Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2)

by Heather Balog

  My face flaming, I whirl around and face him. “What? Are you kidding me?” I have never been so blatantly propositioned in all my life. Is this how college kids hook up? Just ‘hey, you wanna come back to my dorm room?’ And what the hell is he thinking? I’m married and he’s…

  “Yeah, I sent you a text yesterday but you never answered me. A bunch of us from class were going to get started on the group project. Or at least we were going to get together and split into groups and pick topics. It’s due next month and there’s a lot that has to be done.”

  He texted me? I never got a text. The group project? That’s what he wanted me for? He doesn’t find me irresistible and want me to be his Mrs. Robinson? I don’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

  “The only stipulation is that you have to bring a snack.” He offers me a smile as he pulls a bag of Fritos from his back pack and hands them to me. “I’ve got you covered on that this time, but next time you’re on your own.” And then he winks at me.

  I am stunned. Why does he want to help me? Can’t he see that I am beyond help? I want to drop out now and at least be able to get some of my money back, but this kid is making it really difficult to throw in the towel.

  “Thanks River, but I really ought to be getting home. My kids will be getting home from school and-”

  Just then the bells of the tower chime one in the afternoon. River raises an eyebrow at me. “Unless your kids have a half day, I don’t think they’ll be getting home anytime soon.”

  Sighing, I adjust the backpack on my shoulder again. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  He claps his hands together and smirks. “Sweet.” For a split second, I consider the fact that he may indeed have nefarious purposes. Like he is being initiated into a gang and you have to drag along a stupid, unsuspecting middle aged woman to your dorm room and tie her to the bedpost and throw Fritos at her while she’s in her granny underwear.

  But then I see River bouncing on the balls of his feet and chattering away, offering me some ridiculously boring tidbit about the bell tower that just rang and how it was built by freemasons or some crap like that. I realize, nope; despite the way he dresses and how he looks, River is as innocent as they come. And no, I’m not being naïve. I just have an intuition about these sorts of things. There’s more chance of someone hurting him than him hurting someone.

  I trail after River the Emo through the garden maze and toward the dorm hall, still working on my mental to do list. ‘Start group project a month early’ was not on that list, but when you work in a group, you really don’t have a choice, I guess. That is why I always hated group projects in school. I would wait till the last minute to slap something together if I could. Of course, we would always have a goodie two shoes like Beth in the group who would want to get started on it the second it was assigned.

  But maybe this will help you, Amy, I find myself thinking rationally. By communicating with your fellow students, maybe you’ll be able to figure out how to balance everything.

  We arrive at River’s dorm and stop in front of the monitor affixed to the outside of the building.

  River pats his jeans. “Oh damn, I forgot my ID. It must be up in my room.” He scratches his head and then asks, “Can you scan your student ID?”

  I sigh as I dig through my never ending bag of crap, handing River a bag of Goldfish, hair ties, and a flip flop to hold. He just stares in wonder at the flip flop. I finally locate the student ID at the bottom of my bag, covered with a piece of chewed gum that one of the kids stuck in there.

  “Like this?” I ask as I wave the barcode in the air. The door beeps three times and pops open. River holds the door and I step into the vestibule area.

  “Thanks. It’s this way,” River says, pointing toward the elevator.

  I don’t have time to ask him if I need to sign in like we did in the old days, because the elevator doors open and we climb aboard. I have to confess, I feel a little uncomfortable in the elevator as River is suddenly quiet and stares straight ahead.

  Could he possibly have a crush on me or something? I know I’m not the hottest, but some guys have a thing for older women…wait a minute…you’re not that old, Amy!

  Oh please! You’re practically ancient compared to these kids! You don’t belong here!

  I cease arguing with myself as we step out onto the eighth floor and the common room. There’s a relatively new Berber carpet in the cramped ten by eight space that is cluttered with a tattered couch, mismatched chairs, and a coffee table. All of the chairs are occupied by young teenagers with laptops or iPads. There are even a few sprawled out on the floor. I recognize some of them from class, but others are complete strangers to me. I wonder if I just don’t notice them in class or perhaps they don’t come. Since attendance doesn’t count, I have a feeling quite a few of my classmates only show up sporadically. But I know that would never be a possibility for me. I can’t even pass when I am there.

