by Joey Bush
“Yeah, I've got those three big essays due. It's just easier to write them where all of the reference books and journals are. Plus, there are no distractions like there are here. I’m just glad the library stays open until eleven a few nights a week.”
“Well, those jerks next door kept me up again on Tuesday night playing DJ and blasting their music at full volume. It was so loud that everything in my room was vibrating. I beat on the wall, but that didn’t do any good. I even tried to be nice and tell the crazy chick in the hall that they needed to keep it down. It didn’t work and I couldn't take it, so I called the cops. That shut them up.”
My mouth dropped open. “You did what?!”
“Like I said, I called the cops. I’d given those jerks enough warnings, and they didn't seem to matter, so I just did what I had to do.”
“But you know there's a ton of alcohol in their place, right? I mean…they might have gotten into a lot of trouble, Les.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “So? They knew the risk they were taking. They insisted on carrying on with the noise as if that place was a damn club or something. I'm sorry, Brooke, but sometimes people like only learn one way — the hard way. It had to be done.”
“So what happened?”
“The cops showed up and shut the party down. That's all I know. I fell asleep a few minutes after the noise stopped.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Well, whatever. They've been quiet ever since, haven't they?”
“I guess they have.”
“Well, BeeBee, I'm exhausted. Time for bed. I'll see you in the morning.”
“Okay, good night.”
“Night.”
Leslie walked out leaving me shocked, confused, and curious. I wondered if all of that had happened before or after Emerson had gotten back from visiting his dad. Not that I’d have known, considering he had ignored me since he left on Monday morning. What if Emerson and Chris had been arrested? Maybe that had been why he hadn't called me or had any contact.
That didn’t add up, though, when I thought about the times I'd called and messaged Emerson on Monday. That had been a full night and day before Leslie had called the cops on them, and he hadn't replied to anything.
My phone buzzed just as I was considering sending Emerson another text, this time about chemistry class and the lab we needed to make up. It wasn’t Emerson texting me, though. It was Garrett. I'd given him my number in chemistry class the day before, after he'd asked if it would be possible to get my help with some of the concepts he was having a hard time grasping. So, I expected questions about chemistry class. What I got, instead, were photos. I opened them, and my eyes widened with surprise.
The message above the pics read: Your buddy Emerson happens to be pretty close to the dean of our faculty! Saw 'em outside the supermarket.
The photos were of Emerson hugging the Dean and getting into her car. One picture was clear and sharp. I had to admit, the woman looked familiar, but I hadn’t really dealt with anyone in the faculty who hadn’t been one of my professors. I immediately opened a browser window on my laptop and went to the school’s website. A few clicks later, I was reading all about the woman in the photos. I enlarged her staff photo and studied her. That’s when it hit me. The Dean of Faculty was Emerson’s mother!
She had to be. Emerson had her eyes and a number of other similar facial features. I was a little blown away. We had talked about his parents a few times before and, while he had told me a lot about his father, he had been pretty vague about his mother, even when I had asked straight up questions about her. I knew from our conversations that she and his dad had divorced when he was ten years old, that she still lived nearby, and that he saw her fairly often.
Why the hell hadn't he told me that she was the freaking Dean of our college?!
That was a pretty big deal. Seriously. I couldn’t wrap my mind around why he would deliberately lie to me about it.
Whatever his reason, all he had done was add more fuel to the fire that had been blazing for four days — a fire that was burning anything I thought we might have to the ground.
I wasn’t up for discussing anything about Emerson with anyone, so I put an end to it before it started by sending a rather benign message to Garrett telling him the dean was Emerson’s mother, and then I turned my phone off. I skulked off to my room, crawled into bed, and curled up under the blankets. Somehow, through the swirling emotions, sleep managed to find me quickly.
***
Emerson didn't show up for chemistry class — again. We were supposed to do a practical together. After class, I spoke to the professor about it and she said she'd try to get in touch with him. She suggested that, in the meantime, I could partner with Garrett since he'd joined the class late and was acting as third wheel to another pair of lab partners.
Maybe Emerson's “dedication” to chemistry class had all been part of his charade, too. Just another elaborate ruse he set up for the sole purpose of getting me into bed. It seemed that since his mission had been accomplished, he didn't care anymore.
“Well done, Emerson. You succeeded there. I hope you're proud of yourself,” I muttered to myself as I left the lecture hall and shot Garrett a text telling him what the professor suggested and giving him a time to meet at the lab.
***
Garrett showed up to the lab early, looking a little more chipper than usual.
“Well, hey there, gorgeous,” he said playfully.
“Come off it, Garrett. We're here to work,” I explained, although I couldn't deny there was a subtle smile on my lips. He had a way of making me chuckle. It didn’t hurt that he was pretty good looking, too.
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, isn't that what they say?” he responded.
“They do, but there's a time for work and a time for play, and now's not the time for play.”
“Alright, alright,” he conceded.
We got the experiment set up. Garrett worked quickly and efficiently and with great focus. I was impressed. We finished in record time and cleaned everything up just as efficiently.
As I was packing the last of the equipment away, he sidled up to me.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“You're not seeing anyone right now, are you?”
I tried not to stop what I was doing abruptly, but his question caught me off guard. How was I supposed to respond considering the mess going on with Emerson and the scars left over from Andrew? Sure, Garrett seemed like a really nice guy, and let’s not forget that good-looking aspect, but there was no way I was going to get into anything at the moment. I had too many unresolved emotions. Still, it wouldn't have been right to have lied to him either.
“No, I'm not — but I'm not looking to, either. Things are…complicated. And I'm way too busy for anything like that.”
“Oh, no, no, I wasn't trying to suggest anything,” he said hurriedly.
“Oh. Alright.”
“I was just asking,” he said with a warm smile. “Because if you had a boyfriend, I wouldn't want him to get upset about you hanging out with guy friends, like me. I know some guys get super jealous about any guy their girlfriend is hanging out with, even nice, harmless gentlemen like me.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, feeling as if I had totally overreacted to his question. “No, no need to worry about that. There's no man in my life to cause any trouble if we want to hang out as friends.”
“Yeah,” he said with a big smile. “Friends. So, remember I bought those tickets from you for the film festival? Well, my buddy who was gonna go with me bailed. And that's next weekend, right?”
“Yeah, next weekend.”
“Right, so that means I've got this spare ticket.”
“Uh-huh.” I could already see where he was going.
“And was wondering if you wanted to go with me? Just as friends, of course.”
“As friends, huh?”
“Totally as friends.”
“Alright,” I said. “Sounds good.”
“Excellent. So, next weekend then, after your RAG trip. You are going on that RAG trip, right?”
“Yeah, I am,” I replied. “How'd you know about that?”
The RAG group had organized a four-day trip for the coming week since there would be a long weekend because of a holiday. We would be visiting some underprivileged communities in the surrounding areas to help set up organic gardens so they could grow their own food.
“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 motorcy
cle 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 how 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.”
