The other members seem to have clean records, all attending class with a mix of passing and failing grades. My next stop is to visit MacAfee’s office with a plan to look as nonchalant as I can while watching students come and go. The test was stolen either while MacAfee was teaching or after hours, but she’s unable to recall the last time she physically saw both the papers and the thumb drive—or she does know and didn’t feel the need to tell me. I could be searching for files that have been gone for months or hours. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The test is about to be administered and as it is with most college students, the studying will commence in the next day or so.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I sit on the unoccupied bench near MacAfee’s office. Sitting next to someone could raise suspicion, especially if they’re used to seeing the same people in the hallway. Students mill around, chatting about the upcoming Delta Phi ski lodge party. A blonde, who dyes her hair every three weeks by the looks of her split ends, complains that she has yet to be invited, but plans to change that today during her lunch hour when she’ll see the Deltas in the cafeteria. She and her friend are out of earshot before I can hear what they say, but judging by her friend’s expression, she doesn’t care, more than likely because she’s been invited.
I open my textbook and pretend to read. It’s easier to watch people if they think you’re not paying attention to them. My peripheral vision is excellent and my eyes are always moving, constantly observing the scenes in front of me. To my right, two students are about to share what is likely their first kiss outside of their dorm rooms. They’re both unsure how the other feels about public displays of affection, but their bodies are gravitating toward each other. If they’d learn to read body language they’d both know that, yes, they do want to kiss. To my left, a guy walks slowly down the hall, letting his peers pass and bump his shoulder as he moves. He pauses and looks around as if he’s looking for someone, but the moment his face turns in my direction I can see fear masking his features. He’s done or knows something that’s causing him to watch his back. His knuckles are white as they clench his molecular genetics textbook. He’s in the wrong academic hall to be carrying a book that has to do with biology.
I’d peg him about six foot, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He shaved this morning, nicking himself under the chin not once, but twice. His jeans sag in the rear, a clear sign of being worn multiple times since being washed, while his shoes are clean, yet clearly worn.
This nervous student lingers around MacAfee’s door, reaching into his textbook for what looks like folded papers, but pulls his hand away quickly when someone approaches. A female student walks by and calls out his name—John—and he nods at his friend as he runs his hand through his coiffed hair. They start down the hall together, with the friend talking animatedly and John nodding along.
As quickly as I can, I pack up and grab my bag and follow them out of the building, keeping a safe distance, but still able to hear their conversation. It’s not nice to eavesdrop, but everyone is a suspect in this case until I can prove otherwise. Right now, I have three possible culprits: Charlie Bell, Ginger Ralph, and John with no last name.
When they head toward the cafeteria, I pause outside, waiting for someone else to open the door so I’m not required to touch the germ-infested handle. The cafeteria is a mecca for germs, cliques, and communicable diseases. I don’t know if the latter is true or not, but by the amount of filth that accumulates in that room there has to be some sort of health code violation. I have managed to avoid Cook Commons since the first day of school, only entering during the mandatory student orientation.
It’s only for the good of the investigation that I enter the building. As I step into the madness of the cafeteria, spotting John is easy. He’s at a table with Delta Phi member Roger Stallworth, my lead suspect in the dorm-pranking case. Sitting next to Roger is the same blonde girl from earlier, likely pleading her case to be his date in a desperate attempt to go to the Deltas’ ski lodge party this weekend.
Stepping out of Cook Commons, I find a spot where I can boot up my laptop and learn more about John before I go in there to watch him. A quick search tells me everything I need to know. He’s a bio major and therefore has no reason to be in the agricultural building. His presence there is a red flag and the fact that he was lurking by Professor MacAfee’s door rings warning bells. Additionally, the fact that John Watson is the newly appointed treasurer of Delta Phi doesn’t escape my notice. Suspect number one is the Delta Phi president and now we have the treasurer lurking outside the professor’s office looking guilty, when he shouldn’t be there. It’s not enough to convict, but it might be enough to prod until one of the Deltas rolls on the other. I pull up the registry for the fraternity and see there is only one member who has anything to do with the agricultural program, and that is Charlie.
Charlie Bell is a Delta and is flunking MacAfee’s class. According to the Delta code, Charlie could instruct another member of the fraternity to steal for him and the brother would, for fear they’d be kicked out of the house. Ginger Ralph needs to pass too, but her grade is a solid B this semester so it’s unlikely that she’d steal the test, unless it’s to blackmail Professor MacAfee, but for what? Could it be that Ginger thinks that MacAfee and Bell are having inappropriate relations? By the way she was acting in class today, it’d be my guess that Ginger definitely thinks something is happening between them, and she wants special treatment. I make a mental note to ask the good professor about any blackmailing attempts from her students.
I close my laptop and make my way back into the cafeteria. The crowd has thinned out, except for the people at John’s table. There’s a table across and one down from his that is open and I walk over to it, holding my breath and hoping that no one will beat me to it. I sit down with a sigh and instantly pull out my hand wipes to clean the area in front of me. I don’t care if people are watching me; they should make a mental note about doing the same thing.
