forearm. “You're looking especially yummy, Emerson. Been hitting the gym more than usual?”
I laughed, probably a little too awkwardly. “No.”
She stared into my eyes, still smiling with her perfect, white teeth and full lips.
“Well, like I said, you're looking extremely sexy.”
Her fingers were still tracing invisible patterns across my skin. She started to move in closer to me.
“You know,” she continued, “my roommates are away on a trip tonight. I'm all alone at my place, and I'm feeling so lonely and bored. Why don't you come over and have a few more drinks with me? I've got some tequila just begging to be drunk.”
I almost said yes. Almost. But, as angry as I was at Brooke, part of me still believed she was the person I'd fallen for, and that, somehow, the thing with the cops all had to be some giant mistake. Besides, after being with Brooke, Melissa didn’t get my blood pumping even a little bit.
I gently removed Melissa's fingers from my arm and set her hand down on the bar.
“Sorry, Melissa, I've already had too much to drink tonight. I'm actually feeling kinda s-sick. Seriously. If I even smell another beer, I'm gonna throw up.”
“Well, we don't have to drink, Emerson, we can go back and do…other things.”
I stood from my barstool. “Melissa, I'm gonna have to say no. Sorry. I can't, I just can't. See you round.”
; With her eyes locked on me boring holes into the back of my skull every step of the way, I stumbled out of the bar onto the damp, windy street where I held onto a street lamp, waiting in silence for a passing cab to stop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Brooke
Four days. That’s how long it had been since Emerson and I had been together that night. That’s also how long it had been since I’d heard from him. It was Thursday and still not a word. And the longer the silence lasted, the angrier I became — both with him for acting like he was, and with myself for being an idiot and buying his bullshit. How could I have been so stupid and let my feelings override logic? I had been naïve letting my guard down and allowing him to get close enough to do this to me. I should have known better. I really should have known better.
I was sitting on the living room sofa going over some notes for chemistry class — which Emerson had been noticeably absent from again – when Leslie walked in looking a little more on the weary side than usual.
“Hey, Bee,” she said in a tired voice.
“Hey, Les.”
“How's everything?”
“Ah, you know, study, study, study,” I announced. For a moment, I contemplated telling her the whole situation with Emerson, but she didn't look like she was up for a long conversation. Besides, I didn't know if I was up for one. And after four days, I knew she was going to give me hell for not telling her sooner, which only made me dread it more.
“Yeah, me, too,” she replied. “And, I’m exhausted. At least, I've been able to sleep well enough the past two nights.”
I cocked my head to the side. Leslie was usually a sound sleeper. I began to wonder what had previously been causing her to lose sleep.
“Umm. Why weren’t you sleeping? What was wrong before?”
“Huh? You didn't notice? Oh, right, you've been at the library until late these past couple of nights.”