  Bags of chips and cups of coffee clutter the few tables, and in what little space is left, papers consume it. There is a low rumble of conversation, several students with their heads close together speaking in hushed tones.

  “Hey everyone,” River announces while holding up his hand. All talking ceases as the students direct their attention to my companion.

  “Hey man, we started to think you weren’t coming,” says a heavyset guy on the floor. I recognize him from class. He usually sits in the back of the room with his earbuds tucked in his ears and his skull cap pulled over his ears. Professor Jerkoff never seems to bother him about that. His outfit looks like it was designed by the same person who dressed River that morning. All the others are dressed in casual sweatshirts and sweatpants, a few in jeans with ripped knees, and tattered old tee shirts.

  I gaze down at my out of place “mom jeans” and the stretched out sweater from the bargain bin at Marshall’s feeling completely out of place.

  “Sorry guys, I got held up.” He points to me and adds, “This is Amy. She’s in our Intro class.”

  The group gawks at me. Although nobody says anything, I can almost hear their brains thinking, ‘What the hell is this old lady doing in a law enforcement class?’ I guess they were all stoned on the first day I came swooping in to the strains of Mrs. Robinson.

  “Um, I told her it would be okay if she came along to our group. She needs to do the project too, obviously,” River tells everyone.

  The rest of the group nods approvingly. I even hear a few murmurs of agreement among the crowd. A blonde…girl (for lack of a better word), stands up and points to the chair she vacated.

  “You can have my seat.”

  What? Does she think I’m so old I can’t sit on the floor? Has she been reading too many bus signs, ‘Give up your seat to pregnant women and the elderly’?

  I shake my head. “No, no, that’s ok. I’ll sit right here.” I lower myself to the floor and fold my legs underneath my body. At the exact moment the room is silent, my knee joint decides to make a loud popping noise. Everyone gapes at me some more. I gaze at the floor, willing it to open and swallow me up.

  “What’s your name?” another girl asks loudly, slowly drawing out her words as if she expects me to be hard of hearing.

  “Amy,” I answer her, practically shouting in return.

  She appears surprised. “Oh! Wow that’s such a young name! I wish it was mine. My parents named me Virginia.” She rolls her eyes. “But you can call me Ginny.” Yes, Virginia, even old people are named Amy. Although, this girl won’t get that reference…she’s like, twelve.

  Another girl shoves a box of donuts at me. She is not someone I recognize, so she’s probably among those who don’t actually go to class, or she’s in Professor Cummings’ other class. River informed me that there is a Tuesday afternoon class that one can attend to be abused by the great professor, also. “Wants some donuts? I didn’t have time to eat before this meeting.” She widens her eyes at me. “I can’t believe River wanted to meet so early.”
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br />   Early? It’s almost 1:30 in the afternoon!

  “I mean, I can’t even make it to Cummings’ class half the time because it’s way too early in the day. If I’m up all night, I’ve got to sleep a little, you know?” She nudges me and winks. I have a feeling her activities when she is up all night vary greatly from mine. I just offer her a weak smile and hope she shuts up.

  River folds himself accordion style onto the floor next to me. I notice no popping sounds emanating from his joints. Ah, to be young and have lubricated cartilage.

  River pulls his iPad out of his backpack and immediately starts to address the group. They hang on his every word, like he is the Grand Poohbah of Intro. Others chime in occasionally, but it is obvious that River is the leader of this crowd.

  I know I should be listening to what is being said, but I can’t help but glance at the kids that surround me. They all look so young and fresh faced, staring at River and nodding their heads along with him as if he is the most brilliant lecturer in the world. They obviously all know each other because they are addressing one another by name. One by one, they start offering their own input, discussing hypothetical scenarios for the project, but I am still not listening. The people around me are just too damn distracting.