John Watson sits sandwiched between Roger, who is sleeping, and another student. I half expected to see John with the guy he walked out of the ag building with, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Of course, if he isn’t a Delta, he isn’t allowed at the table anyway. The one on his left keeps staring at me, while John looks only occasionally. I’m not that interesting, yet his table partner can’t keep his eyes off me. They speak too quietly for me to hear, leaving me to my imagination, which is never a good thing. I keep my gaze wavering, looking from their table to others, pretending to be interested in the ambience around us. The only thing I’m interested in is getting John away from his friends so we can chat. I’m not expecting him to spill the beans right away as to what he was doing by Professor MacAfee’s office, but maybe he’ll allude to something that will interest me.
The back-and-forth between John and his friend is almost comical, yet slightly annoying. I need him to leave so I can speak with John, but the friend seems to be more interested in talking with his hands and looking at me rather than eating his lunch or leaving. Just as I’m about to stand and seek out John’s attention, he starts to move, freezing me in my chair. His legs are shaky, much like a person who is learning to walk again after a traumatic accident, but building in confidence with each step. He’s coming my way and I find myself sitting up straighter, noticing the look in his eyes as he approaches. It’s hard to place a look I’ve never seen directed at me before, but adoration is what pops into my mind even though we—I mean, he doesn’t know me.
“I’m John Watson,” he says, extending his hand for me to shake, except I’m frozen in my chair because for the first time in my life my heart is thumping loudly and making it hard to think or process even the simplest gestures. I have never felt like this before, nor have I ever seen a set of eyes so blue (and not brown, as I originally suspected) that they make the sky look dull.
“Delta Phi treasurer?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, instead of introducing myself like a normal person. John smiles, accepting that I a
lready know who he is. For most men this is an ego boost, but it seems to surprise John that I know this about him, and somewhere deep inside I’m happy about that. Now that he’s standing mere inches from me, I’m agreeable to my emotional recognition that he is a handsome man. Too bad we’re out of each other’s leagues. Mine being that no one has ever liked me, so why would someone now, and his being that he’s a fraternity member and would never date an outcast. Or he’s likely involved in the conspiracy of the missing final.
Instead of sitting down, he stays standing and meets my gaze with his. He’s nervous, and I don’t know why. He approached me, not the other way around, and yet he’s unsure if he should be standing at the opposite end of this table. His posture, hips, and shoulders are square, indicating that he wants to be here, that he’s not being forced. Yet his chest moves more rapidly than it would for normal breathing and his cheeks are red. The shortness of breath could be a sign of something I have yet to pinpoint—guilt, maybe? It’s interesting that my mind jumps to guilt, without looking at the obvious, embarrassment. He doesn’t have a reason to feel guilty or embarrassed around me, at least not yet.
“That I am. Lock Holmes, right?” His eyes go wide when he says my name; he’s clearly happy with himself for knowing who I am. It makes me wonder how he does, but we’re not here to get to know me, or even him. I believe he has the answers that I need. He finally sits down even though I never invited him. The cat-and-mouse game of boy meets girl is foreign to me. I’ve never done this before, but clearly he has. I’ll have to follow his lead to make sure I don’t seem too out of place.
“How did you know my name?” he asks, as grin spreads across his face. The fact that I know his name pleases him; oddly enough, I find that I’m happy about this as well. It’s an odd feeling, really, and something I’d like to figure out how to control.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the surface that I cleaned. “I know a lot about you, John Watson.” I’m meaning to shock him, make him think that I’m mysterious, but the opposite happens.
“I’d like to get to know you, Lock Holmes. Delta Phi is having their annual end-of-the-semester ski lodge party and I’d love it if you’d accompany me as my date.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I blurt out before my brain has been able to comprehend what I’ve agreed to.
John’s mouth drops open in delight and I find myself trying not to see if he’s had dental work done. Finding out would be easy, but inconsequential to my case.
“The party is Friday night,” he tells me, but that doesn’t work for me. I need access to the Delta house before Friday so MacAfee can do whatever she plans to do with the test.
“Coffee.”
“What about it?” John asks, subtly reminding me that I’ve only said one word.
“We should get some…now.”
He looks over his shoulder at his friends before looking back at me. “I’ll need to drop my books off.”
“No problem,” I say, standing and shouldering my backpack. Getting into the Delta Phi house is easier than I thought. I’m about to step into the lion’s den, so to speak, and John is my tamer without even knowing it.
John moves quickly from my table and back to his. The book he was holding earlier in front of the professor’s office is tucked under his arm. I’ll watch and see where he puts it and hopefully come up with a reason for him to leave so I can take a peek inside and see what he’s hiding. Part of me hopes it’s nothing, because I do believe I liked the way he was looking at me.
• • •
John Watson
I try not to mess around with the girls here at school. For one, I don’t have time. My studies keep me busy. Another reason is that they’re clingy. I’m going to be a doctor and to them that screams “future.” To me it yells “headache.” At this point in my schooling, I’m content being single and taking girls with me to movies, to dinner, and to Delta Phi’s many parties. However, walking next to Lock—the girl I have had my eyes on since I first saw her—is making me rethink my current state of being single. I know it’s early, but I believe in kismet. She’s a mystery to me and as she walks alongside me, the subtle brushes of her arm against mine give me hope.
“What do you like to do for fun?” I ask, to break the ice. Even though we were just chatting, we really didn’t say much to each other. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that she said yes to my invite awfully quickly. The thought makes me wonder if she’s been crushing on me as long as I have on her, even though I know it’s probably not true. I wouldn’t be against a kiss or two.
“I’m sure my idea of fun is different from yours.”
“Try me,” I say, placing my hand on her back as we cross the street. She doesn’t need my guidance, but at this point I’m willing to do anything I can to touch or be close to her. Lock pauses, looks at me, and is met with probably the cheesiest grin ever before quickly turning her head toward the opposite side of the street. She may be trying to hide it, but I saw her smile.
“I like to study. I’m not here to party or be social. I’m here to get an education. For fun, I watch documentaries.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, Lock, you and I seem to be one and the same and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. For fun, I like to go over the musculoskeletal system and test my knowledge. What is it that you’re studying?” I point toward the house and use my body to guide hers into the parking lot.
“A little bit of everything at the moment. I’m undecided.”
I find her answer odd considering she just said she likes to study and watch documentaries in her spare time, but it’s common for a freshman to be undecided. I questioned what I was going to do when I got here even though I knew I wanted to be a doctor. I thought maybe I’d do something else but my passion for helping people won out in the end.
The closer we get to Delta house, the more dread starts to set in. It’s only cleaned the night before a big party, which means we still have a day or so until my brothers and I make a massive effort to pick up our many pizza boxes, beer bottles, and errant pieces of clothing. I open the door and step in, pausing as I take in the mess before me. My only consolation is that my room is somewhat clean, just not clean enough that I’d want to invite a girl in. My answer is made for me when I feel her step in behind me.
“Follow me,” I say over my shoulder as I head up the stairs. Only when I reach the top do I realize I should’ve followed her up, like a gentleman.
It seems that my mind isn’t where it should be right now.
“You’ll have to forgive the mess in my bedroom; I wasn’t expecting company,” I tell her as I open the door. I toss my book down onto my bed, watching as the papers I had tucked away in there fall out. I figure if I don’t pay attention to them, neither will she, even though they’re like a bright red beacon yelling at me. If I had planned things better they wouldn’t be mocking me right now.
“We can go now,” I say to Lock, interrupting her perusing session around my room. “Most of the crap belongs to my roommate.”
“The skeleton is yours,” she says, picking up Scully’s hand and letting it drop back down.
“Yes.”
Lock continues her exploration of my room, pausing at my dresser and focusing on my medical terminology poster that hangs on my wall. She wanders close to my bed, choosing to sit on the edge.
“What does your roommate study?” she asks.
I sit down next to her and point up. I keep my gaze steady on her as she takes in the solar system above us. It’s probably one of the best things about my roommate. He loves the stars and at night our room lights up like the night sky. It’s like having our own planetarium in here, just closer and the stars fall off the ceiling if it gets too humid in here.
“Isn’t this something mothers do for their children?”
I try not to give her a funny look, but her question strikes me as odd. Did her mother not do this for her when she was a child? Mine cert
ainly did.
“Yes, but my roommate uses them to study at night.”
“Clever,” she says, turning to face me. Her leg is bent, opening herself up to me. I wonder if she knows that she’s in the perfect kissable situation right now. I could move closer and test the waters, see if she’s even remotely interested in me. I mean, we are in my room and my roommate won’t be back for a couple of hours. It’s college, I’m a guy, and she’s here. I could be smooth and lean in and see if she meets me halfway, or I can sit here and admire the object of my affections.
I’m about to get my wish, because Lock is leaning toward me and I’m meeting her halfway. She’s making the first move. I close my eyes and lick my lips, preparing them for hers. My nose smacks into something hard, and when I open my eyes I find that I’m staring at the wall and my head is cockeyed on her shoulder.
Lock is stiff, waiting for me to move. I do so as cool as possible so that it looks like I meant to do that—because, you know, smashing my nose into her shoulder is as cool as I get. When I’m upright and my manhood starts to come back, I see that the papers from my bed are now in her hand and she’s reading them.
“I thought you were a bio major?”
My heart and stomach drop to the floor while my pulse races. I knew this would happen if these were found on my person.
“I am.”
She shows me the papers that will end my college career. There is no plausible reason for me to have the agroecology final in my room. When it was handed to me, I should’ve thrown it back in my brother’s face, but I took a pledge and while he may be blurring the lines, he would’ve done the same thing for me.
Lock flips through the final, known to be the hardest one on campus. Delta Phi could’ve sold the test and made a killing. Instead, we’ve been using it to help Charlie study, because frankly, we’re sick of him hanging around. He’s been acting like an old man this year. It’s time for him to go.
Thirteen Authors With New Takes on Sherlock Holmes Page 18