  One girl, sitting across the coffee table, is literally pulling her gum out of her mouth, tugging it, and twirling it around her finger. I am silently grossed out and cringing inwardly, wondering where her fingers have been today. The boy sitting next to her has a pocket knife and he is digging underneath his nails with it. That makes me so nervous I can’t even watch. I turn away to see another girl squished onto the couch with a friend. Her hand is literally running up and down her friend’s leg, the other girl biting her lip and stifling giggles. I have a feeling that they are an item. The second girl takes her own hand and is pushing it into her friend’s waistband. I stare incredulously, but nobody else seems to notice or even care.

  “Dude, did you go to the rave last weekend?” the kid behind me is asking his chair companion. “I hooked up with the hottest chick.”

  The other kid laughs. “Nah, man, I couldn’t get there. I was so stoned and Jasmine decided that she wanted to blow me all weekend, so who am I to say no?”

  “Oh damn, I’d let her blow me all weekend if she wanted to. She got a friend?”

  “Oh yeah. A couple that like to hook up,” the second kid is saying. “You should come over. We can get wasted and screw ‘em both.”

  That’s about all I can take. I leap to my feet and knock over a cup of coffee. Not that I’m a prude, but I don’t need to hear or witness the sexual exploits of kids who are only three years older than my daughter. That’s just more than I can bear. Everyone stares at me.

  “Um, I’ve got to go. I gotta go get my kids,” I manage to mumble under my breath as I snatch up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder.

  “You can’t go! We didn’t even break into groups yet,” River states, eyebrows knitted together with concern. I’m slightly annoyed. Who died and put him in charge of me anyway?

  “Yeah, I got a text from my daughter. I have to go pick her up. She’s sick. I’m sorry. Let me know what you want me to do for the project. Uh, I’ll do extra to make up for it. Anything you need done individually, I’m all for.” I offer a half-hearted wave and turn around, tangling my foot in the strap of someone’s messenger bag. I manage to catch myself before I fall, and I stumble to the elevator.

  The elevator opens on the first floor and I dash toward the door. I shove it open, only to be met by the blaring sounds of alarms going off and the flashing lights of the security cameras snapping away.

  Shit! What did I do?

  Then I see the campus police zooming up the lawn in their little golf carts, surrounding me like I’m a criminal. As I feel like melting into a puddle on the sidewalk, I turn and see that I have not gone out the front door. In my haste to get away, I have exited via the alarmed emergency fire exit. Suddenly, the campus seems inundated with teenagers everywhere, staring at me and whispering.

  I cover my face with my hands and at that very moment, I want to die.

  ~Six~

  Forty embarrassing minutes later (after a body cavity search from a female security guard who may want to get her testosterone level checked), I have finally convinced the campus police that I am not a threat to homeland security. I did not plant a bomb or set the dorm on fire, nor do I carry drugs on or in my person. I am simply just an absentminded college student/ mother who forgot to use the correct door of a dorm building where she didn’t belong anyway. I think that the campus police see very little exciting activity at 1:30 in the afternoon, so they were looking to make it last by torturing me.

  Between today’s ordeal and the fact that I absolutely suck at college, I seriously doubt that I will ever be able to show my face again at Shrewsbury University.

  I am calculating how much of my money I can get refunded as I pull up to the house and screech to a halt before I hit the garage door. I am so freaking late. In addition to my mortifying run in with the campus rent a cops, I stopped to get Evan at school and was bullied into a corner by his teacher, Mrs. Cat Litter Breath. Actually, I think her name is Mrs. Cattabredth, but Cat Litter Breath is much more fitting. Evan has been in school for a total of six weeks and I have been accosted by her noxious halitosis every single time I’ve picked him up. Lucky me.

  This time she wanted to tell me, at length, about how after snack time, Evan came out of the bathroom stark naked with his pants on his head. But that wasn’t all. He proceeded to dance a jig while saying, ‘look at it bounce’ to the delight of his classmates and the horror of Cat Breath.

  Listening to her recall the incident, I covered my face with my hands, not only out of embarrassment, but to prevent myself from laughing. Oh, and to put some sort of blockade between me and Cat Breath. She apparently had tuna for lunch. I tried to admonish Evan all the way home, but quite honestly, I didn’t have the heart. The kid was obviously feeling at home in school.

  So now I was even later than I had been to begin with. Not ‘oh, I’m going to get there just on time’ late like my sister Beth. The, ‘I am seriously so late DFYS may come and take my kids away for abandoning them this long’ late.

  According to my calculations, Lexie and Colt have been home for at least 25 minutes, and judging by the looks on their faces when I pull up, it may have been even longer.

  “I’m sorry!” I apologize as I clamor out of the car and open the backseat to allow Evan to climb out. “I’m really, really super-duper sorry,” I reiterate as I gather up my belongings.

  “This all could have been avoided if you would just give me a key,” Lexie points out as I ascend the porch stairs, digging through my purse for the keys that I just dropped in there. I don’t know why I always do that. I climb out of the car and put the keys in my purse and then I am stuck searching for them.

  “You’re not ready for a key,” I tell Lexie, my absentminded child, as I unlock the door. There’s no way I am letting her have a house key. Not only will she lose it within moments of receiving it, she’ll probably attach it to a key chain with our address and phone number on it. She’s just not that bright. Don’t shoot me; she’s book smart, but I would hate to see her lost in the middle of a ghetto. Besides, Allie is usually home a half hour before her, but today she had some club after school.

  At first I was going to say no to the club; I needed her to be home for her siblings. But she rarely wants to participate in group things, usually scoffing and rolling her eyes when I would suggest she join this club or that club. But for some reason this year she has taken a sudden interest in participating. She ditched her Queen of Mean friend Victoria earlier in the summer (or more likely, Victoria ditched her) and she has actually been hanging out a lot with her old friend Kaitlyn, much to my delight.

  Kaitlyn and Allie had had a falling out last year and Kaitlyn’s mother, my good friend Laura (oh, who am I kidding, my only friend) had campaigned t
o keep the girls apart. It was hurtful, but I discovered it was because Laura had been given false information about Allie, and I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to keep her daughter away from what she thought Allie was.

  Thankfully, we cleared the air on several misunderstandings (including where she was under the impression that my daughter was a strung out druggie), and we have been able to remain friends. Maybe not as close as we have been in the past, but, hello, I had a life altering, near death experience that she couldn’t possibly relate to.

  Actually, I had been very popular with the PTA mothers right after Allie and I were rescued from our harrowing experience. They all accosted me on the playground at elementary school drop off, clucking and feigning genuine concern for my state of mind and all, while they sipped their skinny chai lattes and intently listened to my tale of woe. I was popular for about two weeks and then Karen Milroy got run over by her deranged husband and she became all the rage. She’s fine. He only backed into her (wide load butt) and pinned her against the garage door, but you would have thought she had flown over the hood at 70 miles an hour to hear her tell it (while she dabbed tears from her eyes and clutched her neck brace). But, once again, I digress…

  “I really wish you would give me a key,” Lexie continues. “We’ve been waiting here forever and I really gotta go to the bathroom! Like bathroom bathroom.”

  “Why didn’t you go in school?” I ask with exasperation, hurriedly unlocking the door. It’s one of those rhetorical questions because I already know the answer. Lexie refuses to poop in school. She wants the comfort of her own toilet, and her books, and the luxury to sit in there as long as she wants. She’s like Roger junior in training.

  I get the door unlocked and the kids burst through; Lexie tossing her book bag aside to dash up the stairs, Evan immediately going on a search for the remote, and Colt racing into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. I swear that kid has a tapeworm. All he does is eat. When I suggested to the pediatrician that we check for worms, she just laughed at me. “It’s only going to get worse.” I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when he has a growth spurt or puberty. As it is we go through two boxes of granola bars, three gallons of milk, and four boxes of cereal a week just from him snacking.